~and I am my father's~

I have only one thing left that belonged once to my father.  It's an old stocking cap, navy and white in color that he wore during the last few months of his life.  If I remember right, he got it during his final months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments for the lung cancer he was doing battle with.  Although he was already nearly bald before he was stricken with cancer, the treatments to attempt to make him well once again had this way of thinning out even the little bit of hair that he had left.  The stocking cap must have made him feel better.  Now, 33 years later when I wear it, one thing is for sure.

I feel better too.

I've got plenty of other stocking caps and a dozen or more head wraps in my drawer to choose from, but for some reason I just always find myself choosing my dad's old cap when I need it on a cold and wintry day.  Funny, it almost seems as if he is right there beside me as I  make my way along life's path.  I think that's ok to feel that way.  I'm sure my father is with me always, but especially so when I have his old cap upon my head.  

Like father, like daughter.

I was only 27 years old when he passed away at the age of 59.  Seems more than a lifetime ago now.  I still remember his voice and his quiet demeanor.  If I close my eyes, I can still see him standing there at home, in the restaurant, or out in the harvest field.  I hope that I never lose sight of such things and that I'll always remember him.  But I'd be the first to admit that as the years go by and we are still apart from one another that sometimes the memories can't help but to grow dim.  But there's something about that old stocking cap that keeps me connected to the man who God chose to be my father.

He would be 92 years old if he were alive this day and for the life of me, I cannot imagine him as an old guy.  But an old man he would have been had cancer not taken him from us before he even had the chance to turn 60 years old.  My father's part of "the plan" of this life was completed on the 11th day of December of 1982 and for the years we had together with him, we rejoice and give thanks to God.

Even now at the age of 60 years old, I still continue to try and do things that would have made him proud of me.  I learned to do "good" by watching his wonderful example and the lessons that he quietly taught me have been invaluable for all of my life.  The gifts he gave me were ones that could have never been purchased.  The gifts he gave were of himself and for me, the 6th child of out 7 children, they remain most precious and valuable to this day.

For some reason tonight, I am thinking of him.  

I still miss him and from time to time, I definitely still need him to be around.

If you have lost a parent, perhaps it is true for you as well.

No matter how old we are, we will always be their "little one".

I am my father's.

~I would do well to remember.~

From cold, wet, and very soggy Burkburnett~
Hello dear friends and family!

The wind continues to blow and the rain keeps coming right on down on this day after Thanksgiving. Right now the temperature stands at 34 degrees, precariously close to that point of freezing.  It's been dreary all day long but in the "land of the former drought", we have learned to be grateful for moisture of any kind on any given day of the week.  All of this good rain will continue to make the reservoirs and rivers run full again.

We give thanks to God for that.

Today has been a good day to clean up after our Thanksgiving Day feast of yesterday.  It was the beginning of a new tradition for Mike and I as we stayed home for the first time in our nearly 3 years together.  We were so thankful that my sister and brother-in-law only live a little more than an hour away from us now.  They were able to come to dinner here with us and for that I give thanks.  For over 30 years, my sister and I have lived far enough apart from one another that we only got to see each other a couple of times a year.  Not any longer!

We also were blessed to have two young airmen from Shepherd Air Force base join us for the day as well.  Mike had learned on the news that families were needed to take in airmen who could not go home for the holidays.  When Mike heard about it, he asked me if we could participate in it this year.  It took me no time at all to tell him that absolutely we should.  I come from a family where my parents took in just about everybody and their brother who needed a place for special times like Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I grew up like that.

Yesterday at our table there were 6 people and that was a nice feeling.  The two young men from the nearby base were such wonderful people.  They visited with us as if we had known them all of our lives.  Zach is a 19-year old from a farming community in Ohio and Sal is a 22-year old from the very south of Texas and soon to be married.  They are working hard to make a career in the military and their patriotism and sense of "country" was most evident.  The football game was on and as they were watching it, they stood for the national anthem that was being played on the TV.  Their manners were impeccable and thank goodness they came with empty bellies because we had enough food to feed about 100 airmen and then some.  Taking them in for our meal was the most lovely and rewarding experience that I've had in a long time.

