~and my life has been made better by knowing you all~

My father came to me in my dreams last night.  I never really saw his image, yet I knew that he had been there.  He died in 1982, just a month shy of reaching his 60th birthday.  Lung cancer, not his very serious heart trouble, took his life on the 11th day of December that year.  I vaguely remember his voice but I have never forgotten his wonderfully kind heart.  I loved my dad and still do today.

In my dream,  I saw his custom cutting equipment.  Each and every piece of it was lined up on the roadway.  Strange, it was exactly the same as it was back in 1977 when he took his last harvest run through the Great Plains states.  There were 4 old L2 Gleaner combines along with a 1976 International Harvester one.  Not sure where all the wheat trucks were, but at the tail end of the combines were his old 1974 blue service truck that he always called the "ton job" and the trailer that he hauled along to live in while he was gone.  Everything look old, as a matter of fact it looked as old as the years that have passed since 1977.  

I wish I would have seen my dad, but sadly he was no where to be found.

You know, I hardly ever dream of him any longer.  At first when he passed away, I thought of him so much in my nightly slumber.  Then as time went on and things got better, only once in a while would I dream of him.  It's been ages now since it happened to me and normally with such an unusual dream, I would wonder why it happened.  This time I don't have to wonder.

This time I know.

Mike and I like to get out and drive sometimes.  We love to see the sights and discover the new places that we've yet to come across in nearly a year of living here in Texas.  This past weekend we had gone over to Wichita Falls for something and as we came home, I noticed how beautiful and lush the fields of wheat were looking.  That wheat will soon be ready to harvest come summertime and I guess when I saw it, my mind went back to the time when my own father was here in this very area to harvest it.  My heart was so happy to realize that we would be able to see it head out, ripen and be ready for the combines to cut it.  When we lived in Colorado, I missed that so much. 

One thing my dad always spoke of was how rewarding it was to have met all the people that he did as he spent nearly half of the year on the custom combining circuit.  John Scott, Jr. never knew a stranger to begin with and all he had to do was meet you and shake your hand.  From that point on, you were friends.  He was thankful for the chance to be a custom cutter and even more grateful to have made the many friends he did along the way.  I'm sure if he were here today, my dad would say that knowing them all had made his life even better.

I am a great deal like him.

Last night I was visiting with a dear friend back home in Kansas where I am from.  We talk as often as we can to keep up on the news on how everything is going for their family and mine. Last night I remembered to tell that friend of mine how much I appreciated our friendship.  I realized that having such a friend had made my life so much better in the nearly 6 years since we have known one another.  If you are reading this today, then the same should be said for you.  You might not realize it, but the truth is this.

My life has been made better just simply by knowing you.

I don't remember to say things like that nearly enough.  I get busy, stressed out, too tired to say anything, preoccupied with worry, and just plain forgetful at times.  But I am saying it to you all today.  Thank you for being my friends, not just for now, but for all the times of our lives. Just like my father knew about all of his friends, knowing you all has made the difference for me.  

For the gift of your friendship, I'm beholden.

So fortunate to have friends in so many places!  Like Kansas,

                                          Pennsylvania

                                        Colorado.....and every place else that lies between.

                          John Scott, Jr. was the greatest man I ever knew here on this earth.

~It was what I was born to be.~

My 38th year of teaching has nearly run its course.  So hard to imagine how fast one year could have flown by!  One day you're in the classroom getting things ready for "Meet the Parents" night.  The next day you are taking things down off the walls in preparation to administer the state writing test to 4th grade students.  

March 29th, this coming Tuesday and only the day after tomorrow, 4th graders from all over this great state of Texas will be taking the writing section of their annual test.  It's a day we knew was coming.  In fact, it was a day that they were all well aware of from the beginning.  In everything that we have done this year, we have kept it in mind.  

We will have a pep rally at our school tomorrow afternoon to encourage and inspire the kids to do their best on the test.  Prior to that, I am having a meeting with all of my 4th grade students to go over a few last minute things and to read them the letter that is attached to this blog.  

Testing is a very stressful time and it is surely not just in the state of Texas, but all over this great nation of ours.  I have gone to bed at night with it on my mind and awoken the next morning still thinking of it.   Yet no matter how difficult it has been, I have never looked back at my decision to be a teacher.  It was what I was born to be.


