What's your can of spinach?

 

I put on a hoodie, my husband's flannel, and some gloves to go outside to hang the laundry earlier this morning. Boy! Was it nippy.

I had two loads to hang and drudgingly took on the task. I put the hood of my jacket over my head, ensuring the brisk air could not reach my ears, and buttoned up the Adorable One's flannel. I placed some warm gloves on my hands with the instant thought of, "Shoot! These gloves will get wet and my fingers will be cold." Regardless, I embraced myself for the freezing desert air, opened the back door to the porch, and got busy.

I had to grapple with the clothes pins because I kept clamping the tip of my gloves and the clothes and towels. This grew to be frustrating, but I refused to take the darn gloves off, so I calmed my shivering fingers, took more care, and eventually had a rhythm going.

About halfway through the basket of damp clothes, I got to a shirt I love. It was one of the boys, Popeye the sailor man's shirt.

Images started to run through my thoughts of the popular cartoon character. I loved watching Popeye. I loved how he was gentle, with a hint of being a romantic, until he took his can of spinach, scrunched it open, and dumped all of the green goodness into his mouth. He would then become brave, bold, and confident, always conquering over Bluto.

Forever, I believed that spinach was the way to strength and endurance because Popeye became full of energy, strong, and powerful after consuming what many people might say is soggy leaves.

After thawing out my fingers, I decided to muster up the energy to make myself some grub. I don't have spinach, but bacon(a rare treat), avocado coated in pepper (another rare treat), and a hamburger patty covered in jalapeños, green onions, and sliced cheese. **I am on a health journey; don't judge me.

Sitting at the table to eat, I wanted to learn more about Popeye., so I googled. I knew a sailor inspired the cartoon character but didn't realize that the similarities are relatively close to the storylines of the cartoon.

Frank "Rocky" Fiegel was someone Popeye would mimic. I won't begin writing a quick book report on this guy, just a brief line or two. I will say that I loved learning about him this morning—a wonderful distraction from the tedious laundry.

In real life, "Rocky" loved children. He would tell children boisterous stories about his adventures and whatnot. Even though he was known to fight, he was also known to be a kind man who tried hard to be good. I am fond of the idea of sitting, watching, and learning from an old scruff of a man who talked out of one side of his mouth while his corn pipe hung out of the other. I adore Popeye and admire his inspiration, Frank "Rocky" Fiegel.

This brings me to pondering while hanging the laundry out to harden.

Popeye had his can of spinach to give him strength. What gives me strength in the little fights with life that sometimes aren't so little? I wish it were as easy as squeezing a tin can and gobbling something that will instantly give me the courage to be bold and conquer each day.

So, if it isn't spinach, what is it? What could be my boost of confidence that is honestly needed daily?

After thinking about it, I grin with some relief; it is rather simple. I couldn't do this life without a loving Heavenly Father, a redeemer and friend, our savior Jesus Christ, who knows me. The scriptures, endless amounts of prayer, an emotional release through tears, the Adorable One, my children and grandchildren, the voices of my parents cheering me on from the other side, my own determination to survive, and bacon.

 My forearms will never be the size of Popeye's. But comparatively, my determination might match up with his. I don't remember watching a single episode of the infamous cartoon where Popeye gave up. Popeye's motivation might have been the cute Olive oil.

My motivation is to get through this life with an eternal perspective because of what is to come. The end goal is peace within my family, every single member of it, together sitting around the fire pit laughing out loud. PEACE!

“Im strong to finish when I eats me spinach”

What’s your can of spinach?

P.S.

It is important to Know and remember who you are.

 

https://ifunny.co/picture/frank-rocky-fiegel-born-in-poland-on-january-27-1868-BdO9DqcIA?s=cl

**The images do not belong to me; I am not the creator. I found them using the wonderful web of endless information, ideas, and images. Use at your own risk while researching and searching.

Something to ponder on

 I heard a quote the other day that caught my attention.

“What you are not changing, you are choosing.”

This quote has been on my mind, and it has caused me to think about the graphical outline of my life. How well does it connect and flow together?  

If I were to sit down and write down and evaluate my spiritual, mental, and physical health and add all of the fine details of who I am and what makes me me, I would want to crumple up the piece of paper and start all over again just to see that most everything written down would remain the same with the possibility that it was written just a little neater.

It is a challenge to look at your life on paper.

I would whisper, “This isn’t what I had planned.”  Nothing seems to be turning out how I had initially pictured in my youth. I don’t think life ever turns out the way most of us would have expected. Connecting the dots of life events becomes complicated, and most of us could admit that we stopped trying to connect the dots long ago. I no longer attempt to predict my future, and I have adjusted my life jacket, making it a little tighter, and brace myself for the white rapids of life’s unpredictable outcomes that can come on quickly.

