Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 39

Tags

crafts, dear diary, family, humour, sewing

Dear Diary – I headed out Friday morning for a craft sale in my home town. Youngest Son had a PA Day and decided to join me. He was the one who commented on a passing company van:

“Well those drivers have gotta be close to a hundred. Good for them that they’re still driving.”

“How do you know that?” I queried.

“The back of the van says “Over 100 years of experience onboard”.

A few minutes before that I had noticed the overhead electronic sign with a picture of a school bus. It also said, “Watch for children”.

“There are children on the highway?” I thought. I’m driving 100km/hr and there are children?!?!”

I suddenly had horrid visions of carnage and burning vehicles as they swerved and ploughed into each other, trying to avoid the children playing tag gleefully across the highway after their brightly painted daycare van inexplicably overturned.

Friday night my Dad and I tried setting up the new picnic shelter…under stars. It was cold, cold enough to see our breath. And the grass was wet. I called Youngest son to come out and help. He had worn flip-flops. That seemed about right.

The sun was winking at us over the crest of the valley ridge as we stumbled from our warm beds, eyes still puffy with sleep, to get ready for our big day. Dad and I piled into his truck, with Mom to follow in the car. It was the only way to get everything safely to the Market Square.

I worked with a vendor on the Market Square for 3 summers, braving full day sun and steamy temperatures. We used to soak our feet in buckets of cold water and snack on slushies to try to stay cool. I suffered heat stroke at least once every year.

There were no steamy temperatures this time, though the sun was shining. It didn’t take long to set up my stuff and we settled in for a long day.

It’s hard to put yourself out there. You don’t know what would appeal to someone, and you’ve put your creativity on display. Pricing items is the biggest challenge. You don’t want to undervalue what you’ve made, but there are also expenses to be met. Inevitably, you will be judged for what you’re asking, and some people don’t mind telling you with snorts of derision before they walk away.

All day we were surrounded by the sound of popping balloons and consequently, unhappy children, as well as the intoxicating smell of churros.

The churros were delicious…and popular!

Besides dancing to avoid the persistent hornets, we watched people. Amongst the senior couples and tired parents with gaggles of small children, one dog mamma stood out, probably because she had 3 chihuahuas in a covered stroller and one strapped to her chest in a baby carrier. They were all perfectly happy. There was also a woman in a bright, matching floral outfit, which was truly a wonder to behold. And then there were the witches…

They were a friendly group of gals also enjoying the sights and sounds of the Scarecrow Festival. One even invited Mom and I to join their coven. Actually, they perform and are open to new “sisters”.

It’s the thought that counts.

I had one lady looking for adult bibs and another looking for a tea cozy. Sorry ladies.

Through the afternoon, the wind picked up. Auntie M was visiting when a wind gust flipped a row of totes into a pile and crashed my easel of mini totes. No harm was done. Shortly after we restored order, Mom arrived with lunch for me. Except she left the house without my sandwich …but remembered tea, which was the more important thing any way. She kindly dashed down the street and returned with a pumpkin danish!

So. Much. Butter. Sooo good!

Dad arrived later with my tomato sandwich. I ate it too! Sitting works up an appetite!

As the final hour ticked by, all 3 of us had aching feet and were ready for nap. With only 2 chairs, Mom and Dad improvised…

I sold one wristlet, one mini tote, and one set of 2 bowl cozies. Two out of three of those items are Christmas gifts! Everything else is heading home with me again. I’m going to need bigger closets.

Be brave enough to suck at something new.

Unknown

Dear Diary – I seriously thought he had forgotten, and it wouldn’t be the first time.

It would be raining by the time Youngest Son headed home from school, and since I had to pick up a prescription at the drug store right across from the school, I offered to drive him home. But he had to meet me at the drug store!

I made sure I wasn’t late and I parked right by the door so he’d see the car if I was still inside. It was almost 15 minutes after period 3 let out by the time I got my prescription. It’s a 5 minutes walk for Youngest Son so I thought he’d be waiting outside.

He was not.

I rolled my eyes and drove home using his route, but I didn’t see him. I sighed and hobbled into the house yelling. I was met with silence. So I left a note on the door – “Call me. I can’t find you!! Mom”. Then, mumbling under my breath, I drove to the drug store near the house because it wouldn’t surprise me that he got “confused” and went to the wrong place. I wandered through the store, but no kid.

It wasn’t until I got back in the car that I realized…I was an hour too early.

I went home and sipped tea until it was time to head to the drug store…again. It was just starting to rain.

He didn’t show.

After 15 minutes, I drove home along his route, and found him more than halfway home.

He didn’t forget.

He was heading to the drug store near the house.

He seemed very confused as to the location of the drug store near the school…you know, the one we go to all the time! So I drove to the drug store a third time. He “remembered” it by the time we got there.

Maybe next time, he can walk in the rain.

Dear Diary – I started taking that medication I picked up on Monday. Last time I was terribly I’ll but we weren’t sure if it was the medication or something else.

By the next day, I felt like a wind-up doll winding down and I couldn’t get warm. By Tuesday evening, I was a shivering, aching, head-splitting, heart-pounding, sweating mass of misery. It was the death flu all over again!

I called my rheumatologist Wednesday morning and his assistant assured me it wasn’t the medication.

The internet said it could be!

The Dr. agreed I should stop, and ridiculously slowly I am starting to recover from the “Death Flu”. I saw my ankle bone for the first time this year but I’m not sure it was worth the agony. Nap time!

Dear nap…I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you when I was a kid.

Unknown

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 38

Tags

baking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, food, humour, sewing, stupid people

Dear Diary – The People of Wal-Mart never fail to disappoint.

Last week, my friend and I witnessed a woman on her cell phone driving the in-store motorized cart off the premises. It was the slowest moving getaway.

Later as I waited in the car for my friend, I noticed an average looking guy with a wad of cash in his hand approaching people asking for money. He said he was homeless and needed to get a hotel room. Well, he made the mistake of approaching a well-dressed lady getting into a white SUV. She told him to “take a hike” and got in her car. So…the guy pushed her shopping cart behind her SUV and walked away.

When she stopped playing with her phone and started to back out, using a rear camera I’m guessing, she spotted the cart. She got out and like a true drunken sailor, screamed assaults at that man. I mean, she made a hardened biker look like a saint! She was hopping mad!

