Call Me Ina

It happened like this.  

It was a strange day. To begin with, I woke up a little sad. It's not unusual for me to wake up needing 3 cups of coffee before conversing, but I don't usually wake up sad. However, that particular morning, I did. And my husband suggested a ride and a brunch date in trying to cheer me up. It was a lovely day, with sunshine but a little too much wind. Too cold to sit outside anyway, so we opted to ask for a table indoors when we arrived at one of our favorite restaurants. 

I couldn't believe it when they said they were full and wouldn't be able to seat anyone else, as they were closing soon. I was (again) so sad. So, we decided to order food to go and have a car picnic instead. We have been having those over the last few months due to this pandemic situation that we all find ourselves in. We've been making the best of our new normal. Now that restrictions are being lifted, though, we've been having fun going out to eat, shopping, and trying hard to have a life again.

So, although on this bright sunshiny day, when we thought our plans were ruined, God had a different plan. It turns out I was about to have a "God moment" or a "divine appointment". I was about to see God at work around me.  

As I was waiting for our order to be brought upfront, and as my husband went to go get our parked car--unbeknownst to me, I was being observed. And as I was paying for my order and then starting for the door--a young woman was also going towards the door. I immediately stepped back and insisted she go first; of course, she did the same. We laughed, and I walked out and then held the door for her. It was comical; we both were smiling, even with our masks on. 

As we were standing outside the restaurant, ready to go our separate ways, she asked if she could ask me a question. Sure, I said.

She said, has anyone ever told you that you look like Ina Garten? And I laughed and said yes. It's my haircut, I have a round face, and I'm short. She smiled and said, I think it's because you look so cute and lovely. Your outfit is so cute, too. Ina seems so sweet, like someone you want to hug, and you know she'll hug you back. She looks so approachable, and so do you.  

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I was then so happy that I had a mask on. I wanted to go right over and give her a hug, and I know she felt the same way. Covid has a way of stopping those hugs; we've all been conditioned to stay 6 feet apart! But, you see, I've been so lonely this last year. Since I haven't been around people, I haven't been able to "minister" to anyone. I've been complaining quite a bit to God in my prayer time. How does a person with a counseling ministry counsel during a pandemic? How do I comfort people, hug people, and pray for people? It's been so hard. Or shall I confess--heartbreaking? That's how it's been for me these past few months.

And then, right there in front of a bit of brunch place stands a young lady, probably in her 20's or 30s, wanting to either get a hug or give a hug, and she speaks up and says something! That's why it was a God moment. However, I was the one who was ministered to that morning. In just those few moments, I received a spiritual hug from God. It meant the world to me. As my husband pulled up and I got into the car, I could barely speak. I needed time to process what had just taken place. God had met me in a real time of need. An emotional need, but a need nonetheless. 

And that is how He works. He heard my prayer. He saw what my heart needed. And He answered me when I called. He used another human being to come alongside and say--you look huggable, and you look nice and safe. It's the way God made me, the way God uses me. And it made my day.  

I know myself. I know what I'm going to do now. I'm going to be praying every day for that young woman. So that--if she doesn't know God, she'll meet Him.  And if she does know God, she'll let herself continue to be used by Him. I'm going to look for her every time we go to that little restaurant on the other side of town. I'll never forget her. She ministered to me that day. And I hope she prays for me too. I hope she prays for Ina. 

Kids These Days

I'm going to ask your forgiveness before I even begin writing this blog.  It might hurt a little.  It did for me.  Taking that long look back, seeing where I failed, asking God to forgive me, and then praying that I didn't leave any long-lasting scars. 

You see, what I have learned over these past 6 plus decades of life is that it's all in the modeling--raising kids, that is.  You lead, they follow.  Whether we want them to or not.  They do what we do.  They see it all.  And much to our chagrin, they're just like us.  The good and the bad.  

What prompted me to begin this?  Millennials.  And those who don't like them.  As in, those who constantly complain about them.  Those millennials, they say.  As if it's such a derogatory word.  What I want to ask is--who raised them?  Those silly millennials with their heads in the clouds, making mistake after mistake, and most definitely not doing what they're told.  Who in fact raised them?  

There it is.  There's the truth staring right back at us.  The mirror.  Why did no one tell us that our kids would be a direct reflection of us--that is my question!  Maybe I would have tried harder--parenting I mean.  Maybe I would have been just a little more like Jesus and a little less like me.  

So, what brought this on?  People on social media complaining, blaming and calling out the kids in their 20's and 30's.  Call them out all you'd like, however, you're looking in a mirror.  And, maybe, just like me, you can admit that you might have failed, at least in some respect.  At least concerning the parts about them that you don't like. Let's break it down, shall we?

What exactly did your kids see in your home?  You know, the one you raised them in?  Did they see what the Bible refers to as the Fruit of the Spirit?  Love, joy, peace, and patience?  Or did they see meanness, sadness, arguing, and impatience?  For me, honestly, it depended upon the day.  I tried, I did.  However, sometimes, ok, most of the time I failed.  Sometimes I didn't show much love.  And there were many days when being joyful wasn't on my calendar.  Peace?  With 3 kids?  You've got to be kidding me!  There were many days when I wondered if I'd get through those child-rearing times.  And what about the times people would pull out in front of me on the freeway and cut me off and oops, there I'd go, yelling at them again! Patience?  Fail.  

I know what my kids saw at home.  I was there.  They saw a mom who failed many many times and then got back up the next morning to try all over again.  Which made me wonder--who did I parent like?  My folks or Jesus?  I often wondered what Jesus would have been like as a father--with his own kids.  I could just imagine Him sitting there patiently, reading them stories, talking to them about faith, being so patient and kind.  It's what I strived for.  That being like Jesus thing.  

There's no way I can/could blame my kids for the way they turned out.  All their faults are mimicking mine.  Their impatience, their lack of peace or joy, they are in the truest sense, a carbon copy of my husband and myself--the good and the bad.  

At some point in their child-rearing times, I made a decision.  I was going to try.  And try-hard.  I was going to be my very best, as best as I could.  I would pray every morning that God would give me patience, kindness, joy, peace, and love.  I prayed every day that I would be a good mom.  Instilling values, principles, and love.  I knew if my kids needed a role model, I'd be it.  I'd be the one who they patterned their lives after, and if I didn't like something that I saw, I would correct it, in them and in me.  I learned to apologize for my bad parenting skills and I also learned to thank God every time He showed me a better way to parent.  

I guess what I'm trying to ask is why?  Why are people exclaiming about the youth of today?  They made them, they were their role models.  If you don't like what you're seeing, then maybe examine your own lifestyle (and heart) and change that.  It isn't the millennial's fault.  Not at all.  They are doing nothing more than what they were taught.  Own it, parents.  And, if you don't like it, change it.  Learn to ask them for forgiveness, learn from your mistakes, pray for them, and stop asking--what's wrong with kids these days.  

100 Years

I have just finished priming and painting 6 large pieces of furniture.  One is a very big old hutch, which I turned into a coffee bar and the other 5 pieces being our entire bedroom set.  Uggg, talk about tons of work, and yet, so satisfying.  I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  As I primed each piece, a vision began to take place, and then when applying the final coat of paint, wow!  I absolutely loved the outcome.  Everything turned out as expected, which, when you think about it, doesn't happen very often.  There's usually some tweaking to do, but not in this case.  I'm in love with everything I painted.  And, I'm ready for more.  I've decided that a furniture hunt might be in my future.  

I have also tiled a kitchen backsplash and a bathroom floor, and we put in euro-style shower doors.  We're now refinishing our hardwood floors in the family room.  And, in a month or so, we'll be replacing the carpet in the living room with new hardwood flooring.  So many changes, so much fun.  Most we do ourselves, some we have done. professionally.  Fortunately, we know our limitations. 

During my adventure in painting, my mind wandered and wandered far.  I had many hours to daydream, which by the way, is one of my favorite things to do.  I thought about where this furniture might end up in 100 years.  You see, I took perfectly good solid wood pieces that were to the normal eye, in great shape.  However, I was tired of it.  The bedroom furniture had been in my possession for almost 20 years.  I needed a change.  I could either sell it as is, for pennies on the dollar or I could paint it.  My choice.  So, I did the latter.  

As for the hutch, I bought it from a private party.  She had had it for years and just wanted to get rid of it. She needed a change also.  I understood.  So, I brought it home and proceeded to prime and paint her.  I separated the pieces and affixed the upper part of the hutch to the wall as if it were part of my kitchen cabinets and then put the sideboard part underneath for all my coffee needs.  It's amazing.  Did I mention that I painted her red?  Yep, I did.  I don't have what you'd call a normal kitchen.  I don't like the same old-- same old.  I personally like to add a twist.  Sometimes more twisty than others.  For example, my Boos butcher block island has red legs.  I could have chosen black or white legs but no, I wanted red.  I purchased it with the pure intention of building my new kitchen around it.  I also have Mexican tiles for my backsplash.  Bright?  Bold?  Different?  Oh yes.  And now a bright red coffee bar that takes up most of one wall.  It houses all things drinkable in my kitchen.  From coffee to tea to hot cocoa to carbonated drinks--there's even a cupboard for wine.  It's awesome.  It was a little country-looking when I brought it home, so I de-countryfied it by removing some bric-a-brac and adding a feature or two of my own.  I love it.  It's perfect for me.  However, one day, say, in 100 years--it might not be perfect for the next person who owns it.  They might look at it and think--who in their right mind would paint this beautiful hutch red?  Well, I would, and I did.