Before they left to return to the base, we stopped a moment for a photo with them and the promise to try and keep in touch with one another.

Mike and I got married too late in life to have children of our own but at least for yesterday we were able to be a "host family" to sons of other moms and dads.  We are so thankful that we did.

There were a lot of things to remember about yesterday.  We thought of our mom who used to make the most gigantic meal ever for Thanksgiving and then worry if she had enough prepared or if there was someone around who didn't have a place to go and eat.  I made her pistachio pudding salad, the one that she always made for us to enjoy.  The green bean casserole was made in the nearly 75-year old baking pan that used to be my Grandmother Brown's.  It's old and showing its age but it still can cook the most delicious things.  We placed Aunt Margaret's lace tablecloth upon the kitchen table and I'm sure that she would have been happy that it was finally gracing the noontime table.  I promised her that I would use it and so after taking off the tag from so many years ago now, it fit Mike's 100-year old table just fine.  It was nice to think that those 3 women who have had a profound influence upon my life might have been looking down from Heaven above and smiling at our day.

We don't do "Black Friday" and so there was no need to rush around this morning looking for the greatest of bargains.  Mike's job at the local hardware store kept him busy today and as for me, well I've just kind of been taking it easy.  I have never taken a nap in the morning before but today I did.  Seemed strange to crawl back into a warm bed at 10:00 and set the alarm to wake me up at noontime.  I believe I can say that I enjoyed every moment of it.

The older I have gotten, the more I realize something about this last Thursday of the month of November every year.  We speak of Thanksgiving with gratitude in our hearts. We call it our month of "thankfulness" and it is right so to do.  Yet today on this day "after", I am ever reminded that every day that you can open your eyes in the morning and start a new day should be called "Thanksgiving Day".

I would do well to remember.

                                    2015 will be my year to be thankful for 60 years of life.

                                 2010~the year the Scott sisters retired from being teachers~
                                We both were failures at that thing called "retirement".

~just like Michael~

I was doing pretty well yesterday at the closing of my house back home in Hutchinson.  The night before last I went into the house one last time and made the rounds.  I checked on a few things, loaded up what little was left to take back, made the rounds one more time and then I knew it was time to go.

For good.

I looked back one last time at the living room where so many wonderful things have happened since 1982 and I reached up my arms to the heavens and said to my folks.....

"Mom and Dad, it's time for me to go.  I took care of everything just like you would have wanted me to.  It's been a good house but it's time to say good-bye now."

And with that, I shut the door and locked it behind me.

I got to the title office on Main Street earlier than I was scheduled to Monday morning.  They brought me back to the room where we would finalize everything.  I signed a couple of papers and laid down the 4 keys that needed to be turned over to the new owner.  With that, I was done.  

I met the new owner right outside in the waiting area and we introduced ourselves to one another.  He's a nice man and I could tell just by his handshake that he will take good care of my old house.  That made me feel much better about the whole thing and with that, 15 minutes after I arrived, I was ready to head back home to Texas.  

 I was doing pretty well.  I didn't feel like crying or being sad or anything like that.  I was kind of worried about that happening, you know?  A  lot of fine memories were made on East 14th Street and I couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness in my heart.

I headed out the door and ran into my realtor, a fine young man named Michael.  We greeted one another with smiles of relief that everything worked out ok.  But it was then that I felt the lump come up in my throat and I choked back a few tears that wanted to fall.  I realize now today, over 24 hours after it all, that the tears I felt coming up were not tears of sadness for selling the house.  They were for something totally different.

I've known my realtor Michael since he was a little tiny 6th grader back at Haven Grade School in Kansas.  I met him my first year of being a teacher there in 1979 and I remember him fondly for being a nice little boy with a happy smile.  I've kept in contact with him and his dear sister Amy during the years that followed.  They still call me "Mrs. Miller" from back in those days and I always figure they will.  When I wanted to list my house, it was Michael who stepped forward and emailed me saying he would help me to get it listed and sold.  

