~it's the town that raised me~

It's a quiet New Year's Eve night here.  The sound of the football game on television and the humming of the washer is about as loud and noisy as this house will get.  No wild parties here, that's for sure.  I long ago gave up the notion of staying up until midnight to usher in the next year.  I figure I'll meet it when I wake up in the morning.  

Not like it is going anywhere or anything.

2016 marked our first full year of living here on the plains of Texas.  It's been quite a year for us both.  The good Lord above is the only one who knows what lies ahead.  Here is hoping for us all that things improve or at the very least don't get much worse.  Stick together family and friends, stick together.  

For some reason tonight I have been thinking of my hometown back in Kansas.  Every once in a while I get that way and I always know it because I feel this little tug at my heart.  It was a wonderful place to grow up in.  Haven, Kansas is my hometown and I will always love it.   I have lived in other places but none is as special as Haven is to me.

We were back there not even a month ago and on the way home we drove through town and looked around a bit.  Some things never change about Haven and I am always happy for that. Still other things look new or certainly out of place from where I remember them being.  I should be happy for that too, for it shows that the town is alive and well.  Lots of good people, "salt of the earth" kind of folks live there.  They would do anything for others, without a doubt.  
I go back there as often as I can.  Sometimes it is for no more than a drive down Kansas Avenue or a quick trip over by the high school, but still I go.  I left many dear friends back there, ones that I have been blessed by knowing.  They are all tucked deep into my heart and there they shall always be.  

You know, if I could give a wish for the new year upcoming to that little town, it would be that everyone would be ok and that when I came back it would always be there to welcome me home.  It's a very special place.

It's the town that raised me.

Long before the acronym "BFF" was thought of, this group of kids were just that.  We are members of the class of 1973.  3 years ago we all got together in Haven for our 40th class reunion.  It was so good to see everyone once again.  I'm glad that we grew up together and even more glad that it was in Haven, Kansas.  Love you kids all!

~for the good that is all around you~

In the late autumn of my life, I sit and realize just how quickly time has passed by.  I have lived a lot of life and at age 61, I give thanks for it all.  Each of the experiences that I have encountered, the bad and the good, have refined my character and made me into the person I was always meant to be.  If you have played any part in that, I have something to tell you.

"Thank you."

2016 is coming to an end.  The day after tomorrow will be time for another year to begin.  It's scary and exciting all at the same time.  Even though the news is filled with one bad thing after another, I know in my heart that there is much more good than there will ever be bad.  It's a message I'm going to be preaching to my students at school with regularity.  Kids pick up on the unsettledness of life and now, more than ever, it's important to remind them to always look for what is good and right about the world they live in.

I have been a witness to so much of that "good".  

In this part of the world, I guess you call it "the south", I have been impressed by the good manners of so many people.  There is hardly a day that goes by that someone, somewhere won't hold the door open for me.  I thought it might be due to the fact that I'm getting a bit older, but then I realized that doors get held open for all ages of folks here.  One thing I learned right away was the fact that I am now living in the land of "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am", and I kind of like that.  It's not that I didn't notice it while living in Kansas or even Colorado, because I did. Yet here I sense it even more and I appreciate that act of respect and honor to me, a total stranger.  

We have made many friends here in this new land of ours, good people who have the sincere desire to always help in any way that they can.  My good friend Mary, from back in Colorado, told me to expect lots of people to come to our aid if we ever needed some help.  She was so right!  Those kind of folks are all around us, from Mike's job at the hardware store to my job at school.  I am always amazed, but I really shouldn't be.

When 2017 arrives in just a short time now, we won't know what the year shall bring.  The only thing any of us can do is to go forward in faith.   The same God who picked me up from the prairies of Kansas and transplanted me in the mountains of Colorado, has watched over me on the plains of northern Texas.  

I'm planning on leaving things in His hands.
It usually works out much better that way.

                                                        

                               A lot of good people live there~

~and I was blessed, that's how~

With little more than 3 1/2 days left of 2016, I once again cannot imagine where the days went to.  One day it's early January and you forget to write 2016 on your checks and then before you know it, you are counting down the last days of the year.  All in the proverbial blink of an eye it happens and there is little we can do to change it, save for one thing.

Enjoy each day that you are given.

I turned 61 this year and just typing those words makes for a somber feeling.  I can remember being 16, then turning 21, and every decade year thereafter.  How did I get to be 61 years old for crying out loud?  

I was blessed, that's how.

The older I have become, the more I have slowed down a bit, although my family and friends still maintain that I'm on the go too much.  Yet I know in my heart that I don't do near what I used to.  I still have a huge amount of fires burning but not as many as I once did.  You know something?  I kind of like that.

Slowing down a bit has given me great rewards in my later years.  One of those benefits is noticing all of the beautiful sunrises and sunsets we are given each and every day.  I still chase them, those color shows that the sun puts on for all of us.  If I'm in the car, I pull over in order to get a great view and with camera in hand, I always take a picture.  I've even been known to set an alarm in order to wake up and head outside.  They don't last long, those beautiful exhibitions, and a person has to get a move on in order to see them in all of their glory.

Once, several years back, I found the most beautiful sunrise one summer morning.  I was back home in Kansas and just a few miles south of Highway 50 on the Yoder Road.  I parked my car along Eales Road and waited for the sun to come up.  It didn't disappoint me and as it arose, I kept snapping picture after picture in order to get the best one.  

In my mind, I did just that.

Once someone asked me how I would know that a particular sunrise or sunset would be the most beautiful of them all.  I had to think a minute on that one, but I did come up with a reply.

"The most beautiful ones are those that make your heart content and at peace.  You could find them in the company of others or you might encounter them in your own solitude. Don't worry because when you see them, then you will know."

My heart was most content that early July morning in 2011, and thus there it was.  
~the most beautiful sunrise on earth~

I've seen many other gorgeous ones since then.  Our home in the Colorado mountains provided the backdrop for many of them.  Even in the freezing cold weather, I was out there taking pictures of them all.  As a matter of fact, sunrises and sunsets in the dead of winter are some of my most favorite ones.  There is just something about them that sets them apart from all of the others.  A few of my favorites out of many are shown below.

~sunset up on Cerro Summit~ (Colorado, 2014)

~sunrise shrouded by fog near Elgin, Oklahoma~ (2016)

~sunrise just outside of Big Pasture Elementary in Randlett, Oklahoma~ (2016)

~sunset in Altus, Oklahoma~ (2015)

As the years come upon me, I have determined myself to get rid of the things around here that have little or no meaning to me.  I have given away much to my children, donated some to charity, and the rest just literally gave away to anyone who needed it.  It makes me happy to begin the journey of "traveling light".  Too much stuff is cumbersome and it sucks the life out of those who have to take care of it.  The years that remain for me here on this earth will be spent enjoying the very important things that I do have left, special treasures like my family and friends. 