Not everything that happens in our lives, our worlds, can be changed.

We don’t choose some of the most challenging trials and hardships that throw daggers at us from every angle. We can’t control everything. However, one thing that I am quite positive about is that we have control over our mindsets. And my goodness, if you DO NOT LIKE something, I do believe that there are things that you CAN do to help ease the suffering. Make good choices. Choose not to settle and choose not to be stagnated...choose to be in a place where change is possible. Choose to stop complaining about it because complaining is destructive to yourself and those around you. Choose to not damage the good that is in your life.

Focus.

One of the most important things that I have learned over the years, that hasn’t changed, is how important our spiritual mindset and health is. If I didn’t have a strong testimony and belief system, I am pretty sure I would be on the side of the raft without a life jacket, clinging on for dear life. The spiritual part is what keeps me afloat. 

Something to ponder on.

“What you are not changing, you are choosing.”

What and where in my life can I change? What am I choosing?

Don’t overthink it. You already know what things you need to change in your life. Now, for the hard part, how will you choose to change those things? If I were to encourage a beginning point I would say, find God. Seek Christ. Remember who you are. Also, be kind to yourself.

Mindset. Be positive. CHOOSE to see the bright side. Find joy in the little things. Have gratitude. Find peace in the process.

The wonder in writing

 

Looking through some old pictures and letters, I came across a little story I had written on a small piece of paper when I was a little girl. I can remember having quite the imagination and was always making up stories.

I struggled to see my capabilities.

Early on during grade school, I was diagnosed with Dyslexia. Other than being put into Title One, I don't think much was done to help me navigate and learn how to cope with this learning disability. Unfortunately, I would struggle in every subject and wouldn't push myself, and quite honestly, I tipped toed out of high school, allowing Dyslexia to be an excuse not to try—something I regret. There was potential there, and I wish I had known that I could do complex things such as writing.

Recognizing the wonder in writing.

It wouldn't be until I became a young adult and social media came about that I would post long notes and "what's on your mind" statuses nearly daily on Facebook as if I were making a journal entry. Over time, some friends mentioned that I should start a blog. I had no idea what I was doing, but I went ahead and gave blogging a try.

At first, writing was a bit of a challenge because I never attempted to write correctly and would allow myself to barf my thoughts all over the internet before editing what I so freely wrote. Going back and reading some of the earlier days of blogging, I cringe at the grammar and spelling but recognize the desire to be vulnerable and put myself out there, hoping it might give someone a smile or something to connect with. I found joy in the wonder of writing.

Effort.

For the last ten years, I have read more than I ever did in my youth. I returned to school, put much effort into the assignments, and excelled in my college courses. Except for math, we don't need to talk about that. However, the advanced English and intense writing courses were my favorite. I thrived and found that I have a passion for writing; it is therapeutic and my way of expressing myself, with some thoughts being shackled and anchored inside my head to coddle and protect the readers.

My perspective could provoke unwanted hard feelings.

Several things hold me back and hinder my ability to write freely. I feel that I must muffle my thoughts to avoid hurt feelings. I hold back because of the unintentional poking that some might feel when I communicate openly about my opinion and views on what color the sky is. The world is beyond fragile, and what would my close family and relatives think about what I was writing about?

While I try to be open-minded, I am opinionated and stand firm with my beliefs. I am not a debater and try hard to avoid contention, but plenty of people might disagree and be disappointed.

Imagine all the conversations avoided because of the worry of what others might think.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted others to know that they aren't alone, tangled up in struggles and trials that most won't talk about for the concern of being judged or misunderstood. Avoiding shame or guilt has some choking on the key of secrets. I know how this feels. That constant lump in your throat and emotions hanging by a thread as you want to open up, hoping that what you speak can be reciprocated with a possible commonality with one another. We are more alike than we would like to admit. However, we can all learn from one another despite our differences.

Pros and cons to being an open book. Is it worth it?

I don't care to share all of my skeletons in the cupboard, but to paint with bold colors within the lines of authenticity, creating a picture to share with others can be a positive thing.

And the people who know me will know my true intentions.

"I don't care how I am viewed, I KNOW ME." -unknown.

It's just another little hobby.

Images

I was not in the most pleasant mood on a Tuesday between now and one month ago. The last ten years, the most overwhelming emotional two years, have all caught up to me. I'll save the details for a different day. But this Tuesday afternoon, I came across an image, a canvas print, in the little Deseret Book magazine we get once a month that would clear some of the fog of my tormenting trials.

The immediate comfort of this image flooded my soul and gave me a sudden feeling of rest.

The image is "The Love Of GOD" by Sabrina Squires.

