Night Visitor

SUBTITLE: Panda the Protector or Socket Revenge

The night started as a cool summer night, in our subdivision just outside of Douglas, Wyoming. Our house had quieted down when our kids went to sleep. My husband was working his third night shift at a mine seventy-five miles away. And I had just settled down with a good book.

Suddenly our dog, Panda, started barking. It was not an ordinary, “Hey, I think there might be something out there,” bark. It was more like a “You better get out here this very minute and I mean now” bark.

Since my husband, usually the dog bark checker was not around; I walked out through the kitchen to the garage and peeked out the door. I am not a very brave person. When our dog barks, I check all windows and doors, to make sure they are locked. I also make sure our phone is working, just in case I need to call 911. I had become a little braver since my husband started working night shifts. But it still took all my courage to walk out to our kitchen to the garage and peek out the door. The garage was connected to our house via the kitchen. It looked like the garage was clear, so I tip toed quietly through the garage and peeked out the back door of the garage, to the backyard beyond.

Luckily, my husband was prepared for such times as this. He left a flashlight on a shelf nearby. I grabbed the flashlight and shined it outside, peering through a small crack in the door with one eye.

Panda was still barking incessantly. By that time the bark was, “Get your butt out here this instant, or I am going to tear this place apart.”

Panda was a black lab – samoy mix. She had the bushy samoy hair and the black lab color. So she was hard to see in the dark. She did have one big white spot on her chest. I did finally locate her, underneath the swing. Whatever she had cornered was hiding under the slide. Panda was our protector. I have never seen a braver dog. We got panda as a pup from Montana. My husband’s sister in law had two purebred Samoy’s that had taken to running with a rogue black lab. Well, needless to say, pups happened. And we were lucky enough to get Panda. Panda was one of the best dogs we ever owned. And she did look like a big fluffy panda bear. She became my husband’s best friend and protector over the years and naturally became mine and the kids’ protector also. So it didn’t surprise me that Panda had found an intruder on her nightly rounds of our one-acre back yard.

I thought it could be our neighbor’s crazy black cat that taunted Panda about every day by peeing on our trees through the fence. I didn’t blame Panda one bit for barking. Or it could be another raccoon trying to pass through our backyard for his nightly feast of our trashcans. I did see two eyes peering out from under the slide. So being the master that I was for the night, I gave Panda permission to attack.

“Get it Panda!” I yelled as I peeked through the door gap with one eye…

And the attack was on. She dove under that slide growling and barking and started pulling the intruder out.

We both realized our mistake at about the same moment. She let go of the intruder and I smelled the intruder! The worst eye watering, plug your nose, gag a thousand times smell wafted toward me… the one… the only…odious skunk smell.

Panda by this time was running around the yard, rubbing her head on anything, she could, to try and get rid of that horrible smell and I was gagging trying, with all my might, not to throw up. In the meantime, our intruder, who knew he had mastered the situation, was slowly waddling towards our house, headed for the back door, where I was at.

I knew Panda was not able to attack at the moment, since I could hear her sneezing and snuffling out there in the dark. So I did the only thing I could think of to stop that bumbling smelly intruder. I started throwing things at it. Since I had no rocks, I spied the next best thing. I grabbed one of my hubby’s half-inch sockets and whizzed it through the air. It hit the slide with a bang. The skunk stopped, Panda jumped and I grabbed another socket and whipped it out the door. It hit the ground with a thud. By this time, the skunk had a change of mind and had high tailed it back under the slide. Whiz, whiz, whiz… I kept throwing sockets and they hit the slide, the swing and anywhere in between. I think I may have managed to hit the skunk, but I am not sure. I finally exhausted my supply of sockets so I threw the case out there for good measure.

Panda by that time had regained her stamina. She managed to get a hold on that wily skunk. And was shaking it with what little strength she could muster between the snuffling. I seriously thought about throwing some of my husband’s hammers out there, but I figured they might hit Panda instead. So I cheered Panda. She let go of the skunk for a moment to look at me and wag her tail. That gave the wily, smelly intruder a chance to sneak out the fence hole it came through. The last I saw of our smelly night visitor, it was waddling its way to the neighbor’s house, tail in the air.

