This’n’that

Hindsight is pretty much useless (or be a bringer of cake)

“But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.” 1 Peter 3:15

Yesterday I went up to the front desk of the library and requested my “link” book. For most of us book lovers, comforting and familiar though they may be, our local library shelves frequently come up lacking. The book I’ve been waiting for came in. When I approached the lady librarian and said I had a link, she quipped, “A link to the future?” “The past?” She was trying to be clever I guess, and I stammered a bit and said lamely, “I try my best to live in the present, one day at a time.” As I left, I thought of the above Bible verse. Why? Another opportunity and I missed it. I could’ve said so many things. Here are a few I thought of (after the fact.)

I do have a link to the future, His name is Jesus, do you know Him?

Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever, so yes, I do have a link to the future!

And how about this one, “I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. Revelation 22:13

Yup, that just about sums up my missed opportunity to tell someone the Good News. I seem to be so good at thinking of things after the fact. Next time, I’ll be ready. Hindsight is pretty much useless unless you apply the lesson. I doubt I’ll get another opportunity like that one. On the heels of moments like these little seeds of doubt creep in. Somewhere in the core of my being was I afraid of what she might think? Questions remain, even as I swat the bothersome thoughts away. A lesson to learn. The Holy Spirit’s pang of disappointment lingers in my spirit. A seed remains unplanted.

Then, last Friday a friend and I went to put down her cat. I volunteered to go with her. The cat was cared for and loved for by all 4 of us, really. Both she and her brother were constant fixtures when we were in the Motorhome for 8 years. She hung out under Vernon Weigum’s car, sunning herself, and we started calling her Weigumina. She also went by Miss Kitty, Sissy, Wiggy respectfully. When I watched her the other day, I noticed her back legs shaking and weak and she had stopped eating. She went downhill fast from there. We think maybe a stroke. Wiggy held a special place in my heart because every morning she would trot ahead of me to the swing in the dark and we would watch for the dawn. I would drink coffee, and she would lick frosting off whatever I was eating. Usually a cookie. She also had an uncanny ability to gauge the direction of your car tire and not budge from where she was laying. If she had thumbs, she could have driven a car.

It was so very sad of course but we knew without a doubt that it was time. During the 1 1/2 hours we had to wait, it was agony for her and us too. We smothered her with love and kisses up until the time she fell into a merciful sleep. I was drained when I got home so Elaine offered to go to the store. When she came back, she presented me with a small cake with frosting and sprinkles in honor of Wiggy. The comic relief was when I turned back around after getting a plate, Atticus had licked an entire dollop of icing from the top.

I found that cake and wine went very well together. We will all miss you Sissy, so much.

The moral of the story is that cake makes things better. I hope you have someone who brings you cake with sprinkles on sad days. Or if you don’t, then be the bringer yourself. Or better yet, be both people. The second is to always be ready for the opportunity when it comes to bring hope in the form of words. That is, The Word Himself, Jesus.

If you have men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men. St. Francis

I got nothing


There are those days when I want so badly to write but nothing comes. Today was one. I started a whole blog post but felt as if I were digging into a place I didn’t want to have to dig out of. Mentally. It’s a beautiful Indian summer day. Can we still use that term? I used my fluffy blanket last night which makes me happy going to bed. Even if I have to throw them off during the night in a fit of clammy huffiness. Then I awoke with a feeling of the ground shifting (not an earthquake). It’s not quite fear, just uneasiness. I fished my phone out from under my pillow, pulled up You Tube, and found an Abide called, “Peaceful Night with God (Stories for Sleep) within about 15 minutes I was fast asleep. They don’t work for everyone, my friend tried it and she kept waiting for a story with a beginning, middle and end. They don’t do that, rather they meander around like some Jazz tunes do.

Anyway, I have felt uneasy the last few days, and I remember this morning that the second was the day my mom went to Heaven. The second was Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar; the Day of Atonement. Tradition holds that one’s fate for the coming year is sealed on Yom Kippur, which determines if their name is written in the Book of Life. That’s the really big most important book. This is how you can know you are there: https://bibletruths.org/is-your-name-written-in-the-lambs-book-of-life/

Yom Kippur commemorates the day when Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the 10 Commandments which God Himself wrote on with a finger of lightning. Of course, after praying and fasting, he came down and found that Israel had fashioned their own god (small g). They had got tired of waiting. Don’t be too judgmental, I can remember many times in my life when I got tired of waiting for answered prayer and I’m sure you can too. All I have to do is try to put my phone away for two hours and I realized just how close I come to worshiping something man-made.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful day. I’m going over to feed my aunt’s neighbors’ cats, then go to church and after that attend our local Fall Festival downtown. I asked God this morning in prayer if He would shift the insides to sunny instead of cloudy gloom and it seems like He’s done it. (Thank you God) The best thing we can do on any given day is to be thankful. Being thankful is the best way to Worship God. And don’t forget to thank God for your washer and dryer. Having to go to a Laundromat for 8 years is extremely humbling. Just now, a train blew through, and I thank God for that. I always pray that the conductor won’t have to worry about someone passed out on the tracks. (It’s happened many times) I remember how I missed trains in Arizona.