~A Letter From the Teacher on Monday, March 28th~

Dear kids,
     It seems so hard to imagine that tomorrow we will be taking our writing test.  The many weeks of school that we had up until this point in time have now gone away.  They are a part of your fourth grade memory bank now.  We have worked so hard, gone through a thousand pencils and erasers, used up 59 packages of notebook paper, and tried dozens of ways to graphically organize our work.  
     Our classroom word wall became filled with the challenging words that you sometimes forgot how to spell.  It wasn't until after I met you all that I realized the need to add the cities of Dean, Petrolia, Byers, Wichita Falls, and Charlie to that wall.  We practiced with too, to, and two as well as their, there, and they're.  You have seen dozens of expository prompts and written to each of them.  I must have told you a hundred times that whatever the prompt is on testing day, good or bad, that you must write to it and write very well.  
     You know that I've reminded you about a gazillion (and by the way, it's not a real number) times to capitalize the beginning word of each sentence, check for the proper punctuation at the end, and make sure that your sentence makes good sense.  I have reminded you to be sure and stick to the prompt and not veer away from it as you write.  We've practiced with revising and editing stories until I thought I could not ask you to do any more of them.  Thank you for sticking with it, even though I am sure that you must have grown as weary of it all as I have.  
     Inside of each of you, hey inside of all of us for that matter, there is a story waiting to be told.  You have heard me say that you must reach deep down into your belly to find it sometimes.  I want you to know how very true that is.  Use some time to do the thinking and planning part of your composition.  You might not know what to write about at first, but just give yourself a moment.  It will come to you.  I promise!  
     All of us will breathe a sigh of relief when the test is completed.  My desire for you is that you come and do your best.  Please give 100 percent towards passing it.  When it is all said and done, no matter what the outcome is, that is all I can ask of you.  The folks that grade your composition do not know you.  They don't know what your writing ability was when you began 4th grade and they surely do not know what wonderful potential you still have within you to be even greater writers next year.  One thing is for certain.  I do.
     You know where good writing comes from.  I have told you that as well.  It comes from your heart.  You have made this teacher's heart happy.  So get some rest, eat a good breakfast, kiss your brain, and put a fire under your pencil.  You will do just fine on Tuesday!
     Thanks for allowing me to teach you how to write this year. I am so very proud of each and every single one of you.  I love you kids all.

     Your teacher,
     Mrs. Renfro

Mike and I took this picture last summer, right about the time that school was ready to start. Just like he did when I taught at Olathe Elementary, Mike Renfro always made sure that the kids had whatever they needed to have a successful year at school.  He has helped to pay for more pencils, erasers, paper, glue sticks, and a thousand other things than a person could imagine.  He learned early on what it is like to be married to a teacher.

I remember the night he sat there and drew the grids for about 120 writing projects for the month of September.  I couldn't have done it without his help.  He never complained one time.  That's just how he is. 

~one simple act of kindness~

Sometimes we all need some help in this life and often times it comes in the form of little things.

I was really tired over the weekend and feeling a bit on the stressed side by Sunday afternoon.  I just wanted to sit in my recliner and rest a bit.  The chilly weather that the first day of spring had brought was beginning to creep down my shoulders and back.  I started to reach for the blanket that was behind me and for whatever reason, it wasn't easy to reach.  Mike heard me laughing at the hopelessness of the situation, and got up from his own recliner to give assistance.  He didn't just stop with the lightweight throw I had been reaching for.  He also added the longer and heavier blanket behind it.  Before Mike was done, he had me completely tucked in from head to toe and I thanked him for his help and fell asleep faster than I normally do.

I was safe and sound.  
I felt warm and secure.

That simple act of kindness put me in mind of a time in life when I was a CNA at a local long term care facility back home in South Hutchinson, Kansas.  From 2004 until 2011, I spent my weekends and summer breaks from school taking care of the elderly folks who resided at not only the Mennonite Manor but the Wheaton House as well.  It was a wonderful job and most fulfilling to me.  As a single woman whose primary source of income was that of a teacher's salary, it was a job born of economic necessity.  But just like teaching, taking care of the elderly provided me with much more than a paycheck.  It provided me with the chance to learn more about life, especially life at the other end of the age spectrum.  And oh yes, it provided me with one other special gift.

It was the gift of their undying, heartfelt, and sincere love.

One of my favorite things about taking care of the folks there was to help them to be comfortable and settled in.  If it was a time of rest for them on a chilly day, I wanted to be sure they were snug and warm just like I was on Sunday afternoon.  Often times, I'd throw their blankets into the dryer to take the chill off of them up a bit before I tucked them in bed.  Funny how a small, 5 minute act of kindness can make a person's day, but it did.  When Mike tucked me in with the covers all snug around me, I realized for the first time just what my actions felt like those many years ago.

I know now why they smiled when I did it.  They did it because it felt nice and comfortable.

Those dear people knew what the phrase "safe and sound" meant and I'll always be thankful that I the chance to be there for them.  I'm still 25 years or so away, leastwise I hope, before my lot in this life will take me there.  But if I do find myself on the receiving end once again, I hope for one thing.

I hope that the person caring for me will love me as much as I have loved them back.  At life's end we need very little.  The most important thing we need is someone to care.

My dear friend Esther, was the first person I thought of Sunday afternoon as Mike saw to it that I was comfortable and warm in my chair.  I always loved to take care of her and keep her safe.  She was a fine Christian woman who now lives in her Heavenly home.  I can still hear her voice saying "thank you Peggy" each time that I did something for her.  Esther was grateful for all things.  

For the least of things~

~and we're fixing to find out~

We kind of had in the back of our minds that we were hurrying things a bit when we planted twenty tomatoes and peppers in the garden last weekend.  Even as I was placing over a dozen new perennials in the front flower beds, I felt a slight bit of reluctance in doing so.  Yet even knowing that there was a possibility of a near freeze warning for these parts throughout this weekend, we continued on. After a long winter, it just felt nice to be digging into the rich red soil of Texas.

So we did.

Two days ago reality hit when we heard the local television weather guy from Lawton, Oklahoma give his weekend forecast. It didn't look promising and with the thought that the overnight temps would dip down towards the 32 degree mark overnight, we had only one choice if we were going to save what we had planted. Plastic sheeting was in order, and a whole lot of it.

