It was this kind of day…

              sweet in every way!

When you live in the Ozarks, you don’t have to travel far to find something interesting or beautiful to see. Yesterday, we headed northeast, deep into the Mark Twain National Forest, to revisit a place we knew and to explore some new destinations.

First stop was Alley Spring Mill. Stately, picturesque and well preserved, this is one of our favorite typical Ozarks sites. Located on the Jacks Fork, in an area that is designated the Ozark National Scenic Riverways, the mill, which features a turbine, was built to take advantage of the huge spring which pours forth from the base of a towering bluff.

This place is breathtakingly beautiful! I watch the crystal clear, cold water rush through the sluice

and wonder how it is that the flow never stops. The Ozarks are blessed with so many springs, but they are not something we take for granted. 

Also on the grounds is this restored one-room school building. It wasn’t open yesterday, but we peeked in the windows and felt that time stood still. My Farmboy attended a one-room school for five years, and he has wonderful memories of those bygone days. 

Looking inside, you could almost hear the voices of children reciting or the teacher instructing. Thousands of these humble structures dotted the Ozarks landscape fifty years ago, but now they are almost all gone. Thank goodness, someone decided the Story’s Creek School was worth saving!

We stopped in Eminence for a vanilla milkshake at the Dairy Shack, and then wandered on down Highway 19, through Eminence and on toward Alton. A forest service sign caught my eye and caused me to say, “Whoa!” We turned around and went back and sure enough, the sign said Falling Spring. I had long ago heard of another old mill at Falling Spring but had no idea where it was located.

Off we went down the gravel road, down, down, down into a deep holler, farther and farther off the beaten path. Someone remarked, “The road is sure getting narrow…hope we don’t meet another car.” There was no need to worry…we had it all to ourselves. At the bottom of the long descent, we found ourselves at the edge of another spring, with an altogether different sort of mill perched on its edge.

Falling Spring is aptly named….see how it tumbles out of the hole in the face of the bluff? This little mill was much less ambitious in design than Alley Mill but was functional for a long time, many years ago.

It features an undershot water wheel, and the mechanism is still in place.

Across the mill pond stands the skeleton of the Thomas Brown cabin. A sign says the Browns came here in 1851, so this structure has weathered a lot of years. It is tiny and typical of the log cabins our ancestors built for their first homes. I hope it stands for another century or two.

Back up on the highway, we traveled south on our scenic route,

enjoying the dogwoods peeking through the new leaves on the hardwoods, with the deeper, darker green of the towering pines providing a dramatic contrast. We crossed the Eleven Point which, like the Jacks Fork, is another tributary of the Current River. These streams are incredibly popular with floaters when the weather gets just a tad warmer, but it is still a little early for most of the crowds.

A mile or so past the bridge, another Forest Service sign beckoned us to stop and see Greer Spring. I asked if Farmboy was “springed out,” but he said, no, we could stop. Turns out that Greer Spring is in the bottom of another Ozarks holler (no surprise there!) so off we set on a nice little hike. Switchbacks helped keep it from being too steep,

and I was amazed at the number of wildflowers blooming and ferns growing alongside the trail.

We heard the water long before we saw it, and this was our first view. Down we went, and oh, my goodness, HOW we were rewarded for our efforts!

This absolutely GORGEOUS spring gushes forth from a cave in the side of the bluff at an incredible rate of 222 million gallons per day!

We scrambled down to get as close as possible to the outlet where the water poured out of the side of the mountain.

Huge, moss-covered boulders are strewn all around, making good climbing places. I felt as if we were in a holy place and just sat and looked, drinking it all in.

Nothing manmade was in sight, just the most natural, simple beauty you can imagine.

What a privilege to get to see this place!

Climbing back out was easy, because I was still thinking about how extraordinarily pretty it was and how we didn’t even know it was there until we hiked down that trail. Thank goodness we turned off the road to see what was there!

Our highway carried us on to Alton, and then to Thomasville, where we had a delightful catfish supper at River’s Edge,

in an old-fashioned general store on the banks of the Eleven Point’s headwaters. This old town once thrived, but is now home to just a few folks and this little cafe, where they sure know how to cook catfish! I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect ending to our very sweet, very scenic and very satisfying day…except for that piece of homemade strawberry pie I had to pass up…just too much other good stuff. A day full of good stuff!