And that he did.

Less than a month after the process began, it was done and taken care of.  

When I met Michael outside yesterday morning, I realized just how much of my life has already been completed.  To think that my realtor was once my 6th grade student caused me to stop and to remember.  The tears that I wanted to shed were not ones of sadness or despair.

They were tears of joy and pride in that "young boy" who is now a grown man.  With a thankful heart, how happy I am that I have lived long enough to witness this experience.

I've been a teacher for 38 years now and it's been my privilege to see my students grow up, get married and have families of their own.  They have become doctors and nurses, firefighters and police officers, teachers and lawyers, construction workers, the best cashier that Walmart ever had, and oh yes, they have been something else.

They have been realtors.
Just like Michael.

He's one good kid!  Of course though, I could be biased.  I was his teacher after all :)

~good-bye little house~

I'm heading home to Kansas tomorrow morning to officially get the house closed up, sign the paperwork, hand over the keys and then breathe a huge sigh of relief.  How thankful I am that the sale of my home there went quickly and that the perfect "new owner" was found.  I feared that we might have to wait several months or even into the spring before we would be able to sell it.  Little did I know when I listed it on my 60th birthday that it would be sold and closed on in a little over three weeks.  I've said it before and it bears repeating once again.

God is so good to me.

That old house on East 14th Street served me very well.  It provided a place of shelter and comfort but even more than that, it provided something even more precious and valuable to me at the time I purchased it in 2005.  It provided me a sanctuary, a safe haven if you will.  For all of the stress and challenges I was facing back in those early days as a single woman, that little bungalow was always waiting for me to come home at night.  I felt at peace and very safe there.  

Perhaps that is why in a way I am sad to see it go.

I didn't realize until just now as I was typing this blog post, just how many life experiences I've had that were quite similar to my mom's same experiences.  My father was dying from lung cancer when he and my mom moved into that house in October of 1982.  Two months later, he was gone and my mom was left to fend for herself.  She was alone, much like I was when I moved there 23 years later.  Yet even though I am positive it was difficult for her, somehow she made it and when I showed up there in 2005, the same could be said of me.

I made it too.

God was good to my mom.
He never failed me either.

You know, I thought I might cry when I wrote these words today but I did not.  Perhaps it is because I know what a blessing it is to have someone else be the owner.  I can now take "worry about everything that could go wrong with my house in Kansas" off of the top of my official worry list.  I'm sure something else will move up into that vacated spot soon enough but for now I am so thankful to be ok with it all.

For the lovely memories and the sounds of laughter of family members, many now gone, I give thanks to that little house.  It was pretty humble, as houses go.  It wasn't fancy with 4 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms.  There was no pool in the backyard or a perfectly manicured green lawn with flowers all around it.  But it was mine and I wouldn't trade the experience for anything else on this earth.

My father and my mother as they sat for a picture in what Mom always called the "reading room".  It was actually a breakfast nook but got its name from the fact that Mom always piled newspapers and magazines on the little table and sat there to read them all.  Dad died about 3 weeks after this picture was taken.  

Always will be grateful to this little boy that used to call me "teacher".  He sure knows how to sell a house!

                                                       Good-bye little house.

~and so it won't be very long now~

It won't be very long now.

My house in Kansas, the one that the Scott family has owned for 35 years in all, will soon be someone else's home to make a memory or two in.  God blessed us in finding a buyer within 30 days of its being put on the market.  Couldn't have asked for a better or more timely thing to happen.

This coming week I will make the journey back there once more only this time it will be to sign the paperwork, hand over the keys, and say a final good-bye to that sweet abode.  I'm happy about it all and yes, perhaps there is a tinge of sadness as well but that's ok too.  You can't be part of some place like that for nearly 4 decades without feeling a little bit like that.  One thing is for sure.

It will all be just fine.

My mom owned it for nearly 25 years and she made a lot of memories there.  It has been mine for the past 10 and 1/2 years and surely I created a lot of remembrances too. Those are good things, you know?