As I looked at the image, the colors, the people dressed in white, the sharing and giving, and spreading of what would be God's Love were transparent and represented in a way that softened my heart.

In a contentious world, the love of God can be easily forgotten.

I understand that people are not easy to love all the time. The hate between different cultures and borders is intense. Everyone can feel our society's distinct differences and distaste for how others might choose to live their lives. I sometimes feel the pull to be bitter when I read or see others picking on my beliefs and choices. I would say we have all felt the sting of hate.

The Love of GOD is one thing that will never change. A complete peace on this earth will probably not be something I get to witness while living on it. But I know that one day, there will be peace, and we will all experience a likeness and forgiveness that will be so overwhelming that we won't be able to contain our emotions. Brace yourself.

This image will hang on my wall someday.

Different

 

I have been sitting outside for most of the day.

The windchimes and hummingbirds. The breeze whispers that cooler days are coming. I am in my happy place.

Saying that I have been reflecting on life would be an understatement. For the last several days, but especially today, my mind has been telling me stories.

Stories about my youth. Stories about my marriage. Stories about my beliefs. Stories about who I am. Stories of who I want to be. Stories about how I should have put my foot in my mouth several times. Stories about how I should never feel bad for my opinion and for vomiting my thoughts into words. Stories about grief. Stories about my mother and father. Stories about my experience of being a momma. Stories of being a grandma. Stories of being healthy and strong. Stories of peace….The list could go on.

Some would maybe call this crazy and say that I probably need therapy. Who says that they are wrong? However, I would remind them rather quickly how grateful I am for these stories; they keep me grounded and remind me that I am 100% human with a desire to learn from my experiences.

One particular story…

Throughout my life, I have said that I have never really fit in the mold. At home, at work, at church, at school, or even at Walmart. I want to say that I am uniquely special.

One of the brief moments I got to spend with my dad during his last week on this earth was when he apprised me, gently telling me that I was different from the others. Those words he shared with me have stuck with me, and I can hear him whisper those words to me often, especially if I become lonely in my little world. It is a beautiful reminder that it is okay to be different.

Normal is foreign to me. Yet, the question would be what is normal, and who gets to say what it is or isn’t?

Come to think of it, I do not believe I ever cared about being normal or fitting in, not in my youth or while growing into my second childhood.

I was created to be different. I was made to see the flowers and rainbows. I was created with a mindset that there is a positive to every negative. I was created to see the good in others. I was created to also struggle, at times, to see the good in others but to forgive quickly….The list could go on.

One thing, without a doubt, those who know me, really know me, love me just the way that I am. Not to mention the creator himself…I am uniquely his.

So, I will carry on being perfectly okay, not fitting into the “normal” box.

 

Recognizing the blessing within our hardships.

One of the most daunting questions asked repeatedly would be, how long do we have to struggle? When will relief come? When will things change? Will it ever get better?

Often, relief from trials of any degree seems to take its time as day-to-day living pushes us to our limits. Many people would say they are done, wanting to throw in the towel and that there is no reason to keep trying. Where is the joy? The peace? Especially living in a confused world that is in complete chaos.

Everyone has heard and probably used this famous quote once or twice: "It could be worse." There is truth to those words, but we should never compare trials, while at the same time, we should recognize the blessing within our own hardships. Easier said than done, I suppose.

I have yet to meet someone who hasn't had to work hard at life-it isn't easy for any of us. Nobody is exempt from the test; however, we all have a different copy. What is difficult for me may not be difficult for you, which is okay.

I won't lie; I have watched others around me and have said a silent prayer thanking our Heavenly Father for my trials, as I do not know if I could battle the same war that I witnessed others standing at the forefront. So brave and strong. I have to remind myself, don't compare trials. What is hard for me is just that, hard.

I am impressed by those who can carry the heavy bricks of burdens and despair while continuing their journey, which is likely uphill. These humble people don't blame others for their circumstances, not allowing bitterness to consume them. 

I have known many individuals who never once gave up on living despite their hard days and found joy anyway. Because of their enduring examples, I have a belief, a hope, that with effort, happiness can be found during trials.

In the talk, Waiting on the Lord, by Thomas S. Monson, he reminds us, "Faith means trusting God in good times and bad, even if that includes some suffering until we see His arm revealed in our behalf. That can be difficult in our modern world when many have come to believe that the highest good in life is to avoid all suffering that no one should ever anguish over anything. But that belief will never lead us to "the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ."

I understand that suffering is part of this life, as it has been since the beginning.

