Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Christmas and Granola

While preparing gifts for family and friends, I decided to go the "consumable" route this year!

One gift I'm giving is to a young woman who took her nursing boards the same year I took the Minnesota Bar. She studied while being a medic at camp and I studied while living in her bedroom back at her home! For her gift I decided to give her the gift of time and a memory.  Then I decided it would make a nice gift to anyone who reads this. Some editing was done, of course!

This is pretty good granola - At least that is my ·worth!


Christmas Granola

When I was your age I had been living in a housing co-ops for several years (it was the 70’s after all!). My two favorite jobs were to bake bread and make granola. You are an amazing baker, so I am going to share my granola recipe with you in hopes we can spend an afternoon soon making it together!
Although I made several different variations using whatever ingredients were available at the food co-op (Wheatsville in Austin, TX), this is the basic recipe. You can switch up the nuts, dried fruit, sweetener (we got an amazing tin of maple syrup once!) And I’ve used molasses as there was nothing else – a bit strong for my liking!

My favorite co-op was on Pearl street. It had the best front porch.
One Christmas I bought a real tree, set it up in the sitting room and we found all sorts of things to decorate it with including a string of those old fashioned lights. On Christmas Eve we made big batches of granola, popcorn and my Aunt Marty's ice box cookies. Then we "retired" to the living room where we turned on the tree lights and took turns playing songs on the old red piano we had had literally rolled home from an abandoned bar a few years past. I remember sitting on the floor and watching the lights and ornaments on that small tree as we shared memories of Christmas' past and dreams of Christmas' to come. 
You know, I think it was the only real tree I ever had that didn’t require me to wrap a wire around the top and nail it to the wall to keep it from falling over! But that is another story!

Merry Christmas! 
  • 2 cups steel cut oats

  • 1/4 cup brown sugar (light or dark)

  • 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

  • 1 pinch salt

  • 1/2 cup slivered almonds (we would use pecans when in season – we’d sit around the huge dining table as we cracked pecans and just visit)

  • 1/4 cup honey

  • 1/4 cup light olive oil (or you can use vegetable oil – we had olive oil in these huge cans!)

  • 1/2 cup dried fruit(Dried cranberries are my favorite)

 Preheat oven to 325 degrees. In a large bowl, combine oats, brown sugar, cinnamon, salt and almonds. In a    glass measuring cup, warm honey in microwave for about 30 seconds. (This is a new step since I moved to Minnesota and my cupboards stay cold as they are on ‘outside’ walls! If your honey is at room temperature, just pour – at the co-op it was rarely cold. But if the honey wouldn’t pour, I’d boil water, put it in a huge bowl on top and let it warm up some!).
Add olive oil to the honey and stir.

Drizzle the honey-oil over the dry ingredients and mix to combine. Spread the mixture on a baking sheet that has parchment paper on it or you can use a lightly oiled pan (what I used in the ‘olden’ days) or spray with Pam baking spray (oil only).

Bake granola until golden and crunchy, stirring once. Could take 15-25 minutes. Just watch it so it doesn’t burn!

Pour onto a sheet of wax paper or parchment paper to cool. Stir in the dried fruit. When cool, store in a sealed container. Sometimes it clumps together – just break apart.

Enjoy on homemade yogurt, for breakfast or as a snack on a run!

 

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

New

At my goddaughter's confirmation, she received a bible from her grandmother who had received it from HER grandmother when she was confirmed. My goddaughter's cousin opened up the bible, leaned in and breathed real deep then said "I love that smell".  I just grinned at her, surprised to find in someone so young the understanding of what "old" smells like.

Old. A smell book lover's and those who live in old houses can relate to: mustiness, a teensy bit of mold odor, fading memories...Probably why I spend more time walking through the stacks at Half-Price books than I do in actually LOOKING at the books. I don't remember when I became a huge fan of old books and houses and people, but I do know that whenever I catch a whiff of the "old" smell whether it is from a book, the cupboard built into my ancient dining room, an antique store or a hug from certain people (yes, they have that SMELL!),  I am somehow comforted.

Old is good.

Got me thinking:  what is the smell of "NEW"?