I was a little more subtle in my paint choice for the bedroom.  In the meantime I have been antiquing away and had purchased several Frenchy-looking items--a chandelier, some brass, a few (yes, more than one) mirrors, and so I decided to use a quiet soft color for my bedroom furniture.  I chose a darker gray.  I started on one nightstand to see if I liked it and boy, did I!  It was beautiful.  It took me the better part of 2 weeks to complete 5 pieces of furniture, but now that it's all done, it was well worth the work.  Our master bedroom looks amazing.  The dark gray with blue, gray, and beige accents look good together--all the items meshing well, with the room coming out even better than expected.  

The things we've done to this older home astound me.  We've worked hard.  For almost 3 years we've put in hours upon hours of sweat and hard work.  We've put in a new kitchen and bathrooms, and we've painted everything.  We've rebuilt the front porch, put in a pantry where a hallway existed, put in a fancy "mudroom" area, and generally, have redone every room.  And then some!  I've loved everything so far.  It makes me happy to walk through the rooms and think--we did this.  We are DIYers for sure.  We have a lot more to do.  And it's so fun to think about.  However, I also want to enjoy our downtime.  It gives me time to think (daydream) about future ideas for this house.  I'm thinking a screened-in sunroom might be in our future.  Don't tell my husband.  He needs time to recuperate in-between my projects. 

So, all of this got me thinking.  In 100 years, well after I'm dead and gone, long after my kids and grandkids have decided that they have absolutely no interest in keeping grandma's old (solid wood, remember) furniture--who will buy it?  Most likely it'll end up in some old barn sale.  Someone with a wild imagination will see that bright red hutch and think--oh, I know what I'll do with that!  And they'll take it home and most likely strip the paint and restore it to its intended color or stain.  They'll take my personality right off and apply their own.  And that's ok.  I understand.  It's just that I'd love to be there to hear their thoughts and ideas as to what to do with it next.  I'd love to be that proverbial fly on the wall--I want to hear them exclaim--who would do this?  Who would paint this red?  Who?  She must have been some wild old lady!  

And I wonder (in 100 years) as people walk through our home in anticipation of perhaps purchasing--what will they think of my choices?  Will they undo the pantry?  Put the doors back on the entry closet?  Remove the hutch from the wall?  What colors will be trending then?  What colors for tile will they choose?  

Yep, in 100 years, someone will have a new and better idea.  Someone will buy these old pieces of furniture and give them new life.  Someone else will love them the way I do.  Someone will paint these old walls new colors, change my tile and put in new floors.  I think about things like that when I buy my little treasures--my little decorator pieces, antiques, and whatnots.  I think about all that.  History moving through our lives in the way of furniture, living in different homes, with different people, changing colors, and living new lives all over again--in 100 years.

I'll Say It Again

I said it so many times I wanted to scream.  I warned friends and family members, anyone who would listen, really.  I knew, I just knew.  Maybe as an INFJ my intuition was kicking in full throttle, but I think it was God genuinely speaking to my heart.  Many Christain friends disagreed with me on this issue.  You're wrong, they said.  He isn't like that at all.  He is God's chosen.  However, I just didn't buy it.  I could feel the heart of this person with every single word he spoke.  He was and still is a lying deceiving man.  He felt/feels demonic to me.  A wolf in sheep's clothing.  The anti-christ.  Small a.  The opposite of Christ. 

I was in complete shock at first.  How in the world did he win?  I was stunned.  And then slowly as reality began to sink in, as I realized that there was so much more going on behind the scenes, I knew it was true. This was not a war between flesh and blood, the Bible calls it a war between principalities and powers.  It was beginning to happen before our very eyes.  The beginning of the end of Christianity as I/we knew it.  For a time anyway.  Christians began to worship him rather than God.  They tossed aside the teachings of Christ and followed a man rather than God.  They deny it of course.  They are blind and cannot see.  I see it though.  I do.  The hatred, bigotry, racism, sexism.  The bullying, name-calling, etc.  His filthy, dirty language became the norm.  They called it rhetoric.  I heard it, I saw it.  Didn't you?

My heart began a slow horrible breaking process.  I watched as people began to believe the lies.  One by one they fell under his cultish curse--until hatred took over their minds, hearts, and souls.  One thing I knew for sure--this was not of God.  Not even a little.  This was a cult in the making.  This was a satanic move to grab the hearts of people who while professing to believe in God, His Word, and teachings--really knew very little of them.  They were, as the Bible teaches, being tossed to fro with every wind of doctrine.  They were hung up on one issue.  Abortion.  It's interesting to me the satan chose this topic to rally the troops.  Abortion.  They called me a baby killer.  All because I would not bend to the almighty Trump.  And, when I objected, I was told that I was delusional.  As a Democrat--how could I be pro-life?  And yet, I am.  There are many of us out there, you know.  Many.  Also, I do not believe in capital punishment, and yet during his 4 years in office, he sent many to their deaths, more than any other president.  Pro-life, I think not.  Pro-birth?  Maybe.  And then there was the separation of children from parents as they came from other countries seeking asylum.  Torn from their mother's arms, and thrown in cages like animals.  But hey, at least they weren't aborted, right?  Or is that concept just for American babies?  I've wondered. 

This was a power grab.  The great deceiver had won--for a time.  He came to steal, kill and destroy the body of Christ.  To turn families against each other, to destroy life long friendships, and to cause great anguish among our country and even the world.  True believers were praying hard.  Open their eyes oh God, let them see the truth, take the veil from their eyes.  At least that's how I prayed. 

I prayed hard, I took a lot of criticism, I even had (on-line) death threats.  My heart broke as people took sides.  And yet, I took a side.  I sided with the disenfranchised, I stood with the poor, the children in cages, the unloved.  I had many ask me why I wasn't standing up for the unborn.  I was.  However, in doing that, I also stood for the already born.  I was called names, made fun of, told I wasn't a Christian, and a lot of other things, and that's ok.  I can take it.  I know who I really am.  I know that I try my hardest to know God, to please Him, and to do His work.  As I read the words of Christ, I know that He also took a stand--for the disenfranchised, the poor, the children.  So I'm OK.  I'll be OK.  

And then today happened.  We elected a new president. My heart went from being overburdened to lightened with joy and hope.  I understand that not everything will be perfect.  I'm not that simple-minded.  I understand that it isn't about a political party.  I understand that there will be times when I disagree with our new administration, however, I will know, deep down in my heart, that at least as a nation we are trying now.  We're finally back on the road towards treating people with love, acceptance, and forgiveness.  That's my goal anyway.  To be more like Jesus and less like me.  Less division, less selfishness, less all about me/us, and more about them/others.  More about respect and kindness.  More about understanding.  More about catching flies with honey.  You see, I am pro-life.  I hate abortion.  However, if you know that I love you and care about you, you just might come to me ( if you wanted to talk about abortion) and share your heart with me, and we just might come to an understanding.  I might be able to steer you in a different direction.  Maybe not.  However, it would be done in love.  I feel the same way about divorce, abuse, and many other subjects.  I'm not hung up on just the one.  That's the difference between me and them.  I come from a place of loving your enemies.  Not hating them, not screaming obscenities in their faces, not showing up with assault rifles, etc.  

I sometimes wonder what our country (or world) would be like if local churches took their rightful places in this nation as givers.  Givers of time, money, and comfort.  Givers of heart, listening, and love.  What if?  Let's change it all now.  Let's be more like Jesus.  Let's forget about the why and just be the who--to people in need.  Let's stop judging, throwing people out, building walls, calling names, and bullying.  Let's take care of each other.  Let's change.  Shall we?  Let's be a better nation this time.  We've got 4 years to change, 4 years to be better, 4 years to show the world that we can and are one nation under God.  Wouldn't that be amazing?   

If in reading this, you disagree with me, that's ok.  I just pray that you are able to see my heart.  You can have your own opinion.  I won't judge you for that.  Please don't judge me for mine.  Let God do that.  If you don't like what I write about, pray for me.  God will show me the error in my ways, He is faithful and just. 

In the meantime, if you are a true believer, a follower of Jesus Christ--pray.  Pray like never before.  Pray that God changes the hearts of mankind.  Pray for our nation, pray for fewer abortions, divorce, abuse, bullying, suicide, etc.  Pray for marriages, families, and your neighbors.  And most of all, show love.  And remember the words of Christ--perfect love casts out all fear.  So much of what we say and do is brought about by fear.  Remember that the next time you encounter fear.  Pray and love your neighbor as yourself.  It's a great start anyway.  

It's Not About Me

It’s not about me, it’s about Him. It’s about peace, hope, joy, and love. 

It’s not about me, it’s about Jesus. It’s about his birth, it’s about miracles, and it’s about salvation. 

It’s not about me, it’s about God. It’s about the creator, it’s about the one who sent His son, and it’s about life everlasting. 

No, it isn’t about me. It’s about everything that has to do with what I live for. 

It’s all about Jesus, it’s all about God, and it isn’t one little bit about me. 

So with this time of uncertainty, and with this time of a pandemic, and with this time with not being with family and friends, I will endure--because of him. 

And it’s not about me, it’s about Him. 

So with this season of love, joy, peace, hope, and giving of ourselves, I will do just that. 

You see, at some point this past year, it became about me.  All of it, everything.  It became about my wants, my needs, and my desires.  My emotions, my heartache, my everything--all about me.  

And that's when it dawned on me, it's not about me, it's about Him.  Every single thing I go through, every obstacle I face, every good or bad thing in my life is all about Him.  My God, my Jesus.  My savior, my creator.  My everything.  

Because it isn’t about me.  