When she finished her tirade, she jerked the cart into the spot next to her, backed out and on her way by the man, she unleashed another tirade from the driver’s window.

As she was launching into her second tirade, not completely unjustified I might add as her vehicle could have been damaged by the cart parked behind it, I noticed that she had just vacated the parking spot reserved for parents of small children. AND, she left her grocery cart parked in the handicapped space.

When we finally left Walmart, a store employee was streaking across the parking lot, presumably to find the stolen motorized cart…

These are the People of Walmart, where we save money, shop smart…only at Wal-Mart!

People of Walmart (hilarious music video)

Dear Diary – This week has been Eat, Sleep and Sew, in preparation for a craft sale on Saturday. I’m really nervous about it and very thankful to have my parents to help with setting up and keeping me company. It’s not like I can abandon my “booth” every time I need to pee, and since set up starts at 8 a.m., you know I’ll need to caffeinate!

But I also worried about being around people. Sure, that covid thing, but it’s also that I’m an introvert and I don’t really like people. For the most part, lockdown was great for me! I was happy playing indoors by myself. If I saw the mailman once a week through the window, well that was enough social interaction. Of course, I was also blessed with my guys so I wasn’t ever truly alone. With the return to school and work, I am alone but so far, have found ways to keep myself busy. Now I’m going to have to spend 7 hours being pleasant to strangers… in the hopes that they buy my crap merchandise. I had such high hopes for my Etsy store because I prefer to play a fun and outgoing person in a virtual world!

Plus I need the cash for my fabric addiction.

But, since I store my wares in a box in the closet and not virtually, I gotta find some way to peddle sell my merch. Wish me luck!

Dear Diary – We broke into the second 12th of my 4.5 kg Toblerone bar last weekend. On Day 6…

…Hubby added it to his coffee. He said it was good, but the unmelted nuts at the bottom were alittle strange.

On Day 7…

Recipe

Oatmeal pancakes with Toblerone and a little maple syrup. It was really good and the silky milk chocolate of the Toblerone bar melted into a decadent pool while the sweet caramel nougat and crispy nuts added texture and richness.

Life is uncertain…eat dessert first.

Ernestine Ulmer

Dear Diary – Dad shared some of his sourdough started and I made my first batch of Cinnamon Raisin Sourdough Muffins using his recipe. Except that in true fashion, I screwed it up! I’ve had more than my fair share of baking disasters, and this was one of those times that I had to let intuition try to save the day.

This time it did!

I fed part of my starter the night before and left it in the lit oven overnight. It bubbled up magically. I followed the recipe perfectly until I realized I wasn’t supposed to dump the entire bowl of starter into my mix. Now I had at least 1 cup too much liquid…and nothing to return to my starter.

I added more flour and whispered a prayer.

The muffins were so moist they stuck to the paper, but they tasted pretty good.

I hesitated getting some starter because once you start, you can’t stop. Every other week you have to feed it and bake it or it dies. Now I’m stuck in a ruthless cycle and Hubby has informed me…he didn’t really like the muffins.

The bread it bakes is succulent and firm…it’s tang for days.

Charles Boyle, Brooklyn 99

Speaking of baking, gamemakers Ravensberger has come out with the official Great British Baking Show card game. It’s being marketed as a “fast-paced, family-friendly game” for 2-4 players, 10+ years old. It’s a race to be Star Baker! What will they come up with next?

On your mark, get set….BAKE!

Dear Quaratine Diary – Week 31

Tags

cooking, dear diary, family, food, humour, sewing, storms

Dear Diary – I think we’re into week 31 of 2022, but I’m not really sure. Summer has a way of making each day slide along, somewhat peacefully. Monday starts with the full promise of time and I’m always shocked when I suddenly realize it’s almost the weekend and I really haven’t accomplished anything of value. Somehow the toilet still gets cleaned and we haven’t starved to death, but it’s no wonder I have a burst of energy in September. It’s like I suddenly wake up and realize that my glorious lazy days are at an end and my house is a disaster. But Diary, it’s still August, so the house can wait. A little extra dust never hurt a soul!

Both of us can’t look good…it’s either me or the house!

Unknown

Dear Diary – Mr. Cardinal has been sitting on the bird feeder and pipping all morning. Either he’s a disatisfied diner or he’s trying to let me know his water bowl is empty again.

Dear Diary – I asked Youngest Son what time I should wake him. He said he’d get himself up. So I left him along…I woke him at 5:30 p.m., right before Hubby got home from work.

He was wide awake at bedtime. I was not!

Dear Diary – I took a mini break from sewing. I’m still really enjoying it, but part of me worries that I’ll run out of projects before I get involved in other things and I’ll be bored. Of course, there’s always housework. (Did you laugh out loud too?) It would be nice to earn back what I’ve invested. Then there’s the issue of storage…I have 13 Japanese Knot Bags listed in my Esty store, and a few more ready to be listed, and others nearly completed. Just what am I going to do with them all if I never sell any? I don’t really want to be the most fabulously fashionable grocery shopper in history? (That is if I ever return to in-person shopping. It’s nice not to have to wrestle with a cart with a wonky wheel or deal with…well, people).

I’m trying really hard to remind myself that sewing and my store are what I do…not who I am! It would be so easy for me to slip into the mindset that I’m a failure or I don’t have value just because my hopes and dreams haven’t exactly taken off. I can reason better when I don’t let emotions take over, and I don’t let the enemy in. He knows my weaknesses and has exploited them for too many years.

I’m not looking for pity (or even sales) by sharing this. Just reminding – there is so much more to who we are than the things we do, the company we keep, or dreams we dream.

Mushy stuff aside, I did say when I finished my pieced projects, using up all the smaller scraps of my fabric stash, I would share.

I’m not done yet, but halfway there…

Mom has kindly continued the arduous (slightly mind-numbing) task of cutting strips…probably in front of Escape the Chateau after lunch. Perhaps that’s what I should do – “Sew and Chateau”, and worry less about the future. If I run out of projects, I can always clean.

(I almost said that with a straight face…)

Dear Diary – The trip home was fine and after nearly a week, I finally worked up the courage to try my new air fryer. Yes, I finally succombed to the pandemic fad and bought one for our household. I decided to start with something easy – frozen french fries. While they were burning cooking, I pan fried shrimp burgers for the boys. What disgusting anemic, pinkish, congealed-looking patties, which defied their visual appearance and didn’t stick or fall apart in the pan. Someone knew how to use binder glue well!