The smell of a new car, a baby doll on Christmas morning, a new text book, a mimeograph (look it up!), a newly born baby, a load of wood hauled into the house on a cold night or a freshly mown lawn? All "new" smells, but no one definitive smell like "old" to me.

This past Saturday I spent time in one of my favorite little towns, Harmony, with some of the people I love the most. After checking out the arts/crafts event at the high school then traipsing about town in the rain to browse the shops' wares, we stopped at a place that was overwhelming to all of my senses. I was bombarded with scents, colors, cramped aisles, loud tinny music overhead and the oppressive heat. I had to sit down or faint  so I perched on a flight of stairs. Sharing a tread with a bunch of stuffed animals, a couple of pillows and a lone candle. Highly scented of course.

As I leaned on the bannister to stop the world from spinning, I could hear the voices of my loved ones...soothing like white noise and began drifting off. With just a brief thought of "bannister face" I closed my eyes. Then a thought jumped in my head so loudly all sleep escaped: What if "NEW" wasn't a scent? What if "NEW" wasn't even one of the other senses -sight, touch, taste or hearing?

So, I've been testing that theory: "NEW" isn't a particular sense. I check-in with myself as I ride in my new car, hold my new cat, listen to the pounding of a new roof being built, feel the pull of the new winter winds across the parking lot, taste a dish from a recipe in a borrowed cookbook and, on my tongue for the first time this season, a snowflake.

Each sense takes in the "newness" and processes it...and the result?

Well, it all creates the same FEELING inside of me. A feeling of wonderment, of adventure, of having more tomorrows to try "new" things.

Hope for more living in order to one day be the comforting - the "old."

Pretty profound? Well, its just my 2¢.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

A House half-full


Check out the newest "Window on the World" dweller:



I realize the window sills are marked-up and need repair. Thing is, those scratches were brought on by my Shih-Tzu, Nick, when we moved here. He'd grab the sill then catapult himself into the window. My yorkie, PePee, was a much smaller dog but could jump effortlessly right into the window.  And there they would squeeze themselves, side by side, viewing the world.

As to the other "window" watchers, Miss Marple was never one for the east side windows, preferring to hang-out with Dad upstairs and enjoy a more southern exposure.  Sassy loved this window.

There are many windows to be had (sadly, all different dimensions in this old house), with views towards all four directions of the world. However, after trying them all, Miss Betty Boop has settled on this one. The one favored by the majority of pets.

A 4-year old calico now rules the world from her perch in the window.

Miss Betty Boop.

I'm adjusting to the name, calling her different variations and realizing she really knows her own name thank you very much.

She's adjusting as well:

  • to an old house with its odd creaks and groans, especially in stormy weather - she hides in her safe place (the carrier) when there is lightening, hard rain and high winds
  • new toys  - she does love an empty box and prefers Sassy's old beloved "pink mouse" as her constant companion, carrying it from napping place to napping place
  • a bed full of quilts (perfect for making cat-caves after the bed is made...executive decision quickly made on her first day here: making a bed is overrated)
  • being groomed
  • having the neighborhood feral cat, "Ginger", drop by for the occasional front porch snooze
  • road trips in her spacious carrier where she watches the world from her "window" in the car 
  • trusting that no matter where we go, what weather beats on the house, or who drops by for a visit, she lives here.

She now has a home to call her own.


Welcome home, Miss Betty, welcome home!

Monday, August 5, 2013

92

 
It is raining.

How wonderful.

We love the rain, Sassy and I.

She woke me as she wanted to sit in her window. I wonder what she is smelling, hearing and seeing. It is so dark and the streetlight is out. I can feel the cool dampness of the summer rain and hear the soft drumming on the ground. As if the world were purring.

I move the rocker to tuck in next to her in the window and she moves her frail body carefully from sill to shoulder then back again. Torn between the two things she loves the most.

For what its worth, my 2 ¢ is when you are 92 (in cat or human years), it would be lovely on the last morning to be held by the one you love and listen to the rain.

I joked with someone yesterday that I hope heaven has a cup of coffee waiting for me. Sassy would like a window sill, please, where she can watch the weather.