And while I'm at it I'll be looking for other things, ones that are free and ever changing for those who desire them.  

Things like sunrises.  
Things like sunsets. 

~and once I was just like them~

Burkburnett, Texas
4 a.m.
Old habits die hard.

We are at the halfway point of our Christmas break from school.  I figured the time would go by fast, and indeed that has proven to be true.  Christmas Day came and went, the packages unwrapped, the tree down, and life goes on.  It's early in the morning and when I could well be still sleeping with no hint of an alarm going off, I'm awake.

Wide awake.
It's been that way every day since our break started.

I think about the children and wonder how they are doing.  I strain to listen for the sound of their voices, but hear nothing except the quiet of my own home.  I find myself starting to miss them and I suppose that is just normal.  Being with them every day is something that I am used to now.  We have our challenges, that's a given.  Yet even in those difficult times, I could think of nothing better than to be with them and to hear them call me "teacher".

Come a week from this Wednesday, I shall do just that.

Mike is probably correct.  I really do need to start thinking of a hobby, something that will keep me going when finally in the short years ahead I do retire.  Not sure what that pastime will be just yet, but I'm thinking more about it.  I have a couple of different ideas and time will tell if I ever follow through on them.  

At least I can dream.

I went over to school the other day, swept and mopped my classroom, cleaned the top of my desk so it would look presentable, and hung up a new bulletin board for the month of January. On the last day of school, I promised myself that I'd take a respite from it all, yet I've been over there several of the days since break began.  It's not that I stay all day either.  Most of the time I limit myself to no more than an hour and a half. I have stuck to that promise each time.  I feel fortunate that my school, even though in an entirely different state, is only 14 minutes from home.  I couldn't ask for it to be any better.

I can only imagine that when those 19 children return to school next week there will be all kinds of excitement.  Stories will be told of the fun they had at Christmas, of each and every gift that was given to them, and all of the wonderful things that they have done.  It will be hard to settle them down that first day, but I have come to accept the fact that it will be like that.  I can work around it and still be ok if I just continue to remember one thing. 

They are kids, after all.
Once I was just like them.

It was a lot of fun to take care of baby quail in our classroom back in Kansas.  2011 was quite a few years gone by now.  I hope to get to do this one more time before I really retire.

~in the middle of a snow covered field~

3 years ago today, life was different.

Mike and I were at home in Colorado, 611 miles away from my old home in Kansas.  It was Christmas time and we were busy readying our things for the chance to go back to Hutchinson for the holidays with our family.  We had made a quick trip to town in search of a few last presents and were on our way home when it all happened.

Only a quarter of a mile from our house, we saw a man standing along the shoulder of the road, flailing his arms to slow us down and stop.  In the field next to him was a car that had obviously been in an accident.  The man spoke only Spanish and I understood him to say there had been an accident and to call for help.  He handed his cell phone to Mike and motioned me to check on her.

And so we did.

Inside the car was a young woman whose air bag had deployed.  She was face down into it and as I called out that help was coming, I saw that her body was very still and I had to wonder if she was yet alive.  I ran around to open the passenger side door to check on her and as I slid into the seat, I heard the most wonderful sound ever.  It was like music to my ears.

She was moaning in pain.

I talked to her and asked her name.  I told her that help was coming and to just stay really still until they got there.  I reached over and grabbed her hand and held onto it so she would know that she wasn't alone.  Over the phone, the 911 dispatcher asked if I could find out anything about her.  Since she wasn't even able to talk, I began to rifle through her purse that was spilled out onto the floor.  I found her name, address, and a social security card that belonged to a little girl.  I knew then that she was someone's momma.  I prayed for her and we waited.  Soon the ambulance came for her and we drove on home.

All the rest of the day as we continued to pack the car for our trip home to Reno County, I thought of her.  Was she ok?  What was her condition?  I think the most haunting thing of all to me was that I never saw her face, not once.  Late in the afternoon I told Mike that I was calling the hospital to see how she was.  I didn't figure that they could tell me much but I explained our situation in the hopes that the hospital switchboard operator could help us.  

Turns out, she could.

The nurses in the emergency room explained to the young woman and her mother that we were concerned about her and would like to know if it was permissible with them for us to come up and see her.  They were glad to let us visit and so we made the trip into town.  Once we got there, we met for the first time the young woman named Candace and the little girl whose social security card was in the wallet.

We were pleasantly surprised to hear that the doctors felt she would be just fine.  No broken bones were apparent but plenty of deep bruises from the air bag deploying.  It would hurt for a while. Candace was happy to see us and thanked us for stopping to get help for her.  I told her I was so glad to see her face and to know that she would be ok.  She said to me the sweetest thing, something that I will always remember.

"I recognize you by your voice.  Even though I couldn't see who you were, I knew you were a kind person when I heard you speak to me.  I wasn't afraid."

We stayed for a short while and then headed out for home.  
It was a life changing experience, to be sure.

Every once in a while, that day comes to mind for me.  Just yesterday, as a matter of fact, I told Mike that it was surely about the anniversary of that day happening and it was.  When that young woman woke up that early morning on the first day of winter in 2013, she had no idea that a deer would run in front of her and cause her to swerve and hit the fence.  We had no idea that on the way home from town we would come across the accident.  

But we did.

I believe with all of my heart that God puts people in just the right places in time for a specific purpose.  There's a real reason for things, if a person just pauses long enough to see it. Even with the world's chaos all about us, there is still a very much needed order to things and a plan for each moment of the day.  

It's how I believe.
No use in trying to change my mind.

Sometimes as I look back on my own life, especially the last 3 1/2 years of it, I realize how much my life has changed.  There was a time, especially in the first 3 months of being married to Mike, that I questioned my reasoning about leaving Kansas.  I wasn't sure I could make it so far away from what I had always called home.  Yet I did.  In the meantime, God has provided me with so many opportunities to be a blessing to others as well as being blessed personally by them.  If I had stayed in Kansas, I would have never met the dear people of Olathe (CO), Petrolia (TX), or Randlett, (OK).  That boy from the "land of long ago and far, far, away" would not have become by husband and I more than likely would have found myself alone.