So at the 5 o'clock hour when I arrived home from school, Mike and I began the process of cutting huge strips of plastic to cover over the things that we worked so hard to get into the ground.  The wind was blowing rather briskly, so as we tried to handle the huge sheets we looked more like 9-year old kids playing with a parachute during gym class instead of two grownups trying to save our vegetables and flowers.  It was definitely NOT a one person job and I was beginning to think it wasn't a two person job either.  We stuck with it and about an hour after we started, we were done.

                                               Maybe they will make it.  We had to try.

It's the early morning hours now and even though the clock says 5:30, the sun is far from beginning to rise in the east.  Our forecast is for a much cooler day than it was last Saturday but at least it will make it up to nearly 60 here in this part of Texhoma.  Soon I will go outside and check to see what happened and if any damage came to them all.  A quick check of the weather app on my phone just told me that the current temperature is holding steady at 36 degrees with still a chance for it to drop before the sunrise comes.  Will they have made it?

We're fixing to find out.

~and it meant everything to me~

I've taken to wearing my birthstone ring once again.  It was a gift that my parents gave me back in 1969 on the occasion of my 8th grade graduation.  I recall my mom paid $10 for it, an astronomical amount of money in the times of 47 years ago.  Not sure how they did it, but if I know my mom she probably saved back her pennies for months and then ended up doing without something for herself.

She was like that in all matters.

It was a beautiful gift to receive and really the first piece of nice jewelry that I ever owned and happily, still own today.  It's been through "the mill", just like me.  I wore it all the time when I was growing up and it went where I did.  Once when I was climbing down off the back of my dad's wheat truck on a hot summer day, I caught it on the side of the truck bed. That was a painful moment in time and if you have ever done something like that, you will understand exactly what I am saying. Fortunately for me, it only bent the back side of the ring.  I could have needed to figure out a way in the years ahead to type minus my ring finger.  It happens you know.  When I was a senior in high school, I wore it one early autumn day to do a community service project with the rest of the Kayette group back home at Haven High School.  Our goal was to paint all of the picnic tables in the city park a brand new forest green color.  I wasn't a very neat painter that Saturday and ended up getting paint on my birthstone.  It took a long time for that deep green color to go away.

The bent portion of the ring was straightened at the local jewelry store and given enough time, the paint actually wore off in the years to come.  For several years, I tucked the ring away in my jewelry box and didn't wear it at all.  Lately I have taken it out and placed it back on my right hand ring finger.  I'm thankful that my fingers have basically stayed the same size 5 and I am able to slip it on with ease.

By today's standards that ring isn't worth much.  The gold band is thinning a bit in the back but the stone remains set tightly and I have no fear of losing it. That gift from my parents from now so very long ago is plain and simple, kind of like me.  But to still own it means the world to me.  To look down upon it and know that they both chose that particular ring for me to own, makes me very happy and at peace.  I believe they would like that.

The older I have gotten, the more I find solace in the smallest of things.  A gift from my parents, wrapped up in a tiny black felt jewelry box, is one of them.

 That young girl didn't have a clue as to the interesting life she would have ahead of her in the future.

It was only a ring but it meant everything to me then and still does today.

~the power of the human touch revisited once again~

Yesterday I saw the most beautiful thing.  As I was going down the street towards home, I looked over to my left and saw an elderly couple, probably in their early 90's, who had just gotten home themselves.  They each had a small bag to carry and were making their way slowly to the front door of their house.  My heart smiled when I saw what else they were doing.  It was a simple act, yet just seeing it done eased my tired spirits and weary mind.  They were clutching hands with one another so as to steady their way upon the walk.  

It was the power of the human touch.  

After my very serious bicycling accident in 2011, I learned just exactly what the power of the human touch was.  It took me a while, nearly 30 days into my 9-month long recovery period, but I learned it just as well.  I was at my classroom and getting things ready for the upcoming school year.  My memories of that day were many.  I was bemoaning the fact that my August 4th accident came only two and a half weeks before I was go back to school.  I'd already had 2 surgeries and my arm was encased in what would be its "forever for the next 9 months" home. Because of my fears of being hurt even further, I was overly protective of it.  The very idea of being with 350+ kids, all with the best of intentions, made me nervous at first.

On the day before school began that year, I hauled up the last load of things that I had to bring into my classroom.  Luckily I could park right next to my door and even though I had no one to help me that day, I figured out a good way to get things in, one-handed and slowly.

Very, very slowly.

After what seemed to be 3 or 4 hours (in reality it was about 30 minutes), I was ready to head back home and rest.  My arm was only in the first few weeks of healing and it was telling me that I needed to stop carrying so much stuff.  When I shut the outside door behind me, there they were.  Two little kids that I recognized from the neighborhood had seen my car there and were rushing over to find out how I was.  Instinctively, I tucked my left arm closer to my body and greeted them with a smile.

That 6-year old and 4-year old stood there to visit for awhile.  I told them about the accident and then asked them about their summer.  Before I knew it, the strangest thing began to happen.  The little one, a sweet girl who was ready to enter the Pre-K program at school, began to massage the swollen, black and blue fingers of my left hand.  I looked down at her and saw that she had a little smile on her face and her eyes were intent on gazing at my broken up fingers that looked more like sausages than the digits they were supposed to.  It went on for several minutes.  Neither of us said anything at first but when she was done, Aniyah looked up to me and said "I hope that feels better now."