Well, so long for now. And have a blessed day.

Breath of Heaven

Another of God’s little miracles

Morning Visitors

I welcome the cool breezes

thinking you do too….


I remember Arizona, walking outside on the first day after a long relentless summer and being surprised by relief. No one knows that except someone that has been through as least one year in the desert. We’ve had a short heat wave here but nothing like those days. To us it’s nothing, for we have the hope of the delta breezes and relief at night. You wouldn’t think I would miss it, and I don’t miss that parts of it. The magic of the desert did a number on my heart and soul that stays with me. It was so easy to see God in the sky, in the storms, in the backdrop of the Superstition Mountains as I came home after a long 12-hour shift.

I got to visit a really unique property yesterday, acres of wide-open spaces and views galore. I miss seeing the sky. I remember my Dad commenting on how much sky you can see in the desert when he came to visit. I didn’t think too much about it until we moved back to tree land. “Dirty nasty trees” is what Elaine calls them. (Using her best Gollum voice) Hence the sap that has settled on my car due to parking downtown last night. Oh well, everywhere has its drawbacks. I did enjoy seeing the bees on our crepe myrtle this morning. Something about watching them go from bloom to bloom reinforces the fact that all is not lost. There are still bees left.

Sometimes I get so sick of all the endless garbage strewn across the interweb. So much of it is brain-rot but then you run across something truly refreshing. Here it is….https://annekennedy.substack.com/p/jen-hatmaker-and-jesus

I remember when all the women (and some men) bloggers were jumping on Jen Hatmaker’s bandwagon. I never understood it, and I was skeptical. I won’t say anything about it since Anne says it so much better than I could but give it a read. And enjoy your Sunday. Go to church, and if you don’t have one find one. And don’t try to find a perfect one so don’t try. I have found that I ruin every perfect church I find. The most important thing is that you hear about God there and that they preach out of His book.

In the meantime, I will try to find another chair, Atticus claimed mine when I got up.

Coming Home

“Those who live in the shadow of the most high will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.’ Psalm 91:1-2

It’s been so long since I’ve been here that I feel as if I have crept into the back door of my childhood home, letting myself in with the spare key. I can almost hear the creak of the screen door. I actually did do a recording of that squeak once, not wanting to forget what it sounded like. I drive by there from time to time to check on my brother’s rental that was put in the trust when he died, since its about 3 doors down.

The explanation for why I haven’t been here. I guess it’s just that the words haven’t come, not for lack of things happening in and outside of my life but for lack of thinking that any of it matters to anyone else. I tell myself it’s all part of the journey of writing. I hear people talk about it, the silence. I guess there is a place for it, otherwise why the 400 years of silence between Isaiah and the New Testament?

I recently started a Bible Study that I’m really enjoying. My childhood friend invited me and it’s held at a small Baptist Church that reminds me of church the way it used to be. We gather together in the sanctuary with the leader ( a little 4’11” dynamo) with a sparkle in her eyes and her spirit and a humble heart. We sing a hymn (from an actual hymnal) then she prays for us and we are released into our small groups and work through our study with a leader. We then meet back in the main hall where Pam goes through all our questions with a final lecture. I find myself looking forward to each lesson. I feel it bubbling through me like living water.

Getting back to the theme of home, where I think this is all going. Anytime we delve into Scripture, it’s a bit like coming home all over again. That is, if we put a bit of work into it. And this actual home we moved into, oh my friends, we are enjoying it so much. Eight years of living in a very small space does a number on you. For those who forgot or didn’t know, when we moved back here, we lived on my aunt’s property on the Mokelumne River. (Click on link to see) It fed my nature loving soul and it was a beautiful setting for sure. That part of it I miss but it was so restrictive in many ways. (And tiny) Constant worry over maintenance of an older RV and 50-year-old trees falling among other things and we were done.