Since I am allergic to fish and shellfish, I made myself a BIG salad. I figure if I can’t walk off the extra pounds (that keep bringing friends), I’ll have to watch what I eat. I added cheese, pecans, carrots, and strawberries to 2 kinds of lettuce, and topped it off with a sesame ginger dressing. Yum!

The fries were definitely crispy!

We settled down to our dinner, waiting for the big boom. A severe thunderstorm warning had extended across the southern end of the province all day, but all day it flip-flopped between clouds and sunshine. I did some gardening and read in my chair. Two cheeky red squirrels played on the fence. One of them even got stuck, temporarily, in my gourd bird feeder (which has never housed a bird), and I could hear the scrabble of hind feet trying to get out. These fellows have likely been stuck before as I noticed the opening had been chewed to make it wider. They both sat on the railing over my head and we had a conversation before their nerves couldn’t take it any more and they fled the way they had come.

All this to say, we were waiting for the big boom and had even cancelled Halo Night. With the prediction of high winds, hail, and possible tornados, we were expecting power outages and internet interruptions. Oldest Son was on-call to work if there was storm damage. I was kind of relieved to not be trapped in a game, as I was worried about another kind of boom after ingesting so many vegetables. My system has not taken kindly to veggies for years now, and now that I’m not working and stressed to the breaking point, I’m trying to re-train it to behave!

There were no big booms.

We barely got enough rain to wet the ground.

It was all very disappointing. Not getting the thunderstorm. Happy about the other.

I like thunderstorms. Can my life be so boring that thunderstorms are really that exciting? Probably. I like the anticipation of danager, the sloshing of the rain against the windows, the sound that rumbles in your chest, and the spectacular light displays in the night sky. I certainly don’t want any one to be hurt, or their property damaged, but there is a wildness and wonder to it all.

Instead of wonder, I have to venture into the sweltering yard and water my plants because I don’t have to wonder what will happen if I don’t!

Speaking of wonder, I’m wondering how long it will be before Oldest Son listens to the wise words of those who love him most, and he finally purchases a new car! His car has long been a sour lemon, rife with transmissions issues, squeaky brakes, and flaky everything else. He lost the radio/cd player years ago, and occasionally the A/C too.

Last week, he discovered a flat tire at the end of a very long, very hot day. Remember, he works outside in heavy protective gear regardless of the temperature or humidity levels. He said it took awhile to unstick the spare tire, and as luck would have it, he lost a lug nut in a sewer during the swap. Lo! And behold! The spare tire also had a leak. New spare tire ordered, but consequently, he would not be visiting us for the long weekend.

However, he would have to make a flying trip within the next 7 days to pick up his suit for both a wedding and a funeral the following weekend. (It lives at Homebase because twice he’s shown up for a family funeral missing some of it). Even though I was tired from my own commute home from my folks, I offered to visit him on Saturday and deliver his suit.

Saturday morning, I hopped in the shower before ironing his dress shirt. Hubby kindly loaned a second shirt for the second occasion. I packed a cooler with homemade burger patties, buns, potato salad, chips, and all the condiments (because he has none) and the three of us headed west.

There was construction on the highway. A lot of it.

We arrived after noon and I commenced with a few rounds of dirty dishes and cleaned most of the bathroom. Like Oldest Son, it was pretty furry. Still, it was really nice to be together, and I got a few hugs to sustain me until we meet again. Which will be soon, Lord willing, when Oldest Son has a few days off. I still say that “home” is where your loved ones are…whether a house in the country or a space in the city…and “home” is where I am happiest!

A description of Oldest son’s housekeeping style: there appears to have been a struggle.

I know….I’m one to talk!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 22

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, garden, humour, sewing

Dear Diary – Not only is my child faster in video games, he’s faster in come-backs. I’m not sure it’s a good thing.

On Sunday evening, phone in hand, Hubby headed up the stairs. “I’m going to call my Dad”, he said, “but I have to go to the bathroom first”.

“That’s a pity”, I said (referring to the bathroom break, not the call).

“No,” Youngest Son retorted, “it’s a duty”.

Dear Diary – Summer is fast approaching, bringing with it hot and humid days. Which means my window for baking is coming to a close. So in an effort to find joy in the current “ho-hum” of life, I decided to tackle a couple of new recipes.

The first was onion jam. It was a tearful experience…but only because I had to chop 4 cups of onions. It was also a long experience as it required constant attention, and disappointingly, yielded only 2 cups. I’m not sure I would call it “jam” as the word infers something sticky and, well….”jammy”. It was the texture of very soft and caramelized onion. But! It was delicious on a hamburger, and if there’d been bacon and goat cheese too, I would have been in heaven.

My second recipe was not really a recipe at all. I literally cobbled together an apple-rhubard crumble pie using my apple crisp recipe x2, and instinct.

Two years ago, my aunt blessed me with some of her rhubarb plants and I have been carefully watching my tiny patch. This year, it produced enough rhubarb for a taste, while leaving plenty to go to seed so my patch will grow. Rhubarb is hard to find in the city and it’s priced like gold!

She gardens…she sews…she bakes…she paints…she refinishes furniture… there’s nothing she can’t do. Except maybe skydive.

To make things easier, I used a frozen pie shell for the base, because eating was a higher priority than fussing with pastry. I’m happy to report that, for once, I didn’t have a mental bakedown. My instinct paid off, and we polished that pie off in 2 days. It would have been one but I managed to keep the wolves at bay with a wooden spoon.

This is my invariable advice to people: Learn how to cook, try new recipes, learn from your mistakes, be fearless, and above all have fun.

Julia Child

Dear Diary – I was playing Halo with Youngest Son yesterday, and in a panic, I furiously pushed the button and yelled, “why can’t I change guns?. Slightly annoyed, Youngest Son tells me, “that’s because you’re pushing the “capture screenshot” button…like 20 times”.

So…. apparently my new controller has an extra button to capture screenshots.

Dear Diary – Today I went to Home Depot to buy herbs and flowers. I couldn’t invest much in my garden during covid. We couldn’t “shop” and the selection was limited or quickly picked over. I ordered seeds onlinelast year, but most of them never grew. Only the basil, and it was “basil on steroids”. I still have plenty left from my harvest last summer – dried, frozen, and minced and made into ice cubes.