And you know what?  It really did.
It was the power of the human touch.

This coming August 4th will mark the 5-year anniversary of the day that I made an extremely poor decision, one that ended up changing my life forever.  I wanted to take a short cut and jump the curb in front of my house while riding my much beloved bicycle.  I never made it and believe it or not, I still recall the sound that my bike's front tire made as it hit the cement curb. I haven't forgotten the feeling, or really the lack of it for a moment, of my left arm as it slammed down into the front yard.  

During the next 9 months, I was the recipient of the power of the human touch many times. Some of the sweetest of moments involved the children that I was teaching.  They witnessed tears fall many times during that school year over the little victories that I was feeling in the recuperation process.  I was teaching reading to a group of 6th graders when my left thumb moved for the first time in 3 months.  It was just a wiggle, nothing more than that.  Yet it was a move and when the kids saw it, they all burst into applause.  As a tear rolled down my cheek, one of the girls grabbed a kleenex for me and said, "You will probably need this."  Once not long after that, I was working with a group of 1st graders with their math lesson.  I desperately wanted to give them a sticker for their page, something I hadn't been able to do yet.  Foolishly, I was using the still broken up fingers of my left hand and was having absolutely zero luck in accomplishing that task.  I was about ready to give up and the tears were welling up in my eyes. One little tiny boy looked up at me and encouraged me to go on, telling me that I could do it.  

I did continue on and you know what?  Little Michael was right.  I could do it.

I don't think about the accident every day now and as a matter of fact, sometimes I have to stop and recollect just what year it happened.  Time went on.  I still prefer to wear long sleeves to keep the scars covered up.  As the years have gone by, dear "old lefty's" outward appearance has become even more misshapen to me.  From a distance, my arms don't look that different but up close there is definitely a change.  I've noticed in the past few months that my left wrist's mobility is reverting back to the way it was while I was in physical/occupational therapy.  The shampoo that rolls down my arm while I'm trying to wash my hair was a clear indication of that this week.  Not sure why the changes are beginning to happen,  but they are.  I knew going into this all that things concerning my wrist would never be the same again.  It does not come as a surprise to me.  

At age 60, I am finding my body changing and slowing down a tiny bit.  I steady myself and pay attention so as not to fall and when I forget to do that, sometimes I do meet the pavement. Arthritis in my hands and knees reminds me to take an Alleve.  Lately I have noticed that the grip in both hands is suspect at times.  Even though "old lefty" is wearing out too, the segment of bone material that I was given from a donor's body, a friend I never met, is still going strong. It is something that will live within me until the day that I die.

I'm glad I saw the old couple last evening.  They reminded me of what it will probably be like for Mike and I in the the years to come.  No matter how old our bodies become, no matter how crippled up we may find ourselves in the years that lie ahead, one thing shall always remain for certain.

As long as we stick together, we will make it just fine.
And oh yes.....hold hands.

It was the power of the human touch for little Aniyah and I.  There's really nothing like it.

~and today was no exception~

Life always presents new experiences for me and today was no exception.

Both Mike and I had been working outside in the yard nearly all day. There was planting and clean up aplenty to do. We had wished to at least get a good start on getting our garden in but things weren't exactly looking promising.  Mike had been having some difficulty with the rototiller and he decided to call one of the guys from work to see if he could come over to help him start it up.  After a very short while, the tiller was up and running again and there was hope that at the very least, we could at least get in a few things before the day was through. Mike made neat rows for me to plant my eight tomato and five pepper plants in.  Before I knew it, the process of getting those wonderful plants into the row had begun.  I was happy!

Since I'd been working outside most of the weekend, my 60-year old knees were secretly planning to revolt from all of my ups and downs.  I decided that the easiest way for me to plant the tomatoes, rather than walking down the row and stooping over, was to get down on my knees and crawl from spot to spot.  It worked out great, well at least for the first four plants.  I dutifully held onto my pitcher full of water, having seen my mom do it a zillion times that way, and when I made the hole for the plant to go into, I poured a couple of cups of water into the soil first.  The rest of the steps are easy.  Put in the plant, pack the soil around it, make sure it's good and secure and then move on.

By the time I got to the fifth plant, the most interesting thing happened.  As I scooted toward it, full pitcher of water in my hand, I felt my knees sink into the soft red earth and then I fell, nearly face first into the garden.  Imagine it happening in slow motion because that's kind of/sort of how it felt.  I lost my balance (even on my knees), dumped a huge part of that full pitcher of water onto the ground, and landed with my hands down just enough to save myself from eating a pretty decent mouthful of that rich Texas soil.

And all I could do was laugh.
Hysterically.

I've never fallen from a kneeling position before.  Mike, bless his heart, was standing right there as a spectator to this whole ordeal.  When it was all over and I was able to get myself up off the ground once again, all we could do was continue laughing.  Sometimes I just plain amaze myself at some of the things that I manage to accomplish.  I remember that I told him it was sure easier to fall from that height than to fall from a standing position.  Hey, at least I had a soft spot of ground to land on.