So, we are home. This is the final resting place this side of Heaven unless there is an earthly purgatory in the form of a care home (God forbid). Not being able to care for yourself is a real downside of getting older. As my aunt says (she’s 92 now) “It’s not for sissies.”

It’s kind of weird how God and life work if you pay attention. About 40 years ago I came to this very same mobile home park. I went out on a spiritual limb and said yes to God (it was actually my aunt and uncle) but the much bigger yes is the one I said to God when he asked me to sing with their small group. ( A solo with canned background music) To this day I’m not sure why I said yes. Singing a solo was about as far from my personality as it gets. But He came through for me then and He has never left my side. All these years later, here I am and here He is.

So thank you for anyone here still reading and caring. The kittens we got from the Balam Foundation in Mexico are thriving. Atticus has attached himself to me and Scout has made Elaine his mama. Of course, we love them both equally. Needless to say, there will be no Christmas trees inside this year. We got some decorations up and I found Santa on the ground this morning with a few small parts missing. So far that is the only casualty. And for the first time in 9 years, we are cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving. Life is good friends. Most importantly God is good.

If you are still here, thank you for slogging along with me. I hope you and yours have a very Blessed Thanksgiving this year from my humble Prayer Closet……Peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Lori

It’s a small, small world

It’s July 9, 2022 and I still sometimes catch myself wanting to write the date starting with a 19, imagine that. Last night I had a dream that I was scheduling my tans like I used to do before an event where I knew I would be wearing a bathing suit in front of other people. Maybe that’s where the “19” came from on the date. The 1970’s were the decade that saw me purposefully baking in the sun to color my acne-ridden skin. 

If I knew then what I know now I may still have done it. (I may have skipped the tanning bed in the 80s though.) It’s the second month of my summer break from school. I am blessed to be able to see children every day at my job and play at least a small part in their education in a supportive role. I’m in the 6th year of this “retirement” job and it will be my last. Yesterday I tore open the important looking envelope from the School District that held my next assignment. Praise God, it’s the same school and the same student as last year, little Edith. I am more than thrilled. 

I am currently reading Ray Bradbury’s book entitled “Dandelion Wine” In it, one of the elderly characters is described by the town youth as a time machine. I am beginning to feel like one of those myself. It’s a wonderful book that was recommended by someone on one of the timelines of social media and I was glad to find it in the library. It will be one I may buy and keep on my hallowed shelves. That is, one day when I do get shelves again. 

Speaking of the library, I was going through withdrawals since I hadn’t been there for a few days. When I got there it was 11:58 and they opened at noon. There were around 7 people waiting there and more walking up. I saw a lady around my age waiting too so I seized the opportunity to talk to her. “Encouraging, isn’t it, that people are waiting in line to read?” Her face brightened and she said, “Oh yes, I volunteer in the bookstore and sometimes I just buy kids books for them as a treat.” I said, “Yes, how often can you buy anything for a dollar or less anymore.” 

She said her greatest reward was that one of the kids ran up to her and hugged her legs. I told her I was a Teacher’s Aide and I heartily agreed that was the absolute best reward you could get. 

Later E and I had lunch with a longtime friend and I told her of my conversation. I described the lady and she said, “Oh yes, her name is Betty. They bought our house on Glenhurst.” Well, Glenhurst Street was my childhood home. The one we just sold this year after my folks passed. 

Turns out it is a small, small world sometimes. 

To those faithfuls who still may be reading, thank you for hearing me ramble. All is well in our little corner and I pray it is in yours!

Blessings, Lori

Sign in Locke, California

Whispers

Mokelumne River: Lodi, California

It’s the day after we celebrated Independence Day as a nation. I took a walk, noticed things like you don’t notice in a car or even on a bike with the world flashing by. The reason I walk is not really for the exercise, but to be connected to our one humanity. To see people outside doing ordinary things. Puttering in their yards, digging up broken sprinklers, walking dogs. There is a wonder in that. E. followed me on the bike and due to tracker on these phones, caught up on California street where I paused. 

I went by 615 West Locust where Grandma and Grandpa C lived. That’s how they always signed our Birthday and Christmas cards. I think about who lives there now. They don’t know or care what went on there before. They don’t care about the rock collection behind the garage that I liked to rummage through, or Mabel the solid gray cat of theirs, or the ancient stove in the kitchen. That’s as it should be, the way of life, I guess. 

Walking along, I saw a kindred spirit taking photos of clouds, another cloud watcher, phone toward sky. 

