Remembering

My Aunt Lois Ruth passed away last week.

What makes this more noteworthy than other losses I’ve experienced lately is that she was my last remaining aunt and the last member of my father’s family, once consisting of seven siblings born to my grandparents.

The other noteworthy thing is that I admired—no, make that idolized her as I was growing up. She was only twelve years older than me so by the time I was a tweenager, she became the most glamorous and exciting person I’d ever known. Don’t you think so too?

She wore open toed heels and white sandals and soft sweaters and sundresses. She had a bedroom dresser full of perfumes and dusting powders. She had a boyfriend and was studying to be a dental hygienist. Ahh…sigh. I wanted to grow up to be like her. No, I wanted to be her. Well, at ten years old, anyway.

My sister Christine and I would “powder” her back. This became something of a ritual with my aunt lying on the top of her bed as Christine and I concocted a pasty mixture of Pond’s dusting powder with Evening in Paris perfume. This we would apply to her back, rubbing it all in and then dusting it further with the powder puff. 

I’m sure the room stunk to high heaven. But my aunt was clearly basking in the luxury of it. This, to my sister and I, was more than an activity, something to simply occupy us for a while. It was something close to a spiritual bonding experience.

Fast forward a few years to my aunt’s wedding. Her groom, my Uncle Glenn, was  of course the most handsome man I had ever seen. The wedding was dreamy. Fitting for my Aunt Lois Ruth. And more idolizing on my part.

The newlyweds moved to Colorado so I didn’t see much of them after that, only if our trips to visit my grandparents coincided with their travels. And then they became parents to Kent and Kelley. Coupled with my growing older and my life moving me forward in all the expected different ways, powdering my aunt’s back became a fond childhood memory.

But my aunt’s greatest legacy and gift to me was her consistent love for family, living her Christian faith, being a role model, and, yes, always remaining gracious and glamorous.

Isn’t she still so beautiful on her 90th birthday? A life well lived, a life well loved, always remaining someone to look up to and emulate.

Rest in peace, my dear Aunt Lois Ruth Page.

And, as always, thank you for reading my random thoughts.💭 

Hello April

 

Oh, April. We are so glad to see you.

Spring is the most exciting time of the year, I think. It’s so full of promise as life starts again, renewed and ready for the warmth of the sun. The crocus opens its petals, tulips begin to pop up from the soil, ready to shake the dust off from winter as if to announce they’ve had their sleep and hello! dear April.

Yesterday I moved my deck furniture and rugs out to take their place in their familiar spots and now, in my mind’s eye, I can see the flowers I’ll arrange in their pots putting color back into my outdoor view. 

But we still need to be patient, don’t we? Not get over anxious over what’s not quite ready for us. Garden soil still needs the sun’s warmth and here in Minnesota, with very little snow over the winter months, much more moisture. (I had to envy Arizona’s Easter Sunday all-day rain which would be so wonderful here.)

Yesterday as I was waiting in line for a car wash, I looked over at a bank of very dirty old snow from the last bit we got here. The top of the bank looked black and crusty, not attractive at all. Then I thought of the children in my neighborhood where we also have a similar bank of old snow. They had pushed and packed that old snow together to create a mountain with a plastic lawn chair perched on top. They took turns climbing up to sit in the chair and you could hear their delight as they played “king of the mountain.”

So, see…you can look at a dirty pile of old snow and simply see a pile of old snow. Or see that pile as a perfect afternoon of fun and entertainment for children who imagine it to be a mountain.

Today I will use my imagination to think of those flowers blooming on my deck, my tomato plant ripening, my herbs ready for seasoning. 

And I decide that Spring is worth the wait.

Thank you for visiting and allowing me to share my random thoughts with you. 

Good Friday

Today is a solemn day as we remember Jesus’ suffering at the hands of soldiers and a large crowd of Roman citizens who blindly joined in the fray perhaps not even having true convictions of their own. Simply because they were followers. Simply because since they heard accusations hurled at Jesus, they figured they must be true. Simply because they were angry.