It's been a busy, busy weekend and Daylight Savings Time is doing me in.  I caught a quick 30 minute nap in the chair in front of the TV just a while ago and more than likely will be heading to bed very soon.  Spring break is over and tomorrow it's back to school.  I've had a wonderful week off but now it is time to return and get back to the normal routine.  The remaining days shall fly by quickly and before I know it, year #38 of being a teacher will be over.  I'm sure I'll wake up stiff and sore in the morning but hard work has not done me in yet.  One thing is for certain though.

Life has been good to me.

Aunt Margaret's "Live Forever" plant is doing well.  She'd be happy to know that it is thriving in another plot of Texas soil.  It lived through the drought in Olney and so I know it has a fierce determination to survive and thrive, just like me.

The "Blue Eyes" plant looks really nice in the front yard and the little girl sitting beside it reminds me of myself when I was young.

Both Mike and I love Shasta Daisies and so we bought a couple for the back yard this past weekend. Back in Montrose, we had 3 beautiful plants that were doing really well.  It will take a while for these to grow that big.

The geraniums are very happy sitting in the front porch planter.  They loved the nice soaking of rain on Saturday.

This was the 5th tomato plant and luckily for me, you can't see the imprint of my face in that red Texas soil.  After that happened, I could have cried or laughed.

I chose to laugh.

~as we remember you always~

It's funny how life plays out for us all.  Sometimes we find ourselves in places that we never in our wildest of dreams imagined that we would be, places like Burkburnett, Texas or Montrose, Colorado.  You would have never convinced this Kansas farm girl, this lifelong Jayhawker, that she'd be living in the mountains of southwestern Colorado or even upon the plains of northern Texas in the years to come.  But I did and I am still doing so this day.  

Life's funny that way.

We began to make our decision to come here to spend the rest of the days of our lives together here on earth about this time last year.  In March of 2015, we were only in the preplanning stages and hadn't said a whole lot to anyone about it.  Mike and I weren't really sure what would happen.  All that we knew was that we both felt that we were being led to leave our home in Colorado's beautiful Rocky Mountains and head southeast, about 800 miles to the southeast, and move to Texas.

I've been asked many times in the past month by folks I know here as well as folks back home in Kansas and Colorado, if we are glad that we made the move.  Was everything going ok? Was life what we expected it to be?  How was the world treating us after nearly 10 months of being here?  I tell them all that we are fine, surviving and thriving in a place that has now become where we call ourselves "home".  

Last weekend when I flew to Seattle, our first stop after taking off at Oklahoma City was a change of planes in Denver.  It had been a long, long time to be in Denver and certainly nearly a year since I had seen any of the great Rocky Mountains.  I looked out the window of the plane and saw the Front Range side of the mountains, still snowcapped and majestic, and deep inside of my heart I felt happy and sad at the same time.  I think it was a good example of a bittersweet moment.  Mike and I have many friends who became like our family on the other side of those beautiful mountains.  Some very sweet and special people live on the Western Slope side and we bid them farewell on May 27th of last year.  We think of those dear ones in Montrose, Olathe, Grand Junction and all across the Grand Mesa so very often and some day we know that we will be back to visit them once again.  Our hearts are very full to overflowing.

I went back to look at my blog posts from last year to find the one that I wrote when we told everyone that our intentions were to leave as soon as the school year was over last year.  I'm reprinting it below if you would care to read.  God has richly blessed us along the journey and even though life hasn't been 100 percent perfect here, I'd call 99.9% perfect pretty good anyways.  

Have a blessed Sunday dear friends and family out there.  We remember you always~

Monday, April 13, 2015

~as we say our "good bye" to Colorado~

It will soon be two years that I came to Colorado's Western Slopes to make my home here in Montrose as a newly married and newly (once again) retired Kansas school teacher.  On the 20th of May of 2013, Mike flew to Wichita, Kansas and met me in Hutchinson where I was finishing up my second to the last day of being a teacher.  On the 21st, the official last day of school for USD 308 of Hutchinson, we were married in the gymnasium after the last bell of the school year rang.  Surrounded by all of the students at Lincoln Elementary, our families and close friends and all the good people that I have known and worked alongside as a teacher, we stood underneath the basketball goal and were married.  Our good friend, Judge Buck Lyle performed our wedding service and when it was all over, that mass of humanity enjoyed cookies and punch together.  With tears in my eyes, I said "good bye" to the many little children that I had known in my years of teaching there as well as all of the dear friends that had become like my second family.  It was tough to leave them all behind but a new life awaited me with this guy that I had known nearly 4 decades ago when we went to school in the same little town called "Haven, Kansas".  

Life changed from that moment on.  

Our first 3 months together were a struggle as I suffered through some pretty serious issues with homesickness and loneliness for the life that I used to know back there on the plains of Kansas.  I nearly gave up, time and time again.  I began to question why I made this drastic change in life and seriously started to doubt that I would ever survive here.  Boxes that had been brought from my old home in Hutchinson were left untouched, the contents sealed safely inside.  I wasn't sure why I would want to unpack them anyways.  For the first 12 weeks, I really did not see a future here in the mountains of Colorado.