All good-byes hold a tint of sorrow. The ones that hold pain, are those with no tomorrow

How different we both looked 8 years ago when she came to live with me.
Her version of helping me "study" law!
.
Sassy and the rain in Oklahoma.
 

.
Her favorite window.
 

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Oatmeal

An unusually cool summer morning with the deck thermometer still sound asleep at 48 degrees. Even kinda chilly for this lover of cold weather!  Still, the sun is peeping through this early part of the day and the breeze is gentle.  A beautiful morning on the front porch.

Recently at the housing clinic, I met with a client who had brought her young daughter to help her understand all the papers. After carefully walking them through the eviction process, I began making calls to set-up appointments for them with emergency housing agencies when I saw the daughter looking at the small grouping of fruit I had brought with me. Still chatting with United Way, I reached across and nudged the fruit her way. She took an apple, brushed it a couple times between her hands, gave it to her mom then sat back in her chair smiling as her mom took a bite. I picked up the clementines, handed them to the daughter then refocused on the call. When I turned back the small orange peels were piled carefully together, holding the barely-there core of an apple. 

I probably edged an ethic violation by giving a client some of my food. I don't want to know the answer to that unasked question. 

I was that daughter. 

Being a kid you learn to adapt to your world. Kids are amazing that way.

When faced with empty cupboards, refrigerators, and pocketbooks when we were hungry, I had one ally: Oatmeal. I would reach for that big box of oatmeal, plainly lettered, no Quaker man on the front, no sugared flavors in the mix. Cheap, filling. Even when out of powdered milk, sugar and karo syrup it seemed we always had cinnamon. A huge tin of cinnamon.

When I need a reminder of how far I have come in life...a gentle nudge back to the reality of how blessed I am to have a job, have the capacity to love other beings and the gift of living a whole 'nother day in front of me, I reach for those long-cooking steel cut oats. Enjoying the rhythm in the stirring, the spooning of creaminess into a bowl and the scent of cinnamon from a tin.

Plain. Simple.

Comforting.

Nothing better this morning to go with my cup of coffee. 

At least, that's my 2 ¢.







Thursday, July 4, 2013

Sparklers

I must be "off my feed" or something. Being hermit-ish, very un-Penny-ish for awhile now.

Hmmm...

July 4 would usually find me reading the declaration of independence, watching baseball, grilling out with family/friends, or heading to the river with a good book and fishing pole (bait and hook optional). Come nightfall, I'd eagerly await the first boom of the fireworks high above the bluffs. 

Not feeling it this year. No particular reason. 

Anyway, I decided if I'm going to be home all day I should clean house. Snort! So far all I've done is pretend to clean. Sassy is no help -- this morning she glared at the birds in the yard then headed back to stretch out for a nap on the bed.  Well, there's a good reason for not making the bed.

I opened the front door for a cross breeze and the ruby red glass in the door bathes the front hall in warm amber light. Whenever the air stirs the wind chimes there is this twinkle bouncing along the far wall.

Reminds me of Sparklers.

Happy Fourth, ya'll.

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Three Clicks



Woke to find a cool summer morning waiting for me on the front porch. After a few cat chores, I took my cup of coffee out to watch the sky lighten and look for that strong work-ethic wood-pecker.

Earlier this week I found the perfect small table to hold my coffee thermos as I sit on the porch - and it was on sale! Been thinking of having a more comfy chair - maybe a rocker? Or a glider? But I admit to being fairly selfish with my front porch time and wouldn't want to encourage interlopers. Well, maybe my Aunt Val.

Brushing my teeth earlier, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  I am aging. It makes me smile even now thinking about it. Budding arthritis, a few more gray hairs and I think I have my mother's hands (still with my grandma's crooked pinky!). Yep, I like this getting older part. Having another day behind me and another day ahead of me. Feels right. What slipped into my thought process was that as I age, so does my Aunt Val and even the whisper of that thought kinda catches my breath.