I'll go inside one last time to look around next week and in each room I know that I will "hear" in my heart the sounds of laughter and goodness that always were there. 

That old front porch was a mighty fine place for my mom to sit and watch the school kids heading over to Faris or Graber schools.  I always remember she told of a little boy who perpetually swung his backpack over his head each and every morning as he walked along the sidewalk.  I'm sure she must have smiled at that.  I sat on that old front porch too and since it is enclosed, there were many times that I sat out there even in the winter as I too watched people go by.  The sun always came in through all of those windows and I found it a great place to catch a nap or two.  

The living room and dining room were big enough to accommodate all of the Scott family members through the holidays.  Mom would cook up enough turkey and fixings to feed an army of folks.  We'd eat our meal and then afterwards we'd sit around while talking, laughing, and playing an occasional game of Rook or two.  Christmas time would come and there would presents strewn from "here to tomorrow" all over those two rooms.  Mom loved it that way.  During my time of being there, our celebrations were much quieter but nonetheless we continued to celebrate.  Not a holiday went by but what we would always speak of our mom and remember what it was like when she had been there to join us.  

Memories galore are in every single room of that house and surely I will feel them all in my heart when I return there in a few days more.  It will be sad yet how I rejoice that no longer do I have to worry about anything there.  It's not fun being a homeowner who lives this far away and since I no longer have to be taking care of anything there, I can put that energy into something far better than being concerned or anxious.  

Funny how life always works itself out.

When I first moved to Montrose in May of 2013, homesickness set in fast and furious.  One of my friends back in Kansas sensed my sorrow and loneliness.  She sent me a little saying that meant the world to me at the time.  I read it and immediately found peace.  I kept it and from time to time I look back at it, especially during the challenging times I seem to find myself going through in life.  

Perhaps the reading of this shall bring some peace to you if you should find yourself in a time of worry.  As for me, I know this to be true.

Have a great Friday everyone out there!

My mom and my brother standing in front of the house back when it was hers.  Both of them are gone now.

I loved that dining room!  Lots of great times were enjoyed around the table.  

And the best clothesline that there EVER was!

~a name is a name and that one belonged to me~

The latest writing assignment that I have given my students to work on has been to tell about their favorite TV show to watch when they were 5 years old.  It's been a popular one with them and with smiles on their faces, they have eagerly begun the writing process.  As is often the case, one of them asked me what my favorite TV show was when I was a little kid.  It didn't take long to remember.

It was Romper Room.

My younger sister and I watched that wonderful show when we were little 5 and 3-year old children.  We had only one television set at home, an old black and white Zenith with a very tiny screen.  But that old TV  was big enough for us to watch it and to enjoy a fun-filled program that was broadcast out of Wichita, Kansas on KAKE TV.

Miss Beverly was the hostess and for an entire 30-60 minute span of time, viewers were transported to that special place where children could learn and have fun at the same time.  There was no mention of whether or not the program met all of the state standards of education for my home state of Kansas but that is another story.  It was on all the time and when it was, you could bet that we would be watching it.

Miss Beverly was always so beautiful, wearing a lovely dress and heels with her hair perfectly coiffed.  She smiled a lot and forever appeared perpetually happy that she had the chance to be the hostess.  There were always little children on the set and perhaps it was the early 1960's version of a pre-school.  Those 4 and 5-year olds were very well mannered and even though they could get a little rambunctious on the set, they always calmed down when Miss Beverly called them to order.  I smile at the thought.

They always said the Pledge of Allegiance right off the "get go" and just like today, some of the kids still mixed up their right and left hands.  But it didn't really matter.  Miss Beverly would just go over and gingerly switch everyone to the right one.  It all worked out.  The show taught manners and morals though songs and dances.  Books were read to the kids and yes, just like today some of them had trouble sitting still.  

My favorite part was always when Miss Beverly would do some kind of arts/craft activity.  I loved to see her draw things on the big easel with what always looked like brand new crayons.  Sometimes she would even cut things out and glue them onto the paper.  I am positive that I sat there mesmerized by it all.  I'm not even sure why that was my favorite part.  I think I liked the idea of always having the fresh school supplies to do it with.  Growing up in a household of 7 children, it was always difficult to locate a crayon that hadn't been already used up or broken in half.  