I Need a Little More Cash

I realized something the other day. Something I needed. You see, we've become somewhat of a cashless society lately, what with the COVID virus. Everyone wants to deal with touchless credit or debit card transactions. And, I don't blame them. Less spread. Safer. I get it. However, something caught my attention and now I realize, I'm going to need some cash. Real money, real dollars.

We were just leaving the parking lot of a big box store when on the corner stood a man with a sign that read--lost my job, need cash. Or something to that effect. His wife and 2 small children were sitting underneath a tree in the shade. It was a warm almost hot day. I felt sorry for them, so I rolled down my window and gave him all the money I had. Which is to say--not much. Maybe $5. I told him how sorry I was that I didn't have more cash on me and he assured me that he was grateful for anything. Then he said--God bless you. I left with tears in my eyes. I wish I could have handed him more money. And then it hit me, I didn't have more cash in my wallet because I've been using my credit card everywhere. I immediately wanted to remedy that situation. I needed more cash.

I know a lot of people think that I have a bleeding heart, that I should tell them to "get a job" or that I am enabling them. Teach a man to fish and all that, and maybe all are true. Maybe. However, that isn't being the real me. If I were to go that route, I would be going against everything that God has ever taught me. I would be throwing away all the many life lessons that He took me through as a child and young adult. if you've read much of my story, you'd know that my life was a roller-coaster of poor girl/rich girl and that via those life lessons, I became a giver. I don't need anyone to tell me their stories before I give them a handout or a hand up. That's between them and God. And, if I am ever taken advantage of, well, so be it. That again is between them and God.

I raised my children to be this way. Whether they realize it or not, their father and I were their role models for giving and giving and giving and then giving some more. I taught them that God supplies our needs, not jobs or savings accounts. I taught them that if God blesses you, it is so that you may bless others. I taught them that no matter how hard you try, you can't outgive God.  He will always supply your needs.  Now, as I watch my children and grandchildren interact with those less fortunate, I see that my teachings have paid off. I watch them give. They now inspire me.

A few weeks ago, while visiting my daughter and her family, I had the opportunity to watch both of my teenage grandchildren, during separate instances give to the poor. Roll your window down grandma, can you hand them this? And they put money, their own money, into my hand to hand off to someone in need. I sat next to them in the car, barely able to contain my tears. I kept thinking how proud I was of them. They had giving hearts. They weren't selfish. They never said I worked hard for my money, why don't they? They never even flinched. they just gave. Out of the abundance of what their God gave to them--they gave. I was so proud of them.

So, I have concluded that yes, I need a little more cash. Not for the stores and shops. But, for those that God puts in my path. And then, after giving what I have, I will pray. I will pray for the family in need until the next person or family comes along. Bleeding heart? Enabler? Oh yes. please God, always keep my heart open, willing, and giving. And I promise I'll always have a little more cash.

Glamping/Shamping

Well, we did it.  After 20 years of waiting, we finally bought another travel trailer.  And, not just any travel trailer, a retro-style trailer.  A Vintage Cruiser.  It's the talk of the neighborhood, as well as the campground, believe me.  People walk by just to ask questions.  Did you restore it?  How old is it?  Is it new?  No, 2 years, and yes.

Let me back up a bit.  I didn't grow up camping.  In fact, I think I remember going one time when I was maybe 4 or 5 years old.  After that, I didn't return to the hobby until after I got married.  My parent's idea of camping was staying in an inexpensive hotel.  For some reason though, I was intrigued by the idea.  Maybe because it wasn't something my family did, or maybe it was just inherent in my DNA.  I don't know.  I just know that I loved it.  The campfires, cooking outside, snuggling in a sleeping bag, all toasty.  It was so much fun.

During the first 3 decades of our marriage, we tent camped.  I even asked for camping equipment for wedding gifts.  Hard to believe, I know!  We had everything though, from a huge tent to a camp stove, and lanterns.  We camped almost every weekend.  And after we had children we would drag them along.  From the Sierra mountains to the Pacific Ocean, from Mexico to the San Juan Islands, we camped.  It was truly one of my favorite things to do with our kids.

One such trip up north took us to our first travel trailer.  It was sitting all by itself with a sad little "for sale" sign.  It was so tired looking, small (16 ft) and in need of a total restoration.  I immediately fell in love.  My idea was to rehab it, sell it for a good amount, and then buy the one I really wanted.  Even though I didn't know what I really wanted at that time.  I still had an idea, dreams, so many dreams.  I talked my husband into purchasing that tiny little trailer from a little old man.  We hooked it up to our minivan and away we went.  Fortunately, we were on our way home.

We parked it in our driveway and went to work.  New upholstery, new countertops, new everything. Lots of scrubbing, mopping, and Windex-ing and once we were done, we put her up for sale.  I sold her in just a couple of days for 3 times the amount I paid for her.  And although I was sad to see her go, I was ready to hunt for my next project, I mean adventure.

We found her right away, a 22 ft travel trailer--again in need of some tender loving care.  However, once my husband saw what I had done with the previous trailer he was all for buying my newest conquest, and soon she was all mine.  I didn't have to do very much.  Mainly some deep cleaning, a little painting and we were ready to go.  We took her up and down the west coast for almost 10 years with our 3 kids.  I loved every minute of camping in her.  She kept us warm and cozy, dry, and safe.  We played games, had fun meals, and made memories.  It was awesome.

And then we had to sell her.  I felt like I was losing a child, but we were moving across the nation and couldn't take her with us.  We ended up selling her to some friends and then proceeding to basically give up camping altogether for just about 20 years.  Looking back, it's really hard for me to believe.
I loved it that much.  However, the kids were growing up, getting married, going to college and those 20 years just flew by.

That traveling bug, that trailer bug, that camping bug never really left me though.  So, I began to look.  Just look.  I priced them, checked on towing them, looked at floor plans, went to every single dealership within 30 miles, and even went to a couple of RV shows.  The bug to purchase another one just grew and grew and grew.

Until one day I found her.  I showed the ad to my husband--he said, let's go look.  I said, don't tease me--he said he wasn't.  I said, let's go!  So we did.  We pretty much bought her on the spot.

She is adorable.  23 ft long, with all the amenities I could ask for.  I love her.  She didn't need any fixing up, however, I wanted to put a little bit of me into her, so I added an interior decal, hung some shelves, some hooks, some cubbies, a clock and now she looks like me.  We've taken her out twice now and had a blast.  We have several more trips planned throughout the fall before we winterize her, and then we'll be off again.  I've even named her.  She's Cora, the cruiser.  She's being pulled by Dora, my Explorer.  Don't laugh, I name things.

This little endeavor of ours has really been a blessing in disguise.  Who knew we'd be dealing with a pandemic and unable to travel out of the country?  And with camping being the safer option now, it's driven RV sales up 600%.  And no, that's not a typo.  Everyone is doing it.  So, we have plans.  Many plans.  Camping (really glamping) along the eastern seaboard, shopping (aka shamping) in all the cute little towns, and eating lobster rolls to our heart's content.  We'll camp on Michigan's 3rd coast. We'll camp with friends, our adult kids, and hopefully take some grandkids with us too.

Oh, our dog.  Yes, we take our dog.  She's a very silly Sheltie, with a bigger than life personality, and she seems to have taken to camping flawlessly.  She's a great camper.  Her bed rests under the dinette table, that's her place.  She's got her chewies and dog food and water bowls and seems very content. Normally, she can be a barker, but camping?  Nope, never.  She's super quiet, she just listens to those other bad dogs in the campground and rolls her eyes.  Silly dogs.  But, our dog?  She's awesome.

It's funny now that I think about this--that the camping bug never really left me.  It just laid dormant, waiting.  Waiting for what?  Me.  Just waiting for me.  I've now got my tiny house on wheels, my little apartment.  She's so cute.  So cozy.  So very special.  I know that my husband and I will make many happy memories in her as we travel the country--camping, shamping and glamping, one campsite at a time.

And, once again, I am doing something I really love doing.

God, help us all

We are now up to over 130,000 deaths in the USA due to the COVID-19 virus.  We did not flatten the curve as intended.  Our entire nation has spiked in numbers again.  And after all that--after the shutdowns, after the small business owners lost their livelihoods, we have failed at bringing our nation out of this crisis.  It's July, for Pete's sake, and the number of deaths has doubled since May.  How much worse will it get, how many more will die?  Please, God, help us.

It seems to me there is such a lack of leadership in our nation.  Everyone is either calling the pandemic a hoax or saying that it's not that serious (it's just like the flu, after all); however, more and more people are being infected every day.  To me, it seems that everyone is wearing blinders.  Our pandemic response team was abandoned, no one is listening to the experts, and people are just doing as they wish.  Our administration pulled out of the World Health Organization and is now telling the country not to listen to the CDC.  Seriously? 

I wonder what it will take?  What will change the hearts and minds of the men and women of this nation?  I watched our president spew hatred over the 4th of July weekend.  I listened to him trying his hardest to push us apart rather than pull us together.  He doesn't even try to unify us as a nation.  He doesn't wear a mask, and he doesn't social distance, so in turn, neither do his followers.  And the vicious cycle starts all over again.  And not just the virus--the hatred, the bigotry, and the violence. 

Europe doesn't even want us right now; we aren't allowed to travel there nor to Canada--because we aren't taking care of our citizens as we should.  The whole of the world feels sorry for us as we are being led to death and destruction.  What a shame.  How many more will die at the hand of this man?  How many more years must we suffer at the hands of this wolf in sheep's clothing?  I wonder.  And I pray.  Hard.

I want this blog to not only reflect my thoughts and insight concerning my world views but to also teach my grandchildren to watch carefully and be aware of things like this going on around them. When they become adults, I want them to let their voices be heard.  Stand up for the underdog, and care for others as Christ cares for them.  Go after that one--they are worth it.  Learn from this horrid time in our history.  And pray.  Please, God, teach them to pray.