Whew, what an ordeal that was. Of course, Panda ran up to the door, to get her “Good job, you did it!” pet. With one hand, I plugged my nose. And with the other, I patted her lightly on the back and told her what a good job she did.

All was well for one more night. I walked back into the house, checked on our two little children’ who by the way had slept soundly through the whole thing. I scrubbed my hands as best I could, and sat down to read my book. I eventually fell asleep. The next morning, my husband was greeted with the wonderful aroma of the late night skunk escapade, as he came home from work.

“Phew, it seems like we had a visitor last night.” he said wrinkling his nose.

“Yep,” I said, “Panda and I took care of it.”

“Mommy, Mommy!” our son yelled as he raced into the house from the backyard, where he and his sister were playing.

“Look what I found,” he gushed happily.” And there’s a lot more out there too!”

My husband looked at the socket in our son’s hand and then looked at me.

I sighed.

“Let’s go out back.” I said. “I’ll tell you the whole story.”

And the story still lives on as one of the best tales my husband tells about a wife, a dog, a skunk and his brand new shiny socket set.


The Saga Continues

 Subtitle : What a Wonderful Day

In my last post I mentioned Murray my old dinosaur lawn mower. Well, here is the update on her condition.

Late afternoon of the very bad day turned good, my loving husband came home from work to two broken lawnmowers and a very happy wife. Like I said in my last post it had been a very bad day but God had given me a reason to celebrate and so my day turned into a good one.

And even though our two recliners in the living room looked so inviting we decided by the looks of our overgrown yard of a park that maybe we should try to get a lawnmower fixed. We decided to concentrate on Inny since she was the newer of the two but even after replacing a fuse and checking the battery and the cellanoid(I think that is what my husband called it) Inny would not budge from her bed in the shed. My husband figured she needed a 30 amp fuse that had blown. And since no store was open to get one we decided our only option was to look at old Murray. So gas can and airtank in hand we trekked back to the junk pile to check on the old dinosaur of a lawnmower.

There are some things you need to know about Murray first. Like I said in my last post Murray was a reborn mower, but (tongue in cheek) with parts that weren’t there before. One of those was a shut off valve for the gas line, since Murray had this habit of leaking all of the gas out of her tank if she sat too long. So, as my husband told me three or four or maybe twenty times or so, I needed to shut off the gas when I parked Murray,  but in all my despair of not getting it to start, I failed to do that. As we lifted the cover off of Murray we saw gas running like an open faucet out of everywhere! My husband can be a very patient man at times and this was one of those times.

“You forgot to shut off the gas, but don’t worry we can fix this.” he says as he proceeded to shut the gas off.  I also forgot to tell him earlier; when I had called him at work in despair;  that some little piece of wire had fallen off somewhere in the vicinity of the motor when I had tried to start it.

“And I even saved it!” I say happily, holding up the wire to show him.  The look on his face was hard to explain but he kept his patience.

“Okay this is another problem, but we can fix this.” he repeats as he takes his hat off and scratches his head. I think he was trying to reassure me, and maybe himself that Murray would run again. He looks at the wire and looks at the motor and suddenly says,  “This wire goes to the choke. We need to take it apart, air cleaner and all and check the carburetor to see if the float is working because there is still alot of gas pouring out of this thing. Why don’t you get me a pair of pliers out of the garage?”

I gladly went to do that since I had no idea what in the world he was talking about. When it comes to cars and trucks and small engines I have no idea how they work. I can tell you how to sew a buttonhole in a shirt or how to replace zippers in jeans, or what type of fabric to use for what type of sewing job; but don’t ask me how an engine works. It is all goobly gosh to me. By the time I got back he had the thing amajig apart and was trying to start it again.