The front porch light is out and I keep meaning to drag the ladder out and change it. Last night I was grateful for my forgetfulness as I decided to sit out on the porch and listen to the night without being pestered by bugs flocking to the light for heat in the cooling air as it rained. As a kid it was stifling hot even late into the night, so us kids would spread out on the front porch hoping for a slight breeze. We'd talk quietly or not at all. Listening to the cicadas, the muffled traffic and the odd bit of TV floating out an open window in the neighborhood. So hot not even a dog stirred. It was summer. Tomorrow was full of possibilities: swimming pool, bookmobile, swinging at the park...

Well, this weekend is full of possibilities with not a moment to spare, including spending time this morning with two of my dearest friends and tomorrow checking out the newest Harlan woman who turns 1 month in a few days. But first, I think I will pour another cup of coffee and write a letter. To my Aunt Val. 

There really is no place like home.

Enjoy your summer day.

Friday, June 21, 2013

A bad day of fishing -(don't sue)

I AM an attorney.

Because of that, I am different than 99% of the world. I refuse to apologize for it. It is me. It is who I am. Like being a woman. A cancer survivor. A believer in God. Someone who prefers cold weather over hot. Coffee over tea. Baseball over Basketball. Comfortable silence over small talk. Orange over Pink.  Some things about me I chose. Some things I didn't. But all of it makes up ME.

Bottom line: being an attorney is like my freckles. Only removed with pain.

The world is not made-up of lawyers.  Only 1% of the nation's working force are attorneys.

In law school that sounded awesome -- What you forget is that the other 99% are NOT attorneys. They do not see great value in a reasoned, logical answer. Don't want to debate points or other viewpoints if the reference is THE LAW. Hey! Aren't loopholes there so we CAN cheat the system? Nope. Really. Nope.

And whatever you do, refrain from using the "A" word amongst that other 99%.

If you let others know you are an attorney, they will begin quizzing you. None of your answers are right. If I refuse to play along or take their case it is worse. Be prepared to be mocked, ridiculed and teased.

Even people who love me feel the need to joke about who I am -- "ASK THE LAWYER" har har har. How many lawyers does it take... What is the difference between a lawyer and snake? How many attorneys make it to heaven?   (It turns out I may be the first if their sources are correct.)


It is much worse if you work where there aren't any other attorneys. 

Maybe its a process -- adjusting back to the "real world."  Maybe I will learn to "dim it down", this lawyering part of me.

Or maybe, as it was put to me the other day, I should find a job where I can be with "my own kind." Now, doesn't that phrase just smack of a lawsuit waiting to happen?  Sadly, it is not a suit worthy case. Being an attorney is not a "protected class" under the law.  Heck, attorneys make the law, how did we miss that one?

I am an attorney. It is what I always wanted to be and on those days I leave the paying job and volunteer as an Attorney?  Well, it's like that phrase "a bad day of fishing beats any day at work" -  

A bad day of lawyering beats any day doing any other job.

At least, that is my 2¢.


This has been a long rambling, whining, pity party to prepare you for this announcement: I'm looking for a new job.

Someone revive Aunt Valda and tell her I'm still gainfully employed, just looking with intensity and fierceness is all. For reasons that fall into "none of your business" I am not hanging up my shingle...yet. And I promise to play nice with the other 99% at work until I have a firm offer. (pun not intended but well done!).

It will be a cut in pay.
There may be a very long commute.
There will have to be sacrifices to the budget. (good-bye cable, baseball tickets, new car plans, new cell phone, new roof and traveling)
There is a chance I will have to move out of Red Wing.

And I will be very very very very okay with it...because, I will be practicing law.

I am an attorney.

Get used to it. (heaven knows I'm trying)



Wednesday, June 12, 2013

And the ocean roared.




18 years ago today, newly raw from saying good-bye to a beloved sister, I arrived in a town along the bluffs of the Mississippi. Me, a Uhaul full of books, one dog, one cat and some family to help me unload. When they left, I stepped out onto the tiny front porch of the rental house, praying that here I could find my mending way.

I have never regretted that move. 

I found HOME.