Monson continued quoting and modifying Elder Neal A. Maxwell's words mixed with his own words, "One's life cannot be both faith-filled and stress-free. It simply will not work to "glide naively through life," saying as we sip another glass of lemonade, "Lord, give me all thy choicest virtues, but be certain not to give me grief, nor sorrow, nor pain, nor opposition. Please do not let anyone dislike me or betray me, and above all, do not ever let me feel forsaken by Thee or those I love. In fact, Lord, be careful to keep me from all the experiences that made Thee divine. And then, when the rough sledding by everyone else is over, please let me come and dwell with Thee, where I can boast about how similar our strengths and our characters are as I float along on my cloud of comfortable Christianity." Elder Jeffrey R. Holland's modification of Elder Neal A. Maxwell's text; see Neal A. Maxwell, "Lest Ye Be Wearied and Faint in Your Minds," Ensign, May 1991, 88.

To have Faith while gritting our teeth through longsuffering can be rather tiresome.

I watched my dad take his cancer diagnosis and turn it into service for others. The monthly chemo treatments turned into times of sharing his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ while also being a listening ear and being a friend to those who sat beside him, partaking of "the breakfast of champions." My dad's mindset was focused and determined, what he could do rather than what he couldn't do.

Dad understood waiting on the Lord would renew his strength. He gave thanks daily while he counted his blessings.

After losing Mom in 2018, he continued to push through some of the loneliest times, attempting to make life better for someone else and helping to make another's burden light. His burdens were heavy, yet he never lost sight of the eternal perspective. He made new habits and set goals. He would read the scriptures and pray every morning and night, blessing the meal(s) he would prepare for himself and anyone who might be in his home at the time. The effort to be a good man was consistent, and you rarely heard him grumble or make too much of a fuss of all that was causing him strife.

My goal is to be like my dad, having a grateful heart and the ability to carry on no matter what comes my way.

I was taught at a young age that my mentality played a vital role in how my attitude would be shaped and molded during tough times. Your attitude and the thoughts that you have affect the outcome. Does our mentality change the trial? I won't go so far as to say that, but it changes how we deal with it and how we see our lives.

Perspective.

So often, we do not see the whole picture, losing sight of what is most important. It is easy to be influenced by our pain and discomfort that we miss the vision of better days. Nonetheless, counting our blessings and showing gratitude for all we have makes a big difference and helps to encourage a thankful mindset.

One thing that I believe is that trials are essential in this earthly life. We would not understand true joy if everything was simple and comfortable. To create peace to have it in my life, I must seek it. Also, I have to be a peacemaker, which can be laborious. It takes a lot of practice (and patience).

 "The Struggle is the Glory" -Unknown.

I have tried to wrap my mind around what that quote might mean. People might interpret this in different ways. For me, it would mean that my struggles CAN end with glory. If I choose to trudge through this life using my blessings as stepping stones, in the end, I will find peace and glory.

I had struggled to get moving today, and the desire to attend church barely lingered within my soul. It was just Champ and I, so the little voice kept whispering in my ear, "You can miss church today. You can go next week. You can stay home and watch movies and relax." Boy, that was tempting. I had every excuse in the book not to go, but the reasons to go outweighed the justifications for staying, and I pulled myself out of bed and got ready to go.

When Sacrament ended, I was tempted to walk through the door and skip out on the second hour, but the spirit pulled me to do the right thing, and stay. As I sat in the primary during singing time, the children were learning a new song that I had never heard before…One that I needed to hear today.

When the song began to play for the children to listen to before learning the words themselves, the crestfallen, dispirited feelings that I sat in the sunbeam chair with began to fade. I felt an intense solace accompanied by peacefulness. I was calm.

And as the piano began to play and the sweet voices of those primary children began to sing, I was quickly reminded that everything good in my life comes from God.

Thankful

One, for each blessed day.

Two, every breath I take.

Three, for my family

Four, all they mean to me.

Five, just to be alive.

Six, for the Earth and Sky

And seven for Heaven,

For every good thing that I have come from God. Every day every hour.

There are blessings he sends without number or end.

If I counted hundred or a thousand, I'm Sure there would still be more, to be thankful for.

Eight, for the chance to grow.

Nine, heart and hands and soul.

Ten, for the eyes to see, all God has given me.

I, could go on and on, counting the whole day long.

I know he is with me, for every good thing that I have comes from God. Every day every hour.

There are blessings he sends without number or end.

If I counted hundred or a thousand, I'm sure, there would still be more. There would still be more and more, to be thankful for.

-Shawna Edwards.

I will not live the rest of my life without trials. There is opposition in all things. However, if I count my blessings and have a positive mindset, I will conquer this life, and in the end, I will have glory.

Keep moving forward. You and I, can do hard things. 

Philippians 4:13, I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. 