“I hope the engine didn’t fill up with gas.” he mutters.  I wonder why that is so important as I watch him pull out the a long piece of wire called the oil dipstick and smell it.  Suddenly he hands it to me. “Do you smell gas?” he asks. Well, if anyone knows me well enough they know that I and gas and oil and especially all kinds of stinky smelling fluids that come out of a vehicle do not get along well at all. I get dizzy and a headache and my stomach rolls at any of those smells.  ( Funny that I married a man that loves to tinker with all kinds of gas engines and loves cars and trucks; sometimes more than me. And I have a son that has followed in his father’s footsteps. But they have been very good at respecting my condition as far as bringing it into the house.) And now my husband is asking me to see if I can smell gas in the oil.

“What the hey,  I can do this! It’s not like I have to touch it or anything.”  I say to myself. I wave the dipstick under my nose. I smell oil, but no gas. I sway a bit from the dizziness that follows but I take a deep breath and I proudly tell my hubby.  “I don’t smell any gas , just oil.”

He sighs in relief. “Okay that is good.” He says for the third time. “We can fix this!”

My husband tells me to get on the lawnmower and try to start it while he tinkers with the carburetor. That I can do. I know how to start and run the thing, for pete’s sake. The only problem is that my foot is right in the path of the carburetor opening. And when I push on the clutch and try to start the dinosaur, it decides to spew all of it’s contents in the form of gasoline onto my sneaker, sock and foot!

My husband jumps back of course. “I didn’t expect that to happen!” he laughs. He laughs? I jump off the lawnmower and pull my sneaker off gagging. But now my sock is soaked and my hand is covered in gas. I rub my hand in the dirt as my head begins to hurt. Okay I tell myself, you really need to get past this reaction to stinky car fluids, so I bravely let my sneaker and sock dry out as I watch my husband continue to work on this odious piece of a junk pile that has suddenly decided to eject it’s bodily fluids all over me! In my earlier years I would have ran to the house and scrubbed everything  off a million times but at the mature age of 57 (hehe) I figure I am too old to be acting like a child. Although I really wanted to run to the house and scrub my foot and hand a million times I bravely stood my ground thinking, “What the hey. It’ll dry and I am too dang tired to walk all the way to the house and back.”

My husband knowing that I am putting on a very brave front does not ask me to help him start Murray again.But he does ask me to hand him tools. Which I can do. I know what a  3/8 socket is and a crescent wrench. I can even retrieve needle nose pliers. I have helped my hubby clean his garage so many times that I can tell you he has an enormous amount of sockets that he will probably never use but he keeps them just in case he loses one.  Of course that’s why he acquired so many sockets in the first place because of the notorious 3/8 socket that can never be found. He has been known to buy a whole new set because of the missing 3/8 inch socket.  And truthfully he has lost more than his share in the junk pile; which if we decided to take the time to look we would find a whole herd of 3/8 inch socket minions hiding and giggling under an old engine and planning a socket revolution.

I digress. This day I do find the 3/8 inch socket. And proudly bring it to him in an ahhhhhhh! moment.  The moment lasts only for a moment. “I guess I don’t need the 3/8 socket after all.” he says. “It’s metric. I need the 10 mm.”

Duhduhduhduhduhduh!!! Like a scene in a bad scary movie I freeze in horror. The 10 mm socket is the bane of my existence. It is worse than the 3/8 socket. Maybe because it’s metric. I don’t know!  I do know that I have searched for hours on end for a 10 millimeter socket for my husband more than once and like it’s notorious american counterpart it evades me like a sketchy leprechaun with gold at the end of the rainbow. It will never be found!! If you searched for the 10 mm sockets in the junkpile it would be worse than minions it would be like a battalion of evil war mongers,evilly evading you, intent on metric revenge.

“Wait I have one here.” My husband proudly holds up the 10 mm socket and I breath in relief. I have been saved from socket search hell. I have been given a pardon!

Well, thanks to my husband the Murray was revived that day. And after about three times of mowing through the thick grass and losing the belt on the mower, my husband who kindly laid in the  thick grass and the dog doo which our friendly dogs decided to leave as a gift in the yard, got the belt on tight enough for me and Murray to mow in slow mo turtle speed and get our yard of a park mowed. Barely. It was dark by the time the Old Murray and I got done. But we got ‘er done. And after putting her away and waddling cowboy legs style to the house, I had to admit that Murray saved the day once again. Albeit a long, long day.