I have braced myself on the rocks as Newfoundland's winds battered at me, so I could hear the ocean roar.
I have sought shells along the southern Pacific coast, pausing mid-reach to hear the ocean roar.
I have rocked on the veranda on a Central Mexican villa, putting the final stitches into her daughter's wedding quilt, stiching in time to the ocean's roar.
I have methodically laid-out cities of sand, turning away from my childhood work to hear the ocean roar.
I held tightly to my sun hat in the welcomed Gulf breeze as her son and his bride poured sand from two vessels into one, exchanging vows to the backdrop of the ocean's roar.
I lumbered up step after endless step to the top of a lighthouse seeking the crack o'dawn and hear the ocean's roar.
I have gasped at the ermergence of a Bottlenose Whale along the Labrador peninsula while the ocean roared.
I played UNO late in the night with Dad, getting up to open the balcony door so we could hear the ocean roar. 
I have held my sister's hand, turning my face to the sea spray to mask my tears - being brave as she felt the sand one last time beneath her feet. And the ocean roared.

I love the ocean. I seek it out as often as I can. When I am in pain, in joy, in love...to breathe and hear the ocean roar.

What I hate is Florida.

Ironic that I am here now. Today. June 12.

Mosquitoes.
Humidity.
Heat.
Memories.
... seeping out of tightly wrapped boxes hidden deep inside standing on the shore missing her hand in mine as I hear the ocean roar.

 

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Summer's coming -- the bats have arrived!

Eagerly awaiting my elliptical's arrival this morning. I'm the first delivery and set-up!  So excited!!! 

Had an errant bat last night that acted so crazy  - refusing to settle down and then daring to dive bomb my cat!  After 20 minutes of having it swoop up, down and never settle, I blocked it (and poor Sassy) into two front rooms, slipped out the back (already wearing my orange cap for courage and work gloves and carrying my trusty bat net and broom) and trudged through the wet yard to the front.  Peering in the windows I could see it freaking out. Man that was one angry bat and Sassy and I hadn't done a thing...yet! 

Sassy had the good sense to sandwich herself between the shelves of a bookshelf.  She was safe, so I unlocked the front door and waited -- HERE IT CAME! I threw open the screen door and it flipped out, then I slammed the screen door to keep Sassy in and quickly followed the bat.  Unfortunately, it slid right into a soffit on the roof -- between the hall closet and "Squirrel Room" which means, it is still somewhere in the house.  If it had landed I was ready to be a big dog  - but it looked pretty angry. Got a pretty good work-out though -- my heart sure was pumping.

I kept the hall doors shut last night and Sassy didn't complain one bit about not being allowed upstairs, preferring to sleep right next to me on the pillow.  I think that mean ol' bat kinda scared her. For an old and ailing cat she was pretty amazing last night. 

This morning, though, Sassy decided we just had to be brave and open the hall doors to the upstairs.  She and I cautiously went upstairs -- peered into corners, behind curtains and stared at the two closed closet doors (closets are scary-- one dragon at a time people).  Then stared at the closed "Squirrel Room" door.  I filled up her water dish in the bathroom, checked behind the shower curtain and then through the Flambe room.  Mind you, I was wearing the appropriate personal protective equipment (PPE) for this (see above paragraph). Ahem.

Having determined that for now all was clear, Sassy took up a guard position across my office desk in the "flambe" room in order to peer out the window at the woodpecker who works in the old tree out front.  That bird has one amazing work ethic -- never misses a morning and seems quite cheerful about it all.  At least that's my  on it.

Sassy in the window last summer - she looks so much bigger here!
 

Enjoy your Saturday one and all!

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

"Oklahoma Tornado Kills at least 91" - NY Times

"Homes were flattened, cars flung through the air and at least two schools packed with children destroyed, sending rescuers to dig out those buried in rubble."


After a long night of checking in with people I love, I ready myself for work. A soft spring rain brings about the morning, the birds are calling to each other and one early riser woodpecker has settled on the old tree in my front yard, hammering away. It is quiet, calm on the front porch this morning. I am trying to focus on it, breathe deeply and let loose the sorrow.