I'm trying so hard not to become disillusioned.  I'm trying to be positive, to work for the greater good, to give what I have, to share the truth, and to pray.  However, with death looming, destruction being praised, and nothing but dark days ahead, it's so hard.  But I will pray, and I will keep praying, and I won't give up. 

I know that I haven't been blogging lately--for fear of sounding just the way I sound.  I would rather be telling stories of my past and sharing my wonderful memories, but right now, I just feel sad.
Living in this country is breaking my heart and wearing me down.  History is repeating itself, and no one is stopping it.  Please, God, hear my prayer.

Hear the prayers of your daughter, oh God.  Change my heart to reflect your glory, and teach me through this time. 

Transparency in a Pandemic

I am failing.  I just want you to know that.  It's not an everyday failure, but close enough.  It's something that I'm struggling with.  One day up.  The next day, not so much.  That's what I want to write about this morning.  My failure.  My transparency.  Why?  Because maybe, just maybe you are like me.  And, in all my failures, God still loves me, uses me, talks to me in His still small voice, cares for me, teaches me His ways, and is always there for me.  Even when I am not--there for Him.

One thing that bothers me so greatly is my personality. I would change it if I could.  I drive myself crazy.  Why did God make me this way?  Why can't I be like someone else?  Why am I so broken?  Why do I think the very thoughts that I think?  Why can't I trust Him more?  And so, I pray many, many times per day.  I play my worship music to the point that my husband reminds me that there are other types of music.

However, I sometimes find myself getting so sad.  How will this all end, how many deaths?  Why are people being so cruel?  I watch protesters on the news screaming into the faces of police officers with such hatred and venom.  I watch others say, hey, let the old people just die off, we need our jobs.

This is what is registering in my mind.  Selfishness, greed, hatred, and for those reasons, I am having trouble.  I am seeing the human side of humanity.  It is frightening.  And yet...I kind of get it.  Let me explain.  If I have a job and I live paycheck to paycheck--I pay rent, daycare, utilities, etc. and then that all goes away, how do I then survive?  If I get my job back, but no daycare is provided, what do I do with my children?  If I have need of groceries but there are none, and the food banks are empty and everyone is hoarding, where do I land on that?  How do I feed my children?  And so, protesters, in anger and frustration, take to the streets.  I get it.

Here's what I don't get.  I have enough money.  I don't live that way.  I can survive.  However, I am not selfish.  I am able to donate to food banks.  I care about those parents.  I hear their cries and frustration.  I have great empathy for them.  So, I help as much as possible.  I pray constantly for them.  I pray for their physical, mental, and spiritual health.  My heart breaks for them.  I am doing all that I can do.  And yet, I am failing.  I need to do more.  I need to stand on my soapbox and shout to the world--help these poor people.  And I get so angry.   Angry with myself for my selfish thoughts, and angry with others for their selfish deeds.

This COVID 19 virus is a pandemic.  It is worldwide.  As of this date, in the US alone almost 70,000 people have died. And yet, there are some folks who don't believe that number.  If it hasn't touched their lives in some way, they don't care.  Just get them back to work, and into restaurants and shops, right now!  They are done.  The key here is--it hasn't touched their lives.  They've not yet lost anyone they know or care about or love.  The virus is more of a myth to them.  They are hearing opposing views on TV, they are listening to the bias news reports, and don't know who to trust or believe.  I get it.

So, this transparency thing of mine. I will tell you this.  I am undone.  I am angry.  I am frustrated with it all.  Death, devastation, hunger, selfishness, all of it.  I am sick to death of it.  Some days I can barely face the day, and other days, when the sun is shining, I can face tomorrow.

This morning while attending church in my jammies, with coffee, and my Bible app, I was reading Eph. 4: 24-32.  And bam.  It hit me.  I am angry.  That's what's wrong with me.   Full transparency here.  I am mad.  And yet--there's always an "and yet"-- I am told not to sin.  Grrrrr, how do I accomplish that?  How can I be so angry (and that's ok) but I can't sin?  I can't scream and yell and hit someone, I can't be unbecoming, and I can't let unwholesome things fly out of my mouth.  How am I to deal with this conundrum?

This way--according to the Bible, this way...

I am to be real, not fake.
No pretense.
Tell you the truth.
We are all connected.
It's ok that I'm mad.
But I will use my fuel differently.
I won't let the devil win.
I will be honest.
I will help those who can't work.
I'll watch each word that comes out of my mouth.
I will say only what helps.
I will make God happy.
I will be gentle and sensitive.
I will forgive others.

And, in full transparency--I have failed in doing these things.  However, today is a new day.  Today is a day that God has made.  And, I will change, with God's help.  I will change.
I will continue to pray, read my Bible every single day, worship Him in song.  I will continue to give all that I can, not be selfish, do my part, and continue to try my hardest to please my God.
I am being as transparent as I know how to be.  As honest with you as I can be.
Yes, I am angry, I am mad at the world.  And then I remember something, a truth in the back of my mind.  He has overcome the world.  Oh, thank God.  Now maybe, just maybe I can face this day.

Holding on to the Fingers of God

I'm not going to lie.  I can't swim.  So there, I've said it.  I did take swimming lessons when I was a little child.  And boy, was I ever scared.  I hated the water.  I hated having my head underwater.  I hated that feeling of being left alone, sinking, and something covering my face so that I was unable to breathe.  It took a very long time for that instructor to win me over.  I found that my faith in her was something that had to be built upon, and so I held on to her two pointer fingers for dear life.  It's a very good thing that I was such a small child, or she would have had very sore fingers!

The funny thing is, I've had 3 swimming pools in my many homes as a child and as an adult.  I lived in California, so I was surrounded by the ocean, rivers, and lakes.  And yet, I couldn't swim.  I just couldn't get the hang of it.  So, here I was--continuing to hold tightly onto her 2 fingers.

I'd say to my friends--I'm really just a sun worshiper.  I'd rather be laying on my towel or on a raft just floating, I just wanted a tan.  That's what I'd say away.  What I really wanted to say was--I can't swim, please don't push me in the water, I am afraid.  I didn't though, I never told anyone.  I never admitted that I couldn't do it on my own.

So, why all this stuff about my huge fear of swimming?  Well, I felt that same type of fear come upon me last night.  You see, we're in the midst of a global pandemic. Country after country is shutting down--restaurants, and businesses are closing right and left.  And it's scary.  Everything on our news feeds is flat out terrifying.  And I was buying into it.  Hook, line, and sinker, as my dad used to say.

And then something happened.  I prayed.  As I laid in bed last night, listening to my husband and the dog snoring oh so peacefully beside me, I prayed.  I asked God, in that moment of fear and sadness, to change my attitude and my heart.  I'm not one that is usually so fearful, so sad, so despondent, and yet...something had a hold of my emotions.  Generally, I am an upbeat person, a "God has this"  type of person and a true optimist.  Not last night though.  Last night, I wasn't.  Last night I was afraid.  I was different, and I could feel it deep inside me, eroding all that I had true knowledge of.  I found my trust in God slipping away.  And so, I prayed and then fell asleep.

I woke up this morning, momentarily forgetting all that.  We drank our coffee, watched the Today Show, checked our social media feeds, and had a very regular morning.  And then, things started to change.

I found that as I was getting ready, I began to have some surprising thoughts.  Thankful thoughts.  You see, I was praying again.  My getting ready time has always been a "me and God " time.  And as I began praying, things in my heart began to change.  I began thanking Him for simple things like-- warm water, soap, shampoo, and conditioner, and then it tumbled into a ton of other things that I was thankful for.  Heat, running water, electricity, firewood, food in the pantry, and freezer.  Gas in my car.  A car.  2 cars.  Even a blow dryer, a simple blow dryer--just all of the everyday things that I take for granted, without ever giving them a second thought.  As I prayed, I began to cry in humble and grateful thankfulness and a knowing deep down in my heart that yes, God has this.  This horrible virus that has gripped the world in fear, that might even reach and attack some people that I know and love, or even me--God has this!

So here I am now, I'm sitting in my warm cozy home, with everything I need, and I am so very grateful.  And I just realized, at this very moment that I am holding on to the very fingers of God, and as I paddle my feet, head just beneath the surface, where I can't really see where I'm going, I am not afraid.  God knows.  He's telling me to hold on, to not let go, to trust Him and He will keep me safe.  And so I will.  I am now doing just that.  I am holding on.  For dear life.  Because there is nothing else I can do.  I can either sink and drown, or I can hang on to God's fingers and swim.  I trust God.
I might not trust you, or the experts, or anyone else, but I trust God.  And He has told me to--hold on, fear not, trust Him, for He will walk with me through the darkest deepest scariest of times.  He is with me.  Thank God, He is with me. I will not fear.

Worship There

These past 2 weeks have been pretty awful.  I'm not going to lie.  Death, sickness, surgeries--my friends and family have been going through it.  And me, well, I've been praying hard for them.  I have the tendency, due to my Meyers Briggs personality type (INFJ) to take these things on as if they are happening to me.  Which I guess in turn makes me a pretty good pray-er person.  I pray fervently, without ceasing until I feel that God has given me a peace of some sort.  I am an intercessor.

This morning I happened upon a quote that I need to share and write about.  It was that life-changing for me.  It was Selah.  It caused me to pause and reflect.  C S Lewis wrote this--
When grief takes you to the dust--worship there.