We know there is a joyous ending to be celebrated in three days, but thinking about those roaring crowds watching the vicious treatment of a fellow citizen without fully understanding the so-called charges nor imagining the cruel outcome got me to thinking about anger. 

There are parallels to the Good Friday account throughout history; many others, martyrs, who were unjustly denied any kind of trial, innocents who suffered because of the orders of a leader who at the root of it all, was angry, a crowd who blindly followed. And we know the accounts throughout ages of imprisoned and tortured victims of war, the power of angry leaders who put them there with seemingly no conscience whatsoever and not a single ounce of regard for humanity. An entire race could simply be annihilated in Germany. Another race could be bought and sold into slavery, treated as inferior beings.

In what we think of as our civilized world, has much changed? Would the people in Ukraine, Gaza, Syria say it has? We still have the crowds who blindly follow a leader, an angry leader. Look at the images we see today, study the faces. Here and in countries abroad, you will see anger. And the consequences are always in the end the same.

Perhaps we’re slow to learn, slow to understand, lessons from the past. Is our society really all that different from Jesus’ day, the Good Friday of long ago? Do we have any power or ability to change it? My personal belief is a resounding YES. We can be in that crowd that insists on justice, peace, equality, kindness, generosity, compassion. That will always speak louder than anger.

Thank you for visiting and thinking I have something worthwhile to say.

Ironing

 Who irons anymore? 

I’m reasonably certain that my kids and grandkids don’t own an iron or ironing board. And today I’m trying to figure out what about me says that I need to iron my freshly washed and wrinkled clothing, some of which I wouldn’t think of wearing until I’ve ironed them.

The problem is, I usually don’t have time to iron on laundry day so my clothes get hung on hangers awaiting my attention. But then another laundry day comes along. More hangers. And another. More hangers. So today, given that I’m running out of clothes to wear, I’m ironing.

Remember back when the ironing board was almost like a piece of furniture? In our house, it was always set up, never taken down, at the ready for Mom’s basket of ironing. For a family of eight, that darn 🧺 basket multiplied until clothes toppled over, then another basket was filled. 

And, as the oldest of six, take a wild guess at whose job it was to do the weekly ironing. Mind you, this didn’t always mean just the clothing we wore. No, pillowcases, handkerchiefs, kitchen towels and more went into the basket too (although those always got ironed first because they were easy).

But, wait. Before ironing, everything was sprinkled with water from a pop bottle with a sprinkler top held firmly in place by a cork. You sprinkled, sprinkled some more, then rolled up the clothing to supposedly stay damp which supposedly made the ironing easier. By the time I got to the ironing, I never encountered anything damp.

But when the iron was heated and doing its job, steaming away on clean clothing as it made wrinkles disappear, the smell was heavenly. And there was a satisfying feeling as you finished one of Dad’s shirts, a house dress of Mom’s, a stack of pillow cases, your four sisters’ dresses. By the time the basket was empty, you felt as though you climbed Mount Everest. And you gave yourself several pats on the back for this major accomplishment.

Well, today my ironing chore pales in comparison to those days. But I can’t wear wrinkled shirts and my jeans and slacks need creases.

Oh, kids, you don’t know what you’re missing.

Thanks for the visit today and for thinking my random thoughts 💭 are worth reading.

Whirlwind

That’s the most apt description of my state of affairs since I’ve returned home from Arizona. Coupled with the busy-ness and the speed at which the days whiz by, everything seems to take me longer. I don’t focus as well and find myself taking frequent rests and breaks. 

This isn’t a malady exclusive to me. Others my (ahem) age have reported the same.

I have a problem with non-productivity. Not sure where in my past this comes from, short of my inherited work ethic. Thanks, Dad.

Contributing to the whirlwind is my tendency to take on too much, sign up for anything and everything, while underestimating the time and energy required.  

I joined a Facebook group of people trying to declutter with various degrees of success. They post their dilemmas, frustrations and tips for how they’re making it work. So after several days of reading their posts, I got the declutter bug and I’m going after it with fervor. And in doing so, I’m learning much about myself. 