     

They had cookies and milk for a snack and they always said a prayer before they partook of the them.  Sometimes  Mr. Do-Bee would come to visit to teach them lessons of character and what they should do in certain situations.  Equal time was given to Mr. Don't Bee as children learned the wrong way to do something.  There was a whole lot of moving going on as I recall with the children up and about marching around.  Mr. Music was always there to set the background songs into motion.  As I sit here and type these words, it all makes sense now.  Romper Room and Miss Beverly had it right.

The show always ended with Miss Beverly looking through her magic mirror and saying those famous words.......

"Romper, stomper, bomper, boo.  Tell me, tell me, tell me, do.  Magic mirror, tell me today.  Did all my friends have fun at play?"

And then she would look through that special mirror and call out the names of all the children that she saw through it.  It seemed like I waited through a thousand shows before she ever said she saw "Peggy" but once I recollect that she did.  I remember laughing and waving to her as if she could really see me.  I always wondered how she did that.  Did that magic mirror really work?   I didn't realize that the only way you could get your name called out was to mail in your name to the TV station.  Some other little girl named Peggy must have had her name sent in.  It didn't matter to the little 5-year old I used to be.  

     A name is a name and that one belonged to me.

     Thank you Miss Beverly and Romper Room, too.

The kids of the kindergarten class at Burrton (KS) Grade School, 1960-61 had their own version of Miss Beverly.  We loved Miss Josephine Marmont and she loved us right back.  The little tiny girl named Peggy is on the front row, right in front of her.

     

~just like my grandmother~

From along the Red River here in north central Texas, good morning dear family and friends.

It's Monday, the 16th of November, and a great day to be alive in.  No matter what the troubles of this world might be, why not rejoice and give thanks for what we do have?

My grandmother's birthday will be this week and although she has been gone now for a long time,  I still remember her special day each and every November 19th.  She lived into the winter of what would have been her 106th year.  When she passed away, it was a sad time for us.  Yet even in it all, we were grateful that we got to keep her here for so very long.

Catherine Brown was a very thrifty woman who early on figured out how to make things stretch.  She knew how to "make do" with whatever she had.  Towards the last few years before she had to go into longterm nursing home care, I remember that she had this blue and white striped apron.  Every time I would go to visit her she would be wearing it.  It was a very used one, in fact it had gotten to the point of being pretty threadbare throughout.  She could have easily thrown it away.  There were plenty of others in her closet but she chose to wear it until she no longer could.  Even though I try to be,  I'm not quite as thrifty as my grandmother was.  I still remember her in that respect with much admiration that she could be.

I learned so many lessons of life from her and those are lessons that I will carry in my heart forever.  I'm so glad that she taught her daughter (my mother) the value of hard work.  In turn, my mother taught the very same lesson to me.  I believe it's one of the greatest of gifts that a person can be given and certainly one that lasts a lifetime.  Knowing how to work hard has saved me from a lot of problems in years gone by and continues to do so this very day.  Thanks to those two women, I have made it so far and will continue to make it in the weeks and months that lie ahead!

Over the nearly past 4 decades of being a teacher I have been able to tell about my grandmother to many school children.  They have been amazed about how long she lived and also intrigued by a special "gift" that she left to me.  It's a treasure that now is 55 years old and still going strong.

If by chance you have never seen a real Easter egg that is nearly 6 decades old, well you are seeing one now.  Two tiny little girls were having fun at their grandmother's house back in Halstead, Kansas one Easter weekend.  One of those little girls was me and the other was my younger sister, Cindy.  We colored a couple of dozen eggs that Saturday afternoon in 1960, and hid them all through the house.  It was fun to search for them and bring them back to our grandmother who gathered them up in the basket.  We came up one short at the end and after searching for what seemed forever (probably in reality it was about 5 minutes in all), we gave up.  Later in the week as she was doing her housework, Grandmother Brown found it.  She promptly put it in the little tiny basket shown above and kept it in one of the built in cabinets of the living room.  