Wow, how many times has grief taken me to the dust?  Or you?  How many times?  Most times we are told by others to buck up, trust God, shake it off, etc.  However, Lewis sees it a little differently.  And now, so do I.  I now will worship there.  Wherever there might be, so I will be, worshiping. Right there in the middle of my pain and heartache.  I will worship there!  God knows where I am, He knows how I feel.  Why should I not be honest?  Why not lay face down, and just plain old worship there?

After reading this quote, in particular, I felt a huge sense of relief.  Not that I will stop praying, not that at all.  I just felt that in the praying time--I could relax, let go, cry, and worship right there.  In a way, it brought me to a very powerful feeling of trust.  A feeling that God had his mighty hand all over the many different situations and circumstances in life and that in that time--I could feel safe, I could trust, I could rest in his arms.  I had freedom.

Maybe that was it.  A feeling of freedom to lay it all down at the feet of the God whom I serve every minute of every day.  Maybe now, I could just worship there--at His feet. And leave it there.  Knowing that He will, in His perfect timing take care of all my worries, fears, and heartbreaks...yes, I believe that's it.  If I can just learn how to implement this new revelation, camp on it for a bit, and then eventually put it into practice, I believe I will have learned a very deep truth about God and His ways.

As you can see, I love this quote.  I will learn to worship there, right there, no matter where I am or what is going on around me.  No matter death, nor sickness, nor heartbreak--I will worship there.

Batman PJ's

For me, there's always one moment of pure enjoyment at every family gathering.  One you just know you're going to remember for years to come.  Those are the moments I like to write about. And of course, this Christmas didn't disappoint.  I actually look for them, I know they're coming, so, why not be ready.

Our youngest grandson just turned 4 years old.  Everything is exciting to him.  He doesn't talk, he yells.  Every sentence ends with a loud exclamation point.  And I mean everything.  When I asked him what he wanted for Christmas this year he yelled (right in my face) Batman footy pajamas!!!

Being the awesomely wonderful overly indulgent grandmother that I am, I went on a quest to find the best of the best in footy PJs.  And find them I did.  They were winged.  That's right-winged.  So cute.  So awesome.  I knew he'd love them.

I was probably more excited then he was at Christmas.  I'm like a big kid myself.  I love to decorate, cook, entertain, and surprise my grandkids with fun gifts.  I couldn't wait for the entire family to be under my roof.  We had our traditional prime rib dinner, and then--it was present time.  I played Santa this year and one by one the grandkids (7 of them) opened their gifts from aunts, uncles, grandma, and grandpa.  I held back the PJs until almost the very end.  And then--he opened them.  Well, let's just say he put on the best show ever.

Within seconds he had stripped down to his undies yelling, can I wear them?  Can I wear them?  And was immediately in the process of getting those Batman pajamas on his little body.  It was hilarious.  The entire room was in shock and laughing.  We tried to help him, but he's super independent and was determined to be dressed and flying through the room quickly.

It was awesome.  He was so excited.  The winged PJs was a huge success.  He loved them.  He began running through our house imitating Batman.  It was great.  I took tons of pictures, and I look forward to one day showing them to him.  What a memory, I know I'll think about that day for years to come.

And that's what Christmas is all about for me, my grandkids.  I love going to church on Christmas Eve, watching their little faces glow in the candlelight.  I love coming back to grandma's house and having all our fun foods and snacks.  I love watching them peer under the tree, wondering just what grandma bought them this year.  It's so much fun.  I hope that they remember these times also.

I find that I am already looking forward to next year.  I am wondering what our next funny antic will be--who will it be, and what will it be about?  I'll have my camera ready.  And one day, they'll be looking through grandma's pictures and laughing hard at all the fun times we had and hopefully, they'll be anticipating future family times with their own children.  Hopefully, they'll say to their spouses--wait, let's do it like grandma did and carry on the traditions and make memories of their own.  Hopefully, they'll have their cameras ready, because you never know--when fun will be just around the corner--in Batman PJs.

Reasons I Love Christmas

I'm a little bit of a Christmas nut.  Not intentionally, it just happened.  I don't remember many truly awesome Christmases growing up, mostly they were non-events in my home.  Most were tied to the up and down financial fluctuations of the real estate market and since my parents were realtors, well, you get it.  Christmas followed suit.  Some good, some bad.

I think when I grew up and got married a switch flipped and I decided that I would make Christmas an experience to last a lifetime.  Decorations everywhere, live freshly cut trees--two if there was room, and homemade baked treats galore. I wanted what I had never had. I wanted to experience an entire month of music, food, decorations, and all the typical entrapments.  I wanted memories.

After I got married I worked hard to fulfill the dream. And after our children arrived, well, kaboom!
Christmas was awesome.  Our kids would wake up on Christmas morning to a tree overflowing with gifts.  I'd budget all year to give them the Christmas I'd never really had.  One with thought and effort put into it, one with smells of cinnamon rolls and music in the background.  One with Christmas Eve church services, grandparents, and excitement.  I wanted it all.

Even now, I'm still that way.  45 years of Christmases done my way.  I've loved it.  Now with 7 grandchildren, Christmas is exciting again.  There was a lull there for a while--just a few years.  Our kids grew up and flew the nest, leaving my husband and me to fabricate Christmas pretty much for ourselves which then turned into a season of loneliness.  It's hard when you do tons of work to create a feeling, a smell, a time of memory-making only to have your children show up for a few hours on Christmas day.  For several years it effected me greatly.  Sadness would eventually overtake me and I'd want to forget the whole thing.  However, over time I realized that I now had a new reality and had to come up with ways to make it fun and exciting again for just my husband and myself.  And I did, for a while.  I made it happen.

However, that was shortlived--grandkids came along and fun once again ensued.  Christmas became awesome once more, even more so.  Grandkids can do that.  Make everything awesome.  And then again, excitement flooded my heart.  Decorating, baking, singing, lights, trees, it's for them now.  I hope they don't grow up too soon.  I need this.  I need them.  They make Christmas fun again.

I am patiently waiting right now for my daughter and her family to show up.  Ok, not so patiently, waiting.  They'll be here tomorrow.  Not soon enough.  We always have so much fun.  Shopping, eating, cooking, meeting up with her siblings, and just doing all things associated with the season. It'll be a week of non-stop fun and craziness.  Just how I like it.

Maybe that's what I love so much about Christmas.  My family.  Just having us all in one city, all coming together to eat, laugh, share stories of the past, open gifts, watch the faces of the littles, music in the background, and joy.  Pure joy.  For me that is.  I hope it is for them too.  I hope I'm making memories.  I hope that in 20, 30, 40 years from now, they'll all sit around sharing stories and remembering the Christmases they had growing up, of then going to Grandma's house, and that feeling of being so loved and knowing that Grandma would have done anything to make their Christmases the best ever.  I hope they know that.  That I took it upon myself to create those memories for them.

That's why I love Christmas.  It's a time of reflection for me.  To remember.  And a time to express my love without necessarily using words.  A time of giving via action.  I hope they see that, feel that, know that.  I hope they realize that it isn't really Christmas I love.  It's them, all of them.  Oh, I realize that I can show them and tell them all year long, and I think I do.   However, Christmas--that's a whole new ballgame, that's a game-changer.  You don't need excuses to shower them with all things love.  You can show them, do for them and spend on them like no other time of the year.

Yep, Christmas for me is awesome.  And, I know I overdo it.  And, I know I spoil the grandkids.  And, I know I'm a little too materialistic about it all.  But am I going to change any of that?  Nope.

Because these are all the reasons that I love Christmas.

To my Grandson Jack

This is an open letter to my grandson Jack.  His birthday is tomorrow, so this is one of my gifts to him.

Dear Jack,

I know this will embarrass you, however, that isn't my intention.  It's just that you are my very first grandchild.  And, today you are turning 18 years old.  It is shocking to me that 18 years have flown by so quickly.  As I look back over the last couple of decades, so much has changed for all of us.

When I first heard that my daughter was going to be having a baby, I thought you were going to be a girl.  A granddaughter--her name, I was told, was going to be Olivia.  It's a beautiful name, I loved it.  We were all set to welcome baby Olivia into our lives.  I flew out to California for your great big gigantic baby shower.  It was awesome.  Everything was pink and roses and girly.  Absolutely beautiful.  Funny thing though--let me tell you a little story, a sidebar if you will.  Grandpa and I were shopping for baby gifts one day when a strange thing happened.  I remember exactly what went down.  We were standing in the baby clothing department in Dillards.  And, all of a sudden my hand went to a little baby boy's outfit.  And for just a slight second--my breath caught.  Grandpa, sensing something was wrong, asked me.  I said to him, don't say anything, but for just a minute I had the feeling, when I touched this little outfit, well, I wished she (your mom) was having a boy.  I immediately covered my mouth and made grandpa promise to never utter a word.  I felt a little disloyal, you know?  And, then you came.  Surprise!  Baby Jack.  When your dad called to give us the news, that they had had a baby boy instead of a girl, I didn't believe him.  I said--put your mom on the phone, I knew she wouldn't lie to me.  But, sure enough, it turns out a baby boy had been born.

You might have heard this story a hundred times, but I want it on paper.  Whatever, you know what I mean.  I was waiting patiently for the phone call when your mom went into labor.  Your mom had to choose, did she want me to come when she delivered you or afterward to help out. She chose the latter.  So, when you were a week old, I flew back out to California and stayed for a bit and helped in any way I could.  Oh my gosh, I remember the first time I held you.  You felt exactly just like one of my own babies the first time I held them.  All squishy, and tiny and a perfect fit in my arms.  You felt like you were mine.  I loved you intensely from that moment forward.  In fact, when I had to fly back home (which I cried the entire flight) I felt as though I had actually given birth to you and left you with my daughter to raise.  It felt as if I had given you away.  My heart was broken and I couldn't wait to see you and hold you again.  What a special little guy you were, so many people loved you.  You were such a good baby, so sweet and you had such a gentle spirit.