 Searching for Waterfalls, Redux~~

               (03/08 was the original)

Wet spring weather–it’s what you need if you love waterfalls–and I love waterfalls! All the crystal-clear little streams tumbling headlong and cascading over any little ledge–or, even better, over big ledges! I can’t imagine anything nicer than the sweet sound of water running over rocks and splashing down ravines. This has a magnetic attraction for me. So, after a goodly rain all day Sunday, we headed out in search of an elusive waterfall–one even the big girls hadn’t seen before.

                       (Lucy, Emma, Wyatt)

We parked our vehicle at the gate to The Left-Hand Side and disembarked. Now, all the places on our farm are named, and some of the names defy reason. This particular place is on the right-hand side as we approach it from home. But when Farmboy was indeed a boy, his family lived on the other side of the farm, and as they approached the gate, it was, for them, on The Left-Hand Side. For 40-something years it has thus been known.

                  (Sus, Addie, Emma, Lucy) 

There were a few issues as we set out. I had encouraged all to wear jeans, but since the day was warm and delightful and springlike, Mom was disregarded One hiker was in a dress, and two were in shorts. So who gets to be the bushwhacker? Mimi in jeans, of course. We traversed the pasture, carefully avoiding cow piles. Wyatt, who also was smart and wore britches, was forging ahead with me. He said, “Mimi, you know what some people call these? Cow pies!!! Hahahaha…isn’t that funny, Mims? PIES!” We laughed at the very idea of anyone designating these stinky obstacles with such a delectable name–and plowed ahead.

Soon, we came to the woods. A deer, startled by the invasion of her privacy, hightailed it off in leaps and bounds. No one but the bushwhackers saw her–the others, in all their bare-legged spring glory, were straggling behind, delicately avoiding the briars and stobs.

At the top of the precipice, we could look down and see the water falling over, and we could hear it splashing below. The allure was so great that we had to descend.

  Carefully, we picked out way down the rocky, brushy incline, and soon we were at the bottom. It was worth a few scratches to see the bright green moss up close, to touch the water as it fell, and to admire the beauty of our own little grotto, deep in the holler.

Even though the moms and mimi cautioned against falling into the water and getting soaked, it was just a matter of a short time before everyone was soaked, at least up to the knees.

 Even Addie put her little feet in, with the help of Aunt Ra-ra (Sarah to the rest of us.) Wyatt had to shed his pants when they became too soaked to be tolerated.

Everyone was very tired last night, especially Mimi, and we drifted off to sleep with the sweet sound of water falling over rocks in our ears and dreamed of all the little creatures that would come there for a drink…just like we had.

It’s Spring Break! Three cheers and hip-hip-hooray, because it is time for a visit from Sarah and Company, including the honorable Vice-President Emma and the officer-in-charge-of-pretend, Princess Lucy.

Yesterday was the prettiest blue-sky day, and we couldn’t have chosen a better time for a visit to the city….Silver Dollar City, that is. No matter that every other family in the Midwest also came to the same conclusion….standing in line just meant more time to chat…and pretend. We were joined by Susannah and half of her Company…the brave Wyatt.

                       We laughed,

           walked many miles hand-in-hand,

                   ran into some good friends,

         learned a little about our Ozarks heritage,

                           rested…

             found new landscape inspiration….

                     waited in line…

                           and played!

And at the end of it all, a lovely finish to a sweet day!

Today, there is a new song….oh, where did you go, beautiful Spring???

It had been two months since I had made my rounds. On my January driving day the sky was snowing cats and dogs, and thus the Senior Center was closed. So today I was looking forward to returning to my routine, which has grown to a 52-mile round trip.

It surprises me that I’ve grown attached to my friends. A quick meeting at the door or just inside, a hand-off of their hot lunch, and a few words of greeting and concern do not allow much relationship-building time. But I can’t dally because the lady at the end of my route gets irate when her lunch is late. She says hotly, “I’ve been doing business with these people for twenty years, and you can be late on someone else’s time!” There’s no point in protesting, “But Mrs. X, this isn’t a business! It’s a service provided to you, and I’m just a volunteer who is giving up my morning to bring your lunch to you, hot and fresh.” Mrs. X expects her hot lunches to be on time, and so Mr. Y must do without sharing a long-winded explanation of his latest ailment.