Weeding through my collections of things, it’s little wonder I’m constantly overwhelmed. I have more stitching charts, fabric, threads and supplies than I could possibly use in several lifetimes. Scrapbooking and card making? Yep, paper, tools, ribbon, embellishments—more than it’s even possible to use. Knitting—you got me there, too. Every size knitting needles, yarn and patterns fill a cupboard and big basket. 

Do we have to talk about my books?  Bookshelves overflowing, stacks of books in various places, boxes of books under the bed. The more I try to thin them out, the more they grow. They’ve taken over the house. It would be near impossible to read them all.

So I’m trying to figure out how to declutter my mind. Having so much stuff and accumulating more and more and more takes up valuable real estate in my head. I’m slowly and painfully working on letting go and bringing my collections to a more realistic and manageable level. Why does that sound so good yet is so hard to do?

It’s tough getting there and it’s a slow process. There’s mourning involved in letting go. But I’m after the freedom that comes with the effort, freeing my mind, freeing my time, freeing my space.

Sigh….

Thanks for visiting today and reading my random thoughts.

Homeward Bound

On Sunday, I will board a plane headed for Minneapolis. I’ve been here in Arizona since November caring for my friend and former neighbor. Now my work here is done.

Leaving Arizona is bittersweet. On the one hand, it will be nice to be “home, sweet home.” On the other hand, this retirement resort park is where George and I spent thirteen fabulous winters and the reality is I may never return.

My neighbors here on J Street in Mesa are the “salt of the earth” kind of people. It’s not just a street to live on, not just a block where your house is, but a family neighborhood. We laugh and cry together, mourn those who have passed and welcome newcomers. We help each other when a need arises. We keep in touch when we’re apart during the summer months by way of a Facebook group and sometimes by text messages. And one by one, we reunite in the fall.

Some play tennis; some golf; others hike. We walk, ride our bikes, drive our golf carts, play cards, enjoy crafts, work in the wood shop, dance, or just pull out our lawn chairs to sit in the sun, which is an open invitation for anyone and everyone to join you. Bring your Coke, water or a beer.

But what sets us apart from other streets is our every-Monday afternoon Happy Hour with a chicken 🐔 toss and chicken ⛳️ golf. That’s right, chickens. Well, plastic ones anyway.

Yes, we have a course set up on the street; yes, we are very competitive; and yes, we have trophies. The course is a tough one and the object is to toss the plastic chicken into the hole. The problem is the hole doesn’t stay stationary and tends to wobble. But our girls persevered.

There are other things that set us apart as well, and makes J Street unique. For example, we have a mayor. And an official flag. And an official anthem. All of which we take very seriously.

Mayor Denny calls us to order with his official wooden microphone and the first order of business is to pay homage to our flag. And our anthem? 

I don’t wanna be a chicken   🎶 

I don’t wanna be a duck. 🎵 

So I shake my butt. 🫨 

👏 👏 👏 👏 

And this is complete with hand and body actions, and of course, do-si-do-ing. We also get a report from President Glen on the most recent board meeting, how our stock is doing, etc. Oh wait, I forgot to mention most of us own stock in J Street’s own Naked Egg, Inc. company. You think I’m making that up?

We’re also known for our assorted array of Jell-O shots, a large tray of which is made each week by Greg and Mar, and on which we’ve all come to rely. The food table rivals any smorgasbord and we have our own cookbook.

So if I cannot return to J Street, my memory bank is filled to the brim and I am forever grateful for these lovely people who bring so much joy to every gathering. They hold a special place in my heart.

Thank you for taking the time to read my random thoughts.

Misunderstood

Introverts are often misunderstood. I am an introvert. 

While extraverts draw energy from action and being with and among people, gatherings and activities, introverts get their energy from a calm atmosphere and time to be reflective. Introverts are somewhat inhibited; they rebuild their energy from quiet time, and time alone. They work well independently.