And that is where it stayed for a long, long, long time.

When she passed away in 1997, I brought it home with me and it has stayed tucked away in that little basket ever since.  It surely seems strange to have something like that, a gift that was placed into that very small container by my own grandmother's hands.  Every year I have taken the egg to school and showed it to whatever class of children I might have had.  They all are amazed that it survived this long and the questions they ask me about it always bring a smile to my face.

"Could you ever eat it?"  

"Doesn't it stink?"

"What does it look like inside?"

"How long are you going to keep that thing?"

And my answers are always the same.....  no, no, I don't know, forever.

I never knew my grandfathers on either side of the family but I knew my grandmothers very well.  They were sweet and kind women who loved their grandchildren with all of their hearts.  I have nothing but fond memories of them both.  They loved me and I loved them.

I often wonder what people will remember about me when I am gone from this earth.  Perhaps they will recall the "little" things, like a basket with an Easter egg inside.  Whatever it is they store up in their own hearts, I hope always that it will be something good and kind.

Just like my grandmother.

 The little girl that I used to be~
Catherine Brown and Bessie Scott called me their "granddaughter", Peggy Ann.

   

~and there will be no snowmen~

The skies are cloudy here today along the banks of the great Red River.  Our temperature sits at 63 degrees but it feels much cooler than that to me.  It won't be long before fall will have to hand off the baton to winter and the long siege of the "dark" will set in.  I know that each of the 4 seasons has been allotted the same amount of time on the calendar.  Yet it seems sometimes that certain ones last a whole lot longer.

Winter is one of them.

We aren't sure what our first winter here on the plains of Texas will be like but undoubtedly it will be cold.  People have been telling me all along that the cold winds blow nearly all of the time.  Ice and occasional snow will also make their presence known.  I'm really not too concerned about the snow part, having driven all of my life in snowy winter weather.  Pretty sure that I'm not too crazy about the ice part of it all but winter is what it is.  If you choose to live here, then you need to be willing to accept whatever the climate and weather conditions deal you.

We will make it.

Once I pretended to love winter but I'm pretty positive that I didn't really fool anyone.  It was in February of 2013 back at my old home in Kansas.  One cold Saturday afternoon I had the crazy idea to make my very first snowman.  There had just been a six inch snowfall on top of a couple of inches of snowfall already.  With the help of my son, I managed to construct a kind of/sort of snow person and I quickly named her Eleanore.  She was so cute.  I gave her a hat and scarf.  Her arms were constructed from a yardstick that my mom had left in the house when she lived there.  I was frozen after I finished her but at least for that hour's worth of time, I tried to enjoy winter.  I'm afraid it was short lived but at least I tried.

Hutchinson, Kansas~Eleanore and I
At age 57, I finally made my first snowman.
Yes, I know.  That is very sad.

A year later and 611 miles to the west of Hutchinson, I helped to make another snowman.  Mike and I decided one Saturday afternoon that we would construct our very own snow person.  In the mountains of Colorado there is no shortage of snow.  We had more than aplenty to work with. It was cold but not nearly as cold as it was that day back in Kansas.  Both of us worked hard to make ours and about an hour after we started, we were done.  The snowman wore my favorite Haven High School sweatshirt for the better part of the next 2 weeks.  I have to admit that it was fun but it still didn't convert me to join the "I love Winter!" fan club.

Mike and I standing next to our snowman in the front yard in Montrose.  It was a fun activity for a couple of people in their mid-50's to do that day.

There will be no snowmen in our part of Texas.  Generally speaking the average snowfall here is 5 inches per year and I have the feeling it comes in 1/4 inch increments.  In Montrose the average snowfall per year is 4 times the amount and south central Kansas is not far behind at 12 inches each year.  As crazy as it sounds, I will probably miss seeing piles of the white stuff.  Nah, I take that back.

I probably won't long for it.

Life is different here.
Winter will be just another sign of that.

