Friday, 4:30 a.m.

From rainy Texoma, good morning dear friends and family out there.

The flashes of lightning just outside of our bedroom window woke me up with a start this morning.  The rain that was predicted had arrived pretty much on schedule and as I sit at the kitchen table typing this blog post, I can hear its soothing sound outside.  To the folks of this region who survived the 5-year drought, it must be one of the most refreshing songs of nature ever heard.

Welcome to Friday, the 30th day of October, 2015.  

4:30 a.m.

I remarked to Mike just last evening that it seemed strange to remember that we have been here in north central Texas for five months now.  Not sure how the time flew by us so quickly but it did.  Just yesterday we packed up our moving truck in Montrose, Colorado and traveled the over 800 miles to get here.  So much has happened to us in our new life as Texans and I still maintain that 99.9% of it has been very good.  For that we definitely give thanks.

The subject of the drought has been something we have learned much about and this morning's gift of precipitation is a reminder to us all just how precious the gift of water is.  Outside on our back patio, 4 buckets stand waiting to be filled up with rain water.  Later on we can water plants with that very water.  Our two cars are getting a good rinse off, thanks to Mother Nature.  The grass is soaking up some much needed moisture for the upcoming times of winter.  Lakes, rivers, ponds, and streams are all being refilled.  Hard to believe that not so long ago, those very reservoirs of water were dry as a bone.  

God is good.

Mike and I are going to use the winter months ahead to make plans of how we can redo our backyard.  Part of those plans will be to learn more about plants and flowers that are drought resistant.  We'll be pouring over the seed catalogues and searching online for the types of things that can survive with little extra watering.  We'd also like to figure out some sort of system to gather rainwater more efficiently.  There are plenty of products out there on the market that we can choose from.  While the cold winds of winter blow across the Texas plains from  December-February, we will be sitting at the kitchen table dreaming of a life yet to come.  

One thing will be for sure.
As fast as the first five months have sped by us, the next five will go even faster.

The humble zinnia~
One of the most drought resistant flowers that I know of.

~and I am not afraid of anything~

I'm not sure if it was because I'm dead tired or even maybe that tomorrow I'll be 60 years old.  It might even be that I've been spending the last 3 weekends up in Hutchinson, Kansas preparing my house there for sale.  Whatever the case, when I saw that little jack-o-lantern cake tonight at the grocery store, I felt a lump in my throat and a tear well up in my eye.

So I bought it and we ate it for supper.
And it tasted good.

When I was a tiny little girl, my mom always made me a pumpkin birthday cake.  It was always homemade in her farm kitchen and was decorated with orange frosting and licorice that represented the eyes, nose, and mouth.  It probably wouldn't have won an award at the fair or anything but to the little girl I "used" to be, it was the most beautiful cake in the whole wide world.  

It was beautiful for one reason only.
It was made by my mother's hands and she loved me.

Later on in life, I switched out my choice of birthday cakes as I found myself opting for an applesauce sheet cake.  I don't know how I got on to that practice but without fail,  my mom made me just what I asked for.

"No frosting and definitely NO raisins, Mom!" I always told her.  She never failed to disappoint me, making my last one on the occasion of my 50th birthday back in 2005.

I never went into the local supermarket this evening in search of a birthday cake.  It was not on my "mental" shopping list.  Yet even at that, I found myself walking right over to it and the woman who was my mother for over 50 years came immediately to mind.  For a moment in time I thought I could cry and it took me all of 5 seconds to pick it up and decide to buy it.  Mike and I each took a piece of it and enjoyed it with our supper tonight and while we ate it, I remembered my mom.  

For years now, I have just wanted to make it to 60 years of age to honor my father who lost his life at age 59 to the horrible disease of cancer.  I desired to find the age that he was not able to. The countdown is on and it would appear that I shall indeed see it come to pass.  I believe that my parents are in Heaven and I believe that they look down upon me.  If they were here on Earth, I know that they would rejoice with me to know that I have found the beginning of my sixth decade of life.  If not for the fact that those two people loved one another and decided they should have a sixth little baby, I would not be here this day to celebrate.

What lies ahead of me?
As they say here in Texas, I'm fixing to find out.