I implore you my dear friends to always look around you and be aware of all the ways that God sends people and situations to you for your own benefit.  Sometimes in the business of everyone's lives, we miss those blessings.  Please don't miss yours.

I found one of mine in the most unlikely of places.
It was in the middle of a snow covered field, holding hands with a young woman named Candace.

We are following the plan we came up with several months back now.  We stick together.

~everything to do with love~

I saw a woman today as I was out Christmas shopping who made me think of my mother.  She looked to be about the same age as Mom was when she died.  As a matter of fact come to think about it, she even dressed like her as well.  Her hair was gray, she wore glasses, and carried a big pocketbook just like my mom.  

I watched her for a moment from a good distance back and by the looks of her cart, I could tell she was Christmas shopping too.  She happened to be looking at t-shirts for young kids, and one by one she looked at them and their price tag.  The woman seemed to be having a hard time of making up her mind, as she noted the price on several of them.  She pulled out a crumpled up shopping list from her pocket and crossed something off. Finally she picked one out and put it into her cart and walked away.  

She put me in mind of my mom in so very many ways.  I remembered her going Christmas shopping each year and how she would sort through things as she tried to get the best price she could.  It wasn't that she wanted to be cheap, rather she didn't want her money to run out before she got the things that she wanted.  Mom had no charge card, no debit card, and for sure never looked for the greatest deals online.  She was an elderly woman who was trying very hard to get by on the meager amount she had to live on each month from her social security check.

And she did.

My mom was always good at figuring a way to make sure that each of her children and grandchildren had a present to open on Christmas Day.  No one was ever left out, from the smallest grandchild to the oldest son or daughter.  She was just like that and to this day I have to admire her for it.  I certainly never forgot it.

The gifts that Mom would buy would vary from year to year, but more often than not, they would be gifts that had some degree of practicality to them.  It might be a handy flashlight or a good shirt for each guy.  Girls would sometimes get a pretty glass dish or her embroidery work. The grandkids were always happy with whatever she had picked out for them just because it was from "grandma".  

When I got back home from shopping today, I looked for something in my china cabinet and there among the rows of pretty cut glass, I found what I was searching for.  It was the very last Christmas gift that my mom ever gave me.  She told me that it was from the "free gift" box and I knew just what she was talking about.  Mom loved ordering from a certain company that always sent 3 or 4 gifts extra as an added bonus.  She really received some pretty nice things and she always shared them with others as gifts throughout the year.  

It is a small dish, probably meant for candy, in the shape of a strawberry.  As I held it my hands this afternoon, I couldn't help but to remember the kind and caring woman who had gifted it to me, now so very long ago.

My china closet is filled with many different pieces of glassware.  A few pieces are worth something but the majority is of value only to me.  Of all the pieces that I have collected over the years, this one means the most.  It probably cost all of 25 cents to make it in some factory, but the heart of the one who gave it to me was made of gold.  

I shall always treasure it.

In this season of giving gifts, I pray that I keep in mind the sacrifices that my mom made in order to give something to each of us in our big family.  Mom did without, I know she did, in order that our hands could each hold a gift in them on Christmas morning.

She left quite a legacy behind her and it had absolutely nothing to do with presents.
It had everything to do with love.

~and one of those is me~

The Christmas break from school came Friday afternoon.  For the next two weeks all of us, teachers and students alike, will enjoy a much needed and very well deserved respite from the first half of the school year.  The days will fly by and before you know it, everyone will be back again in the early part of January.  

You know, I kind of miss those young people when I'm not with them.

The past 40 years in education have gone by without slowing down.  The older I have become, the more fleeting and temporary they have seemed.  Once I was 21 years old and just starting out as a beginning teacher.  Then I was 61 and looking at 4 decades of service in the education of children.

It's overwhelming at times to think of it and sobering beyond belief.

Every once in a while I get a message from someone asking me how I'm doing and how long I intend to teach.  They want to know if I ever am going to retire and if I do, what will I find to keep myself occupied from then on.  I really have no answer to any of that. 

At this point in time I just don't know, but as they say down here~

"In the near future ahead, I will be fixing to find out."

Although I have no real plans to retire after this school year, a person just doesn't know what lies ahead.  Keeping that in mind, I have determined to teach every single day this year as if it were the last one I would have.  I have kept to that promise.  

Sometimes as we are talking about things during the day, I remember my life as a third grader when I was their age.  It seems so strange to write the year "1963" on the whiteboard and to realize that over a half of a century has passed by since I too was one of them.  It's funny to see the looks on their faces when I write that number down.  I guess 1963 must really seem like the year 1850 or something to their innocent spirits.  They never come right out to say it, and they really don't need to.  The way that their mouths drop when they see that number tells it all.  

Kids, you have to love them.
And I do.

I'm trying to enjoy each and every day that I have off from school.  I've a plenty to do around here and a long list of things that are demanding my attention.  I'll probably get to most of them and for those that I don't, well they will to have wait for another time.  Once in a while I plan to practice up on that fine art of napping as well as just sit down and do absolutely nothing.  Both are beneficial to any of us,  and especially to school teachers who have been around the block several times.

And one of those is me.

This picture is so priceless.  January 28, 1983 seems like long ago and at the same time, only yesterday.  It was a day that we were celebrating the birthday of the great state of Kansas. I was teaching first grade back home in Haven, Kansas.  We celebrated the day as the pioneer children would have and everyone came dressed in period clothing.  The classroom lights were turned off and we ate our sack lunches around our desks.  There were no computers or technology to turn off because back then, who would have even thought of them? I have absolutely loved my life as a teacher and when it is over, I will have zero regrets about anything that I have done.  

I could sleep at night in 1983 and I can still sleep at night in 2016.  

~to keep their hands warm~

A long hot summer and a brief "Indian summer" kind of autumn have left the plains of Texas now.  In their place, winter has decided to move on in.  The furnace runs a lot these past few days to keep our house comfortable and the gas bill is now reflecting it.  Sometimes of the evening, Mike will build a fire in the fireplace to add a bit more warmth to the living room.  It is nice to sit there and watch the fire's glow.  I'm not sure how much heat it actually adds to our home but there is one thing it does add.

~peace~

We did some Christmas shopping for the kids at school over the weekend.  Neither of us were sure what to get and with 19 of them in all, I knew we had to stick with a reasonable budget. We happened upon a great sale on gloves and mittens when we were back home in Hutchinson this past weekend.  There was such an array of them, in all colors imaginable.  They were beautiful!  So we determined that new gloves it would be for them all.  We bought some cocoa packets, candy canes, and small candies to put inside of them.  Mike is good to always help me with things for my students, so putting them together didn't take long at all.  Yesterday I gave them to the kids when they came in to begin our day together.