Last night the bombs were bursting everywhere. Neighbor cats were in one of their secret places tucked away. This morning they were both at the door ready for breakfast. It’s a blessedly cool and quiet morning. The last few years, I find myself almost enjoying the day after a holiday more than the holiday itself. The next day holds no obligation, just presents itself in all its glory, unmarred, unmoored. 

I immediately walked down to the river because I had to capture this reflection in the water. On the path down, the wind held a whisper of fall. It happens sometimes in mid to late summer. I know there will be many days to swelter yet, but for now, I enjoyed the promise the universe had to offer. That another season will come. 

Nature always helps me say, “Wake up!” Makes me think that maybe we can put away all the petty stuff and maybe find some common denominator. I think that’s why God gave us babies, and cute animals and sometimes a scene that is so majestic and magnificent that it takes your breath. 

I pray today that maybe we all can find something to take our breath away. Just temporarily. Look to the left or right, maybe it’s the precious familiar person beside you. Maybe it’s just the sky. (And it’s never just sky.) Maybe it’s the promise that God said He will never leave us.

More than we need for our manna today.

Blessings, Lori

Old Friend

It washes over me at unexpected times. That a chunk of my life is missing, E asks me if I want to go by my old home. (She knows I will say yes.) She goes by too after Walmart runs to see what’s what. What changes the new owners might be making. When I drive by it’s as if I’m gazing into the familiar face of a cherished old friend, not a place I once lived. No matter how it changes. I will remember…..

I remember little girl yellow and a record player on the floor. And ruffled chenille on the bed. My Mom so mad at the dog for lifting his leg right after she washed it. I remember backyard Birthdays, sheet thrown over the line and fishing for prizes which my brother and his friend fastened from the other side. Names of neighborhood crushes scrawled underneath the windowsills.

And sounds…..the funky doorbell I can hear so clearly. The particular slam of the screen door, the sound of my Mom singing and her voice telling me it was time to get up for school. My groan as I threw the covers over my head wishing for Saturday. 

On the other side of town, I see a sad row of buildings on Main taken over by the homeless, now rampant with drugs and stolen piles of garbage. In my mind I remember the sound our shuffling feet climbing the stairs to the upper room of the Mandarin House Chinese restaurant. We thought we were in Chinatown. The gentle clink of teacups and saucers. Okazaki’s was somewhere downstairs, the Japanese shop where they made the best snow cones. 

Memories can save us when everything around us is unfamiliar and changing. We walk about in a world we no longer recognize. We talk about it every day. Are we, (the sixty-somethings) the last to remember a world that was somewhat sane? 

Of course human nature has always been the same but I truly believe we are just now beginning to see the harmful effects of endless social media. It can’t be healthy to have events plastered our faces at every turn. The mind reels from it. There is no time for the mind to recover from one tragedy when you’re presented with another. 

But thankfully, some things will always remain the same. The important things. God knew there would come a day when we would need to derive comfort from looking up at the unchanging planets. He knew we would always need to gaze into the innocent eyes of a newborn to keep cynicism at bay. And to stand in wide-eyed wonder on the shore of an ocean which seems endless. 

It is Sunday, June 5, 2022, the day of Pentecost. Fifty days after He rose. And God is still in control. And I remember one day long ago when the Holy Spirit touched down in my little world. On a cold, foggy, miraculous December day close to Christmas. 

The Spirit will not always strive with men, but He was with me that day. And He’s with me still. I close my eyes and hear the peace murmured, the rustle of clothes and muffled kneelers leftover from Episcopalian days, and the Doxology from my Baptist days. And singing “Morning is Broken” on the dewy grass at a Methodist Sunrise Easter service. 

Life is good. Because God is.

Miscellaneous

Lassoing thoughts, figuring out what to keep

What to release

The writing process, even the phrase 

Taunts. “As if,” my own voice echoes 

Mocks. 

If no one is there to read, is it still a story? 

Because some things are too beautiful 

Not to share. 

Summer will always be 

The cool of the garden hose held over our heads

And “Let’s make skeletons!” 

Plopping down to feel the warmth of the driveway

Getting up to compare imprints

Purple Koolaid when it was still innocent

Remnants of powder on the cold metal rim.

Summer deliciousness. 

The hope of a warped chime from two blocks away

Rushing inside to get a thin dime

Missiles and Dreamsicles

Stubbed toes and hard-baked plastic flipflops

(Called thongs in those days)

All innocence must be kept like a treasure. 

And not forgotten. 

Writers are the guardians of recorded time.

It’s morning, and it’s God’s day.

I sip coffee and it tastes like gratitude.

I recognize for the umpteenth time

this is a sacred moment.