Colossians 1:11, Strengthened with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness;
2 Nephi 2:11, For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so, my firstborn in the wilderness, righteousness nor misery, neither good nor bad. Wherefore, all things must needs be a compound in one; wherefore, if it should be one body it must needs remain as dead, having no life neither death, nor corruption nor incorruption, happiness nor misery, neither sense nor insensibility.
 

"Stay strong, Toi."-Mom

https://youtu.be/aZjWYgq9QfM?si=HGfNCrJH5Ej2GfF

Different

Nearly two years have passed since I have taken the time to jot down my thoughts and post on my blog.

 Times have changed, and video blogs have become more popular. My love for writing will keep me from embarrassing myself (visually). Besides, I enjoy the sound of the keys, creating a rhythm that most won't dance to, but I will. 

 Regardless, the struggle to share my passion for writing with others and the lack of confidence torments me often. The pull to share my thoughts always feels urgent. I am unsure as to why this is, but it is. To be genuine and honest about feelings and difficult emotions is vital in a world that has become so abused and numb to accountability. It frightens my weakened self as I have noticed how easily it is to get sucked into the worldly point of view. Society today is brutal, and it takes a lot of courage to put myself out there, be vulnerable, and allow others to read the side of me that I have grown to tame and keep deeply hidden from being exposed to criticism. Humans are just that, human, and they will judge anything that might make them feel a little uncomfortable. I firmly believe everything will come out in the wash (my mother was wise). 

 Losing my dad nearly eight months ago has shifted my existence, and I have not been the same since. Without his constant hand in the middle of my back pushing me forward and holding me steady, the attempt to navigate this life feels impossible. 

Adjusting to living and adapting to life without parents here on earth has been difficult. Modifying and reconstructing some aspects of my life to help pilot these new emotions so foreign to me sucks. 

I guess this would mean that I have changed. My life has changed. The way that my world spins has been interrupted and has changed direction so many times that even gravity has shifted just enough, causing me to be a little unsteady. 

Going to work full time for several years now, after being a stay-at-home mom for 26 years, has come with some challenges, creating mixed emotions about how to spend the precious minutes of my every day. Where do I belong? How important am I to those outside of my circle? Is it worth the effort when little daggers poke at me, and I am left wounded at the end of the day? My dad would encourage me to keep working hard, not to quit, and to continue my education. I wonder what he would suggest now that he can see the daily struggle. 

It feels as though I am in quicksand, with the constant reminders of inadequacy, causing the sinking sand to be unable to hold the weight of my skepticism. It amazes me that grief can weaken my ability to grab ahold of what can pull me out of the soggy granular material that only forms when distressed. The dependence on what others say, their opinions, has become more accessible; avoiding the whispers is near impossible. 

The attempt from others to dictate my ability to be successful is crippling, damaging, and causes one to lose sight of their self-worth. How is this even possible? My experiences in this life differ from those around me. Therefore, I will be different. Isn't that what makes things work in an organized and controlled matter? The various talents and personalities can complement the purpose and create a comfortable environment with everyone given the space to thrive on the road to success. What is success? Who determines success anyway? I believe your success won't look the same as mine. And that is okay. 

Being "normal" was never a goal I set. I have always been self-driven to be different. The different daughter. The different wife. The different mother. And now, the different grandmother. Fitting in is not something I have ever longed for. I have never mixed well with others. 

Regardless…I continue to do my own thing. 

I have always had my road map in my pocket with a solid timeline, with each milestone as a destination and no dead end. I have stayed on the path, focused, ensuring never to veer off course.  

Creating happiness used to be simple cause, I was not part of society's directions on how to do things; I was never a part of a society that followed books or social media. But now? The loud chaos deafens even the open-minded at times. It is almost as if people crave the negative and can't help themselves having little control over how much they consume. The damage is subtle, and happiness becomes artificial.

"DO NOT LET WHAT YOU CANNOT DO INTERFERE WITH WHAT YOU CAN DO.’-John Wooden. 

I understand that the capability to control the situations around me is not possible. Still, how I handle problems in my environment at home or work is something I do have control over. Even if I disagree, people's minds are made up, and most are set in their ways, leaving little room for growth and change.

Now, to handle contention and disappointment like a champ. 

"A champion is not always a consistent winner,"-Tot Workman. 

The characteristic of a champion is not always the win. A winner never gives up and gives 110%. Champions believe in themselves, have integrity and respect for themselves and others, and advocate building programs that help themselves and their teammates succeed. I want to be a part of that. I don't want to be a part of the opinionated, well-educated group that a piece of paper tells them, and others, whether they are worthy to be a part of something great. I have seen great potential squashed by such an idea. 

"God is the master of time. When we seek HIS wisdom on where to invest our time, we are certain to invest well," -Macomber. 

Time is precious and a thief. I no longer want to waste mine. Now, to seek HIS wisdom, keep a smile on my face, a song in my heart while continuing to have faith. 