I would want them to know that I made it and that I am still working hard to do the things that would make them proud of me, their little girl.  I am not afraid of anything and that's a lesson that they taught me all of my life.

Thank you God for this long life that I have been given.  

~and the baby she was carrying was me~

For some reason my mother entered my thoughts this afternoon.  It wasn't the usual things I most often think of when I remember the woman I called "Mom" for 52 years of my life.  Instead of thinking of her in her later years, the troubled ones at the nursing home where she died, I envisioned my mother 60 years ago today.  She sure would have looked different.  She would have been so much younger and so very much pregnant.

And the baby she was carrying was me.

I was the 6th child that she had given birth to and already by the time I was born on the 26th of October of 1955, Lois Scott already had 5 other kids ranging in age from 4 to 14.  By the standards of her day, 35 years of age might have been considered kind of risky to find yourself pregnant at.  That did not dissuade my mother in the least.  She told me once how much she loved having children and so I'm sure that if some "well meaning" doctor might have suggested that she not consider having any more children after her fifth one that she would have promptly fired that doctor and moved on to find a new one.  

Of this much I know.
I'm sure glad that they chose me to be born.

I can't even imagine how worn out and tired my mother must have been 60 years ago today.  Her belly must have been swollen beyond belief and I'm sure that I was extremely busy doing my last minute "gotta get this done before I'm born" kind of stuff.  My little elbows and the heels of my feet must have poked and jabbed her time and time again.  She had other kids to chase after too and with my father busy running the milk route for the Tip-Top Dairy at Moundridge, my mother must have been pretty occupied herself.  And even in all of that, she still had time to carry and deliver me.

My mother went into labor in the late afternoon of the 25th and that labor lasted well into the 26th day of October.  The doctor who was supposed to deliver me, the good Doc Schmidt, had unfortunately been at the country club all evening long over in Newton.  He'd been drinking and dancing with his wife and neglected to tell the hospital where to find him.  Mom was getting worried he would not make it in time but the Catholic Sister who had helped her so many times before told her not to fret.  

"Lois," Sister Marietta said, "We've been through this before 5 times together.  We really don't even need him anyway.  He just thinks we do."

At just the right moment in time, poor Doc Schmidt came whistling down the hallway acting as if nothing had happened.  I cannot imagine what my mother told him but knowing her it was not said with a smile on her face.  At 10:32 in the morning of the 26th, I arrived into this world. Doc Schmidt held me up by my ankles and gave me my first swat.  Mom said I was less than 6 pounds but was just fine.  They named me "Peggy Ann" after a family friend named Peggy Carter who lived in the nearby town of Sedgwick, Kansas.  When they brought me home five days later, it was to a farmhouse in western Harvey County nestled into the sandhills near Burrton.  

Our parents had another daughter, our little baby sister, two years after me.  I always marveled that even at age 37, Mom seemed healthy and strong.  Leastwise she was strong enough to go through it all again.  Three years later an eighth child would be conceived and even though Mom could not carry that little one to full term, she loved that baby anyways.  In Heaven,  all of the Scott kids have a little brother or sister and when we meet them face to face it will be a joyous time to be sure.  

I'm glad that I thought of her today and you know what?
Perhaps she was thinking of me too.
It could happen you know?

And the baby that she was carrying was me~

And the baby that she had grew up~

~at least we had the summer~

Mike's dear Aunt Margaret passed away on Friday of this past week.  After lingering for days, the good Lord above finally took her home to Heaven.  She'd been ready and waiting for some time now and when she would question us as to why she was still here, we'd always have the same answer.

"He's not ready just yet for you.  There must be something left for you to do here on earth."

She always had the same look upon her face, one of resignation and hope that some day, some how, He would call for her.  Three days ago, God did just that.

I first met her in the spring of 2014 when Mike and I traveled to her home in Texas.  I could tell from the moment I met her, from the instant I shook hands with her, that she was a wonderful woman.  We had a nice visit and promised to return once again in the spring next year and it was a promise that we kept.

When we met her in the springtime of 2015, Mike and I had some news to share with her.  We told her that when school was out in late May, we were packing up our belongings and heading to Texas.  It would be a move that would take us only an hour or so from her home here.  We told her how thrilled we would be to come and visit her anytime we wished, not just once a year.  She was so surprised and very happy that soon we would be close by her.  