They were thankful and I was happy.

Seeing children with warm gloves on their hands always makes me feel much better.  When I was their age, our parents provided us with one pair of gloves each year.  If they were misplaced or lost somewhere, we were just plain out of luck.  There would be no more purchased during the cold months of winter.  If we found ourselves without gloves, there was only one solution as far as we were concerned.  Mom would make us get socks out of our drawers and put them on instead.  It has been more than 50 years since that happened, but the memory of it has never left me.  

You know, it wasn't that our parents were mean.  They simply wanted us to take care of our belongings.  With 7 hungry children to feed, there wasn't that kind of extra money to go around.  A kid learned responsibility early on in our house.  Wearing socks on your hands when you got on the school bus was never something that any of us wanted to do.  

I smile in my heart about it now.
I didn't smile about it at the time.

The days before our vacation from school are at hand.  This coming Friday we all will be saying our good-byes to one another as we head out the door for a glorious 2 week break.  The kids need it and the truth of the matter is, we adults need it as well.  I have plenty to do around here to keep me more than busy, yet even in that I know that I will be thinking of them and wondering how they are doing.  

Our little classroom community has come a long way since we first met one another back in the early part of August.  More than 4 months have gone by us now and the remaining days and weeks will pass so quickly.  We have much to do and very little time to do it in but we will make it.  Hey, we always do.  I must admit that my age is starting to tell on me now and after nearly 40 years of doing this, it should be expected. I get tired sometimes and worn out from a day's work at school, but one thing is for certain.

I wouldn't trade my life for any other.
Not even for a million dollars.

~in a place like a pig barn~

My life's journey as a teacher has taken me on many roads to places that I had never even heard of before. One of those places was Petrolia, Texas where I spent the last school year as an English/Language Arts teacher at the local elementary school.  While I was there, I had the wonderful opportunity of meeting many different students and teaching them the fine art of writing.  It was a blessing to teach them, but as it has often turned out for me, it was the students who ended up teaching me more than I could have ever hoped to have taught them.

One of those students was a young man named Carson.

Carson was one of my fourth grade home room students last year and I remember him writing and speaking from time to time about his pigs and sheep.  They were animals that he was taking care of and raising up in order to show them and eventually sell to someone else.  That kid always had a smile on his face when he spoke of them and I could tell that he had a really good heart for being a steward of animals such as those.  Once as he was sharing things about them, I told him that I'd love to see them sometime and he said that I should come on out.  

And so I did.

I told Carson that as a farm kid growing up, my parents had pigs as well.  I mentioned to him that I wasn't a big fan of swine, in fact I admitted that I was a little bit scared of them.  He promised he would go into the pen with me to see them up close if I wanted to and not to worry.

So he did.

For the record, I was only a little bit afraid.

It was nice to hear him tell of what it takes to raise up a pig and as the fourth grader shown above, he had already learned so much of what he needed to know.  I was amazed at how much he seemed a "natural" as he worked with them and I could tell that he had a love in his heart for what he was doing.

The days of fourth grade came and went.  The school term of 2015-2016 was to be my only one at Petrolia, and on the last day it was sad to tell Carson and his classmates good-bye.  I knew that somehow, somewhere our paths would cross again.  As it turned out, Carson and I crossed paths this morning back in the same pig barn that I visited last year about this time. 

It was 30 minutes of time so very well spent!  In fact, I think I could call it the best half hour I've enjoyed in a long time.

I hadn't seen him since school let out in May and oh my goodness, how much he has grown.  I never think about how short I am until I stand next to a fifth grader who is now at least a head or so taller than me.  For as much as Carson has grown and changed in the short 7 months time that we last saw one another, one thing has not.

He still has a kind heart for animals.  For that matter, he has one for people too.

We talked about his new pigs, Sully and Marty (hope I spelled those right) and what it will take to get them to where they need to be as show pigs.  As it turns out, Sully likes to lie down and have his belly rubbed.  I asked Carson if it was ok for me to do that and he said "sure!".

And so, I did.

                                              For the record, this time I wasn't afraid.

You know I surely do not profess to know everything about teaching, even after nearly 40 years as an educator.  I make mistakes and plenty of them.  I learn something new every single day and I don't mind admitting that.  Only a fool would say that they need not learn anything else. But one thing I do know with certainty is this.

The classroom is not the only place children learn and sometimes the best of teachers have four legs, a cute curly tail, and go by the names of "Sully" and "Marty".

I am a very firm believer that educators need to meet their students halfway and learn about what goes on in their lives outside of the confines of the classroom walls.  I believe in paying home visits and seeing what things they enjoy doing outside of the normal school day. We need to make a connection with our students and actually listen to them for a change instead of talking at them.  It's amazing what we can learn if that happens.

It's a "win-win" situation for everyone concerned and I like that kind of deal. 

Although I had already known so, I was reminded once again by this fine young man that learning can take place in way more places than the classroom setting.  A kid doesn't have to be sitting at a desk with a book in front of him in order to gain knowledge.  Sometimes the greatest learning can be attained in the most unlikely of places.

Places like a pig barn~

Thanks Carson for reminding me of that this day.  I can't wait to see the person you grow up to be. Just so you know, I plan on sticking around long enough to find out.

~and her answer would probably be the very same~

Yesterday was a busy day at school.  We are working feverishly to finish up everyone with their AR points for the 2nd nine weeks.  Time is of the essence and we must be done meeting our individual goals by Wednesday of the upcoming week.

Trust me when I say it.  
There were no slackers.

By about 10:15 we realized that we had to stop and put our computers away in order to finish up some things before lunch.  I was nearly through when I heard our secretary open up the classroom door.

"I brought you some visitors!", she said.
Sure enough, she had.  

There standing at our door were two people who mean a whole lot to Mike and I.  It was my sister Sherry and my brother-in-law Wes from Altus, Oklahoma.  Sherry is a veteran teacher who retired after 41 years of service in the classroom.  She is my mentor, the one I go to when I have a question about something pertaining to school, and the best big sister there ever was.

They had made the journey over to school from their home on the way into Texas to visit their daughter and family.  They decided to keep their visit a surprise and believe me, surprise me they did!