There are some major misconceptions about introverts. One is that we are shy, reclusive and antisocial. Nothing about this is true. The dichotomy is that I am introverted while being an outgoing and social person. My personality can be described as a joiner, a leader, a group player.

And I present this persona. Because it works. Because it is more acceptable. Because I don’t want to appear unfriendly. And because it’s necessary. 

But my first thought in a crowd—at a party, at church, a class reunion, really any large gathering—is how and when can I escape? I feel out of place and exhausted within the first few minutes. True confession time: I often excuse myself to go to the ladies room. Not because I’m in need of it, but because it’s private and quiet. I get a reprieve for a short time, then I’m refreshed, at least temporarily. When I was working, I chose a bench to sit on with my lunch and my book, rather than eat in the cafeteria. 

If you know me, you may be very surprised at this because it’s not what you see. But again, it’s characteristic of an introvert and it’s how I’m wired. 

I read an article recently about introverts in the church. Acting as if they’re conforming, introverts may not even be paying attention when the hymns are sung, the prayers are said or the sermon is preached. (Side note: I love my pastor’s sermons and hang on to every word, mulling it over while other parts of the service are going on.) The article goes on to say that the church needs both types, extraverts and introverts alike, to function and fulfill its mission. 

There are personality tests to determine your type, and they may even surprise you. The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator in one such tool and is often given in the workplace to determine how staff interact with one another and to inform how they are productive with very different tasks and in different environments.

The Myers-Briggs inventory is based on the theory that people experience the world using four principal functions: sensation, intuition, feeling and thinking, and that one of these four functions is dominant for a person most of the time. The test measures four categories: introversion/extraversion, sensing/intuition, thinking/feeling, and judging/perceiving. Each person is said to have one preferred quality from each category. (Wikipedia)

My results, although some years back, indicated I am I N T P.  Introverted—Intuitive—Thinking—Perceptive. This explains why I like to work alone, read and undertake projects independently, carefully ponder pros and cons when making a decision or taking action, and look at the big picture (sometimes rushing to offer solutions).

So there you have it. Now you know what makes me tick. But, again, the world is richer for all of us with all types, don’t you think?

Thank you for taking the time to read my random thoughts.

The weather again

We’ve been waiting..and waiting..for two warm days in a row and it’s not going to happen for another week. Here in Arizona, we snowbirds feel cheated when we have to wear sweatshirts and jackets for days on end.

There is so much to do here, even in a one- to two-hour drive but really only ideal on a warm weather day. Right here in Mesa with spectacular views of the Superstition Mountains, we have beautiful walking trails and parks. Most restaurants feature patio dining and on Saturdays there’s a sidewalk market and art fair.

Fifteen minutes south of Mesa is Queen Creek and the Olive Mill where you can tour the olive groves and learn how olive oil is made, shop for all-things-olive and have lunch on their beautiful outdoor grounds, most often complete with a guitarist strumming out tunes as you dine.

On the way back home, there is Schneff Farms that boasts the best peach 🍑 pie, not to be missed, with fruit from their own peach trees. To the north, we have Saguaro Lake and a bit further we can see wild horses running free. A bit further yet towards Payson, the mountain scenery has left us breathless. Or maybe it’s the windy curves in the road on the two-lane highway. Just a tad bit scary for me.

Phoenix is just to the west with cultural offerings galore. You name it, it’s there. A large botanical garden with Dale Chihuly glass sculptures, and a wonderful zoo are at the edge of Tempe and Phoenix. Tucson is two hours away, while just a little further is the artsy town of Tubac with high end art shops and an art museum. A must if you’re near here.

Then there’s the border crossing to the town of Los Algodones, Mexico, just over the border from Yuma, the Colorado River and Baja, California. It was a lovely weather day when we were there which I mention because there’s a lot of walking involved and nothing indoors, at least not that we saw. 