Shortly after we arrived in late May, she fell ill and after some hospital stays it was decided that she would need to enter long term nursing home care.  Mike and I felt bad because we had wanted to share part of life with her and so we determined to make the best of it, right alongside her.

Every weekend this summer of 2015, save only one of them in July, we made the journey to the nursing home about 45 miles away from our home.  She was always so happy to see us and a smile always lit up her face when we walked in.  Aunt Margaret was especially taken with Mike and many times I could see her looking at him with a special glow.  She would take hold of his hand and usually say the same thing each time.

"You sure look like your dad.  You even look like my daddy."

Seeing Mike made her happy and whenever he was there, he would lay his nice soft hand across her face.  Aunt Margaret always loved that special loving caress and I'm sure that it made everything seem all right just for the moment.  Each time we left it was with the promise that we would return the next weekend, no matter what.  That promise we surely did keep.

When we saw her together about 10 days ago, I knew that it would be the last time.  Even though she could not respond, we talked to her and loved on her as much we could.  We read the 23rd Psalm to her and told her we would indeed see her in Heaven some day.  I didn't go back again.

Because of things beyond my control, I won't be able to attend her services this week.  I wish that I could but I know that she would most certainly understand.  I was feeling bad about that, mostly because I have been raised up to do those kinds of things.  Honoring the dead by attending their final services is a gift to them.  But I think looking back, that I finally understand what it means to "honor the living" before they are dead and gone from the earth.  So many times folks don't take the time to go and visit people while they are here, saying they are too busy or the timing isn't right.  Then they hustle to get to the funeral as a final gesture.  I have been as guilty of that as anyone.  It's just human nature I suppose.

I'm thankful that I honored her while she was still here.  I'm grateful that the good Lord above allowed Mike and I to make the move to this part of the earth before it was too late.  We had no idea when we came to Texas that this would be the case.  Now we are aware and feel very blessed.

Aunt Margaret was a sweet, kind and dear woman who didn't dwell on the drama of life.  She never went on and on about herself or her troubles.  Instead she chose to focus on the positive and became a true source of encouragement for me and for Mike as well.  She gave me so many gifts and they were not things of a material nature.  Rather, they were gifts of the spirit.  I will always remember her for that.  

I will miss her as will Mike.  I'm so sorry that our time with her was limited to only one summer.  We missed out on a lot together with her but one thing is for sure.

We give thanks to her Lord and ours as well that we had any time at all.

Rest in peace dear one.

Our first meeting, April of 2014

At least we had the summer.

~and so we remember that some things are just best left to others~

From the prairies of Kansas, good morning dear friends and family out there.

I'm pretty sure any career that I would have hoped for that involved carpet removal, being a circus acrobat, or the person that thrilled audiences by lying on a bed of nails would have been short lived.  It only took me 5 minutes to figure out that one on Friday afternoon.

I came to Kansas early Friday morning to get things ready for putting my house on the market.  One of those things involved the removal of carpeting from the living room/dining room, hallway, and two bedrooms.  I was curious to see what was underneath it all so within the first 10 minutes of walking into my old home, I decided to pull up a section or two.

Everything would have been ok if I would have just remembered to watch where I was walking, something that I seem to have more and more trouble with as the years go by.  In my zeal to uncover more of the floor hidden beneath, I started to move towards the corner of the living room.  Then it happened.  My right foot got caught up in the roll of carpet and down I went, twisting and turning like a circus acrobat.  I landed hard on the floor right atop the tack strips that had been holding the carpet in place.  I felt the sharp points of the tacks sticking into my nearly 60-year old skin.  "Old lefty" wondered what was going on, of that I am positive.  Not sure what hurt worse, my body or my pride but that little incident helped me to remember to be safe as the process of tearing out carpet began in earnest yesterday morning, 

When it was all said and done, the flooring underneath was in pretty nice shape.  I marveled that in the 10 years that I've owned that house and for the 25 years that my mom owned it before me, we'd been walking on such nice hardwood.  We never even realized it.  There are a few things more that we need to do with it before the house is shown in a week upcoming but the hardest part has now been taken care of.