I stoop over the keyboard, the cat having stolen my chair.

I grant her a moment too.

Just like God has granted me so many over the years.

And this is present day and I summon the past in the form of a real

book. I know there are plenty of people like me,

who shun electronic readers.

Who know that reading is a feast for the senses.

The feel….smell….sound…..of a page.

The look of a particular font

even the thickness of the paper, all conjured up to make it

an experience.

Even before the first word is read.

Day Trip:

Luther Burbank’s Home and Gardens in Santa Rosa, California

Luther Burbank was a famed horticulturist who made his home in Santa Rosa for more than fifty years, and it was there that he conducted plant-breeding experiments that brought him world-wide fame. His personal friends and visitors to his home and gardens included Henry Ford and Thomas Edison. During his career, he introduced more than 800 new varieties of plants–including over 200 varieties fruits, vegetables, nuts and grains as well as hundreds of ornamental flowers.

Luther Burbank’s greenhouse and home in the background. One interesting fact is that although the town of Santa Rosa was greatly damaged by the great earthquake of 1906 in California, Luther’s home and greenhouse were unscathed. This little pocket of beauty is surrounded by a very busy street in the heart of downtown Santa Rosa and surrounded by street noise and foot traffic. I was struck, however, by the quiet once we stepped into the house. Luther’s father was a brick-layer and he made the bricks himself. A sure testimony to how well this place was built, in addition to the aforementioned fact about the earthquake.

“Fourth of July” roses and trellis below:

Every child should have mud pies, grasshoppers, water bugs, tadpoles, frogs, mud turtles, elderberries, wild strawberries, acorns, chestnuts, trees to climb.

Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the mind.

Luther Burbank

Wandering around the grounds you can see the imprint of Luther’s second wife, Elizabeth who had a thing for unusual tiles. She and Luther married in 1916 when he was 67 and she was 28. That marriage lasted until Luther’s death in 1926. I didn’t snap any pictures of her tile collection since we were on a tour and I thought it might be rude to the sweet lady who was informing us of everything we were seeing.

Here is another angle of the greenhouse, which miraculously still has the original leaded glass. Only one pane has had to be replaced and that was because a rock was thrown through it.

I took many pictures but only selected a few here. It is a wonderful piece of American history come to life as you can see by the many photos on the grounds. As I wandered the gardens, it was incredible to think that I was walking where Helen Keller, Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, Jack London and so many others had set foot. People of all walks of life down throughout history have found peace in gardens.

After all, it’s where we all started……..

Isaiah 51:3

Indeed, the Lord will comfort Zion; He will comfort all her waste places. And her wilderness He will make like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord; Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and a sound of a melody.

A very peaceful and happy Sunday to all. Lori

A Pretty Nice Life

It’s been awhile since I posted anything here in my little corner. So much has been going on. Sometimes it still feels surreal that Mom and Dad are both gone. Elaine says, “You will feel a bit like an orphan,” and she’s right. We had the garage sale and the house is mostly empty. The cousins came and we did a walk through. Shared some memories of 1127 Glenhurst long ago. Of exploding homemade firecrackers and waking up to the screaming engines of the hydro-boat races on Fourth of July mornings at the lake. 

This war that has just been started is hitting me hard. Several times I have cried, prayed over the pictures I see on the news. What is it all for? Maybe it’s because I’m thinking of Grandma and her family coming over on the ship, immigrants from Russia themselves. How bad must it have been to risk that horrific trip across the Atlantic to land on Ellis Island with only hopes and dreams of a better life? 

This morning I feel incredibly lucky. We’ve been living in this small space going on 6 years now. It hasn’t been easy, but we have made it work and made it homey. But we are longing for a real home again. And we are closer now to being there, wherever there is. Real estate is ridiculous in California but there are places to be had up in the foothills. And neighboring states close by are a possibility. 

I think of the Ukrainians on the run, fearing for their lives, their homes. I settle in my cozy spot by the window, with second steaming mug of coffee, reassuring stack of books nearby, within eyesight. This old tub is burdened with books in every storage place. Elaine says its like the long, long trailer only it’s not rocks its books. 

The other day I lifted the storage under the bed and took all 15 or so out. “I’m cleaning books out,” I said. She was hopeful. My measly little stack of four didn’t make a dent, but it was something. “Hey, it’s a start,” I say. 

And it’s another Saturday and the collectors are coming for the throwaway stuff at Mom and Dad’s house today. And today, I will exercise, and thank God for our freedom as my heart aches for those whose lives will never be the same.