Hubby bought a beautiful blanket there similar to these. There are very persistent hawkers everywhere following you around to try to persuade you to buy their wares. They don’t easily give up and my husband didn’t easily give in, but he was intrigued by this blanket. Many, as in very many people make a day trip to Algodones for dental work, eye exams and glasses, drugs (as in medications), and liquor. All because those things are incredibly cheaper there. And pure vanilla which you can buy in a large bottle for $10 makes the trip worthwhile.

This is sounding like a travelogue that evolved all by itself as my words usually do. And I haven’t even mentioned the charming Old Town Scottsdale, or Fountain Hills with its famous fountain that shoots green water on St. Patrick’s Day, 560 feet in the air. 

The fountain of Fountain Hills

But I think what I love most here is the Sonoran desert, especially in springtime with the most interesting flowers blooming on the wide variety of cacti. So much exploring to do.

So getting back to the subject at hand, these activities aren’t very enjoyable during these cold and wet days. But…when it warms up, I may be off and running.

Hope your days are bright and sunny. 😎 

Thanks for allowing me to share my thoughts and whine about the weather.

Becoming Real

“You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Margery Williams - The Velveteen Rabbit, 1923. 

Although I’m not completely sure of the author’s meaning, I love The Velveteen Rabbit. It also inspired my post for today.

It has taken me a long time, I mean very long, to become Real. I take that to mean the opposite of Artificial. Or phony. I hope those labels don’t describe me, but People Pleaser is a label you could accurately attach to me. I rarely felt like I had approval growing up…from parents, teachers, etc. And I often wondered what was wrong with me.

Now, of course, I realize it was somewhat the sign of the times. A child of the 1950’s. The oldest of six. Much was expected and most times I didn’t feel like I got it right or measured up. Hard as I would try.

And that’s where the people-pleasing took hold. IF I did this perfectly, I might get approval. IF I said the right thing, they’d like me. IF I went out of my way, it would be noticed. Maybe IF I tried harder. Or IF I just agreed with everyone, or disagreed when that was the desired answer, I’d be accepted. So for too many of my 78 years, that was my modus operandi.

Then my husband died. My whole life changed, down to its very core. 

For almost the first time, I realized that I only need to accept myself. I know without a doubt that my husband loved me, loved me unconditionally, and completely accepted who I was, flaws and all. I didn’t need to be perfect, didn’t always need to say the right thing or agree when I really didn’t. That is the gift he gave me and the gift he left me with. 

It just took me awhile to realize I was thinking and acting differently now, and that it was in looking back on our life together that brought about the change. I am more honest and open than ever before (beware) and it’s what I expect of others. At my age, what do I have to lose? What do any of us have to lose?

I had a coworker once who had lost a young daughter. There were a couple of untrue and undeserved comments about her in the office and knowing they were untrue, she shrugged it off and said, “I lost a daughter. There’s nothing more anyone can do to me.” 

So there’s nothing more anyone can do to me.  I don’t break easily and I don’t need to be carefully kept. Love me or not, accept me or not, I am who you see. 

To my mind, that is Real.       

 (But I still really hope you like me.) 💜 

Thanks for visiting and letting me share my random thoughts.

Monday, Monday

 Ah, back to Monday again. How does a week go so fast?

And this looks like another busy one. They say time goes faster for the elderly. They also say you’re busier after retirement than when you were working. Both are true. I’m not elderly but I certainly am busier. I can pack a lot into a day.

And I love checklists. They keep me focused and, well, driven. OCD? That’s me. 

Besides that, it’s such a feeling of accomplishment when you check off something on the list. And if you forget to add something you’ve already done, by all means add it to the list, simply because now you can check it off. 

I had a therapist once (yep, everyone needs one) tell me, addressing my obsession with to-do lists at work, to not look at it as an absolute, must-get-through-all-this-today or else, but to think of it as a menu. One where you select items, one at a time, to accomplish.

It was good advice. It makes it much more pleasant to go about your tasks as you’ve chosen what to do. And some things can wait and some simply don’t need to be done at all!

What’s on my checklist/menu for today?

Bake cupcakes. It rhymes with Monday.

Thanks for the visit today and for reading my ramblings. 