As we  later sat eating our DQ blizzards at Dairy Queen; which we decided that we had earned for the night; my husband laughingly commented. “You know I thought after the gas spewed all over your sneaker, I really thought that you’d be trekking into the house full speed. But you didn’t. I am proud of you sweetie!”

I laughed thinking of all the comebacks  that I could have spouted.  ‘Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do’ and ‘patience is a virtue’, all came to mind. But I held my tongue. “Thanks!” I said as I dipped into the delicious turtle pecan blizzard, ignoring the grease under my fingernails and the faint gas smell on my hand.  I sighed happily. And I think to myself – “What a wonderful day!”

bw murray


What could have been a very bad day

Once again I sit at my desk typing on this Thursday afternoon. I guess this is where I am supposed to be. I had planned  on having a very productive day mowing the lawn, watering flowers and pulling weeds but once again life had other ideas or God did.

I knew that it wasn’t going to go the way I thought it would when I climbed on Inny my lawnmower for mowing the inside yard, and yes I do name my lawnmowers, cars, weedeaters, etc. Call me crazy, yea pretty much I am. Anyway Inny would just click when I turned the key.That shot down my quicky mow the lawn and get it done before noon plan.  I decided the front yard really needed mowed so I resorted to Ol” Reliable” our push lawn mower. It cuts but it’s a manuel push. And we got the job done in “pant” “pant” about one hour.  By this time Ol Reliable and I both had our tongues hanging to the ground and even though I had good intentions of mowing the back yard, when I pushed Ol Reliable to the back and looked down that long grass infested neverending park of  a yard, my good intentions flew away with the cotton that floated off my tree in that backyard park.

So off to it’s resting place Ol Reliable went and then I had an AHA! moment. I would use the very old, dinosaur of a lawnmower that we had scavenged from my Mom and Dad. It was originally our riding lawnmower back in the day when I was young and fit and could actually throw my leg over the seat to get on. The Murray had cut grass like a John Deere in its’ hey day.

Words straight from a farmer’s mouth. My neighbor in Wyoming was a farmer from way before I was born. He was one of those farmers that believed the only good tractor was a John Deere tractor. Nothing else measured up to a John Deere tractor. My neighbor used to laugh at me on the Murray as we bungled along cutting the grass in his lot next to our house. My neighbor had had a stroke and had lost the use of his arm and leg but somehow his family had found him a John Deere hydrostatic lawn mower that would work with the push of his good leg and arm. He could mow circles around me and my Murray. Literally, he would be mowing and pass me twice before I got around the lot. But he had quite a bit to mow and I offered to help with Murray of course. He looked at me a smile hovering on his face and said. “You best keep up with this John Deere.” The Murray and I did keep up, sort of, and we got the pasture mowed. That is when the greatest compliment  the Murray and I ever got happened. The farmer pulled up beside me on his John Deere.  Mr. Freeman looked at me and then he looked at the Murray. “You know if you paint that red mower green , it could almost pass for a John Deere.”  I about fell off the Murray right than and there. I still don’t know to this day if he was kidding or not but I am going to remember it as a compliment. I figured Murray and I had earned Mr.Freeman’s respect because after that I was in charge of mowing that lot.

But that was years ago. About twenty or so years ago. Anyway a long time ago. Now the Murray and I are older. The Murray has gone through years of mowing grass, weeds and maybe even trees. It’s been used, abused and just plain worked until it ended up in one of my Dad’s old sheds missing a tire, a belt and a battery with the grass catcher tied together with baling wire and a board under the seat. It was destined for the junk pile in the sky, well the scrap pile in town, actually, but my Dad offered to bring her over to our junk pile if my hubby wanted to fix her. I have to say when it comes to mowers my husband has the gift. With a little TLC and alot of cussing and banging and a few new parts, he can get anything running…for awhile. It takes alot of TLC to keep old dinosaurs running. Years of use can to that to hard working machines. They don’t last forever. Ask any junkyard owner. But as luck would have it Old Murray had a comeback.