Sometimes, I don't believe there are any answers, just tears.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

You are my Sunshine

Holding tightly to my hands, her full skirt twirling, as we soared around the skating rink.
The tip of her tongue pressed firmly to her upper lip as she pumped the treadle on her sewing machine.
Flinging her hands about, holding the ever present cup of coffee, as she chatted with her friends and, yet, the coffee remained perfectly contained waiting for her.
Her voice unapologetically belting out disharmonious tones as she hung out the wash.
Carefully measuring the small hand of her granddaughter to make a pair of mittens.
Surrounded by pots, cups, figurines and plates of clay, her head bent over her work, delicately applying the paint brush.
Finding her sitting on the front porch with the newest baby brother, waiting for us girls to tell of our first day at our new school.
Knowing it is her voice I hear whenever I bake bread, reminding me to feed the yeast.
Detouring on my way home after school to the job training site, so we could ride the bus home together.
Catching a shadow of her face whenever I smile in a mirror.
Believing in tomorrows, the power of faith and the importance of a hug.

If all you relive is pain and fear you lose the bits where she was the best mom.

Ruth Jane Nelson April 1938 - December 1996


Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Harlan Women



 

In April of 2013 a new Harlan woman was born.  She wasn't the first nor will she be the last. 

Whatever last name she carries, she will always be one of us. Part of a long line of women - strong, fierce, bold, loving - she will carry on a tradition that dates back to Flora May Harlan, born February 11, 1875. 

A Harlan Woman, this newest one will also seek out the good in others.

A Harlan Woman. She has it in her to follow her dreams, stand-up for what she believes in, hold out a hand to another, give amazing hugs and is certain to leave a mark in this world. 

A Harlan Woman.  Born with a voice to be heard - whether she can carry a tune, debate the finer points of law, spin a good-night tale or laugh at the wind. Her own unique voice.  

She is a Harlan Woman.

Welcome, dear.



There are many faces of Harlan woman...these are but a few.















Saturday, April 6, 2013

Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief*.

 
 
 

When I was a kid the closest public library was two bus transfers away.  Bus fare was only 10 cents with a penny for a transfer, but taking everyone on a bus wasn't just a financial impossibility, it was a chaotic nightmare even for this seasoned older sister. Lucky for me, there was the BOOKMOBILE!!  What is a bookmobile? A traveling library. Dreams arriving on wheels.

Every month on a Saturday, more often in the summer, the bookmobile would appear in the park just down the street from our house. Folks would gather early with adults visiting as kids dangled from monkey bars and fought over the swings. Then we would hear it -- the air brakes of the bus-like wagon lumbering up 10th street hill and stopping to take the turn to the back of Clarksville park. 

Being respectful kids we knew to let the adults go first which found us in the back of the line struggling to practice patience. Finally, it was our turn and the librarian would steer the little ones to the picture books and easy readers while I sought out the mysteries, biographies and science books. For a few minutes I'd be lost in other worlds thumbing through books, stumbling over new words and places never imagined.

One summer I found an old Atlas and renewed it several times exploring maps and working out "scale" and "mileage" to other lands. The summer waiting in vain for rain to break the heat found me reading aloud Swiss Family Robinson to the little ones drowsing on blankets strewn across the front porch. In seventh grade I carefully copied the words of two poems found in an anthology (a word I savored) to the inside cover of my notebook: "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" and October" by Robert Frost.  Escaping to those words during Math class where I struggled to learn "New Math" with its own mysterious language of "sets and subsets." 

On those Saturdays our time was up all too soon and I gathered the kids and books, waited for our names to be duly noted in the check-out log and every book stamped with a return date then placed into my tote. Making our way home in the brightness of the day, I'd listen to the little ones eagerly telling of their great finds while a part of me strayed back to the cool dimness of the bookmobile, where worlds waited to be discovered and dreams uncovered. 



*October by Robert Frost

Monday, February 11, 2013

Death - 2¢ views from the Front Porch


I do love being "untethered" now that I have the wireless set-up in the house. Oh! And these great "half-mittens" that allow my fingers to move about the keyboard in the cold. So sitting here blogging from the front porch as the snow falls. Looks like I have some ice to chink away at later today. 