To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.

Audrey Hepburn

I have always felt there is something special about gardening. The size, the space, the colour, the texture of the garden matters not because it’s about more than growing flowers or producing vegetables. It’s about nurturing the soul. Hands not idle, yet a quiet time for the mind to reflect or meditate. A safe space for tears to flow, and a restless heart to find peace.

Peace is something for which we are all searching. Whether it’s a break from the hurriedness of life, or calmness in a storm. I believe our Creator speaks to us in a garden. Like every person, each petal and blade of grass is a different and beautiful. We just need to look more closely.

I’m reminded that when Jesus sought the Father, asking that He been spared the cross, it was in a garden. It was also a garden where He met Mary after He rose again. C. Austin Miles was inspired by this story when he wrote the hymn, In the Garden, in April, 1912. It was my great-grandmother’s favourite hymn. He writes in the first person of walking in the garden with Jesus, and the peace and joy experienced in that place.

I am aware that my new fragrant herbs and purple petunias cannot chase away the grey clouds in my life, (nor rooting out the tangle of weeds that reach my knees), but I expect I will meet with Someone who can. Already, my heart overflows.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

C. Austin Miles

Dear Diary – I’ve been putting it off for some time now, but in order to get my Etsy business off the ground, I needed photos of my cute bags with a model. Since I can count the number of friends I have on one hand, my best option was not to harass ask them. but to do it myself. But in order to do that, there were a few obstacles to overcome.

First, I needed a plain background, and my house offers neither a plain blank wall or a brick facade. We have a wooden fence but standing knee-deep in weeds, climbing over a pile of assorted boards, or figuring out how to use a power tool to remove paintings (that no longer have a picture) was too overwhelming. I finally decided to amuse my neighbours and use the straggly, hole-y hedge in the front yard.

Setting established, the next challenge was to figure out how to use the tripod. I vaguely recalled Youngest Son using it once for a school project and it being waist-high, but after several minutes of unlocking and locking toggles, and tugging on poles, I was beginning to think it had all been a dream. I could barely get the camera higher than my knees. And I’m short! I would have asked Youngest Son but he was writing a physics test and I didn’t want to interrupt him. Fortunately, before I threw it across the room, I had a rare “ah-ha!” moment, and the problem was solved.

I attached my camera and turned it on.

The battery was dead.

An hour later, having put my hair up and changed into a black knit dress and jean jacket, I headed out with a basket full of bags, my tripod, my camera, and a looming sense of dread.

It was too hot for a jean jacket!

It took several attempts to figure out how to use the timer. After several snaps of my knees, face and butt (thankfully blurry), I figured out how to make it autofocus. Sort of. But despite the gray skies and looming black clouds, the photos were washed out.

I hefted everything closer to the road and tried again. But it was the same issue. So I moved everything again, within feet of the road but under the shade of the tree.

By now, the guy across the street was watching me from his front door, several passers-by had quizzed me non-verbally, and George down the street, was pretending to work in his garden.

I didn’t appreciate an audience.

By the end, I was becoming quite a pro at guessing where to stand with 5 seconds remaining, and how to turn to hide my chubby elbows and “water wings”. Or so I thought.

I have photos.

They’re not great.

But at least I finished my project before it started to rain.

I always thought it would be fun to be a model, but quite frankly, it’s hard work taking accessories off and on, holding odd positions, and pretending it was “fun”. I’d say “I’ll keep my day job” but I’m still figuring out just what that should be.

You know why adults ask kids what they want to be when they grow up?
It’s because they’re looking for ideas!

Unknown

FYI

Tags

humour, sewing, tea, tea addict, tea lover, tea time

John Lennon wrote “ life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans”. Well, sometimes life’s plans sucks. And it’s not even like I had any big or exciting plans! 😂

If you saw my diary last Thursday, you will know that life is piling on a few more disasters than usual and when that happens, the stress level goes up. A higher stress level means that even the mundane things that should only be mildly inconvenient, like our printer rejecting a new toner cartridge because it’s “no longer supported”, skyrockets the pressure. Too much pressure and something is going to blow.

In my case, bring out the tissue because it’s usually in the form of a sweaty, red-faced, snot-pouring ugly cry that makes even the hardiest souls flee to the hills.

Just thinking about it makes me smile.

My plan today was to work on MY stuff, not everybody else’s stuff, but the afternoon shadows are once again lengthening and here I am. Out of time and motivation. Good thing there’s always tomorrow. And tea, hot faithful tea!

This is as far as I got…laying it out and finishing my cuppa before running out the door…

So FYI – I am giving myself permission to occasionally miss a day here or there in my blog. Call it a mental health day or an antisocial day…or a day when I feel like I’m wading in mud, and not in a fun way like Mud Hero! Lol But I will keep writing in my diary. It helps me keep the little things in perspective. A lot of little things can add up to big things if you let them. Your laughter helps me laugh too…partly because if you’re laughing, you’re just as messed up as me! 😜

On particularly rough days when I’m sure I can’t possibly endure more, I remind myself that my track record for getting through bad days has been 100%. And that’s pretty good.

M. Weidenbenner

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 7

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, memories, sewing, winter

Dear Diary – It’s week 7 in 2022, and the number 7 is considered, in many cultures , the number of perfection, security, safety and rest. It’s a number that appears a lot. For example, there are 7 days in a week, 7 colours in a rainbow, 7 notes in a diatonic scale, 7 dwarves in Snow White, 7 Wonders of the World, and 7 stars in the Big Dipper. The tangram is a puzzle consisting of seven flat shapes, called tans. Nitrogen (N) has the atomic number 7. And in the Book of Revelation alone, it appears 54 times. I’m studying the book of Revelation right now and I’ve had to read all 22 chapters multiple times. Believe me, it’s in there a lot.

So I’m hoping, Dear Diary, that though there’s a lot of unrest in Canada at the moment, this week will truly be one of safety and rest.

Dear Diary – I have at least 12 hours of the Olympics to watch some day. I don’t have time to sit around in my pjs eating bon-bons, watching my “stories” everyday. I PVR’d the the figure skating because I used to figure skate. I also like to irritate my family when I point out, “I could do that”. Of course, I never attempted anything triple or quadruple and I can count the number of times I landed a double jump, on one hand. It was mostly a lot of falling and sliding over and over again. There were no helmets or knee pads!