And like Frankenstein one dark night the new, old, cumbersome, lumbersome Murray was reborn. “It runs, It runs.” my husband yelled over a roaring one speed, only the rabbit works motor. “Just keep her right at the rabbit, wiggle the shifter until she finds a gear and let her go!” My husband jerkily took off out onto our dirt road, racing toward the electric fence but turning just in time to start mowing. Following along I had to admit the Murray still had it in her. She was cutting that grass like there was no tomorrow.  So I decided to give it a try. I have to tell you right now that I also had aged a bit. The first realization came when I tried to throw my foot over the seat, like when I was young and I got stuck there until my husband came to the rescue. Second, I didn’t realize that Murray didn’t have power steering. She was one tough broad to turn. Third was something I never realized in my younger, fit as Rosie Riveter days, this mower was one tough lumbersome cumbersome mower to operate. She didn’t have shocks and she didn’t like trees. That’s all I have to say about that. But Murray mowed, so Murray became part of the mowing family.

I digress. Back to the problem at hand. The backyard park needed mowed. Lumbersome, Cumbersome and I would finish it in no time at all. But once again it was not to be. After forty five minutes of pushing the dinosaur out of it’s lair and trying to start it on rabbit run,then it would cough and spit and just die, I gave up. Words came out of my mouth like Oh crap and all the other words that seem to come along with it. “Why I yelled Whyyyyy!” So leaving old Lumbersome Cumbersome in the junk pile where at the moment I figure she belonged, I awkwardly crawled off the dinosaur, gave it a good kick to the tire that always goes flat and stomped into that grass infested park of a yard, seriously contemplating getting horses ,cows, goats,sheep whatever eats grass and letting them devour the whole mess. But then again therein lies another problem. My dogs. That’s a story for another day.

I angrily stomped to the chickenhouse. Might as well gather my four brown eggs that I get from fifteen molting isa brown chickens and ten budding leghorns. Grumbling I walked in the chicken house and looked through the nests and suddenly it was like the clouds were swept away and the sun shone down on one little white egg laying all by it self in the nest.Ahhhhhhh! My little leghorn chickens were starting to lay. It was a white egg! My first ever white egg since I had chickens! I was ecstatic. The chickens were ecstatic or maybe they were flying around because I was dancing crazily in their house. Whatever it was it was a celebration of the white egg. Some how my day of doom and gloom had become a day of celebration.20180719_135624

I quickly walked to the house with my treasure, and tripped over a brick in my sidewalk, stubbing my toe in pain, but the good news was I still had the white egg. And just as I came to standstill before falling ,eggs and all to the ground, I spied, wonder of wonders , my Orange Crush Rose had finally bloomed. Another dance of celebration.20180718_082552

Okay by now you probably think I am crazy. Yes, I may be. But,suddenly, it came to me how easily one can let a day turn from bad to worse in the splash of a moment. And how God can in the blink of an eye make that day amazing again. It might be just a little white egg and a plain orange rose, but those two little simple things made my day of gloom and doom become a day of celebration and joy. God made me realize that all this will soon pass, and of course there’s work ahead but just don’t forget to enjoy the little things in life and for goodness sake stop and smell the roses (in my case see and smell the roses) once in awhile.  God Bless!


Did I Say Empty Nest?


I got up early this Wednesday morning because I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to work on my fourth book.  I decided to let the girls out of their beds because I figured “they are cats they’ll be quiet.” My hubby had an hour and a half before he had to get up to go to work  so that would give me some quiet time to drink a cup of coffee and work on my book and  give him some much needed sleep.  Was I ever wrong.

Since it was still dark out, I wouldn’t let Sally, Kady or Yeti out for their morning outing, even though they sat at the door and waited patiently for me to open it. Fifteen minutes later they gave up the wait. First they went to the bedroom door and scratched loudly on the rug, making sure to wake hubby and have him holler and ask what was going on. Next they decided to wrestle on the dining room chairs, and ended up knocking one over. The last straw was when they ran hellions with bells on, up and down the hall chasing each other sounding like a herd of elephants were literally running in our house. Once again hubby asks,” What’s going on out there!”