"Faith means Trusting God in good times and bad, even if that includes some suffering until we see HIS arm revealed on our behalf,"-Not as the World Giveth, Jeffery R. Holland. 

Life is hard for everyone. My hard isn't your hard. 

"Believing the best of others strengthens them to live up to their best,"-Macomber. 

I know this is true. "People often ask me what is the most effective technique for transforming their life. It is a little embarrassing that after years and years of research and experimentation, I have to say the best answer is, just be a little kinder."-Aldous Huxley. 

Last, Jeffery Scott Tatum said, " I am responsible for what I say. I am not responsible for what you understand, know your worth." 

Tomorrow is a new day, and I have plans to keep moving forward with a determined soul. "The calmer you are, the clearer you think…Move with strategy, not with emotion,"-unknown. :o)

 I needed that

Empty ideas, no thoughts of creativity, shook my writing confidence to the core. I was losing the desire to chase after the imagination that quietly left me like a cheating spouse, walking away, leaving me without much of an explanation of why. With a deep sigh, I realized that I needed to get out and find a new space to restart my thinking process.

I threw my hair up into a messy bun held up by my lucky pencil, flung my oversized hoody on just before placing my laptop into a striped three-pocket diaper bag that I converted into my computer bag. Grabbing the keys to my Ford Focus, I began my way outside, making sure to watch for ideas that might hotwire my thoughts to start my final essay. Nothing! Nothing would spark my interest as I put the key into the ignition and pressed the start button. "Heaven help me," I whispered.

As I wondered where in the world to go, I began driving to Tombstone. I figured the fifteen-minute drive would do me some good, and since the sun was barely burning my eyes, it was early enough to find a sitting spot at Mario's Bakery Café. I rarely go there, I am not much of a coffee drinker, but I figured I could get a hot chocolate and a lemon bar.

I turned up the volume, singing along with Sia's Bird Set Free. Driving into Tombstone felt so fresh that my demeanor wholly transformed because of the change in the atmosphere. I rolled my window down and allowed the crisp air to brush across my face while the breeze was messing with my bun, making it live up to its name. Before I knew it, I was pulling into the parking lot of the small café. There was no problem finding a place to park at Mario's, so I felt privileged to park right in front of the entrance.

While getting out of the Focus, I hear someone yelling my name, "Toi. Oh my gosh! Toi, is that you?" Before I knew it, I had two arms wrapped around my neck. "Hey! It is good to see you, Chantria," I said, surprised with a hint of frustration because I wasn't there to talk about the good O' days. Politely I asked, "How are you doing?" Chantria quickly replied, "I am doing great. I was getting some coffee. Want to join me?" I agreed to go inside accompanied by my old friend but was entirely committed to writing my paper. I was only going to allow this distraction to be brief.

Walking into Mario's, there was the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee with the comforting scent of lemon bars just brought out of the oven in the back, as if the cook knew I was coming. Chantria and I sat at a table in the corner of the Café' near a window. It was the perfect spot to do some writing, so I pulled out my laptop, hoping that my high school friend would know that I had a purpose and that I wasn't there for reconnection.

After a short moment, the timid waiter came and asked what we wanted to order, and I nudged Chrantria to go ahead and place her order. She requested a blueberry muffin and a small decaf coffee with sugar and cream. I felt a little kid-like when I asked for whipped cream on my hot cocoa and a dusting of powdered sugar on my lemon bar.

I pushed the power button on my laptop and set it to the side facing the window to allow myself the ability to glance out of it from time to time. Curious, Chantria asked, "Do you have to work?" "No," I responded. I began to give her a summary of what I was doing. Before I could finish, Chrantria interrupted me and interestingly asked, "Is the creative writing course hard?" I smiled and began to tell her about the writing project that I was desperate to find the beginning word to create a flow of finger tapping on my keyboard.

The words that rolled off my tongue sounded as if I had been taking a writing class forever. I looked at Chantria and had explained to her that there was a passion deep within me in creating words to move others while seeking comforting words of encouragement to complete another page. Writing isn't about pushing words together that might make sense. It is a method of expanding our inner selves, an intimate relationship with our imaginations. "I would have a hard time telling you about my hard days," I told Chantria, "but I would be able to barf it all out on paper and give you a vivid view into my life." Chrantria looked at me and asked, "Can't anyone be a writer?" As if she lacked the understanding that there was any flair or aptitude involved. I looked at her straight in the eyes and firmly stated, "Of course! But writing, along with a person's intellect, will be judged."