We are alive, well, and thriving in the great state of Texas.
God continues to bless us, no matter where we live.

~and I have started talking like one of them~

Good morning dear friends and family from the plains of the great state of Texas.
Welcome to Friday, November 13th.

It has happened, well at least while I'm around the kids at school.  I have heard myself slowly but surely beginning to talk like they do.  It was kind of funny to hear one of the kids remark during class one day.

"See there.  I just heard it.  You are starting to talk like we do!"

And she was right.

Mike and I have become very well acclimated here in this life on the plains.  Where we at first felt a little lost, we now can get around quite well.  This whole area seemed so foreign to us when we came here in late May.  The people and their accents, sweet tea at every meal (or so it seemed), the return to the flatlands, and a lone star on just about everything we saw were all things that we weren't used to.  It took a bit of time but we made it.

Now Mike and I have been living here going on our seventh month and in all reality it seems like so much longer than that.  I feel very happy that after 6 arduous weeks of working on it that I am finally able to call all of my 125+  students by their first and last names.  I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to do that.  Now it's a piece of that proverbial "cake".  Mike is making his way here in town as he takes on a new job and responsibility.  He has enjoyed meeting lots of new folks and working alongside them in the hardware store.  We have learned many things about life here.  Some of them have been learned the easy way and a few have been acquired the hard way.  Yet through it all we have made it and that's all we can hope for.

Now the holidays are fast approaching and for the first time in our nearly 3 years of being together, we are celebrating them in our own home here in Texas.  The holiday seasons of 2013 and 2014 were spent on the road as we traveled back home to south-central Kansas.  Although we loved being able to spend time with our family and friends, this year we wanted to have our own celebrations here.  It's something we are looking forward to.  Plans are in the works to put up our very first Christmas tree together and to decorate it with ornaments that relate to life here in Texas.  We remain thankful for the opportunity to do so.

The year 2015 will have started out for us on the western slope side of the great Continental Divide.  When we woke up on New Year's Day morning back in Montrose, we had no idea that our year would end up with a new life along the southern banks of the Red River in Texas.  Yet today on this the 21,933rd day of my life, here I am.  One thing I have become more and more aware of as time has moved on is this.

Life is indeed one big adventure.   Just ask anyone who has lived it.

January of 2013~
The Black Canyon of the Gunnison
Montrose, Colorado

November of 2015
Lake Arrowhead State Park
Near Wichita Falls, Texas

And there's been a whole lot of stuff in between.

~and she wrote of all that she did have~

Last night I dreamt of my mom.  Every once in a while I will do that and the dream pretty much is always the same.  She's a little younger than she was when she passed away, as evidenced by her head of dark auburn hair.  Never a time goes by that she is not beautiful and happy.  Mostly my mother doesn't say much, preferring to spend her time smiling and watching me.  As quickly as she arrives in my sleep, she is gone.  I wake up wondering why in the world I even had that dream.  Perhaps it is because I'm trying to sell my house back in Kansas which was her home to begin with.  Maybe it's just that I needed to see her, if only for a short time while I slept.

Just a few hours ago she was there.

My mom was a journal keeper and she made a very routine practice of jotting down a page or two each night before she went to bed.  I got her started doing that 17 years ago when I gave her a journal as a Christmas gift in 1998.  I asked her to write down some of the things that happened each day so that in the future we could all read it and remember together.  I figured I'd meet some resistance on her part but surprisingly enough, she got started that very day.  

She must have written 5 or 6 journals in all.  After she passed away I boxed them all up.  At first it was too sad to read them so I kept them tucked away in the closet.  As time went on it became easier to think about looking through them once again, so out they came.  They are now on a bookshelf and every once in a while I open one up.  

I picked one of her journals up this morning as I awoke and while drinking the first cup of coffee for this good day, I reread some of her words.  I was amazed to read her thoughts and even more astonished to realize just how much I am getting to be like her.  

My mother wrote of simple things.

Ordinary things.

Everyday, run of the mill things.

And that's something that I liked about her.