I really wanted to be a ballerina but there was no dance school in my small town. My options were figure skating and highland dancing. I disappointed my grandmother when I chose figure skating. She thought it would be great if I danced and my brother learned to play the bagpipes. My brother…did not agree!

Most of the skaters in the club had committed mothers (a few of those mothers should have been committed), so they skated year round and participated in competitions father afield. I only skated during the winter months, which meant every year I was competing against girls who were younger and younger. It started to get awkward.

My Mom did her best. She “patiently” sewed my sewing costumes as skirts were mandatory, even for practice. While I sometimes coveted the heavily sequined dresses of my peers, I also appreciated her hard work. I felt pretty and I was proud to say, “My Mom made it”!

I especially loved my pink Torville & Dean-inspired dress

I hated figure 8s and I tolerated dance. The pairs dance that you see on t.v. is not the same as dance as I learned. Instead, they were standard dances, like a waltz or tango, that increased in difficulty with every level. I was fortunate to make friends with another girl and we became shadow dance partners. We would dance the same movements, parallel to one another, like a shadow. We were allowed to wear matching costumes, which my Mom helped put together.

As for my solo work, I rarely got to do my whole routine with the music before a competition. Instead, I did my best to work on my elements and stay out of certain people’s way. There were star skaters and if you crossed their path, they would lynch you.

My Mom missed my first competition and my Dad had to take me. I still have the note she left for me. Unlike the Olympics, We had to wait for all the skaters in my level to skate, and then wait for the list scores to be posted. My Dad treated me to a hot dog from the concession stand. I won my first silver medal.

One of my last skating competitions

The other mandatory thing I hated was the Club fundraiser – we had to work in groups to put on a show. One year, I skated to Rock Around the Clock; another, Dolly Parton’s 9-5. Mom had to make my costume for that too.

Dear Diary – I was supposed to make a special delivery last week but we postponed it because the weather dude predicted freezing rain. It turned out to be the most beautiful day so far this year! It was sunny and warm, not a cloud in the sky. The next delivery date was postponed as well, this time for snow. At least that time, weather dude was closer. It snowed, then rained, and snowed, then rained… We finally met after church in a Tim’s parking lot, but it was -20C so we didn’t get to visit. I’m hoping next time, it’s 20+!

Dear Diary – Saturday afternoon, Youngest Son came and hovered behind me. When I finally asked him, “can I help you?”, he asked “what’s for dinner?”. I probably should have asked him what he was making me. I replied, dismally, “frickin’ chickin’. Again”. He piped up, “Or…” as he dropped a Pizza Pizza gift card on my sewing, “we could use this”. He said it was because I had complained commented earlier in the week that I was sick of chicken. Or, it could have been self-preservation since my passion for cooking has ebbed. Either way – Pizza! And I didn’t have to cook!

I read recipes the same way I read science fiction. I get to the end and think
“well, that’ not going to happen’!

Dear Diary – That inevitable holiday between Christmas and Easter has passed. Or should I say, the holiday between Christmas chocolate and Easter chocolate. The “day of love” lands in the middle of a month smothered in a thick, scratchy blanket of gray skies. It’s a month wherein the heavens can’t decide if it wants to rain or snow, so we get a mixture of snush. Sludgy trenches of slush and rippling pools soak through our heavy boots, unless it freezes. Then we skate and our knees and sizeable bottoms experience blunt force trauma in a most-inelegant way. Whoever thought that celebrating romance had to have been so blissfully enamoured that he or she didn’t notice the world around him or her. At least not here in Canada.

I have not been a fan for a long time, probably because I’ve been fraught with bad experiences. But it’s still a chance to bake without with less guilt. It’s one day and chocolate goes on sale the very next day. I wore my traditional black and delivered chocolate cupcakes to a friend. We ordered Chinese food for dinner and I made raspberry mille feuille for dessert. My guys gave me chocolate – Youngest said wrote this charming note: To Mom, from your . I’m going to need to shop for XL pants, but I definitely felt the indigestion love.

Dear Diary – A number of Covid restrictions lifted today. Maybe that’s why we’re currently under a snowfall warning: high winds, heavy snow and freezing rain. Hurray!

Yesterday, to celebrate, I went shopping at Fabricland. Still hobbling with a sore ankle (from old age apparently), I took my friend with me. She proved extremely helpful. I passed her bolts for fabric and she took care of the carrying and walking to cut what I wanted. Bonus, it let me shop in peace without being shown things that I don’t want. I walked out of there (dragging one feet like Igor) with a bag full of goodies! And to my absolute delight, since I’m naming my Etsy store (some day) “Sassy Green Lemons”, I actually found Sassy Green Lemons:

Dear Diary – I learned a new word: dysania. It’s the chronic condition of finding it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. I like it!!

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
The 5 Stages of Waking Up

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #33

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, sewing

Dear Diary – Oh, the joys of country living. At night, the bugs gather around the lights and when anyone opens the door, they rush in like teenage girls at a BTS concert. The most bothersome are big black beetle with exoskeletons that rival cockroaches. They couldn’t simply be smacked with the fly swat. In fact I watched Little Guy beat one until he was red in the face, and the bug just crawled away, laughing. They also liked to ping along the ceiling and drop behind the chair by my bedroom door, lying in wait.

Earlier this week, I captured 2 by covering them with a glass and leaving them until morning. But Friday night, as I settled into bed with a book, I kept hearing rattling by my door. I thought it was Little Guy playing a prank, but when I opened the door, the living room was dark and quiet. I soon discovered one of these big black beetles in the room. It pinged off the ceiling and hurtled to the floor, so I went on the hunt. I didn’t need it pinging off my face in the night or laying eggs in ears.

I found it hiding under a pile of quilts, so I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a cup. But just like spiders, once you take your eyes off it, it disappears. I hunted in desperation for another 20 minutes until I realized how ridiculous it was and went to sleep…on the couch. It was a rough night. Something kept setting off the porch light outside, and the kitchen ceiling fan ticked lazily. Little Guy wandered out at around 4 a.m. The pop of his door startled me awake and I gasped, which startled him.

It’s very hard to sleep with someone standing over you, watching you sleep. I did my best to ignore him and eventually he padded off silently like a cat. I think he went back to his own room.

I woke stiff and sore in the morning…and I still have a bug in my room.