Here comes the sun

 

I woke this morning to sunshine streaming through the windows. 

Which pretty much tells you I wasn’t up at the crack of dawn. More like the crack of 9.  My Facebook friends post beautiful photos of the morning sunrise and I thank them because it’s the only way I’ll ever see that early morning phenomenon.

Anyway, it was wonderful to see that sunshine after the past several days of rain and cloud cover. Funny how it changes one’s mood and increases the energy level. I still love rainy days but there comes a point where I’ve had enough. 

So during the rainy days, I finished the church newsletter, caught up on the laundry, baked a big batch of bran muffins (recipe below) and did my share of relaxing.

I’ve been going through my roommate’s filing system. Actually, there was no system, just a lot of papers in folders going back to the beginning of time in no particular order. She and I carefully looked them over, filled a garbage bag and she advised me what file the surviving paperwork should go in for easy access.

She had hanging folders but no plastic tabs, so a trip to OfficeMax remedied that and I made labels with my handy-dandy Brother label maker. I bet you didn’t know my nickname is Label Queen. I label everything. When I labeled the refrigerator shelves (milk, the cheese drawer, vegetable crisper, deli shelf and leftover stuff shelf), my husband declared it “over the top” and just shook his head. 

Really? Do you think so? Can’t be too organized, I always say.

Here is the recipe for the bran muffins. Grab a BIG mixing bowl and remember, this mixture can be refrigerated for six weeks. But be sure to label them so you know the date you made them. 

And thanks for reading my random thoughts. You can also join as a Follower. You don’t get a discount but it’s nice for me. heehee

Rainy days and Mondays

Listening to the sound of rain falling on the roof of a park model is wonderful. The sound is magnified in these units with little separating them from the outdoors. The streets will be like rivers with rain predicted to last through the night, all day tomorrow and into the morning of the next day.

I say bring it on. ☔️ 

I love rainy days. I love thunderstorms even more. Wind, thunder, lightening—the more dramatic, the better. This is assuming I have the luxury of staying indoors, of course. But a rainy day is like permission - to bake cookies, to read that book I started, to do a bit of organizing, maybe go through a closet or two, stitch a sampler. The possibilities are endless. A rainy day is like a gift.

But there is a limit to my enjoyment. After a couple of days, cabin fever sets in and I’m ready for the sun to shine again.

I write this from Arizona but I feel the same about a snow storm—make that a blizzard—in Minnesota. 

There’s nothing better than watching the snow cover the ground as it starts to fall, then seeing it develop into mounds of snow; getting higher and higher until all you see is white. This is also assuming you have the luxury of staying indoors with no other place you need to be. Not that you can even go anywhere because your car is now buried in the snow, you can no longer see the driveway, the snow has drifted to your front door and you can’t open it, and you don’t see the point in clearing it because it’s still snowing. And you have nowhere else you need to be. Ahhh, all making for a cozy day. 

But, here in Arizona, the rain continues to fall, a hypnotizing sound on the roof, lulling me into an afternoon nap. And I forget about all the things I had permission to do. Cookies? Cleaning a closet? Organizing? 

Not today.

Thank you, as always, for reading my random thoughts.

News from abroad

I recently heard from my cousin in Denmark, telling me details of their new king. I saw news of this on television, but my cousin could elaborate as her grandson is a Royal Guard and was a close and important part of the celebration.  He described it as an overwhelming experience. Wearing his red gala uniform, he stood just below the balcony where the announcement was made.

Queen Margarethe announced her abdication of the throne and her intention to hand it over to her son, Frederik, the first time ever in Denmark that a king or queen has abdicated before death. People were shocked at this news as she has been a very popular queen for 52 years, since 1972 when her father died. It was reported that health problems contributed to her decision.

The official abdication of the Queen and the hand over to King Frederik the10th took place in the Danish Parliament Christiansborg, very close to the Royal Palace Amalienborg. The royal family traveled to and from in horse-drawn carriages. Over 300,000 people waving small Danish flags packed the streets, showing how popular the former Queen Margrethe and King Frederik and his wife Mary are with the Danish population.