The kids in my classroom have heard of Mrs. St. Clair many times since school began.  Sherry is the one who has provided so many things for our classroom already this year.  She has made beautiful bookmarks for us, donated books and classroom supplies, and so many other little things.  At the top of her list of gifts to us has been a multitude of snacks for the kids to enjoy.  She knows, just like I do, that there is no way to fill a child's head with knowledge when their little bellies are on empty.  My students have really enjoyed them and now they had the chance to see first hand the person who has been so kind and generous to them.

It was my sister.

I told Sherry to take my chair at the desk and the kids could come up to greet her.  It was such a humbling experience to see her sitting there, this woman who had been so seriously ill not even three months ago that she spent many days in the ICU of a hospital back in Wichita, Kansas.  I gave her the biggest hug and thought I just might cry.  It was sweet to hear one of the little kids say,

"Ah, look they are sisters and they love each other!"

And that little boy was right.  We surely do.

The next twenty minutes were spent with introductions and everyone getting the chance to come up and greet both of them.  Several kids shared stories about what had been happening in their families and how they were doing in school.  Wes, an Air Force veteran, pointed to our United States flag and asked them if they knew what it stood for.  Proudly they all said that they surely did.  Sherry asked me about the kids and how they were doing.  I smiled when I said that even though they sometimes talk too much that they are doing wonderful and that I wouldn't trade them for anything.  That's when a young man in the class spoke up.

"Yes, Mrs. St. Clair.  Mrs. Renfro said that she wouldn't trade us kids for all of the money in the whole wide world.  If someone came up to her and offered her a million dollars to be able to teach us, she would always say 'NO'". 

He remembered.
I smiled.

The time went much too quickly and before long they had to head out for the rest of their journey.  The kids said their "good byes" and two of them gave Sherry and Wes an official "escort" to their car.  With that, they were gone.

I owe my sister so much.  She has been the one who guided me throughout my now 39 years of being a teacher.  I didn't learn near as much from 4 years of college plus a master's degree as I have learned by watching and emulating my big sister.  If I am exemplary teacher today it is only because I was taught by the best of them.

And her name is Sherry St. Clair.  

Perhaps in the not so distant future, it will be my time to finally say "enough" and fully retire from the classroom.  I hope and pray that perhaps I will have at least a couple more years before it is all said and done.  I've had a wonderful life as a teacher and have no regrets whatsoever about the things that I have accomplished, and you know what?

If you ask my sister about how she feels, her answer would more than likely be the same.

~for the record, I did~

The sky was so strange as I left school today, filled with clouds of every design imaginable.  I don't think I've ever seen the heavens look quite like they did this afternoon.  Everywhere I gazed as I drove home along the way, clouds of all types and patterns were there to be seen.  For as far away as a person could look in any given direction, there they were.  I was so taken by their appearance that I stopped to capture several pictures along the way.  

I found myself loving the view, so much so that it took a while longer to make it home today.

Perhaps it is because I am getting older.  Maybe it could be that I realize the brevity of this life of ours.  Whatever the reason, seeing these clouds today was like a present to me.  They were the kind of gift that end up being worth far more than a swimming pool in the backyard or a fancy house on the edge of town.  Sadly, those examples of God's artwork were fleeting at best. The dark has come here in our part of the world and all that I have left of that beautiful sky are these pictures.  

I'm glad that I took them.

At age 61, I am at the point in life where I need very little to make me happy.  I have been systematically giving away many of my worldly possessions for the last couple of years and trying my best not to buy anything to replace them with.  It's working out pretty well for me.  I could be a minimalist pretty dang easy.

Time will tell.

Seeing that beautiful sky today was basically a free gift, given by the Creator by whose hands those clouds were made in the first place.  The only thing it cost me was a tiny bit of time and the willingness to slow down, even stop the car along the shoulder, and enjoy them just a bit.

For the record, I did.

Clouds have always fascinated me.  Mike and I went to the top of Cerro Summit in September of 2013 and took this picture of ourselves.  Up there the clouds look as if you could almost reach up and touch them.  

~and God knew~

The sweetest young lady left me a message on this blogging site after she had read a post that I'd made about a week ago.  I recognized her right away as one of the 18 students I had when I taught the 4th grade at Olathe Elementary in Colorado.  She is now a 7th grader and I have a feeling that in the years to come that young lady will do some very special things with her life. She thanked me for all that I had done to help her and told me that she was thinking of me and decided to check out my blog once again.

It was the kind of message that every teacher wishes to hear.
I loved that whole class and young Marissa was a part of it all.

That first year of teaching in the mountains of Colorado was the thing that saved Mike and I. We said it many times throughout the course of the 9 months of school that year.  I was having a tough time adjusting to life so far away and removed from the life I was used to back in Kansas. Mike and I had only been married 3 months.  I wasn't really happy, in fact I was mostly just sad.  I wasn't used to all of the changes that I'd gone through since Mike and I stood under that basketball goal at school to be married in May of 2013.  Going back home to Kansas seemed like the only sane thing to do.  To say it was tough is really an understatement.

It was beyond tough.
It was downright almost impossible.

I'll never forget the day that I learned a position was open for that school year in this marvelous place called Olathe.  I had seen the town many times as Mike and I drove up to Grand Junction and the Grand Mesa sometimes.  We had never ventured off the highway to see what it was like but I remember thinking it must be a good place.  I had no idea that I'd soon be spending a whole lot of time there.

I called the principal and asked him if the job was still open and much to my delight, I learned that it was.  Within 3 hours after my phone call, I had already been interviewed and offered the position.  With only 1 week remaining before school would start, I had to hustle and get things ready but I made it in plenty of time.  

That school year was a blessing to me, in more ways than one.  I had never taught fourth graders before but I knew that I could do it.  The only thing that was unfamiliar to me was Colorado history but shoot, I just learned along with the kids.  It worked out pretty well all things considered.

We went through the nine months together, those 18 kids and I.  We grew as a classroom community and as such, all of us learned to get along with one another and to help each other along the way.  I found fourth grade was actually kind of easy to teach and what I didn't know, I asked questions about.  I knew that I could visit with either of my partner teachers about those things that I just didn't quite understand.  They were always there to assist me. When the year was finished, I felt a bit of sadness in knowing that our time together was completed.  At year's end I would send them on to the fifth grade and I would end up taking another position in the building as a first grade teacher.  We still saw one another as the following school year came about.

I left Olathe Elementary in May of 2015 just as those original kids of mine were ready for the 6th grade.  I got a hug from each of them as I left.  I didn't forget them and I had hoped they would not forget about me.  Marissa's comment took me back in time and I saw in my mind the once very lonely school teacher from Kansas, who had now found a purpose in this new life in the Rocky Mountains of southwestern Colorado.  