Dear Diary – I finally got my hair cut. It’s been 21 months since my last hair cut. My hair was so long that the hairstylist made me stand for the initial snips. While I feel like a million bucks (and at least 10 lbs lighter), I am still broke and my clothes don’t fit.

Dear Diary – I started the week with high aspirations and ended it exhausted and defeated. I think I should stick with sewing face masks and nothing else. Or give up entirely and sing kumbaya in the corner while gently rocking.

Since I STILL don’t know what I want to do when I grow up, I thought it would be cool to expand my sewing repertoire. I would love to have an Etsy business, to be able to work at something I enjoy doing in the comfort of my bathrobe home. I have tried papercrafts before, but most people don’t understand or appreciate the effort or cost of supplies in crafts, and therefore were unwilling to pay $3.00 for a handmade card when they could buy one at the dollar store for a buck! Once upon a time, I sewed old-fashioned pillow-case dolls, and it was the same story. And I certainly know better than to try sewing clothing. I have successfully sewn dresses, but if you looked closely, I had to fudge a bit here and there, and my patient father repaired tear-stained seams more than once.

I decided to try sewing specialicized hand bags. I chose 2 “easy” patterns from the internet to start. I made the hard one first, a circular bag that lies flat, and pulls together with a drawstring to make a little sack for your makeup, prescriptions or jewelry. For a first attempt, it went pretty smoothly. The prototype has more pinholes in it that a strainer, but it still…

Next up was a Japanese Knot bag. Instead of a few hours, it took days. I spent more time ripping it out than sewing. Even my father spent time ripping it out while I wept in the corner in the fetal position. Whoever said this was an easy pattern, lied! While the toiletries bag also involved some ripping, it never resembled…whatever this is!

It looks Sponge Bob’s friend, Patrick, had an unfortunate encounter with a steamroller

If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, then I am not insane. Because I didn’t do the same thing over and over again…just the result was the same, over and over again! Still, determined to make my dreams come true, I took a day off to go shopping, for more fabric.

That action alone either shows I’m a resilient and hopeful woman, or bat crap crazy!

On the fifth day, a Saturday, I started the day fresh. Dad had ripped out the latest catastrophe the night before and pinned it together for me…again. All my new fabric was washed and pressed. Surely I could get 2 done today.

Somehow we still got it wrong. I was so upset, I was wailing, and I was no longer wailing words. As I neared hysteria, my mother shoved a piece of dark chocolate in my mouth like a pacifier. And once I calmed down, we looked at the website for the 43rd time. It turns out the step-by-step instructions missed an entire step, thereby setting me up for certain failure. OK, it wasn’t entirely the instructions but after ripping, tugging, stabbing, freaking out all week, I finally produced this:

Now I have beautiful fabric, but lack the heart for mass production. Or anything, really.

Dear Diary – It was nice to have company this year. Little Guy and I stayed up too late to watch the meteor shower. I saw more falling stars than ever before, and they were longer and brighter. They were worthy of “oohs” and “aahs”, and I was so stoked to get to share this with him.

I made a few wishes too..but I still haven’t woken up a younger, blonde bombshell!

Dear Diary – Mom and I picked up a few things at the frozen food place in town. As we were leaving, Mom commented: “it was busy, but then there are people camping… and it’s nearly the weekend”.

“Mom”, I said, “it’s Tuesday”!

This is what Covid has done to us.

Dear Diary – The conversation took a dark turn during our card game, when my Mom asked, “do you know what I seem to be doing more as I get older?”. As is often the case, every family member’s mind turned to gas. This prompted me to share this story…

I had an older friend who, as she aged, started passing wind on a regular basis, usually in short staccato bursts. One time, we were in a tiny elevator and she let one go. She tried to talk loudly over it, but how could I not notice a rump trumpet that blasted like a semi? Not only that, but the room filled with a transparent green haze that made my eyes water and my throat constrict. I squeezed my eyes shut and started fanning my face for air, willing the elevator to rise faster. She continued to play dumb and asked me what was wrong. I mumbled, “you farted” as quickly as possible because I didn’t want to taste what I was smelling. “oh,” she said, “I didn’t think you’d notice”.

I’m pretty sure elevator patrons an hour later, noticed!

By the way, gaseous expessions were in no way related to Mom’s answer.

Dear Diary – I can understand cats and dogs, a wallet or bicycle, but this is crazy. I saw this ad in the classsified of a local small town paper.

It listed the two towns where it could be roaming free and wild. How wild? I can just imagine.

Apparently, losing a bull isn’t such a rare thing. When googled, I discovered police were looking for the owners of a lost bull in another area in the province only a few hours away, less than 2 months ago! They described it as “Found: one Highland bull, no tag or collar, not co-operative, well fed, horns very pointy.” You think?!?!

So the moral of the story is…the next time you go for a wander in the woods, keep your eyes open for livestock. And that’s no bull!

“Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from any direction.”

Cowboy Proverb

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #6

Tags

baking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour, sewing

Dear Diary – Last Friday was “Go to work naked day”!

You didn’t honestly think I was going to share THOSE photos, did you? This Friday, a girl friend and I are planning a pj day and we’re posting those pics! Care to join us?

Dear Diary – I’ve been tied up in knots these days, and since I’m tied up anyway, I decided to do some tying of my own…and make pretzels.

I really like The Great British Baking Show, except it makes me want to bake fancy things far beyond my ability or patience. The middle challenge for these bakers is technical, and usually some important information is missing from the recipe, requiring them to use their knowledge and intuition. I lack both. (If I’d had intuition, I would have known that attempting pretzels wasn’t the best thing to tackle in my current emotional state). My recipe also lacked important details like…what the dough should look like when it’s properly kneaded, how to twist the pretzels, and most imporantly, how many pretzels I’m making!

It wasn’t as tricky as I expected, but it was quite the workout. I think my dough was a bit too dry which didn’t help. I had to knead it for 10 minutes.

This is where being short is a disadvantage. Anyone who has baked bread knows that it’s easier to knead when you are standing or leaning over your dough. But in order to do that, I have to stand on a footstool and take care not to push the dough too hard, lest the footstool slide and I take a tumble.

By the end of the first 5 minutes, I had worked up quite a sweat and my eagle eye was glaring at the clock, willing it to jump ahead. After 10 minutes, from my judgment (or lack thereof), the dough was almost there. Ugh!