King Frederik the10th

Frederik and his wife Mary (from Australia)

This all sounds very lovely with the Danish population so involved and so excited about this national event. But it speaks to me of a very sharp and distinguishable contrast between their country and ours. 

When was the last time we saw 300,000 people pack the streets of our capitol waving U.S. flags? Well, I recall January 6, 2022 and it wasn't pretty. I recall other times as well, equally not pretty. Riots, demonstrations, corruption, divisions of all kinds are what we seem to be showing the world. That is the news they get. We need to be able to hold our heads up because right now we are a shameful embarrassment. 

How do we turn this around? Maybe we need a king or queen? Maybe we shouldn't be electing our leadership? I don't know. 

All I do know for sure is that our country and we as individuals need to put our best face forward, stop the political squabbling, all of us, remember the word r-e-s-p-e-c-t and practice it. Each of us. Every. single. day. Call me Pollyanna.

This is not a political post for the right, for the left or otherwise because I will never get into that here on this blog. It's just a wishful desire to see good, peaceful and celebratory news dominate our news headlines. That's all.

Thanks to cousin Hanne for her news from Denmark. We celebrate with them.

And, once again, thanks for reading my random words. 

Moving on

So, where do I go from here?

Donna Ashworth, the author of so many of the writings that have spoken to me through the last 16 months, reminds me that I might just as well make friends with grief and carry her with me. And it’s getting to be more okay as time goes on. I was told early on, when my heart and soul felt raw, that the edges of that pain would soften but I didn’t believe it for one moment. It is a paralyzing feeling that you can’t envision ever changing.

But it does. Those raw edges do soften. And when that starts to happen, you know you won’t be swallowed up in the abyss and life has been waiting for you.

And you start to live again.

My son and daughter-in-law invited and treated me to a ten-day trip to the island of Maui last spring. The beauty of the island and the time spent with them, which included my two granddaughters, was the balm my soul needed. I saw that there was joy, laughter, delight and love all around me. I am so grateful to them for their generous gift. A life’s surprise for sure.

Younger granddaughter in awe of the big turtle.

And now, I write this from Arizona where I am spending another winter season. Thinking after I sold our park model here last spring, that would be the end of my Arizona winters, my neighbor, 89 years old, a snowbird from South Dakota, had a nasty fall resulting in a broken hip. She and her family members thought perhaps she shouldn’t be staying here alone anymore. The thought of spending winters in South Dakota where she couldn’t be active and get out to walk was a dismal prospect for her.

Enter me.

“Why, I could come stay with you,” I piped up during a visit. And just like that a plan was formed and here I am, back on J Street, right here in Mesa, Arizona, with my familiar neighbors. Another one of life’s surprises for me to enjoy.

And surprises just continue to come, the more I notice and welcome them in. I’m amazed at what life unfolds for me. 

I hope the same is true for you.

Older granddaughter in awe of the ocean.

 Thank you, God. Your mercies are new every day. 

Catching up, part 2

So today I’ll try to stay on task and post a few updates about my new life as a single (widow—but I hate that word). Much has changed and I have been doing my best to adjust to my “new normal.” I didn’t ask for it, I don’t always like it, but here I am. 

Making lemonade out of lemons. 🍋  Or trying to.

When you lose a spouse, and after the initial shock, the funeral, burial or whatever you choose, a whole array of new decisions or possibilities present themselves. Ones I certainly never had to consider before, and certainly not by myself. Am I now financially secure? Can I continue my health insurance under my husband’s plan? Should I keep or sell our Arizona home? How do I decide which of our two vehicles to keep and how do I go about selling the other one? Should I remain in our North Lindstrom lake condo or try to find someplace that might better fit my own needs?

Not to mention the admonition to not make any major decisions for a year. So, what, does that mean I do nothing and keep everything as is for a whole year? That doesn’t work for me, a take-charge person. So I started tackling those decisions one by one.