"You helped me with a lot of things, so thank you!" she wrote.

Although she didn't realize it, or any of the other kids as well, it wasn't me that helped them.  It was them who helped me.  As a matter of fact, to say that they helped me is another one of those understatements.  

They saved me.

I think of those dear and precious people who were there for us at school each and every day. The more the school year went on, the less I seemed to need to go back home to Kansas.  I had found a real reason for being there and a purpose in my new life.  Mike became my students' own "Mr. Renfro"and perhaps the fondest thing they would remember of him is all of the snacks that he would make sure they had.  Mike knew,  just like I did, that you can't fill a child's brain up with knowledge if their bellies are on "empty".  

It worked out.
Just like it was supposed to.

Every once in a while I hear from kids that I have taught over the past nearly 4 decades.  It makes me feel good to know that they still remember their old teacher and all the times that we had together.  I always wish I could have done more for them all but one thing is for sure.

I know in my heart that I did everything I could.

Thanks Marissa for reminding me.  
Mrs. Renfro still loves you kids so very much.

I couldn't even imagine it!  The very first field trip that I took Marissa and her classmates on that year took us deep into the mountains.  I thought about all of the kids that I've taught over the years and how excited they would have been to go on a field trip to a location such as this.  I am sure that I was "wide eyed" the entire time.

This was just one of the views we saw that day as we traveled to our destination.  This was taken in January, long after our September field trip.

Here we are at the very end of our first day together.  I was meant to be their teacher.  They were meant to be the ones to save me.  God knew.

~reflections on a basketball game~

You can learn a lot about people when you take tickets at a basketball game.
Leastwise I did last night.

At our school, everyone does their share at taking tickets at each home game.  It's not a paying position, rather it is just something that you do.  It was actually a pretty nice experience as things like that go.  Thankful that I can still add in my head and make change back for folks. My nearly 4 hours went by pretty fast and before I knew it, the time had come to count up the proceeds and balance the books.

Yet in the meantime, I found out a great deal about the community that I teach in simply by watching the people who came to the game.  I liked what I learned.

For one thing, those who are over 62 get in free to basketball games at our school.  It was sweet to see all of those people stop by the table and happily exclaim that they definitely fit that description.  You could tell by the looks on their faces that coming to the high school game was a highlight of their week.  They joked back and forth with one another, often encouraging me to check the other person's ID's before I really let them in for free.  

For the record, I didn't check.
But it sure made me happy to see them there supporting the local teams.

One of those "senior citizens" lingered a bit longer at the table.  I told him that he and his wife, both local folks, could just head on in and enjoy the game.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp $100 bill.  At first I didn't know why he was trying to pay me but I soon learned as he pressed the bill into my hands.

"Please put this in the till.  Our school needs this."
And he was right.
We surely do.

School funding for the state of Oklahoma goes by two names, "Slim" and "None".  School districts in the Sooner State, just like many of those across America, scrap for every dollar that they can receive.  Budgets are sliced to beyond the bare bones, staff is not hired, and those that remain take up the slack.  Not too much a person can do about it.  It is what it is.

Dismal at times.

My salary as a veteran teacher of 40 years now is $15,000 less than what I made when I retired in Kansas.  I was advised many times by different people to remember that I would make very little in comparison to what I was used to.  My paycheck definitely shows it each month, but we get by just fine.  As I have always said, I never got into this business for the money. 

I got into it because I love children and the chance to be called their teacher.
Simple as that.

That wonderful gentleman who lives in our community knows the value of a good education. He knows very well how much it takes to have a successful school, and he also knows that the current budget can come up short from time to time.  That's why he gave me that $100 bill last night.

It wasn't necessary.
He did it anyways.

Today I have been thinking about that man and his kind offering of extra money to the school district that I now teach at.  The more I thought about him, the more I realized that he gave me more than $100 last evening.  He gave he something else as well, a gift that he didn't realize he was giving.

Through his kind heart and gentle spirit, he gave me the gift of hope.

Sometimes it's easy to think that no one understands the struggles that we sometimes go through as educators.  So many educators, myself included, reach deep into our pockets to provide the things that we know our students need because there isn't enough money in our budget.    I haven't met a teacher yet who didn't do that and even more so, I've never met one who truly complained about it.  It's just what we do.  

I believe that wonderful benefactor of Big Pasture School District understands the need so very well.  Last night his simple act of kindness lifted the spirits of one tired school teacher.  

And she was me.

These are the 19 reasons that I get up each and every day.  They deserve a chance in this life to have the very best education that any kid could receive.  Some very kind friends in Kansas made sure that all of them had KU shirts to wear.  The goodness of people never ceases to amaze me.

I told Mike when he married me that he got more than just a wife.  I reminded him that I came with 3 children of my own plus about thousand or so that have called me by the name of "teacher" throughout the years.  He married me anyways.

a part of me still remains here

Sunday morning
2:34 a.m

Can't sleep.
Might as well do something.

It's really quiet in this motel room as well it should be at 2:30 in the morning.  Most normal people are sound asleep now, resting up and recharging their brains for the day ahead.  Mine told me an hour ago that it had reached "full power", I guess.  Rather than continue to toss and turn in bed, I just made the decision to get up and write.  I'm hoping this will be the ticket to get back to sleep in just a short while.

Time will tell.
We shall see.

Mike and I are home in Kansas for a very short time.  We left our home along the Red River about 6:30 a.m. yesterday and made the easy drive northward to a place that has meant so much to me.  I've been gone now for well over 3 years and each time I return my goal is to soak up as much of "home" as I can before I need to return to my new home in Texas.

So much about this town has changed.
So much remains just as I always remembered it.

This has been the first visit back to Hutch since I left that I didn't run into someone who I knew. Usually before, I could count on seeing an old friend at the grocery store or at the local gas station. Not this time.  I'm not sure that has much meaning other than people I once knew weren't running the same route as I was yesterday.  Before we leave this morning, I may yet have the chance to have an unexpected visit with someone.

I always refer to that pleasant opportunity by one name.
I call it a "God thing".

I have gazed at all of the houses and stores that we have driven by here in town.  It was fun to read the signs, especially those that announced upcoming events.  It's been entertaining to listen to what people are saying in the stores as we shop or wait to go through the check out line.  There has to be a smile on my face while I do so.  They are talking about my town, a place where I spent a whole lot of time.  I want to say, "Hey I know what you are talking about!  I used to live here."

But I don't.
I have a new home now.