It was a few months before I saw you again.  I can't remember exactly, but it was too long for me  And then, something interesting happened.  Your dad, being in the Navy, had to ship out.  So, I talked your mom into coming and staying with us for a few months.  I can't tell you how much I loved that time with you.  You both ended up staying for 9 months until you were 18 months old.  It was a horribly lonely time for your mom, but truthfully I loved having you both with me.  I showered you with gifts, it was overindulgence for sure, but I didn't care.  I loved you so much and just couldn't help myself.  You spent your first birthday with us.  One day you'll have to look through those pictures and see the number of gifts that your crazy grandmother purchased --well, I'm not going to apologize.  I had fun.

I've watched you over the years, Jack.  An old soul for sure.  Yes, a true INFJ.  I've always known.  I guess it was easy for me since I am one also.  I recognized you.  You will grow into that knowledge, that sense of self.  I promise you.  That sixth sense that you sometimes encounter, that knowing...I hope that you study psychology in school, whether you choose it as a profession, well, that's up to you.  However, there's nothing wrong with taking a few classes to better understand yourself and others.  Just my 2 cents!

As I look back over these past 18 years so much has changed.  I have more grandkids now.  I've lived in 3 more homes and 2 more states.  I've watched your uncles get married and then start families of their own.  I've watched your relationship with your sister turn into a little more of a friendship.  Hey, one can hope, right?  It will over time.  Your mom and uncles fought like wild animals and now look.  Friends, siblings.  It'll happen to you too.  Your little sister will one day be your friend.  It's weird how that happens, but it does.

So, by now, you might be wondering why I'm even writing a silly old letter.  But, the truth is Jack, I wish my grandmother had written one to me.  I would have cherished it with all my heart.  I miss sitting and talking with her, spending holidays with her, and just knowing she always had my back.  And please know this Jack, I have yours.  I always will.  I'll never judge you, condemn you, or try to change you.  I like you just the way you are, after all, you're my favorite, remember?

I think it's time now to start wrapping this up.  I don't want to bore you or get too sappy.  So, one more thing OK?  I love you little Jack.  I think you are special.  I believe with my whole heart that God has a plan for your life.  I, for one, am excited to see what's in store for you.  My prayer is that you always remember God's great love for you.  And, that as you grow older, you will come to accept and serve Him.  That you learn to walk humbly before Him, and that you recognize the fact that God will never leave you or forsake you.  He's always there Jack, whether you feel it or not.  He never leaves us.  And, I pray that one day you have a dynamic relationship with the God that I love.

That in a nutshell Jack, is the most important thing to me.

May He always protect you, love you, and guide you.  And, may you always feel the deep love of your grandmother until the day that you take your very last breath.

Love, Grandma Penick

Let Me Do It

I am writing this blog today to my children and their spouses.  It's a blog that I am writing to share with you just how much I love you and love your children.  And, it's a blog to convey a message--
let me do it, please.

You see, some of my greatest memories are of my times with my paternal grandmother.  She was my favorite, as are your children, mine.  I loved her so much.  In many ways, she was a lot like me.  Goofy, funny, silly and a dreamer.  Yes, we had differences, but that made our relationship even fuller.  My memories carry me through times of looking back, times of longing and times of reflection. 

I believe that my relationship with my grandma has played a huge part in my relationships with your children.  For instance, I like taking them shopping--5 Below and Target are their favorites, mine was Thrifty Drug store.  My grandma would give me a couple of dollars and I usually bought nail polish. There were no restrictions--I loved that.  Any color.  Cool. 
We'd get 5 cent ice cream cones and walk around the store, just browsing and talking.  She listened to me, and I could say anything.  Your kids can also.  They can tell me anything, and I'll listen.

My grandkids like going to the local frozen custard stands and getting those soft-serve cones, yum.  Maybe, we even top it off the next morning (if they spend the night) with donuts.  It doesn't get better than that.  So let me, let me make those memories with my grandkids too, please.

I also remember times of playing in the sprinklers with my cousins.  Laughing, playing tag, or not it, or any other dumb game we could come up with.  Cousin time, it's the best, especially at grandma's house.  Get it?

You know, I never thought of my grandmother as babysitting me.  I was just at --grandma's house.  I had fun being with her, just as I hope your kids have fun being with me.  I realize that I can't recreate the exact times and places that I had with my grandmother, but I can create new times, our times, grandma times.

I tease sometimes that I am willing to buy their love.  I buy them simple things though if you think about it.  Water guns, silly string, and sidewalk chalk--little things that in their future will come with big memories.  That's what I'm created--big memories.  So please, let me.

With my youngest grandchild being 3 years old and my oldest being 17, I see that this grandma time has a shelf life.  I'm thinking that within the next 10 years or so, my time will be up--for making these memories.  10 years.  That's just not enough time for me.  I long for more--time.  I want to hug them, have sleepovers, buy them junk food and dumb toys.  I want to read to them, go camping with them and just plain old hang out with them.  I want to do so many things, and yet, I do see off on the horizon--an end time.  And it makes me sad.

So, do me this one favor.  Let me do it.  Let me be with them.  Spoil them.  Spend money on them. 
I only have a little time left to make an impression on them, make memories for them, let me be a grandma.  For just a little while longer.  Let me do it.

And now, I'm speaking to you in-law kiddos of mine.  I hope you all know just how much I love you guys.  Wow, what special people you are.  Wonderful partners for my children, awesome parents to my grandchildren.  What a true blessing and answer to prayer.  I did pray, you know. Hard.  Once I found out that I was pregnant, I prayed.  I prayed so very hard over my babies.  I laid my hands upon my stomach and asked God for so many things.  Too many probably, but that's just how much I loved those babies of mine.  And I prayed for their spouses even then.  It might sound crazy, but you all know me by now.  I'm a real planner, so I figured I'd get a head start.  And God answered my prayers.  He brought all of you into their lives, and into our lives.  And then along came my grandchildren.  One by one until there were 7.  What a blessing, again.  I feel blessed beyond measure.

And now, do me a favor, I want you to look at your kids today and try to imagine them married with children.  Think about how much you love your kids.  Really think.  It brings you to tears, doesn't it?  Now imagine loving their kids, your grandkids--their flesh and blood, your flesh and blood.  You'd do anything for them. 

That's how I feel.  So, let me do it.  I don't consider it babysitting.  I don't consider it a favor.  I don't consider it anything other than being blessed enough by the God that I love and serve to get to love on and spoil my grandbabies.  So, let me do it.  Capisce?  And stop it.  Stop making me feel as though I'm doing you a huge favor.  I'm not.  Don't you get it?  You're doing me one.  You are the one doing me the favor. Nothing makes me happier than spending time with my grandkids, nothing.

So, here is the take away from this long blog.  My grandma loved me.  I loved her.  I also love my kids and their kids.  And, they love me.  Let us develop our own relationships.  Believe me, you'll understand one day.

Continue, without guilt, to ask me to babysit, no! not babysit, ask me to be their grandma for just a little while longer.  OK?  I want to do it, let me!

So, who needs a grandma?  I'm available.

Me and LA

When I was almost 10 years old, my family moved to LA.  Los Angeles, the city of angles.  Don't ask.  Well, actually I'll tell you.  My dad's business was going kaput so he needed to find a job post-haste with another realty firm.  And my parents thought southern California might be nice.  I don't remember a lot about the actual move--we sold (or maybe lost) our house, we sold our furniture, packed our most valuable treasures (mine were stuffed animals and books) and hit the road.  It took us approximately 6 hours or so to get down there.  Yes, we drove.

There we were, the 4 of us--our car, some suitcases and not much else.  My folks rented a small home in Venice.  Venice in the '60s.  Now there's a not so nice thought.  Let me explain why.  Riots.  Riots to the left, right and middle of us. I recall hearing gunshots during the night, I was terrified.  Things were dicey.  Scary.  I remember the day my dad sat us girls down for a talk about race.  What?  What is race exactly?  I really didn't have a clue.  I had friends that were just 2 kinds of people.  Boys and girls.  Period.  This black and white stuff?  Unimportant to me.  I started school that next semester at a predominately African American school.  Honestly, it was irrelevant to me.  I was 10 years old.  Who cares!  Just let me play teether ball, kickball, maybe some hopscotch and have fun.  And you know what?  Most of us kids felt that way.  We were there to have fun, be together and make friends.  Let the adults sort it out.  It made no difference to us.

As usual, we moved soon after into another apartment, this one in a nicer neighborhood--Westwood and then a few months later to Beverly Hills, lots of Jewish kids.  For me, it still made little difference.  Except for the fact that I now wanted to become Jewish more than anything.  So, my mom bought me a beautiful little Star of David necklace that year for Christmas.  I was so proud of it.  We moved during Christmas vacation though and I never got to show it off.

This next move was into East LA.  Yep, brain surgeons, my parents were not.  Again, other than changing schools for the 4th time in 2 years, kids are kids.  I made friends easily.  And these friends were Mexican.  Good food.  Beautiful families.  Gangs all around us.  What a life.  My best friend at that particle school was Estelita.  I loved her family.  Typical Mexican, 4 kids, cute bungalow home, warm friendly people, who (I believe) felt sorry for me.  They took me everywhere with them.  Their family was a little different from ours, in a good way though.  They had huge gatherings--food, music, so much fun.  Culturally, they were different.  The women prepared the food, the dads ate first, and then the women and children sat down to eat afterward.  I always wondered about that, but hey, free good food--what's to complain about?