Chantria took the last sip of her decaf and wiped the crumbs from her muffin off the table, placing them onto her napkin. There was a brief moment of awkward silence. I decided to wrap up the conversation with a simple statement. I told my intelligent old friend that the writing course was taxing and that I thrived off the intense challenge. The time spent reading and editing, going back to do more editing, was tiresome but rewarding. "Taking creative writing has taught me that my sentences, in any form of writing, should be fluent and flow smoothly together," I said with a half-grin. "If you don't mind having your writing critiqued and you truly want to expand your ideas, a creative writing course is a great way to help you in your writing experience," I said with confidence.

Chantria and I gave each other one last hug and said our goodbyes. As she left the café, I thought to myself,  "What an odd conversation to have with the valedictorian of our senior class." As I sat back down and got back to my laptop, my fingers flowed, and before I knew it, my final writing assignment was complete. I paid for the hot cocoa and lemon bar, walked with a slight skip to my silver Ford Focus with a smile on my face, and drove home with the window down, once again dueting at the top of my lungs with Sia.

 

 The Greenhouse

            Moving to the small mountain town, Round Valley, was an exciting time for our family as a little girl. I was only three at the time but can vividly see the home my dad proudly earned and the place my mother loved and cared for several decades. The modest, red brick home will remain unchanged in my mind forever. However, a smaller portion of the house, the attached greenhouse, grabbed ahold of my thoughts and pulled me into a whirlwind of memories.

            More than a bedroom, the greenhouse was the perfect basking place for some forty cherry tomato vines and plants during the warmer months and hanging elk jerky during the winter. Strong 2x4's stood still embraced with green and white old-fashioned corrugated fiberglass panels. Ten black tires weighted down the roof and would provide stability during the mountain spring winds that came without fail every March. Inside were six raised garden boxes filled with the healthy, clean gardening soil that would hold faithful and robust for years for hundreds of tomato plants that would produce the brightest red and juicy cherry tomatoes.

            To get to the backyard, you would have to walk through the greenhouse. While heading out to mow the lawn, I would pick a small red fruit and pop it into my mouth; there was joy in this simple act. The funny thing is, I wouldn't say I like tomatoes.

            I had a passion for helping my dad water the tomato plants, and soon he had left that task for me to do. Like clockwork, I'd go into the greenhouse midday because the warmth of the sun was just right at that time. The bright green-colored background from the sun's reflection through the panels and off the tomato plants was comforting, and it felt as if I was walking into a garden. I loved talking to the plants while watering them, "How are you feeling today?" Oddly, they were my friends, friends without words whispering back.

            During the winter months, the mood changed in the greenhouse. The tomato plants were harvested and pulled, leaving an empty feeling. Shades of light browns would become prominent, and the air would be duller, as life was nonexistent. The desire to walk through the vacant home for plants, dwindled-until it was hunting season.

My dad would hang a string from one end of the greenhouse to the other, using a bowline just tight enough to ensure there wouldn't be any drooping. The greenhouse would become a dehydrator. A massive elk would dangle from our Mulberry tree in the front yard-giving off a light scent of death. It may sound gruesome, but it meant enough meat to get us through the year. I anticipated what was about to happen soon after the pendulous elk's carcass no longer drooped from our tree-Jerky. Jerky making is a process, and I won't get into it, but I will say there was happiness in our home during this time of year.

Hanging the thin-sliced meat in the greenhouse was my job, and I took it seriously. I would take the jerky meat that was blanched, seasoned with only salt and pepper, hook it with a paper clip and hang it on the string that hung in the greenhouse. The greenhouse would maintain the perfect temperature, taking care of our family's dehydrated protein snack-giving it such incredible purpose. All year round, it would serve our family.

I truly treasured our greenhouse, but I cannot lie; it would scare me at night. My room sat next to the outside greenhouse door, and the edges would scratch each other as if they were fighting for more space. The tires would contest the wind to remain on top of the building during stormy nights as the panels would lift, shove and push, attempting to take flight, relieving themselves from their boring position. I would not get much sleep because of the creepy and haunting sounds, especially during the winter and early spring months. The shadows from the moon would keep my soul in uneasiness, fearing the worst-a young imaginative mind was easily prompted to create panic and trepidation. Several nights, I would pray for morning to come quickly to save me from out and under the suffocation of the many layers of blankets on my bed. A chill still runs up my spine while relaying this memory into letters. One of the most unique places from my youth, laced with twisted recollection. Rather thrilling now that I think about it.

By the time May would slowly crawl into the year, our greenhouse was prepped and prepared for the new tomato seedlings to peek out of the blanket of soil. I spent precious hours inside the greenhouse that would prove to be more than just a place used for tending to the tomatoes, hanging the jerky meat, or standing as a haunted house. It would become a place I would claim as my own. I hold dear to my heart many conversations and moments with the plants, cats, my dad, and the little horny toads that would come inside for a sip of water.