As we were driving along yesterday and visiting some of the places that I always loved to frequent, I told Mike that a part of me still missed this place.  It's not the same kind of longing that I once had, especially at first.  Yet it is there and I cannot deny its existence.  There is something about being here that continues to tug at my heart and perhaps that is for good reason.

A part of me still remains here.
It's the piece of my tender heart that I left behind.

In just a few hours more, we will be on the way back home again to a very wonderful life upon the plains of Texas.  There is a new home there, a much different community, climate not like the one I'm used to here, a boy I used to know from the "land of long ago and far, far away", and 19 eight and nine-year olds who call me "teacher".  I'm actually doing very well in my new life and for that I give thanks.

The Lord has been good to me.
I cannot complain.

Maybe you have been just like me.  Perhaps you uprooted yourself from a place of familiarity and began a new life in a land quite removed from the one you were used to.  From time to time, even you might feel the longing that I sometimes do to return to the place of your birth.  I don't think that's a bad thing.  As a matter of fact, it seems perfectly normal to me.  Sometimes you just have to go "home" for a spell and so that's what you do.

You go home.
You find the place where you left a whole bunch of yourself at.

Sunday morning
3:00 a.m.

It did the trick.
Time to get some sleep.

It was the view looking up one summer's day a couple of years ago in Montrose, Colorado.  The same God who watched over me in Kansas went with me to the Rocky Mountains, and then the plains of the great Lone Star state.  No need to worry about how I am doing.  I'm in the best of hands.

His.

~it's Thanksgiving after all~

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day, a time when people stop to pause and give thanks for everything that they have as well as everything they have not.  We will probably all eat too much and when we step on the scales in the days that follow, that extra slice of pie or scoopful of mashed potatoes will tell on us big time.  I never get too worked up about that.

It's Thanksgiving after all.

Tomorrow we will have our dinner here with my sister Sherry and brother-in-law Wes joining us at the table.  As well, we plan to have two airmen from the nearby Air Force base as our guests.  We look forward to meeting them, filling up their bellies, and allowing them to have a "taste" of home for the holidays.   

Today I have been working on cleaning up the house and finishing up some last minute things that need to be done before tomorrow.  One of the things I wanted to take care of was to pull out the leaves on the table and take it from its short version to its much longer one.  After that was done, I put all 6 chairs around it as I contemplated which table covering to use.

It didn't take me all that long to make the choice.

Last year before Mike's Aunt Margaret passed away, she told us that she wanted us to take her dining room furniture to our house and continue to use it however we saw fit.  The drawers of the china hutch were filled with fine linens, many of them made by Aunt Margaret.  I peeked inside once we got everything home to Burkburnett from Olney.  I was amazed by the many fancy pieces of linen she had.  One in particular caught my eye.  It was one that she had hand crocheted on her own and it was absolutely beautiful.  I could tell that it had not been used much and probably had been tucked into the drawers of the china cabinet for much of its time. 

I took it out, admired it, and then promptly folded it back up again and nestled it safe within the drawer.  I realized how well taken care of it had been and that it probably had never even been used more than once or twice.  I wasn't about to get it out and take the chance of ruining it somehow.  Rather, I chose to keep it in its pristine condition to honor the wonderful woman who had made it.  

I hadn't seen it for over a year.

This morning as I began to ready the dining room table for tomorrow, I had to stop and think about some type of table linen.  I wandered over to the drawer and began to rummage through the stacks and stacks of neatly pressed tablecloths, dresser scarves, pillow slips, and tea towels. It didn't take long before I found it once again, that beautiful crocheted piece that I had swore I'd always keep nice and never use.  Sure enough, it appeared just as nice as the day I put it away last October.  

Yep, there it was.  
Never used one time.

I got to thinking about something.  Why was it that I thought not using the tablecloth would honor Aunt Margaret?  What is it about stashing things away to keep for the good that makes it an honorable thing to do in the first place?  Hadn't it been made to use?  If not, what in the world was it made for?  For the life of me, I couldn't think of one reason at all.  My hands lifted it up and in no time, I had spread the beautiful piece of handiwork atop the red checked farmhouse table cloth that I had chosen to use.

It looked beautiful and happy to finally be loved.

There will be six of us at the table tomorrow, enjoying a delicious meal and the company of one another.  There will be two young men who join us who cannot go home this time for Thanksgiving Day with their families.  We shall make them feel at home with us and even though we are not the family that they are used to, we are ones who are happy to have them here.  We may spill a little gravy or a sliver of pumpkin pie on the cloth covered table.  Someone might accidentally upset their glass of tea or cup of coffee.  There's the chance that the table cloth might not fare the entire meal without a stain or two or even three.  

That won't even matter.

No belonging of ours, be it the tablecloth or a piece of fine glassware or anything else of value will ever be worth more to us than the good people who join us for a meal of thanks giving.  I believe Aunt Margaret would be happy to know that we will utilize her special piece of handwork to grace the top of the table.  I'm glad that I have chosen to use it and will be thinking of her during the meal tomorrow.

I've known far too many women, my own mother included, who refused to use the beautiful things that had been given to them during the course of their lives.  They instead would tuck it away into the dark abyss of a closet or bureau drawer, only to be found after they had passed on while their children cleaned out their mother's house.  That seems rather sad and even almost wasteful.

I intend to stop that practice tomorrow.
May my own children find my things well loved when my time on earth is through.  

Aunt Margaret passed on about 6 weeks after this photo was taken in Olney, Texas.  Mike and I were very blessed to get to Texas in time to spend an entire summer with her.  She was one of the reasons that we chose this area of the world to live in.  Our feet are planted pretty firmly here now and the name of "Renfro" is written in the red dirt of the land.

We didn't have much time, but at least we had the summer.

~thank you Aunt Beck~

I lost my Aunt Beck last evening.  

She died at the age of 103 and was the last of a generation of folks that have meant the world to me.  Rebecca was my mom's sister and her passing marks the end of a long line of aunts and uncles who helped to shape my life and mold me into the person that I was meant to be all along.  Those dear people were God's instruments and messengers here on earth in the refinement of a young girl named Peggy, and I was fortunate to have kept this last one of them for so very long.

I loved her and will miss her dearly.

It is so strange how things turn out in this life of ours.  Just a couple of days ago, the kids in my class had an historical fiction selection in their readers.  In the story, a little girl has to go and live with her uncle during the Great Depression.  It tells of how she bonded  with the uncle she never knew that she had.  At the end of the story, those hard times in American history were over and she returned home to her own parents.  I asked the kids to think about which of their relatives they would choose to live with, if that were ever necessary.  With big grins on their faces, they one by one told of someone and gave a litany of reasons as to why they were the best pick.