I yell at the girls. “Dad is trying to sleep. Will you please be quiet!” That is when I  realize that I have said those words before when my kids were young and my hubby was on night shift. I really thought I would never say those words again. I thought when the kids grew up that the house would be empty and I would be alone. But life had other ideas.

One day as I was hoeing my garden I heard a small “mew”. I walked over to the equipment pile that sat by our corrals following the sound of the meowing. And lo and behold there was my first baby for my recently emptied nest. She was a tortoise shell sweetie with white paws and a cute bubbly face. Kady became part of the family. Kady’s sister also came too but she was so small and weak , she didn’t make it.  But Kady Cat did and she became my little girl. Of course things multiplied from there. No Kady didn’t have kittens.  I made a point of having her fixed.

But my Dad swore up and down that Kady was lonely so one day the doorbell rang and lo and behold baby #2 entered the nest. A little snow white kitten with a black mohawk design on her head and a crooked black tail.  My hubby tried to name her …you guessed it…Mohawk but for some reason I wanted to name her Sally Ann, Sally for short, Sally Ann when she’s in trouble.  And the name stuck. Now we had two!

Number  three came one dark night in the middle of a thunderstorm. My son who actuallly lives next door to us, came in with a small soaking wet green eyed charcoal grey baby who could not for the life of her meow. All she could do was whisper meow. We figured she had meowed so much that she lost her voice and to this day Yeti has yet to meow. Yes ,Yeti is her name thanks to my son. He thought she had big feet. I tried to rename her with Gray and Misha and Nellie and the likes but Yeti is what she comes to. and Yeti she will be. And then there were three!

So I am officiallly not an empty nester anymore. Of children…maybe… but in talking to other pet owners your pets are like your children. My nest consists of my hubby, me and three female cats that are very different in color, size and persona.

My three girls keep me pretty darn busy, feeding them, grooming them and of course changing their litter box. They each have their own personalities.

Kady is cuddly and chubby and has the sweetest disposition. She probably wouldn’t hurt a fly. But she is deathly afraid of anything motorized. If she hears a truck, train or car start up she shoots under the bed to hide until the danger or noise has passed. Oh and if the skies look like a storm is coming, off to her little hiding place she goes once again.Kady will come when called, and she will strut like John Wayne  up to you, stretch and yawn and than sit down at your feet  and stare at you with huge green eyes, as if to say…I’m so cute – cuddle me!

Sally is the tomboy cat of the family. She has decided that my hubby is her human. She will curl up on his lap and sleep as he naps. My lap – nope – too uncomfortable. She beats up any other stray cat that comes in the yard. She does leave Kady and Yeti alone. They are her sisters of course.  But the barn cats are literally banned from the inner yard, that is Sally’s sanctum. Only Kady, Yeti and of course her humans are allowed in this place. Sally is also a love biter. She loves to show her adoration by nipping just a small bit of your skin.  We have tried everything to break Sally of  love biting but to no avail. If Sally loves you Sally bites you!

Yeti is the new comer and the loner. Oh she loves Sally and Kady and will curl up with them and take a nap. But don’t ask her to sit on your lap for a second. She goes into frozen cat with flipping tail mode. Try to hug her and her legs freeze in place as she pushes away with gritted teeth. I am sure she actually grits her teeth. Yeti is not a cuddler! But if she chooses she will let you pet her on her terms. If she decides that it’s okay then she will jump on your lap and let you run your hand down her head over her back up her tail  and that’s about it. Okay the cuddle is over. I’m out of here!

I love my children very much and I miss them now they’ve grown but this new phase of a full nest is fun too. My cats are my family too and as sit and write this post, the girls are doing their own thing. Yeti has given up chasing flies in the window and is now napping on the back of the couch. Sally Ann has gone outside to chase robins in the june berry bush and maybe beat up a barn cat or two and Kady, well Kady is my first baby and she has always loved to sit on my lap while I write. But she has decided that it’s time to nap under the bed.