I was soon going to be entering into what we referred to back then as Junior High.  7th grade.  Time for gang initiation.  I told my folks what I had to look forward to--according to my new school friends.  And before the semester was up, we high tailed it back up to northern Ca.  Oh, what a life.

I have to say, I loved my time in southern Ca.  I met some awesome friends.  Had some fantastic food.  Great learning experiences.  Learned a lot about cultural differences, and felt for the most part as though I had spent some time abroad.  Yes, it was that different.  Maybe that is what eventually sparked my interest in travel, who knows.  I just know that my life lessons during that specific time were invaluable.  They changed me.  Unlike some of my northern California friends who had never moved out of their city, let alone their homes--I felt and was different.  I had had some life experiences they hadn't.  I didn't even realize it at the time.  I did not know that I would end up being so excepting of all nationalities, foods, cultures, beliefs, etc.  And, yes, I had the knowledge that they weren't the same as mine, however, I saw the beauty in those differences.  They were so much a part of my being.  Again, I did not realize it until I became an adult and found myself defending those very people groups.  After all, I had lived among them, I knew them, and while I agree we were different--were we really? 

Looking back this is what I know--my friends were wonderful.  Their parents accepted this little white girl into their homes.  They fed me, let me join in family celebrations, gave me hand me downs (as we were quite poor during those years) and they treated me like I was one of them.  I learned about Mexican culture through them.  I learned how to cook Mexican food, I was taught the culture between men and women, husbands and wives, and the little differences.  I loved it.  As for the black culture--well, I have a funny little story to share.  My best friend while living in Venice was Jackie.  One day after school she asked me to come over and play.  The best part of the day was when I showed up and witnessed the shocked look on her mother's face.   She had assumed I was Merican because of my name.  We had a good laugh about that.  She told me later that she was afraid that my parents might get mad if they ever found out that Jackie was black.  I said--oh no, they know she's black.  They don't care.  Jackie's mom was pretty impressed by that.  Yes, I have some pretty wonderful memories of those friends in southern California.  I wonder if they remember me?   I wonder if they know how they shaped my character, my personality and my desire for travel?  I wonder if they knew how much I loved them and appreciated their teaching me about their cultures, their way of life and for letting me be one of them?

I believe they taught me some very critical life lessons.
Lessons of love, acceptance, and sameness.
For 3 short years, they became my people, and I became theirs.

Irish Eyes

Are my Irish eyes smiling?  Why yes, yes they are!  We returned from our trip abroad just about 3 weeks ago.  I had the time of my life.  So many questions--answered.  So many preconceived ideas--changed.

A lot of people asked me why Ireland?  Why Scotland?  The short answer is DNA.  I had mine done by 3 different companies and discovered that I am 70% Irish.  So, I kind of had to go, don't you think?  The rest of me is all mixed up, Scottish, English, French, Italian, and Native American.
However, when one is 70% of something, well, my curiosity got the best of me.  I just had to go and see where my ancestors came from.

So, I'll start from the beginning, as that's always a good place.
After 2 very long delays and one drunk passenger being thrown off the plane, we finally arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland--pronounced--Edinboura.  Don't forget that "a" on the end, it's important. And they aren't Scotch people, they are Scots.  Scotch is a drink.  Gotcha, won't make that mistake, ever!

I'll be honest with you, when we arrived in Scotland I was so jet-lagged and exhausted, I seriously wondered if I was going to enjoy the city.  I don't sleep more than a few minutes at a time on planes so I was tired and just wanted to sleep.  We went to our hotel, which was in the perfect location but I hated it as soon as I entered the room.  I won't review it here but I sure did on the travel websites.  I told you, I was in a very bad mood.  Once checked in, showered and properly napped though, out we went to explore.

Wow, what a city.  Gothic, medieval, beautiful.  So many restaurants, and shopping and history!  We began by doing the hop on hop off bus tour and ended up using it as our mode of transportation while there.  Pictures really don't do this city justice.  The spires, castles, architecture--it's just overwhelming.  We were either taking pictures, eating, or shopping.  The shopping was a surprise for me.  Usually, I don't find just the exact souvenir, but for Scotland, well, let's just say I spent my entire 2 weeks worth of fun money in 3 days there!  I had to readjust my budget--I still had 10 days in Ireland to see, shop and eat.

After leaving Edinburgh, we flew to Dublin, Ireland where again we had a flight delay and ended up arriving at our hotel in Galway very late at night.  We missed the scenery between the two cities and were very disappointed by that.  Next time though--because there will be a next time for sure!

I need to try and explain something here that happened to me when I arrived in Galway.  I had one of those experiences that are similar to Deja Vu.  I felt like I belonged there.  I felt that ancestral pull.  That thing that happens when you feel like maybe you've walked there before.  It felt like home.  And the longer I stayed in Ireland, the stronger that feeling got.  If you've never experienced it, you wouldn't understand.  It's just too hard to describe.  I loved Ireland.  And I am sure that had I gone and explored more of Scotland, I would have felt it too.

I had my concerns about Ireland.  We were going to be driving through smaller towns and villages.  Would I get bored I wondered?  Would I regret this trip?  I got my answers right away.  No, it was just the opposite.  It was breathtakingly beautiful.  More restaurants, pubs, and shops than you can imagine.  The friendliest and the funniest people, and they were so very helpful.  The roads were fine to drive on, not at all like I had thought they'd be, and there were castles, ruins and manor houses around every corner--I kid you not!  We never had an issue with finding public restrooms, good places to eat, or stuff to see and do.

My favorite town was Killarney.  Yep, my favorite.  And, my fav thing to do there, besides shop, and eat?  The jaunting carts.  Horse-drawn carts that take you through the national park.  An hour through beauty and wonder, where you see wildlife, a castle, little bridges over babbling creeks, and loads of flowers.  It was majestic.  I will go back.  I have to.

The food you ask?  Well, we ate at gastropubs and never had a bad meal.  The hotels provided breakfast and then we had lunch while we were galavanting about being total tourists, and then in the evenings we would find a pub, have dinner and wait for the music to start.  It was wonderful.  All of it.  Absolutely wonderful.

Since Ireland is an island, guess what we did?  Well, we went to many harbor towns.  Dingle and Kinsale being my favorites.  We had fish and chips probably every other day and they just kept getting better.  Fish is something that I ordered almost every day.  Like I mentioned before, the food in Ireland was awesome.

Our last city to visit was Dublin.  It's a big city, with a beautiful river flowing through the middle of it.  Lots of bridges to walk over.  We went to the Book of Kells, we shopped on Grafton St., we took the bus tour.  We had a great time, but honestly, I was ruined by the quaint villages along the way, and most likely won't be spending lots of time in Dublin again.  There's just too many other towns and villages to explore on our next trip back.  That, and the highlands of Scotland--bucket listed!

So, any tips to share?  Yep, I have some.  These tips are primarily for Americans though, as we are known to have our quirks, yep, very weird quirks.

Don't stay in anything less than 4-star accommodations.  Their star rating system is different than ours.  Trust me on this.  Boutique hotels are awesome, as I am not much of a B&B person.  I'm a little too private and also don't like to have coffee with strangers in the mornings.  I'm pretty grumpy until cup number 3. That being said, I'm saving them from me!

Eat at gastropubs, use Yelp and ask the locals, and you will have a wonderful dining experience.
Be a tourist.  After all, you are one!  Experience everything--go, see, and do.  Stop along the road, take pictures, lots of pictures, eat fun snacks, stop at the little shops, go to farmers markets, and street markets.  Even though you might not buy those veggies, you can still talk with the locals and find out so much about their lives.

Take your creature comforts. Ipad, curling iron, whatever makes you comfortable.  You don't want to get there and wish you had it.  Just take it.  I took my knitting, my kindle, my hair straightener.  It made me happy.  And yes, I used them.  I bought an awesome little gizmo on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0773LRXS8/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o07_s03?ie=UTF8&psc=1 that had 4 USB ports and international plugs and was I able to charge all my devices at night.

Be a nerd.  I love history.  I absorb it into my very bones.  I went to every castle I passed by.  I walked through them with wonder and imagination.  They were the highlight of my adventure.  And guess what?  There are many free ones along the roads.  Not everything costs money!

In Scotland and Ireland (and Europe) there is a VAT tax.  Many of the shops have tax free forms.  There are around 3-4 different types of forms.  When you get to the last airport, right before you are flying back to the states, you will go to a counter for each form type and stand in line and wait and wait and wait.  So, do this instead.  Only shop in the shops that use the Fexco red cards.  It's like a little red credit card that everything is swiped on, you then go to a kiosk at the airport, swipe and you are done!  Check it out, it is awesome!  I will only shop in the stores that offer that system from here on out.  I hate doing the VAT thing.  This was a godsend.

Those are my tips, I hope they help.

This vacation has been my favorite so far.  I had the most fun, ate the best food, met the best people and enjoyed myself immensely.  I am chomping at the bit to go back.  And I will go back.
I dream of Ireland.

Ready Set Go

Once again we are off on another adventure.  This time we are following in the footsteps of some of my ancestors.  Being that I am truly a mutt, that makes for a lot of travel in my future.  First, we are headed to Scotland.  We will begin by going to Edinburgh.  We shall leave the Highlands, Shetland Islands and the Isle of Skye (I have several ancestors from this area) for another time.  However, trust me when I tell you--it will happen.  I have too many great grandparents to ignore.  Secondly, we are going to Ireland, and being that I am 68% Irish, well, it's a pretty important trip for me.  It seems that most of my family came from just south of Dublin, and then some from Galway.  Of course, both will be visited this trip. 