1. Since the time was approaching for me to leave for our winter home in Arizona, I decided that—by myself—I wouldn’t be able to maintain nor could I afford two residences. Sad as it seemed to leave our wonderful seasonal neighbors, the thought of being there where we shared so much enjoyment together helped inform the decision to sell it. And it sold to the first person to look at it and the price was satisfactory.

2. My health insurance was fine for the time being and I would take the time to research other options.

3. My financial situation was adequate. Never rich, neither was I poor and I could cover routine expenses.

4. I didn’t need two vehicles. I kept the newer, better quality of the two and sold the other. 

5. Now for the big decision. I chose to—praying and holding my breath that this was right—sell the Lindstrom condo. Again, it sold quickly and I was satisfied with the price. I bought a 2-bedroom unit in a cooperative in nearby Chisago City, a mere two miles away. It offered all that was right for my needs with no maintenance, heated underground parking, an exercise room, a community room for gatherings, a large deck overlooking woods and beautiful grounds on a quiet street. 

The decision was the easy part. Moving, choosing some new furnishings, a major update of the kitchen, packing and unpacking that seemed to go on forever and ever, made for a busy summer. I could in no way have done any of this without many hours of help from my two kids, granddaughters and sister. Without them, I likely would still be frozen in place.

That catches you up a bit to present day. I am doing quite well (most days), feeling strong and confident in my decisions without my beloved, living each day with gratitude and looking forward to the next new day. Still lots of tears, sweet remembrances and some loneliness, but everything always looks better in the morning.

A closing thought to remember:

As always, thanks for visiting and listening to my random thoughts.



Back again and catching up

Hello, dear ones!

Here I am again, back to Cranberry Tree after an absence of a year and a half. However does one catch up after that long?

Well, first I’m glad to be back to this format. I had been posting on the Substack platform for awhile, but find my trusty old blog right here feels more like home. My Substack posts are still there if you’re interested in taking a look. Or perhaps you followed me there and now you're here. 

At any rate, I just reread my last post here, written right after my beloved husband passed, and of course now there are tears running down my cheeks as I relive those last days. I’ve been learning a lot about grief since then and what I’ve learned is that it can’t be learned (insert chuckle). It has to be felt, over and over and over. The tears have to flow again and again and again. And you need to realize one sure thing: no one can feel the pain you feel. No. one.

But I have done a few things that have helped me along the way. I joined a grief support group at my church where there are others who let you know you’re not alone; I talk to my family and my dear friends and find them always ready to listen; and lastly, I have become involved in volunteering at my church. I assist in the office, help with special projects and produce their monthly newsletter. This has changed my life in such a positive way as I move into a new and different direction without my life’s mate. I have a new purpose, can dust off old skills and feel useful and appreciated. I am grateful for that.

I know people, perhaps you, too, struggle with what to say to a person grieving. I guess my advice is not to be at all reluctant to talk about the deceased, say their name, tell stories and share remembrances. Don’t hesitate for a moment to do this—it’s not awkward as you might think, but affirms that your loved one is remembered, that their life mattered. If you are part of a couple, please don’t forget to include us widows and widowers in your plans. We are feeling alone and missing those times together with you as couples.

And this…was not at all what I had intended to write today but it seems to have taken on a life of its own.

I’ll close with a portion of the lyrics to a song I listen to very often at night. It is both comforting and affirming to me. 

In the Morning

Song by JJ Heller

I see the tears sitting on your cheeks
I know you're tired, fall now to sleep
Stop fighting so hard, it's time to surrender
Raise your white flag and always remember

Your heart will feel lighter
Everything will be brighter
Find peace in knowing
That all will be well in the morning
In the morning
All will be well
All will be well in the morning

It's been a long day, and you did your best
Let go of the past, it's time now to rest
The weight of the world is getting too heavy
Give it to Jesus, His arms are steady. 

And your heart will feel lighter
Everything will be brighter
Find peace in knowing
That all will be well in the morning,
All will be well in the morning.

As always, thank you for visiting today and letting me share my random thoughts.