So I guess the nest is back to being full again. I think I will probably stop at three. That’s a good round number. My hubby and I are never alone any more. Even when we go to the bathroom, there’s a paw curling under the door or one of them is scratching trying to get in. When we sit to watch tv or read a book, our laps are never empty.  The laundry basket never fails to have a cat in it. And there are nose marks on my porch window where they sit on their cat perch and look out side. Sometimes they have bath times when they decide to go outside and roll in the cow corrals.There are toys everywhere, beds everywhere and scratch posts everywhere, and the pitter patter of little feet fills the air.  The nest is definitely not empty anymore. It’s full of life!

Gods Way

There are times when trials get me down

And there are times when temptation beckons for me to follow.

There are times when the world gets to be too much

And the weight of unhappiness

Is heavy on my shoulders.

Sometimes the worldliness invades

My space of serenity

And I yearn for the mansion on the hill

Or the ferarri in the garage.

I yearn to have all my bills finally paid

Or a million dollars in the bank.

But God in all his lovingness reminds me gently

That all these things are material things

And will soon pass away.

God softly touches my heart and speaks to me

in a way that no other can.

He soothes my trials and temptations.

He lets me lean my head on his shoulder

And cry for all the time I think I have lost.

He shows me  a smile from my children

Or sends me an I love you from my husband.

He shows me the beauty of a  morning sunrise

Or the laughter caused by a robin

trying to pull a worm from the ground

In my front yard.

He gives me the awesome image of

A hummingbird feeding at my feeder

And the colorful flowers of spring

That only a master artist can paint.

He gives me the blue skies of summer

And the the falling leaves of Autumn.

He places diamonds in the snow

That sparkle on a snowy winter morning.

In all this he gently mends my aching heart.

And calms my worldly fears.

He gives me a safe port in the storm of my life

And wraps me in his love.

Oh,  I know that all the trials and temptations

Will come another day.

But I also know that God will be there

To hold my hand and speak softly,

And lovingly let me know that through it all

He will always be with me.



No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it. 1Corinthians 10:13
Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. James 1:12





Tangled Thoughts

knit-1461292_1920The thoughts come in the night mixed up and  knotted like tangled piles of yarn.

In my dreams I try to sort them out but they remain in a large unruly pile in the

middle of an unknown space and time. I wake with my mind full of these tangled

thoughts and stare at the bedroom ceiling.  One by one I take each thought,unravel it

from the pile and examine it. Some thoughts I can use and I put them in my  “could

be used sometime” pile in my mind. Others are just too knotted and gnarly to even

try to get apart. So off they go into the discarded thought trash pile. I look at the

clock. Five o clock. Can’t go back to sleep. So I am up for the day. I make coffee, and

strive to write down each saved thought. Sometimes if I am lucky the thought turns

into something that can be built upon like a fine row of yarn stitches. Add more

thoughts to it and I have a nice piece of work. Add even more and I have

knitted a story together. Sometimes the thoughts gets tangled and crooked. And I

have to pull them all apart and start over again. Other times it’s best to roll it up and

store it away for later use. At rare times; and these are the best times; the thoughts

keep coming  together one after another each one connecting to another in perfect

harmony.   The thoughts may remain as one for awhile but then suddenly change in

color and texture, small nuances that though unnoticed alone give character and

strength to the piece and soon they all meld together to form something so complete

that it’s hard to believe that I could create such a piece. A piece I am proud of.  To

most people  it will be just a thought, poem or book that someone unknown wrote;

but to me; each is an untangled, sifted through and completed thought. A master

piece of my own making.


Childhood Summer Memories

Summer was running through an ice cold sprinkler

On a hot summer day.

Summer was juicy red watermelon

And Ice cold lemonade.


Summer was sleeping in each morning

Checking the stars out late at night.

Summer was watching fireflies dance

In the pale moonlight.


Summer was shorts and flip flops

Every single day.

Summer was grasshoppers and dandelions

And the smell of fresh cut hay.


Summer was ice cream cones and fireworks

On the Fourth of July.

Summer was lying in a hammock

Watching clouds float by.


Summer was barbecues and picnics

And camping out with family and friends.

Summer always flew

by way too fast.

If only summer would never end.