My body is tired and just about any muscle that I have is talking to me this morning.  By the way, the messages that they are sending me are not happy ones.  I now have the utmost of respect for the carpet installers of the world and so very thankful that I didn't have to make my living that way.

Some things are best left to others :)

If old houses could talk, what wonderful stories they could tell.

Thankful for the great memories.

~and I thank God for good memories~

I was looking through some old photos last night and came across several of them that were taken back home in Reno County, Kansas.  They were pictures of my house back there, the one that is very soon to be up for sale.  They all brought back a flood of memories and every single one of them were good.  As a matter of fact they were better than good.

They were great ones!

One picture in particular caught my eye.  It was the one that showed the garden that I made in the spring of 2010.  Hard to believe that 5 years ago have now passed since then but indeed they have.  The produce grown is now long forgotten but looking at the picture helped me to remember what it took to put everything into place.

From the looks of the rows of potatoes, you would have thought I was preparing to feed an army of folks.  In reality it was just me but why plant one row when you could easily plant 8 rows?  I can remember waiting anxiously for the first signs to go into the window down at the local market on South Main advertising the various kinds of potatoes that I loved to plant.  Just as soon as they were on the shelves, I would hurry down and pick up about twenty pounds of them.  It does seem like quite a bunch, now that I have said it. 

My mom taught me how to prepare seed potatoes for planting when I was just a little kid.  She told me about making sure each piece that you cut had a little "eye" on it.  I watched her a gazillion times laying them out into the rows in fairly even spaces, covering them up with soil and then proceeding to walk over the rows to set them firmly into place.  By the time I was married and making gardens of my own, planting potatoes was easy!  It was the waiting for them to sprout that was hard.  

I put lots of things into that garden back in 2010.  There were a dozen tomato plants, pepper plants, onions, and gourds.  Russian Mammoth sunflowers stood like sentinels around the garden's edges.  It did so well that year I was able to give away lots of the bounty from it to family and friends.  It took a lot of watering, plenty of weeding, and layers of mulching material but when it was finished, I was glad that I had done it.  The next year was the year of "old lefty" and after that, well after that I began to slow down a bit as far as gardening was concerned.

But at least for 2010, that old backyard soil worked its special "magic" for this Kansas farm girl.  

The backyard provided a sanctuary for me, especially during some challenging and lonely moments in time.  It was a place that I could dig in the dirt and experiment a bit in the growing of different flowers and vegetables.  I loved that soil and believe me when I tell you that I could go out there and literally "play" in it all day long.  There was something about the feel of that fine south-central Kansas soil as it ran through my fingers.  Unless you are there to experience it for yourself, you probably can't even imagine it.  Trust me when I say it though.  

It felt good.

I will be happy when the house goes on the market tomorrow evening and I will be even happier when the right person comes along to purchase it.  I've already packed up the memories and taken them with me when I left in 2013.  It seems a strange thing about memories though.  As each passing day goes by, I find myself remembering more and more of them and you know what?

I kind of like that.
See you today dear Kansas.

It's a great old backyard.

~from the prairies of Kansas, I am~

From the prairies of Kansas and the floor of my dining room in Hutchinson, Kansas~good morning dear friends and family.

Over 500 of the nearly 1,000 blog posts that I have made on this site have come from right here in my home along 14th Street.  This old house is where "The View From a Different Window" was born, partially because I love to write but more importantly because I need to write.  For whatever the reason ended up being, most generally about this time each day (the 4 a.m. hour) you could find me sitting at the dining room table and pounding away on the computer keyboard.  

And I didn't just write a little bit.
I wrote a lot!

This morning's blog post is a bit different.  This old house is barren of furniture, empty and silent inside.  Instead of sitting on the wooden chair that had its back up against the big south windows, I find myself sitting on the floor with my back propped up against the west wall.  It's not such a bad setup for now but when it comes time to get my nearly 60-year old body up from its sitting position I may need a hand.  Good thing for me that Mike is sleeping on an air mattress that is not too far away.

Mike and I came home to south-central Kansas the day before yesterday in order to get the house ready for sale and on the market.  It was a decision that sooner or later I knew I might be making.  I just didn't realize it would be made this weekend.  Yet as is the case in all of my life's doings, I am well aware of the fact that there are things that I have little control over.  Sometimes it's just best to be still and listen to the message that the good Lord sends us.  The message that I believe I received was this.