My husband laughed at me the other day when I casually mentioned that I hoped some of the Irish people look like me.  They won't, but I can dream.  You see, I take after the Cherokee side.  My dad is Irish and Cherokee, and I look just like him and he looks full Cherokee, even though he is mostly Irish.  Genetics--they are so very interesting to me.  Our brown eyes and hair vs my mom and sisters blue eyes and blond hair.  And, on a side note, my mom is 1/3 Irish.  I am still searching for her Irish ancestors.  I have found most of the English ones.  Ancestory.com and I have become close friends.

This particular trip will be sort of a fact-finding mission.  Once I had my DNA done (by 3 different companies) I became so curious concerning my heritage.  I thought I knew who I was and what I was made of.  However, although the nationalities were correct, my percentages were off.  I seemed to have absorbed much more Irish than I thought.  Hense, this trip.

So far, I have found family crests, clan mottos, tartan colors and places of origin.  And, as I visit these cities, towns, and villages, I will be hyper-aware of surnames, etc.  I have pictures of churches and cemeteries, along with photos of the graves of my ancestors.  It's a strange feeling.  Knowing that I will be entering some of the buildings where they worshiped, shopped, and lived--it is exciting to me.  Walking the same streets, maybe eating some of the same types of food. 

It makes me wonder--will my great grandchildren and great great grandchildren have questions about me?  Will they be interested in reading my blog?  Finding out about my interests, thoughts, beliefs?
Will they want to know more about what similarities we might have?   Genetics is a powerful thing.

So here I am, all packed and ready to fly out.  Excitement is abundant.  Adventure awaits.  I have prayed for safe travels, that none of our luggage is lost and that we have an awesome time.  I am ready to once again--travel, explore, and learn.  I am ever ready.  Which by the way, is the Burns clan motto.  How cool is that? 

My Tiny House

I have my very own now.  A tiny house.  We're all moved in and settled.  Life is good, very good.  And while some might wonder why such a small house?  Well, I'll tell you why.  I like it that way.
I've had big homes before.  I also had 3 children at home.  Now, no children at home--thus there really is no reason to maintain a large home.  A tiny house suits us just fine.

The last time I wrote about moving and the reasons why--we were staying for a few days with our son and daughter-in-law.  We moved into our new house in July, just a few months ago.  It poured down rain that day, so much so that our new little basement flooded.  I mean flooded--as in, inches deep in water to the point that it ruined everything that had been stored down there along with the carpeting.  Great.

After, the major clean up, with the help of our awesome sons, we commenced moving in and trying to get settled.  Did I mention that the house was a major remodel/gut job?  Also, I was on narcotics (knee replacement) when I first saw it, so I'm thinking that it clouded my vision.  Just a bit.  And that I also had a mini-meltdown when we moved in!  Yeah, I did.  I couldn't believe the work that needed to be done on my new tiny house--so much work.  As in--every single room.  And I do mean every single one!

We set about unpacking and making a plan.  Which room should we tackle first?  Well, our kitchen was a total disaster, and unusable, so let's start there, shall we?  We gutted the room and had a completely new kitchen installed--that only took a couple of months.  Only.  I was using the hall bathroom sink and a toaster oven.  Not fun, not fun at all.  And we won't discuss our use of paper products, or that the fall of this planet rests on my head.

As our kitchen was being done, I painted.  My husband had set his office up at one end of our small basement, so I had full run of the house.  Painting (I did that), putting in new hardwood floors (I did not do that), and ordering new bathroom vanities and toilets.  Oh, I had fun!  We pretty much had the front half of the house finished when I came up with an idea.  Why not take the utility closet, plus a few feet of unused hallway, and make a pantry?  Good idea right?  So, that is our next project.  It's "on the list"--right after we finish our bedroom.  And boy was our master bedroom a mess.  Should I mention how badly the carpet smelled?  OK, I won't.  It's gone now, along with the stench.  The walls are freshly painted, the wood floors are in and the bathroom is done. Thank God.  And I seriously mean--thank God.  I do thank Him, every day.  I love this tiny house.

One of the very first projects that I undertook was the turning of an extra bedroom into my super closet.  My everything room--clothing, shoes, makeup vanity, and hair station.  It's my favorite room in the house.  It's very bohemian, in that it's kind of a hot mess.  But, I love it.  I bought rolling clothes racks and lined the walls.  I have wicker shelving for my pants, etc.  It's freaking awesome.  One-stop shopping--hair, makeup, get dressed--go!  As much as I love it, my husband hates it.  He wanted everything built-in and I did not.  I won.  My closet.

Believe it or not, we are almost done with remodeling the inside of our tiny house.  The kitchen, family room, living room, and bedrooms, along with hallways and bathrooms are all painted.  The flooring is in.  The kitchen is done except for the backsplash--haven't found what I like yet, and all the furniture is bought.  Do we still have projects, you ask?  Oh, yes.  So many.  Remember the pantry idea?  There's that.  And also, another brilliant idea of mine-- let's take those stupid double doors off our entryway closet and make a really cute mudroom!  How about that?  He's not too happy, but he'll love it when it's all finished.  He always does.

So, tiny it is--but, oh so cute.  I call it my cottage.  It's cozy, warm, and me.  It's plain, simple, and very unpretentious.  It reflects my personality--a little more traditional and a little comfier.  I love it.

Now don't get me wrong.  I love going into great big large spacious homes.  I really do.  I love professional decorating, and expensive decor.  But--that's not me.  I'm a jeans and sweater person, and I wear flip flops until the first snow!  I'm a little on the plainer side, I admit it.  I like function, with a little kick.  And this tiny house provides that for me.  I can clean it quickly (as I am the maid) and I can entertain quite a few couples at a time!  I don't need nor do I want the big rooms (been there) since most of the time it's just the 2 of us.  Watching TV, fireplace burning, dog on my lap, and oh so happy.

Want to hear something funny?  This tiny house sits on 3/4 of an acre.  My husband now has a riding lawnmower and several other yard implements.  He complains a lot but I can tell he loves his new big boy toys.  I think it's kind of funny.  We went from no lawn maintenance to this!  We have so much yard work to do, so many landscaping ideas and because of our long snowy winters, only a few months per year to get our yard looking halfway decent.  We have oodles and gobs of things to do to this yard.  It's going to take years to get it just the way we want it.  However, we will have fun.  We will work hard side by side, laugh, argue, and live life.  In our tiny house.  And we've never been happier.

We will retire here and spend the last of our days here.  It's perfect.  Small, manageable, cute, and cozy.  It's warm and fuzzy.  It's our very own tiny house.

Traditions

We have them.  We have a lot of them.  And the ones we don't have--we start.  And then stop.  And then start new ones.  Maybe you're like us, maybe not.

One such tradition that we started almost 40 years ago was this--my husband began taking the last 2 weeks of the year off.  Yep, those last 2 weeks of December were ours.  No work.  No school.  Just family fun.

And even though our kids have left the nest, we've continued that tradition.  I like it.  There's time to shop together, plan together, and enjoy the season without rushing.  We drive around in the evenings looking at Christmas lights, peering into stranger's windows and imagining what their holidays are like.  We do lots of shopping--food, gifts, more food.  There's a lot of togetherness--I've noticed. 

It is interesting to me though, I noticed something else this year as I was preparing for Christmas.  Just because my kids have grown up and moved out--well, it doesn't mean the load has gotten any lighter.  What?  Yep, you heard me.  Life is just as crazy, maybe even more so.  Which has caused my brain to work overtime trying to figure out this little conundrum.   I've tried hard you know.  Only to come up empty-handed, scratching my head and wondering why.  I think it's probably age.  I run around, spinning my wheels, trying to get everything right.  I like everything to run smoothly, every gift to be perfect and the food to be awesome.  It's a lot of work for this little grandma, but I do it.  And I'd like to think I do it well. 

Anyway, back to traditions.  I like this 2 weeks off thing.  It works well for us.  But, guess what?  It's the last year it will be this way.  My husband is retiring next year and then we will have every day off!  So, how will that affect our tradition?  Will we still do the same things in the same way?  I don't know, time will tell I guess.  Maybe, just maybe I won't feel so stressed next year.  We'll have more time to plan and get things done just right.  Perfectionism at it's finest.

We're halfway through this year's 2 weeks of vacation.  Today, being Christmas will start out slowly and then build into a crescendo as the rest of the family arrives for presents and prime rib.  Grandkids will be running amuck and dogs will be barking.  The oven will be baking, and the fire will be burning.  And as the day draws to an end, it will dawn on me that we still have a week to go.  I call it "return week".  So, with a name like that, why not make it special too?  Let's continue the eating, laughing, driving around, shopping, etc.  Why not,  there's a week left!  Let's make the most of it.

And that my friend--is my personality in a nutshell.  Let's make the most of it.  Life, family, fun, traditions.  Make them, break them.  New ones, old ones.  Just enjoy your family, have fun, hug, laugh, cry a little, and make memories.  Embrace your quirks.  One day, it'll be what you're remembered for.  Think about that for a minute! 

Most of all, remember what this time of year is all about.  For me, it's about Jesus, my savior.  It's about His birth, His life, and His death.  Without Him, I truly wouldn't appreciate what I have or what I've become.  I wouldn't want to experience one day without Him being in my life.  My question would be, what does this time of year mean to you?  What are your traditions centered around?  Mine are centered around God, my family, my friends and neighbors, and those less fortunate. Mine are centered around prayer--for you, for my family and for others.

So, as you mull this over, have yourself a merry little Christmas, and I'll see you all next year.