When Mom put her pen to the paper, it was to tell of what she made for supper, like roast beef and gravy or a good apple cobbler.  She told of every visitor she had that day and who had called her on the phone to check in.  She told of how her health was doing and many times it was to admit how weak she felt or how badly her spinal stenosis ridden back was doing.  I know that my mom struggled financially as any older person does while living on monthly checks from the government.  Yet as I read her words, not once have I ever encountered her complaining or worrying about not having enough to get by.  It was always quite the opposite.

She wrote of all that she did have.

And I liked that about her too.

My mom has been gone from this earth now for over 8 years but I'm still learning lessons from her.  Sometimes the lessons are on paper and sometimes they are delivered while I sleep.  No matter how I receive them, I am always most grateful.

"November 8, 1998"

Sunday-I went to church today.  It's still cloudy and the forecast is for rain.  Didn't do much today but come home from church, eat lunch and then slept awhile afterwards.  Football game on TV ran late so all of my good shows didn't get over until late.  My back hurt today but maybe tomorrow it will be better.

The simple words of an extraordinary woman.

~my mom~

One of my favorite pictures of my mom and grandma back a long time ago now.  

She kind of looks like this when she visits me in my dreams.

Like mother, like daughter.

~as we remember to stick together~

     Mike and I are well into our sixth month of life in north central Texas and both of us agree on one thing.  It sure seems like we've been here for a whole lot longer than that.  Time flies when you are living life, especially when you are living it in the state of Texas.

     So much has changed for us since we arrived on the 28th day of May.  As the heat of a relentless summer gave way to the Indian summer days of autumn here, we began to notice subtle changes in the world around us.  One of those changes was noticed while we took Sally the dog for her usual twice a day walk down the road a piece to the south of us.

     All summer long the beautiful wildflowers grew and we marveled at the many different kinds there were to see as we headed south for our evening walk.  Beautiful ones of all types of colors and shapes dotted the landscape of the ditches to the east and west sides of the road.  Great batches of sunflowers spread up and out and the sight of them put me in mind of my old home back in Kansas.  At first it made me a little sad to see them and to remember in my heart all of my friends and family back there but as time went on, I recognized them for the gifts that they truly were.  It made for some gorgeous photos throughout the summer and served as markers in our memories for what we could expect next summer along the way.

     Last night as we walked, we noticed that the flowers were all gone and even the green grass that covered the ditches had now turned to a striking shade of reddish brown.  It seemed to complement the color of Sally's fur as she dashed down through the ditches finding her favorite place to stop along her walk.  It was a sure sign that fall has definitely set in and it won't be long until winter follows right behind.  The skies were gloomy but just like in Colorado when the snow was ready to fall, Mike and his faithful companion walked regardless of the weather.  They are loyal friends.

      Nature's landscape surrounding us here on the plains of Wichita County, Texas is surely changing.  The trees' colors have slowly begun to return to their natural hues and many of the leaves have already begun to fall.  Our porch, once almost covered with lovely flowers, is now nearly barren of them.  The only things that remain are the autumn chrysanthemums that still look nice, especially after cutting the old dead blossoms off and allowing the new ones to shoot forth.  It seems strange to live in a place where dear Mother Nature allows for a bit longer of a growing season.

     Even though so much has changed for us in the time that we have been here, one thing remains for certain.  Mike and I still believe that we were brought to the great plains of Texas for a reason and slowly but surely it seems as though that very reason is being shown to us each and every day.  To say it has been easy here would not be true.  In many ways it has been quite difficult.  Yet here we are and by God's grace, we have been protected and well provided for here in this new place that we call "home".

     We really have absolutely "zero" idea about what lies ahead for us.  Only the good Lord above knows that.  Sometimes it's a little scary just putting everything into His hands but we do it.  We are following the plan that Mike and I made before we even left the Western Slopes of the great Rocky Mountains.

     We just hold hands a little tighter and remember to stick together.

     You'd think it was the middle of summer from the looks of the green in this photo.  November 5, 2015 has been a great day to be alive in.