"Now is the time to sell it. You have taken care of it long enough.  It is ok to let it go."

Later on this month, we will do just that as we put it up on the market and pray for a buyer to come along who really wants to have it.  

This house is filled with memories and every single one of them are wonderful ones.  Really, if I had to stop and think of a bad one, I could not.  Originally the house belonged to my folks.  They bought it and moved in on October 2, 1982 which also happened to be my oldest son's 2nd birthday.  My father was dying of lung cancer and it was his final wish to see that my mom could have a place to live in town so that when he was gone there would be no need for her to worry.  All of us kids would be close by and could help her any time that she needed us to.  My father only lived here two months and when he died on the 11th of December, my mother began her life here alone.  For over 20 years she made this house her home and the memories of those times are forever written and etched deeply into my heart.  When I say that they are all very happy and loving ones, I mean it.  They truly were.

I bought this home in 2005 and it was here that I made my way as a newly divorced woman.  It was a sad time for me but I made it regardless.  This home was my sanctuary and a place that provided a lot of peace and respite from the times that I was going through.  I worked really hard here to turn it into a place that I could call my own.  Once I brought my mom here after I had purchased it.  I wanted her to see it and to know that the house was going to be ok.  I picked her up at the nursing home she was living in and we took the short drive to midtown.  It was hard for her to get up the front steps and even harder for her to walk through the rooms of the house.  I didn't know what she would say but as we were getting ready to go, she told me something.

"I'm so happy that you got this place and that you will take care of it.  I don't want to come back in again.  It belongs to you now and that is the way it should be."

When I moved away from Hutchinson in 2013, it was to begin a new life with Mike in the mountains of southwestern Colorado.  I wasn't ready to let the old house go two years ago.  Today as I sit here on the floor and type these words to you, I know one thing for sure.

Now I am.

The view from the front porch yesterday afternoon on 14th Street.  So thankful that I do not have to go through this life alone any longer.  We hold hands and we stick together.

~for the places and the people that I have left behind~as we hold hands tightly and stick together~

I can always remember back in our mountain home in Montrose, Colorado how lonely at times I felt and how much I missed my dear friends and family back on the prairies of south-central Kansas.  A good friend back there could sense my sadness and often times would message me saying~

"Go outside Peggy and look at the moon.  It's beautiful tonight.  The moon that you see is the same one that I do.  We're not so far apart after all."

And you know what?  That good friend was so right.

Lately we have been seeing some gorgeous photos of the first snowfall on the San Juan Mountains.  A dear friend sent us the pictures and told me that she was thinking of me as she saw them.  I used to think that the mountains made me feel as if they would swallow me up.  Now that I have been away from them for nearly half of a year, I look at them with different eyes and a bit of sadness in my heart.  I kind of miss those mountains and I most certainly miss all of the dear and precious people we had to leave behind.

In these last few days before I reach that great age of 60, I have tried to stop and remember all of the people that have had such a great effect upon the life of a small town Kansas farm girl.  Just like you, people have come into and gone out of my life at just the right moments of time.  They have helped to shape me into the person that I have now become.  From Haven, Kansas onward, I've had some mighty fine experiences.  Those wonderful experiences plus a whole lot of time being laid upon God's mighty anvil have defined me.  Since life is not over just yet for me, I'm sure that there will be plenty of others to come in the future.

The past few days around here, we seem to have had our share of "when it rains, it pours" kind of moments.  They call it "life" I suppose.  Sometimes when we are overwhelmed with things, it seems to be wise to stop and remember each and every blessing that is ours to have.  And so if you are reading this, may I say "thank you"?  May I tell you just how much it has meant to me that we are friends?  

Mike and I have made our new home along the Red River here in northern Texas.  We came over 800 miles from our former home back in southwestern Colorado and we did so in faith that everything would work out just fine.  At first, there was no house to live in, no friends to call our own, and not a job between the two of us.  God took care of us and worked that all out.  So no matter what lies ahead, we plan to do one thing.

We will hold hands tightly and stick together.

in Colorado

in Kansas

in Texas

~it is just an old sweatshirt~

It's just an old sweatshirt, emblazoned with the name of my high school back home in south central Kansas.  The year that I graduated is plastered smack dab in the middle.  It's just an old and somewhat worn out hoodie but if I had to choose an article of clothing that I consider my favorite, then it would have to be this one.