My heart shattered when my parents sold the house just after graduating. I wanted my children to experience the same feelings I did while growing up (yes. Even the frightening ones). Fortunately, the red brick house and that sturdy greenhouse are still intact, with only a few slight changes to its physical shape. When I visit my hometown, I drive by and get a little teary-eyed—what a wonderful place to grow up.  

 

             

Gonna be productive today...Maybe!

I haven't slept in days-Not a true deep sleep...Or maybe I have slept, I am just simply getting old!

So...I am sorta the 'Walking Dead', today. I might just have to watch 'World War Z'.

I am home today, and I have quite the 'To do List'...Gonna be productive today, *Maybe*

:O)

The list...

1. WAKE UP!
2. Give the Adorable one a kiss goodbye as he heads off to work.
3. Continue to wake up, while attempting to wake up the kids.
4. Focus on WAKING UP.
5. Make the bed.
6. Try not to kill the kids while we are all scrambling to get out the door.
7. Listen to 'In Christ Alone' by Nathan Pacheco, All the way to school, so the kids will have the song stuck in their heads all day-in the hopes that that will help keep them from being little stinkers at school.
8. Hug each kid and tell them that I love them.
9. Drive the long way home, to sorta wind down from the morning chaos.
10. Look at our amazing view from our front porch before going inside and count my blessings...
11. Don't get emotional.
12. Get started on cleaning the house-have to hustle cause today is a half day...the storm hits around 12:30ish...I Will need to brace myself.
13. Ponder on cleaning the house, while updating and posting on social media.
14. Ponder harder on cleaning the house...while still on social media.
15. Focus on making bread.
16. Make the bread.
17. Get out all of my frustrations while 'Spanking' the dough, of the soon to be made bread.
18. Cook the several pounds of hamburger to put into the freezer.
19. Cook the chicken to put into the freezer.
20. Don't sit down.
21. Fight the urge to sit down.
22. Do NOT SIT DOWN!
23. Change out the laundry that you forgot about last night...Yikes. 
24. Fold the laundry.
25. Ignore the dog that can't hear a darn thing (Poor thing) as she begs to come inside.
26. Clean the vacuum.
27. Remember to NOT use the vacuum because you just cleaned the filters.
28. Mop the kitchen floor.
29. Maybe mop the kitchen floor.
30. Make the kids mop the floor.
31. Talk to the chickens an ducks...I love them.
32. Put mascara on before picking up the demons...I mean our angel children.
33. Call dad!!!
34. Stop! Take a minute to close your eyes and listen to the wind chimes...
35. Don't cry while memories of Mom come flooding into your thoughts...Or cry-it doesn't' matter...
36. Make a plan for the rest of the week.
37. COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS again, as you get overwhelmed by the Plan.
38. Read your scriptures *love doing this...*
39. Wait! Did you brush your teeth?? Crap...
40. Brush your teeth.
41. Recognize all the little things in your life.
42. See the good in YOURSELF!
43. Repeat 3 times: 'You are a Rock Star!' 
44. Believe that you are a Rock Star!
45. Talk to your plants as you wipe off the dust...
46. Drink water
47. Eat
48. Eat real food, not just chocolate.
49. Take another deep breath-think about your hubby.
50. Reminisce and enjoy the thoughts of your hubby.
51. Look in the mirror and wink at yourself...**Remember, you are a Rock Star.
52. Pick up the kids...And enjoy them telling you about what happened at school today-even if they try to tell you all at the same time!
53. DO NOT SAY ANYTHING that is negative about yourself or your life!

51 ...survive the day! Being grateful for a new day-and for ALL that you have.

52. Watch 'World War Z'.
53. Dinner...
54. Crap!! What is for dinner....
55. Make French toast for dinner with the bread that you just made!

I am so thankful for today. I am a little bit behind, but that is ok. I am doing what I enjoy at the moment. Taking a quick minute or two to just feel. 

I will get everything that NEEDS to be done, done. No need to fret!

Real quick...

I would love to reach out and send out an air hug to all of my friends and family, who are going through some tough stuff. I would encourage those lost in the past, wishing and dreaming about who they used to be-To Learn to Love who you are today. 

"Piece of mind, comes piece by piece!"

I guarantee you are wiser and stronger than you used to be. Life is full of change. Embrace it and make the most of it...Find the good and recognize the growth in yourself.  You can do hard things...Trust. Have Faith. Be proud of who you are! Remember who you are!!!

Focus on what makes you happy RIGHT NOW...Even if it is the littlest thing...Before you know it, you will have a lot of those little things that will make your life full and amazing. Just gotta believe it will happen!

Now to get back to that 'To Do' list.

Happy Wednesday!  I am Smiling :O)