When they were done, I told them about my Aunt Beck and if it would have been necessary to choose, she would definitely have been the one I would live with.  When I was their age, I remember going to Aunt Beck's house to supper one night.  I guess she might have been our babysitter for the evening.  At suppertime, I was shocked to see how it would be that we ate our evening meal.  We were actually allowed to eat from a "tv tray", a new fangled contraption that I had never seen before.  The really cool thing was that on our trays there were 3 glasses of things to drink.  One was water, another milk, and the final one had something in it that I had never experienced yet.

It was a glass of soda pop.
Imagine that! 

My faint memory of the very first birthday gift I received came at age 4.  It was a pink and sparkly rubber bouncing ball.  It was just the right size for my little hands.  Aunt Beck was the one who gave it to me and even though I often lose my keys or cell phone these days, I still recall that sweet gift bestowed unto me now 57 years ago.  

Perhaps it is the little things.

I always was close to her.  When I got married 3 years ago and left Kansas, I vowed that I would make it a point to come back and see her every time that I was home.  I kept that promise faithfully. Often times our visits were with her sitting in her recliner and me kneeling on the floor beside her.  I wanted to be as close to her as I could and we would hold hands with one another as we remembered the wonderful days of yore.  Holding hands with Aunt Beck was just like holding hands with my own mom.

Her eyesight was going but she could still see me well enough to tell me that I looked like my mother.  I would laugh and smile back, telling her that I had seen it myself lately and that sometimes it was a little unsettling.  She said something to me about that subject that I will always remember in my heart.

"Well Peggy Ann, I think that looking like your mom is a very nice thing.  I don't miss her so much when I can see you in her place."

And so ok.  I look like my mom.  

The last time we saw one another was a just a few months back and I had every intention of going over to see her this weekend upcoming when Mike and I went back to Kansas.  I had called her a couple of weeks ago to check on her and see how things were going.  I told her that I would see her soon and she said what she always did to me about that.

"That will be just fine!  I probably will be here."

I will see her this weekend, but not at her home.  On Sunday morning before we come back home to Texas, I'll visit her final resting place where all of the other family is laid as well.  I'm sad for me, but very happy for her.  As is the case with most elders, they are more than ready to go "home".  

I don't blame them.  
Some day I will be at that point in time as well.

I believe that she is in Heaven now and I know that one day I will see her again.  In the meantime, I give thanks for every special memory I made with her in my own life and will hold each of them close to my heart.  I'm thankful that I went to see her every chance that I could.  I knew that I would not regret it if I did.

I definitely would have regretted it if I had not.

                            Thank you Aunt Beck~

~and my mom thought of everything~

My mom thought of everything.

I've been spending time going through a huge collection of books and journals that I've accumulated over the past ten years.  It was a "culling" of sorts as I determined what was the most important to keep.  I gave away several of them to my children, donated many to the local thrift store, and tucked much of the rest into the spare bedroom closet.  I was almost done tonight in going through them until I came across one last journal.

It was the little notebook that contained her funeral plans.

You know I was aware it was in there all along but you know how that old saying goes~"Out of sight, out of mind"?  Well it was.

She had the customary things that one includes in their funeral plans.  She wanted her funeral to be at her church in Hutchinson and for a dear family friend to officiate at it.  Mom had already long before paid for her funeral expenses as well as picked out her own casket.  The information with the corresponding numbers for things she purchased were well written out.  I remember the day that someone from the local funeral home came to her house to see her and explain everything that would be involved.  At that time, Mom was in reasonably good health for someone of her age.  She was in her late '70s and just felt it was time to do it.  She was very set on having things taken care before died because she didn't want us kids to have to deal with it when the time came.

I hope that I thanked her enough for doing that.
What a burden was lifted from our shoulders!

Clipped to the front couple of pages were some poems that meant a great deal to her about growing older and dying.  I had never paid much attention to them before, least wise until tonight.  I paused for a moment before finding a place on the shelf to store the journal, and read what the poems had to say.

My mom was 87 when she passed away, and truly she was more than ready to go.  She loved living, don't get me wrong, but there is something to say for not having to suffer the aches and pains that this life on earth seems to give us.  The older she became, the more her body gave out on her.  When her time came, just two weeks after her birthday, she didn't linger very long.  

Mom left us all a message on the last page of her book.  It was one that I believe she hoped would bring us much comfort and solace when she was gone.  She knew how much we would miss her and how sad we truly would be.  With pen in hand, Mom scrawled the final message at the bottom of the page.  It meant so much to read it shortly after her death.  It means even more tonight as I sit at the kitchen table and write these words.

Mom's life wasn't easy.   She worked hard, raised a huge family and helped to raise everyone else who needed a "mom" but didn't have one.  My father's death in 1982 left her a widow at the same age that I am now.  She continued to work well into her '70s in order to provide for herself and pay the monthly bills.  Towards the end of life her body began to wear out.  It became harder to walk, more difficult to breathe, and the arrival of panic attacks a couple of years before she died, was always a constant concern.  Yet she remained firm in the knowledge that her life had been a good one, despite every burden she had to shoulder alone.

I am like my mother.  I look in the mirror and see her looking back at me every single day.  At first it was scary to think that I was beginning to look just like her.  Then I got used to it and finally just embraced it.  After all, she was my mother.

I don't think I'll discard this book.  There are so many pages left unfilled and so I think that I will use it for my own funeral plans.  I'd like to make my own children's lives much easier by having things taken care of ahead of time.  My own cremation plan has been paid for long ago, and now there are just a few last things to deal with.  I hope to live a long time but if I should not, then I have done what I can do on my own.

It made sense to my mom.
It makes even more sense to me.

When our parents passed away, they didn't leave a huge inheritance to their children.  As a matter of fact, they didn't leave any. There was no valuable property or land scattered out across the country, no secret stash of gold or stocks and bonds.  Yet even in all of that, our mother left us something far more valuable than any material thing could have been.  She left us the gift of her wisdom and undying love for each of us.  

They were the simple words written into 5 pages of a notebook that instructed what to do when she died.  I love it that she said that her life was good and that she thanked the people who made sure of that.  I'm thankful for the gift she left me, the one that I can hold in my hands any time that I wish or need to.  It was just an old book, purchased from the local grocery store but the thoughts contained in it were priceless.  

They were thoughts of my mother and I look just like her.