Mike was patient and kind, very loving and understanding.  He reminded me all along that it would be fine and all I needed to do was to take the tiniest of baby steps and one way or the other, we'd make it.  At first I didn't even believe him but little by little I found out that he was right.  We did make it and I didn't have to die to be able to say that.  I survived and I thrived.

The greatest blessing that could have ever happened for Mike and I was the day that I was hired to be a teacher up the road a ways at Olathe Elementary.  It was only a few days before school was to begin but it didn't matter to me.  What did count was that I would be able to find a way to make a connection here to the life that I had left behind 3 months earlier.  I went to work that first year as a fourth-grade teacher and even though I'd never taught a fourth grade class for the entire day, I made it it remarkably well.  My teaching partners, Erin and Amanda, stood by me and taught me everything I needed to know.  To those two women, I will always be remembering.  They had to answer some pretty silly questions from me but they did it time and time again and never made me feel as if I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing.  I found out that teaching fourth grade was a lot of fun and in the year's time that I did so, I learned a tremendous amount about the students I taught and myself as well.  This year I have been so fortunate to have stayed at Olathe for another year.  This time I've been able to return to one of the first grade classrooms, a place that I am quite accustomed to with nearly half of my years of teaching experience being in the primary grades.  Once again I have been fortunate to have 3 teaching partners who have helped me in any way that they could.  Amy, Sarah and Cali are very experienced teachers in the primary and to them I will always be grateful.

Now as the school year comes to an end in the very few weeks that lie ahead, it is time for a change.  It's not exactly one that was planned on, even as short of a time as 4 months ago but sometimes things like that happen.  Life is what it is.  One thing is for sure.

Change is inevitable and many times it is for the best.  

Mike and I are moving at the very beginning of the summer to the city of Wichita Falls, Texas where I hope to be teaching if and when a job should become available.  It will be a huge change for the both of us.  Mike has lived here in the Colorado Rockies for the past 20 years and even though I have only been in Montrose for the past 2 years, I had begun to get kind of used to it.  To uproot ourselves and head to a place nearly 800 miles to the southeast of us here will be a challenge.  There are no beautiful mountains to look at from the kitchen window but there will be other good things to see.  It will all be a matter of how we keep our perspective.  The journey lies ahead of us and even though it is scary to venture into the great "unknown", one thing shall always be for certain.

As long as we stick together, we will more than likely make it.  God's "master plan" is at work here and in its own time, shall be shown to us.  It takes a lot of courage to do this and a huge amount of faith.  After spending a whole lot of time on God's mighty anvil as He refined the character that I had become, one thing is for certain.  

I don't think He is done with me yet.  

January of 2013~
The Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park~
Two kids from the "land of long ago and far, far away".

Two of the best friends that we have ever had together in this life.  LeRoy and Anne saved us from ourselves more times than I would ever care to mention.

3 months after we were married at school, we went back to stand underneath the basketball goal once again for this photo :)

My very first year as an "Olathe Pirate".  I am sad to be leaving them behind.  The good folks at Olathe Elementary made the difference in our lives.  They saved our marriage and I'm not kidding when I say that.  An entire school community threw out a strong "life line" and made sure that a very homesick "flatlander" was able to find her own personal niche among them.

And so yes, the view will be different.  No longer will the San Juan Mountains provide the scenic backdrop for our every day lives.  Yet there is one thing I have learned as I have grown older and somewhat wiser.  There is beauty everywhere you look in this world of ours.  It's all in how you see it.

These two women have become like my second set of sisters or something.  Never mind that I am old enough to be their mom.  They don't seem to look at it that way.  Nikki and Mary, for everything you have done to help me I will always remain beholden to you for your kindness and genuine love and concern.

And so no matter what happens~we stick together.

~we just have to look for it~

The rains came down as promised late in the afternoon here.  I was thankful to have planted 14 perennials in front of the house this morning.  Now they are receiving the benefit of a good soaking and for that, in the land of the former drought or anywhere else for that matter, we give thanks.

It felt good to be digging into the earth and making way for the wide variety of plants that I bought at the hardware store that Mike manages here in Burkburnett.  I was happy to see a nice assortment of earthworms that greeted me as I dug into their natural habitat in the red soil of this part of Texas.  The ground is healthy here and I knew that it would be good for growing as I watched Mike till it up a few weeks back.  It reminded me so much of my old back yard in Hutchinson, Kansas.  The dirt there was equally healthy and yielded a wide variety of crops of both the vegetable and floral kind.

I like digging in the dirt.
Plain and simple.

When I was on Whidbey Island this past weekend, I stopped at a specialty store that had a wide variety of seeds for sale.  I immediately went over to the display to check it out, realizing that whatever I brought back with me to Texas had to fit in the very limited space of my suitcase.  Flower seed packets seemed to be a good choice and so I picked up several packages of my favorites.  It was a nice find for me and I was grateful to come across several that I ended up buying.

When I laid them all on the counter, the clerk at the register made a remark about the Love Lies Bleeding packets.  She told me that she thought the name was just too sad and that she would never plant them.  When I told her that they had become my favorite kind to plant, she wondered why that was.  So I told her that the name actually was a good one, not a bad one and rather than feeling sad about it, they actually made my heart smile.  She didn't ask me anything further, just rang up my purchase and took my money.  I kind of wish she would have because I had an answer for her and the answer would have sounded something like this.