Once it proved in the warmth of the oven’s light, the next challenge was figuring out how many lumps to cut and how to form it into pretzels. The twisting was easy if you stand on your head just the right way – but moulding a long, serpentine tube was ridiculous! Instead of rolling, the dough slid on the counter. If I stretched it, it started to flake. One end looked like a pencil, the other a sausage. I rolled and rolled it between my hands like I was starting a fire with sticks. My hands tired, the skin stung and reddened like a tomato. All the while, Little Guy was standing in abject fascination at my ministrations. And that was just for the first 2! I don’t how many I made. The first to be formed, started rising into grotesque gnarls so I re-rolled them and divided them into 2. I glazed the finished products with egg and sea salt and baked until brown.

When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.

Franklin D. Roosevelt

Dear Diary – I’m ashamed to admit my emotions got the better of me last weekend. I was emotional. I felt sorry for myself. But mostly I was angry. Very angry. I try to avoid them, other people’s posts of life “as normal” – skiing in cottage country, coffee at Starbucks, visits with extended family. It’s not fair. It’s not right. If we all did our part, might this all be over by now?

I’ve been “doing my part” by staying home; we suck up the cost of ordering in groceries. I wear a mask if I go for a walk, but it’s been too chilly to go far. Brr….. I miss my folks and my kid. I miss fast food and shopping malls. I really miss Tim Horton’s. I feel trapped at home with 2 men who eat and fart, and tease me for being short.

God reminded me to look at David. A humble guy in a field, placed in a position of honour with a king, a musician, a warrior, who ends up running for his life through no fault of his own. Surely he wondered how God could have let this happen. David was God’s chosen and anointed. He’d been promised a kingdom and he was living in a cave, “on the lam”. Talk about unfair!

David chose to respond by pouring out his fears and compaints, baring His soul with tears before the Lord. Then he would rehearse his trust in God by pouring out his praise and worship. A man after God’s heart. God didn’t make David’s path easier, but He did make David stronger so that at the right time he could become a great leader of a nation, foreshadowing the coming of the King of kings.

Lord, give me a heart that recognizes that you are all that I need.

Do not fret because of those who are evil or be envious of those who do wrong…be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him….Refrain from anger and turn from wrath…it only leads to evil….The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in Him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him.

From Psalm 37 (NIV)

Dear Diary – My supplies were gathered, and my fabric washed, ironed and ready to go!

Step 2: Trial and error. Two weeks ago, a pillow slip threatened to push me over the edge, but I refused to be bested by a pillow! I perfected my ripping out skills, dried my tears and humbled myself long enough to watch instructional Youtube videos. I discovered the first problem was the fabric I used was too short, just like me. So I wouldn’t ruin another swatch of fabric, I practiced making 2 types of covers with an old baby sheet covered in blue and yellow paint.

Step 3: I held my breath, crossed every appendage and forged ahead!

Step 4: Do a happy dance! (Bonus: dancing warms me up – it’s freezing up here)

I’m walking on sunshine, woah!
And don’t it feel good!
Hey, alright now, don’t it feel good…

Katrina and the Waves, Walking on Sunshine

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #4

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, humour, sewing, shopping

Dear Diary – It seems I wasted a whole week fighting with a broken sewing machine. It started being goofy a week ago but I didn’t notice until I had completed at least 5 new masks. I had to rip them all apart. Somehow I managed to complete Big Guy’s birthday present right before it quit completely. I investigated with a screwdriver. Everything seemed to function as it should except a small tug would pull the whole seam apart. And now one tiny screw, smaller than a pepper corn, would just spin and spin inside its hole. I messaged my Dad and headed to the post office. The deadline to get this gift to Big Guy on time was tight. Adding insult to injury, as I stepped out the front door, I nearly tripped on the packages of my new Spring fabric. I had orders to fill and no way of filling them.

I am naive. I thought that seeing as we’re all struggling with something during this season of Covid, that we might be gracious and helpful with one another. Not so!

I went to the post office in a drug store and while I was there, I decided to snag some sale stuff, namely food! With groceries being delivered every other week, I find it a struggle to plan out two weeks worth of meals for 3 people (4 if you count Hubby’s second stomach). It’s not just quantity, it’s the hankerings and cravings, and evening grazings.

I didn’t want to use a basket; I didn’t have gloves with me. Instead, I loaded up my arms. But I had one item too many. Every other step, something else fell off the pile. It meant I had to kneel down and set something on the floor to get a finger free to retrieve the dropped item. Only, inevitably, something else would slide off the pile. Or slide off when I was halfway up, knees screaming, face grimacing, sweat pouring. Countless people stopped to watch this ridiculousness before steering around me in a wide berth. I cussed quietly under my breath: “Son of a motherless goat…Come on you stupid box!”. Sarcastically, I softly asked aloud: “really?” I whined: “why?” I sighed, deeply from the back of my throat like an exasperated old geezer. Still, amused onlookers smirked. Finally, before I either a) burst into tears, or b) burst into a string of expletives that would rival a seasoned sailor, I kicked the last treasonous box the remaining stretch to the self-checkout kiosk, drawing still more stares. I didn’t care.

Obviously, we are not all in this together!

I called Dad when I got home because my Dad can fix anything. Except broken hearts caused by stupid boys, but if he could fix that, he would have. If we were allowed to leave our homes, I could have met my parents halfway and traded sewing machines.

Before I ran my errand, Hubby had surveyed the scene of the crime and noted that whatever the screw screwed into appeared to be MIA. So Dad talked me through disassembling the machine. I felt like I was defusing a bomb. Though calm on the exterior, I was shaking inside. Sweat started to bead on my forehead and I slowly removed a screw so small I could hardly pinch it’s head between my thumb and forefinger. I pulled the pin and lifted out the metal ring. Sure enough, I discovered a tiny arm and a tiny nut loose inside. Then I dropped the tiny arm. “Don’t move”, Hubby commanded. I had to set the phone aside while we searched. Then Hubby helped me put it all together, and reinsert the ring. The situation was defused and we were celebrating.

Though I wasn’t quite back in business. Problems continued to dog me. Thread snarled in a bird nest fashion. Stitches wavered or laddered again. Days later after endless ripping, I repeated the operation. I hadn’t quite put the tiny arm in right after all. NOW I’m back in business!

