Grandma’s Hug


B:  Hey, come out here and see what I found!
Me:  Oh my, what is it?
B:  It’s a pig!

Yesterday, he was digging out roots from the bushes out front.  Underneath was a miniature cast iron pig.  Later that evening I remembered that it was the same place where the little concrete bird was found last year.  I took the bird off the mantel and showed him.

Me:  I wrote a piece about the bird I found in the same place.
B:  Oh, you wrote an emotional blog thing about the bird?
Me:  Yeah, I suppose so.
B:  Are you going to write about the pig?
Me:  I’ve been thinking about it.  I have decided that the meaning behind finding the pig is that I should eat more bacon.

Then, today happened.  Out of my closet I pulled out my pink sweater that I hardly ever wear.  My boss wore a pink jacket.  I saw pink roses in a bouquet at work.  At lunch with friends, they ordered dessert called Rose Pana Cotta.  One said that it tasted like an old grandma’s perfume.  Then I had a bite and said, “That’s it!  Yes, it tastes like Rose Milk lotion like my grandma used to wear!”  I smiled and said that it felt like my grandma just hugged me.

I always feel better when my grandma visits me.  Most of the time, it’s in a dream.  Today it was all that pink.  I’ll take it whenever I get it.

So, what does the pig have to do with anything?  Maybe I’m just thinking about how we choose to find meaning in some things and not others.  Maybe it’s about finding rest until one is ready to come out of hiding.   Maybe it’s about perseverance in finding treasure in neglected foliage.  Maybe it’s just a pig.


Stormy Weather


I am awake earlier than I prefer on a Saturday morning due to the storms blowing through the area.  The wind gusts are creating limbs to fall on the roof and I worry about the creek rising again.  I can already see that I’ll have some fence repair to do later today and that a nap will likely be in order.

I feel like I wake up to a stormy climate every morning now.  “What could possibly happen next?” “What hateful action has occurred again?” “Who said what to whom and for the love of God, not another Tweet!” “Why is this happening?” “When will this disgusting hatefulness end?” “When will logic prevail?” These consistent feelings are just about enough to make a person give up all hope for humanity.  Then, I have to Google “What is feckless” to keep up with the news.  The word means lacking strength of character.  So, I sit at my desk and smile at the irony of feeling frustrated with the lack of strength of character with so very many of the leaders in our midst today.  Leaders that we knew behaved badly, but we (by voting or not voting) put them in charge and crossed our fingers that everything would be alright.  Then there are the people in the public eye that we put on a pedestal and hold to a higher standard because they entertain us in some way.  When they get caught making mistakes or revealing their true shitty character, people are upset and disappointed.

Now I sit drinking my green tea with honey, listening to the cats play and the thunder roar, pondering life and feeling grateful.  As the Earth rotates once again to show us the morning sun, love is still fighting its way through the hate in ways that are plain to see and ways that we need to try harder to see.  Be kind.  Love your dang neighbor.  Write more poetry.  Color with crayons.  Dance longer.  Sing louder.  Pray harder.  Do better.   #profoundshiz



I woke up today when a little kitten playfully jumped on my face.  It’s not the worst alarm clock.  It was a good reminder to play and smile and be grateful for another day.

I then started thinking about my “to do” list for the day.  I should do ____.  I need to do ____.  I do this every day of course, today is no different.  Because it is the eve of the new year, I feel the need to add something of significance to the list – not the “today” list but “THE” list.

Why do we wait until the years end to ponder any maneuvering of action or thoughts in our lives?  We sort things out in calendar years, quarters, months, time slots, etc.  I absolutely appreciate the organization and predictability of such things, but why only take personal inventory and declare action one time a year?

Haiku To Do…

My resolution:
Jump.  Care.  Dance.  Love.  Do.  Hope.  Cheese.
My revolution.

Yes, I know cheese is not a verb.  However, love is a verb and I love cheese.  #profoundshiz



I love my neighborhood for many reasons.  One reason is the abundance of large trees.  I like the shade, I like watching the leaves dance in the breeze, I like losing myself in wonder as I ponder the stories they could tell and the people who stared in awe at the trees before my arrival.

This may seem weird.  I have spent a lot of thought and time figuring out what to name my oak tree.  It was obvious to me that the tree is a “she” somehow, with her mighty strength, battle scars, and unpredictability.  But, the one who names her ukulele, bunny who lives in the backyard, and the sideboard in the living room, probably names a tree or two.

Her name is Artemis.  Artie, for short.  Artemis was a Greek Goddess who was a fighter.  She loved nature, animals, and children.  She protected them fiercely, even at the expense of self.   When I met Artie six years ago, she had a steel cable binding her together to keep her from falling apart.  About four years ago, lightning struck and a large piece of her fell onto the corner of the house, coming in through my bedroom window.  Since then, I sleep downstairs on the sofa when the storms come through.  Over time, the steel cable has finally broken and many limbs have fallen to the ground.  It was noticed after the two most recent storms that she now has a new split.  Another battle scar has revealed itself.  She is getting tired of carrying all that extra weight and burden.  Aren’t we all?  The problem with hanging on to things for so long is that little pieces of ourselves fall off and can damage life in their path.  Sometimes, it is okay to take stock in our history and let the pieces fall off safely or at least control where they fall.  There, I said it.  That “c” word gets people all kinds of riled up.  Or perhaps it just gets me all kinds of riled up.  Just so you know, I’m not a control freak.  I don’t need to control everything.  I do like to know what’s going to happen next and make sure it is what should happen next.  I like to call it:  extreme helpfulness.

I am a professional overthinker.  So, after running through every scenario possible, I must let some things go and Artie is one of those things.  I really dislike the thought of taking down a fellow warrior.  However, she is an unpredictable old lady and I prefer not to be crushed to death in my sleep.  Sleep has come easier these days for me as I gain wisdom in age and continue to interpret life and love and joy and meaning and my deep longing for bread and cheese.

As the story goes, the Greek Goddess Artemis is immortal.  So, Artie will survive as the stump lives on.  Rest well, brave one.  And I will, too.

Into the Garden


I come to the garden alone and He still comes, and I still belong.

I’ve had a tune stuck in my head for days.  It’s an old hymn and one of my favorites, Into the Garden.  It reminds me of my grandma Katherine and the old Methodist church in Hammond, KS that we used to go to when we would visit our grandparents farm in Fort Scott.  I can imagine myself there, how the air felt, the creak of the pews, the smell of the old books and freshly perfumed senior citizens.  I miss it.  I miss church.  I haven’t been to church in a while.  That’s about 3 blogs worth of explanation for a later date.

Sometimes, my grandma comes to me in a dream.  Or, I dream of her.  Or, I have a dream and she is present.  That all depends on your perspective.  When this happens, I feel peaceful.  She was a petite, busy, kind woman who smelled like roses and gave me long squeezy tight hugs.  I miss her.  I miss the farm.  Maybe she will visit me tonight?  Sweet dreams.