I got it for Christmas way back in 2010.  It was one of those things that I purchased for myself that year and when it came in the mail, I swore that I would hardly ever wear it.  I would keep it nice and pristine in condition for ever and ever.

Amen.

Somehow or another, just hanging it up in the closet and wearing it only once in a while didn't really seem fitting.  So I wore it and it wasn't just once in a while on every other Sunday in the odd numbered months.  I wore it all the time and as my pictures reflected it, you would have thought it was the only article of clothing that I ever wore.

I wore it back in October of 2011 when the good doctor told me how "old lefty" was doing after the second of four surgeries.  

I wore it back in the mountains of Colorado, especially on cold winter evenings.  It helped me to not miss home so much.

I wore it back in Haven too when Mike and I met up with our dear friends on the Grier Pharmacy corner on Fall Festival Day of 2013.

I can't even tell you how many blog posts have been written wearing that old sweatshirt.  I guess if an article of clothing could be inspiring, then this one was it.

Since both Mike and I are Haven alumni, he now has his own sweatshirt too.  I love this photo because it reminds me of how strange it was for the two of us to meet up with one another after the passage of 40 years of time.  Thanks to the wonderful little community of Haven!

It was always great for a bike ride or two.  I always figured that bright gold color would stand out on the roadways.  It was a "just right" material.  Not too hot and not too cool either.

I planted lots of flowers with it on.

And I stood next to a guy from the "land of long ago and far, far away".

We even made our very first snowman together back in 2014 and since he looked a little on the chilly side, just for a time I decided it was ok to let that sweatshirt go to another purpose.  Just for a time.

I wore it after my final swimming lesson of 2011 at the local YMCA back home in Hutchinson.

And I even wore it sitting next to the sweetest aunt you would ever want to know.

It made the trip all the way to Maine with me when I saw my very first lighthouse in 2012.

Hey I even had it on when we met this young man walking all the way across America.

That 5 year-old sweatshirt warmed my body on the day we moved away from our mountain home down onto the plains of Texas.

It brings me a whole lot of comfort to see it, to feel it, and to wear it.  

It is just an old sweatshirt, now getting a bit tattered and worn.  By some folks' standards, it's probably ready for the replacement pile.  Yet for me, there's NO WAY that I will ever get rid of it.  

It's not being held together by the threads any longer.  Something much stronger keeps it in piece.

Memories.

At the monument to my great-great grandmother Rebecca Burch in the little Quaker cemetery just north of Halstead, Kansas.  Some day when I am gone from this earth my remains will be laid next to her.  

~welcome to Sunday, 1:30 a.m.~

Life's redo.
Welcome to Sunday.
1:30 a.m.     

It's the very early morning hours here in the hill country of northeastern Oklahoma.  The noise from the busy streets and adjacent interstate highway have awoken me from my sleep.  After 40 minutes of tossing and turning, I just decided to give up and get out of bed.  Very soon, I will be on the road and heading back towards home in Burkburnett after coming here to Tulsa on Friday evening to attend an earth science workshop.  

It was an interesting conference, one filled with new things to see, learn about, and do.   Twenty other educators, mostly from this immediate area and predominantly teachers of science, filled the chairs and tables around me.  Although I probably wasn't gifted with the same drive for science that they surely are, I did learn lots of things and how I could apply them to my own classroom of writers. 

I will leave this morning with plenty of newly found knowledge of the world of science but even greater than that, awakenings about my own self.  You know, I came away from the conference with this one most profound thought.

At least I'm not as old as the petrified dinosaur poop that I held in my hands yesterday afternoon.  Nearly 60 is beginning to look pretty young after all.

My last 3 weeks in the "land of 50 somethings" lies ahead.   I look forward to beginning my sixth decade of life.  It's a gift that my father was never able to open but I feel certain that he would be most happy to know that his "little" girl once did.

Tulsa, Oklahoma
2:15 a.m.

Writing this blog post did what I had hoped it would.  I am ready to return to sleep.  Have a beautiful Sunday everyone out there.  I love you dear friends and family, one and all.

My father (age 59)

And me.