I plant those flowers, Love Lies Bleeding, every year that I can.  They are a reminder to me of all the good folks that have come into my life, loved me, and eventually have gone away.  My parents, grandparents, a brother and sister, a niece, cousins, aunts and uncles, and dear friends have all left this earth for a place far better than this one will ever pretend to be.  Although my heart was broken and in a figurative sense "bled", I still remember them, each of them, with a happy heart.  When those flowers come into their own and send out long cranberry colored dreadlocks, I smile and recall in my heart the people they were planted for.

I'm funny that way perhaps, but it is how I believe.
You won't convince me otherwise.

I got my love of growing things from my mother and her mother before her.  I feel happy when I am planting something and even though my old knees are saying "Hey, that's about enough of doing that stuff Peggy!" I still continue on.  I do it for those two women and to honor their memory but I do it for someone else as well.

I do it for myself and all that is beautiful and wonderful in this sometimes very troubled world of ours.  May you my dear friends see what is beautiful as well.  It's out there.  We just have to look for it.

Just the beginning of a whole lot of planting that's going to be happening here at our new house.  You have to start somewhere!

~Maine changed that~

It was a long journey home yesterday, one that crossed over 2, 800 air miles, more than a couple of mountain ranges, and 4 different time zones before it was all finished.  Mike was there at the airport in Oklahoma City to meet me and when we pulled into Burkburnett at 11:45, it was a good feeling.

How nice it is to find yourself back home again.

I'm happy for a few more days of spring break left before returning to school on Monday of the week upcoming.  There's work aplenty to do here at home, beginning with planting the flowers and veggies that I just now picked up down at the hardware store that Mike manages.  I'm exhausted from the journey but not so tired that I can't go outside and dig in the dirt here.  There's always energy for that kind of thing.

I got to thinking as I flew home yesterday, because when you are in an airplane all day long you have plenty of time for that, and I realized just how much my world has grown since 2012.  In late May that year, after school had been dismissed for the summer, I made the trip to Maine to see my very first lighthouse ever.  It had been on my own personal bucket list for many years and even though I knew I'd be making the over 2,000 mile one way trip on my own, it really didn't matter.  I was going to do it and I did.  Prior to 2012, I hadn't done much traveling at all.  As a matter of fact, I thought that seeing all of the Great Plains states and a couple of others was enough for me.  I didn't care about leaving home for places that I couldn't get back to in a couple of days or less.

Maine changed that.

I took out in the early morning hours on a Monday from south central Kansas and promptly got lost in Wichita, no more than half an hour into the drive.  I figured things out though and soon found myself headed to see the Portland Headlight in Cape Elizabeth, Maine.  When I finally arrived there, it was a dream come true for me.  It was beautiful and I will always remember how that particular visit was a treat to each of my senses.  The smell of the sea, the sounds of seagulls and the mournful fog horn, the sight of the beautiful blue water, the taste of salt in the air, and the feeling of gratitude in my heart for finally making it are things I will always remember.  I never regretted one bit having gone but I know that I would have regretted it had I not.

I'll always remember this photo.  Since I was traveling alone, I had to find someone who was willing to take my picture to show that I really had been there.  The first people I encountered were a nice couple who happened to be visiting from France and spoke absolutely no English.  Somehow we managed to communicate with one another and they were happy to take my picture.  I looked even shorter than I already am as I stood against the residence of the lighthouse keeper.

During my trip to Whidbey Island, I was fortunate enough to see two more lighthouses and stopped to take a picture of each of them.  Mike and I both enjoy lighthouses and perhaps someday when we are retired and even older than we are now, we'll volunteer to be keepers of the lighthouse somewhere in the U.S.  Sounds like a fun job to both of us.

This is the lighthouse at Mukilteo, just outside the ferry boat stop before leaving for Whidbey Island. It was built in 1906 and is still operational today in 2016.

This is the Admiralty Lighthouse near Coupeville, (Whidbey Island) Washington.  It was lit for the first time in 1903 and was deactivated 19 years later in 1922.

Today it is back to life here upon the plains of Texas.  There are suitcases to be unpacked, laundry to be done. and a list of other things too numerous to mention.  I'm so grateful for the chance to have seen my son, daughter-in-law, and sweet little granddaughter once again.  This morning as I sit here typing this blogpost, I realize that I'm missing them already.  I will return someday to see them all once again.

I may not be a world traveler yet but I am beginning to be a traveler of this great country that we love.  I may have waited until later in life to begin the journey but at least I have begun.

One thing is for certain.
Maine changed all of that.

~soon will come the time~

There is something about digging in the fresh dirt, often times barehanded, that appeals to my sense of goodness and all that it is right in the world.  I've always felt that way and as the calendar inches its way towards the end of the week, that's just what I plan to be doing.

Burkburnett, Texas has some very fine soil, red in color and rich in content.  Mike tilled up an area in front of our new home, one that had previously been filled with bushes that had long since been overgrown.  When we moved there, their removal was at the top of our list of things to accomplish in the first month.

January 2016, two weeks prior to moving in day~

Just a couple of weekends ago as Mike prepared the ground for planting~

Soon after the bushes were removed and the ground was worked up sufficiently, we began the process of putting in plants.  For now only chrysanthemums and hollyhocks have been transplanted, but soon we will be putting in many more varieties as we figure out some type of design for the front of the house.