Does this sound like I’m complaining? I am decidedly NOT. In fact, I say it all with a smile, for I have learned to appreciate their quirks (even Mrs. X’s grumpiness) and just really want to meet their needs. It is such a little bit of help to them, but it is truly a blessing to me to be able to do this. Every time I drive, I feel immeasurably uplifted and rewarded. (And I feel just a tiny bit justified in driving our big, gas-guzzling SUV when I can use it for the good of others.)

Today, though, was different. I’m not sure why, but my eyes (read: heart) were open just a bit wider….or my level of understanding was a notch higher. Perhaps it was missing last month and knowing that a harsh winter is harder on these folks than on me. For some reason, I was seeing things in a different, more honest light.

The sacks of empty beer cans on the tumbledown porch of the malnourished, addled alcoholic who is intent on drinking himself to death were more pathetic than ever. The lank, unwashed hair of the woman old beyond her years pricked my womanly pride. The sweet hug of the lady who thinks I’m so special was almost sweeter than I could bear. So I should have seen it coming.

She was bald when I first began to bring her meals, and some days the chemo left her so weak she couldn’t make it to the door. The added burden of advanced MS causes her to fall often, and today her face was bruised and battered from a recent tumbledown. But her smile was in place, even as she came to the door apologizing for being in her nightgown so late in the morning. She just hadn’t been able to get dressed yet. I said I hoped she could get outside just a bit, to enjoy the sunshine, and she replied she had hoped to go to the post office for her mail today…it had been a week… but just didn’t think she’d better attempt to drive. It might not be safe, and she sure didn’t want to hurt anyone.

It was so obvious….I could pick up her mail and bring it back to her. Such an easy, peasy thing for me to do, with my full tank of gas, nice, dependable vehicle and (mostly) limber legs to haul me in and out of it. So I took her box key, finished my route and picked up her mail. Such a simple thing, really.

Forty-five minutes later, when I drove back to her trailer and handed her the mail, she in turn handed me an envelope and shyly said, “It’s just a thank you note. I really appreciate you getting my mail. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

We said goodbye, I climbed back into my car, and as I drove away, I opened the envelope and found this note.

And that was when I had to stop again, as the tears that had threatened all day brimmed over. Here I was, trying to bless her, and I wound up being the blessee. You just can’t out-give God, can you?

* * * SNOWY MORNING IN THE OZARKS * * *

Even before the sun arose, some were feeling a frosty friskiness. Maybe they needed to warm up….it was only 10 degrees.

As for me, I just needed to get out and soak up some of the loveliness. This snowy lane beckoned…

My favorite old red barn and my favorite old stacked-stone fence in fresh garb…

Later in this windy day, the pines and cedars would shrug off their winter coats, but early in the morning they were still wearing them….

Our creeks are beautiful in any season, but perhaps especially so right now…

Can you see the eagle-speck up above this evergreened and frosted ridge? His bald head was beautiful against the blue sky, but he was not eager to be photographed.

Coming out on top was breath-taking. I could see for miles and miles and miles…

A FORTY-YEAR MARATHON

This is a good day to blog, for more than one reason. It’s snowing like crazy outside,

                   (the view from my front door, right now)

and since I twisted my knee yesterday, I can hardly hobble. AND… I have plenty to blog about today…are you ready for a long one?

First, what about that title? What is a marathon? The first thing that comes to mind, since I have daughters who run in them, (and no, they didn’t get that from me!) is the 26.1 mi foot race. Then, it seems like there is some reference to ancient Greece? Can’t remember that one exactly. But today I’m thinking of a third definition, the one that says a marathon is a test of endurance over a long period of time or space. Remember the dance marathons during the Great Depression? People danced until they could no longer stay upright, hoping to be the last ones standing, to win a bit of money to see them through the hard times. That seems a bit negative so I’m going to segue to a positive spin on a personal marathon of sorts.

                               January 29, 1970

Today is our anniversary. We wed on January 29, 1970, so that makes today a forty-year milestone for my farmboy and me! Should I add a few more exclamation points? FORTY YEARS!!!!! That means we got married when we were twelve….just kidding, but not much older than that. In essence, we were basically children and grew up together. And looking back on those two score, it feels somewhat like we’ve been running a marathon.