Dear Diary – It required determination, concentration, and perseverance, but for the first time in almost a year, I put my hair in a regular ponytail! It’s been over a year since my last haircut, excluding trimming my own bangs so I don’t fall down the stairs, and it’s getting rather long. My frozen shoulder has meant it’s also a disaster. It drags in my food, gets caught in my coat zipper, and bunches into a rat’s nest every night. I know everyone is struggling with “hair care” these days.

It’s a Snow Lumberjack! You don’t want to know what he’s hiding under the helmet!

Dear Diary – Isn’t it great when our kids teach us something we didn’t know before?

This week I learned that Chef Boiardi (marketed as Chef Boyardee) was not just an iconic mascot. While known now for his overly salty, squishy pasta in-a-can, he was in fact a renowned Italian chef. He opened his restaurant, Il Giardino d’Italia in 1924. He never forgot what it was like to struggle in a new country. During the depression, pasta could be made and dried at low cost. Chef Boiardi would jar his homemade sauce in milk bottles and provide it, along with dried pasta, to hungry families in his Little Italy neighbourhood in Cleveland, Ohio. during the depression. During the war, his canning factory was commissioned to produce army rations. After the war, Chef Boiardi sold his factory, rather than lay off workers. He remained a consultant and spokesperson until 1978. His likeness continues to smiles from every can.

Every person you meet has a lesson to teach, a story to tell and a dream to share.

Robin S. Sharma

Big Guy is resourceful in the field! Or just very hungry….

Dear Diary – Tuesday it snowed. It wasn’t the volume of snow that was the problem but the way the wind billowed it over banks and swirled it over rooftops, like a swatch of white satin. It clumped on the screen in my sanctuary, obstructing my small view. It was chilly outside (and inside) but my heart was warm. My precious Big Guy was celebrating a birthday and I was happy to tuck in and let the memories billow and swirl. I re-read the post I had written in 2014, My Child, written from the perspective of my heavenly father over that part of my story, and my heart swelled with joy and thankfulness. It has been a strange journey, certainly not the life I had planned so many moons ago, but a good one nonetheless. God is good, even when my small view is obstructed.

Dear Diary – Yesterday I delivered 18 masks to my friend who knows everyone! It’s great to have someone else deal with people. I get to just tuck in at home and create! With my inventory restocked, I turned my attention to pillow covers for my sanctuary. How hard can it be to sew a square cover for a square pillow?

Yes, the bag of chips did make me feel better. I’ve lost an hour and a half of my life, have sprouted 14 new gray hairs, and still have a swatch of fabric and a headache, but my “tearing out” skills are amazing. Practice makes perfect!

Today is a new day. I think I’ll scrapbook.

Bad news don’t ruin my appetite
Don’t let the papers tell me if it’s wrong or right
I just do what I do and I do it, day by day, by day, by day.
I live life, might take it slow
Make mistakes but Oh! that’s the way it goes
I just know what I know and I know it, day by day, by day, by day

Doug and the Slugs, Day by Day

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #3

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, humour, sewing, shopping

Dear Diary – I saw the mailman walk by the house this morning. That’s enough social interaction for today.

Dear Diary – A “state of emergency” was declared as of last Thursday but with the exception of school closures, everything pretty much functions as before. We’re supposed to stay home except for “essentials”: medical appointments, grocery and pharmacy pick up, and walks around the block. Arguably, essential means different things to different people. Here was my conundrum: Michael’s, a craft boxstore, is still open, for curbside pick up or delivery, and I’m in need of “spring” fabric. I had planned a trip to Fabricland in January but it is closed. Some would argue that it’s essential I leave home to buy fabric for my business. Others could argue that my business isn’t feeding my family, and therefore isn’t essential. The same argument can apply to furniture stores, home reno stores, etc. In reality, our restrictions are less severe than last March, although Covid is rampant in our province. What do I do?

I’ve ranted before about the disadvantages of online shopping, and fabric is a small market. Thumbnail photos don’t accurately reflect the product. I spent 5 hours on Friday sourcing fabric to stretch my bucks! In addition to colour and print, I had to consider cost, shipping dates, and measurements. There was no standard means of measuring – I had to calculate cost per metre based on inches, yards, centimeters, and feet. Math…no pressure!

Source: trenchcoatsoft.com

I ordered from Michael’s first, swallowing the $15 delivery charge. Then I ordered from Wal-Mart, which had free shipping…but is shipping each fabric swatch… one. at. a. time. Yesterday I received 3 tiny packages of elastic in a large envelope that was so well taped, I got my 20 minute work-out!

The first package arrived 4 days early, sometime after 8 p.m. I picked up the “Your package has been delivered” after 11 p.m. No one had knocked and I was already in bed but I didn’t want it stolen. Anyone who up to no good in my neighbourhood Monday night, I’m sorry I scared you. I had to turn on the porch light to find the package, and I was too lazy to get dressed first. It’s rather chilly outside for a t-shirt and panties.

Normally I’m a flannel-kinda gal. But lately, the dying inferno of my youth has re-ignited, and I’m waking on fire, several times in the night! I would love a smoking hot body, but this is not what I had in mind. I am developing 2 temperature settings – hypothermia and hades! The blankets are on and off, like a cat in the middle of whatever you are doing. Legs in – too hot! Legs out – too cold! One leg out – worried monster under the bed will eat one leg. When will the madness end?

There’s hope, however. The weatherman has predicted an arctic vortex heading our way. He’s afraid for his life, but I’m wondering if it be a life-saver, providing the optimal sleeping temperature.

I don’t think these fellows will mind.

Dear Diary – The sky is gray and it looks like it should be snowing. I know evening will soon be upon us, and I welcome the darkness. It’s like a heavy blanket wrapped around our home, soft and warm, inviting. I should be writing, or sewing, or doing something useful, not just sitting here idly watching the giant pine tree outside the window. The branches are frantically waving at me in the wind. I know it’s a cold wind that bites through winter clothing, and swirls menacingly around the edges. I was outside earlier, and I was happy to be come home.

I feel like those branches, my thoughts constantly moving and my focus swirling about, but I never really get anywhere. I sense frustration creeping in around the edges, and I have to remind myself: patience. Just as I can’t see the wind, I see movement and know it is there. Just as I can’t see Him, I know God is moving and He is there. Not everything is about the destination; it’s also about the journey.

You take a chance every day – getting up in the morning, crossing the street, or sticking your face in a fan.

Lt. Frank Drebin, The Naked Gun