Both of us felt our age as we worked outside in the yard.  I'm a couple of years older than Mike so he faired better than I did.  Our knees were sore, our backs hurt, and both of us got slightly winded but we made it.  My mom always said that as long as she kept gardening that she felt a whole lot better.  I remember the year that she gave it up and it wasn't long after that when her health began to suffer.  I don't want that to happen to me and so no matter what, no matter how sore I feel, I intend to keep going. I'm thankful that Mike feels the same way.

I've found some unique seeds here in the Puget Sound area and have packed them along in my suitcase for the return trip home tomorrow.  There is an interesting little shop in Langley, just up the road aways from where we are now on the island, that sells seeds with a chocolate scent to them.  I picked up a chocolate dahlia to take home to Mike.  It should be very interesting to watch it grow and certainly is something I've never seen back in Texas.

It will soon be time to pack up our things and head to the airport.  One last day remains before we need to leave for home once again.  This beautiful island is full of growth and the lush rains that have fallen this winter have nourished the earth here once again.  Springtime is slowly coming out and within a few weeks, everything will show its colors once again.

I brought little Catherine a couple of packages of sunflower seeds (for my home state of Kansas) and a package of bluebonnet seeds (for our new home in Texas) to plant in her yard somewhere.  I think that perhaps she will love to dig in the dirt too.

From so very far away, a little more than 2,300 miles as the crow flies, I am alive and well.  God blessed the journey and we do pray for safe passage back home tomorrow.  It will be good to touch down in Oklahoma City tomorrow, safe and sound.

3 years ago about this time~I was determined to make sunflower seeds grow in the clay filled soil of our home in Montrose, Colorado.  I must have planted a thousand seeds but only 12 grew.  At least THEY made it!

~and it all started with a rain barrel~

     It was weird to think of just how quickly the words came out of my mouth on this past Sunday afternoon. 

     Mike and I had been outside planting many of the seeds that we've been gathering over the past few weeks.  When we finally finished up, I told Mike that we ought to try out the new rain barrel we brought back from Kansas in early February.  The recent rains had filled it to the brim and like two kids with a brand new toy, both of us wanted to see just how it worked.

     Mike had brought the hose over to me in the front yard, near to where the chrysanthemums had been transplanted from our old house on the far side of town.  We were trying to figure out just how to get the water to drain out, when Mike laid the hose down on the ground and the water began to run out.  The only issue was that it was soaking an area that we didn't need to be watered.  Without even thinking, the words spewed out of my mouth.  It was an utterance that reminded me of just why we got the rain barrel to begin with.
     We want to be better stewards of the water.

"Mike, it's running out and we're wasting it!"

     Quickly we picked it back up and moved it to the spot where it was most needed.  After soaking down the seeds and plants, we checked to see how much water was actually drained from the barrel.  The answer was "not much".  It would appear that we have plenty to learn about using that type of system but at least we have made the choice to start learning as much as we can about water conservation.
     About this time last year, Mike and I made the decision to move to this part of America.  Mike sat down at the kitchen table in Montrose, Colorado with an atlas set before him.  He opened up to the great state of Texas, looked at it for a moment in time, and then drew a circle around the city of Wichita Falls.  That's how we made the decision to come here.  We knew that this part of Texas was in the midst of a 5-year drought, something that Mike's late Aunt Margaret told us about each time we would call her at her home in Olney.  We really didn't realize the extent of how dry it was but it didn't take us long to find out.  People said we were crazy to leave the beauty of the Colorado mountains and move to a place where water went by two names.  
     
Slim and None.

      By the time we had begun packing our belongings in early May as we anticipated our move, the drought was broken by an abundance of heavy rains.  So much water fell that great floods came with it.  By the time our moving truck rolled through the city of Wichita Falls on May 29th, the flood waters had subsided for the most part.  Only a few spots of water remained to be dealt with.  
     I remember so well our first few weeks here and how surprised I was to see the lack of anything beautiful growing in folks' yards or hanging from baskets on their porches.  Back in the mountains of Colorado, we had flowers and plants galore.  The front yard was always filled with them and our deck was adorned in huge pots that showed the colors of the beautiful things planted inside.  Our house was filled with plants, in fact the old sunporch had so many that we had to give away several of them before we left.  There just was no room for them in the moving truck and our cars.  When we arrived here, it was totally the opposite.  Years of living in drought like conditions had prohibited folks in our new home from having many flowers, gardens, or lush vegetation at all.  By the time mid-June rolled around, several of the stores in the area began once again to have beautiful flowers for sale.  The happy faces of people buying them once again was a wonderful sight to see.  
     The current drought map of the United States indicates that parts of Texas are still considered abnormally dry so every chance that we get for moisture to fall is a real blessing to those of us (the Renfro Family included) who call Texas "home".  Wise people remember that the drought may have left for now, but it most certainly can return once again.  For Mike and I, it just means that we have to learn to do what we can to save every drop of that precious commodity that falls.  And for us, it all begins with a rain barrel.

It was so nice to see Lake Arrowhead filled with water this past September.  Texas is a beautiful state with so much for people to see and do.  Mike and I are going to try camping there come this summer.

     And life goes on~