Snowplows have been through to scrape roads of the mishmosh mess of ice, salt and snow. Seems to me that its like a fingerpainting with all that effort creating a bigger mess and not clearing a thing. Still -- progress not perfection.

Yesterday someone felt compelled to remind me that my Dad died 3 years ago. Wondered why I hadn't posted anything on Facebook or "at the very least" put a picture of my Dad on there to "honor him." Seemed upset that I may have "forgotten."

Got me thinking.

For many death means reuniting with loved ones or that one's soul is reborn into another body and others of a limbo awaiting the messiah's coming. Some believe it is simply the end.

Book closed.

Lights out.

Me? Death is part and parcel of a journey.

That's really all the   I have on that today. 

Hmmm...

But you know what I always wondered about?  How one could experience the seasons of the earth with the birth of spring through the dead of winter and not believe in God? Maybe they rammed up against a God of love and a tragic horrific event in their life, and there wasn't a burning bush? 
Perhaps they just never sat on the front porch and heard the singing of their soul that its morning, coffee is on and even in the dead of winter there is some more living to be done?

I don't know.  Seems I don't have any answers this morning.  So, wherever your journey takes you today, stay warm and upright!



Saturday, January 26, 2013

Safe

I have a job -- well, awaiting security clearances.

I have a job. 

Me and my circle of old friends may be small but we are big on coinage of phrases to encourage each other, giving each other our  take on things.

Case in point:
  • An old friend used to remind me that every adversity, obstacle and challenge I faced could be helpful to others one day - I call it gathering great fodder*. So far, he has been 100% spot-on. 
  • Another old friend recently mused that if the saying " what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" is true, then I may have broken a Guiness Book of World Record even if there isn't a category for this type of strength.
  • Sometimes the smarter move is to lay face down stretched out in mock surrender when life is chasing you down like a big bulldozer. You may be flattened but you could survive to pop-up again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sassy snoozes curled up in her rocker, so I decided to stay downstairs with her instead of working in my upstairs office. Besides, its warmer down here this morning as the deck thermometer struggles to get to zero degrees! 

Good tunes on Pandora radio, a second pot of coffee dripping in the kitchen, my newest food concoction burbles in the crockpot and I sit here surrounded by piles and piles of law books as I attack a few pro bono cases today. Outside a light dusting of new snow makes the world seem peaceful, serene.

Today I feel safe.

Not that great "Safe" of having swung your bat and as the ball arcs through the sky you race towards home - airborne then SPLAT as you slide and your toe connects with the plate while the catcher's mitt swipes and misses the tag.  Close, but different and I can't think of a good analogy. 

Darn – now I need to stop writing this post and check-out the date of the Twins opening home game because I am going. 

I can afford it now.   

I have a job.

* For my agriculturally challenged readers: Fodder - Feed for livestock, especially coarsely chopped hay or straw. 2. Raw material, as for artistic creation.


Sassy snoozes on a bitter cold morning - January 26, 2013


Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Two Ways



Eagles at Colville Park - Red Wing January 2013


Thermometer reads almost -20 on the back deck this morning, so decided to spend my "Front Porch" time inside this morning.

Holding my "nth" cup of coffee, I was pondering the psalmist words while looking out at the frozen tundra.  How the trees meditate on the law of God day and night while staying planted near the water that feeds them.

What an amazing picture that brings to mind. 

Whether its the cold winds tearing at their branches, the hot sun beating them down or the torential rains and tornados whipping a frenzy bending them almost to the breaking point, there stands the trees.  Close to the waters. Delighting in God.

Sometimes I feel like one of these trees.  Maybe not often enough.  Still...
I won't break. I will not blow away. I am not chaff.

I am solidly planted in my belief there is a God.

Psalm 1
The Two Ways

Happy are those
who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or take the path that sinners tread,
or sit in the seat of scoffers;
but their delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law they meditate day and night.
They are like trees
planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in its season,
and their leaves do not wither.

In all that they do, they prosper.

The wicked are not so,
but are like chaff that the wind drives away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgement,
nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous;
for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,

but the way of the wicked will perish.

Sassy at the top of the stairs