Children, indeed. We were in college, and by the time we graduated three years later, we had added two assorted children to the mix. Those years are a blur, with school, work, family-building, surviving….not sure how we came through it, but we did, with a sense of accomplishment, if not much sanity.

The next stretch of the marathon was a move to Mississippi. Stan (who worked since the time he could toddle, literally) and his dad had built a nice ranch out of the rugged Ozark hills but had always dreamed together of farming someplace where the soil was deep and the land flat. At that time, the Black Belt (referring to the stretch of prairie with rich, black loamy soil) of Mississippi was priced better than more popular farming areas in the Midwest. So, we went south….into the Deep South. Moved onto a farm and went to work. That first year, Stan, who had zero experience in crop farming, planted and harvested a successful soybean crop. We made friends who are still precious to us today, learned to understand and speak the local dialect (Shuqualak is pronounced Suga-lock, and you “carry” someone to the doctor, not “take” them), added a third child to our family, and after a few years, began to feel like we’d come home to stay. But it was not to be.

Twelve years later, we moved back to the Ozarks to milk cows, the next leg of our journey. Stan and his dad decided that the dairy Curtis had built here should be our next big focus…and focus, we did. You have to, when you milk cows like we did, almost 24 hours a day. Stan, who had no experience at all milking cows, learned the dairy business inside and out, and we spent the next 12 years doing that. It’s a demanding, consuming lifestyle, but we were able to do some growing of our place and got it to the point where we could enter the next phase….

Beef cattle. We’ve always had beef cattle, even while in Mississippi, but now it’s our sole focus, business-wise. We have a cow-calf operation, Black Angus with some cross-breeding thrown in for good measure (that’s called adding hybrid vigor, and it’s a good thing.) We think this home stretch of our marathon will find us continuing to raise good quality calves, which is what we market.

That’s our exterior life, in a nutshell. But what about the inside story? What has made it work? How have we managed to stick together when so many marriages fail (and we’ve sadly seen many of our friends succumb to that malady.) Our marriage has not been perfect, and sometimes it hasn’t been easy or even good. I daresay any couple who share a home and family this long will say the same thing. The road we’ve been running over has had its share of potholes, curves and steep hills to navigate, and even some deep chasms to cross.

If we have had one single thing going for us, it is commitment. When we said “I do,” we meant it. We meant that we would stick it out, no matter what. If we weren’t going to do that, we’d never have married in the first place. That commitment has been challenged, but it has held firm, thanks to a certain toughness on the part of each of us, a family that supported that commitment, and the knowledge that it was RIGHT to stick it out.

We were married by a very dear man, Wiley McGhee, who is still living…and ministering sometimes…at the age of 97 years. He told us, when we counseled with him before the wedding, that we would face some tough times, but that God would see us through if we’d do our part. Dear Wiley was so right. God has seen us through, when we were too blinded by our own issues or problems to see the way. We trusted Him to do that, and He has not failed us. Our commitment, bound by a promise made before God and entrusted to Him when we didn’t have the answers, has held us together. It has helped us learn to build bridges across the chasms in the road of this marathon we’re in, and we walk across them together.

Where are we, forty years later, besides in the cattle business? We’ve grown up considerably, but in many ways we still feel just like those two kids who stepped out on blind faith in 1970. We look older but we still look good to each other. We spend most of our days in constant contact (farmboys and farmgirls work closely together) and we still enjoy each other’s company (most of the time.) We appreciate the good qualities in each other and have learned to divide up the responsibilites, based on each other’s strengths. I’d say we complement each other.

                                      (September, 2009)

Where are we going, then? I hope we have forty more years to find out! We’ve had surprises already, and who knows? There may be more in store for us. But wherever it is we’re headed, one thing I know…with God’s continued blessing, we’re going together.

P.S. I hope we go to ALASKA this year! That’s my wish for our 40th anniversary! Not a shabby wish, eh? I’ll keep you posted….

POINTS TO PONDER:

*Massachusetts voters have more gumption than I thought.

*Do we really need legislation to control the size of ginormous banks? Couldn’t we simply have let them prune themselves by never coining the phrase “bank bailout?” Or maybe they would have even been weeded out, as all thorny issues need to be. And would that have really been such a disaster, after all? “They sky is falling, the sky is falling!” cried all the little financial experts.

*How can anyone choose to live in California?

*The Cardinals’ new hitting coach came through with his confession a bit late in the game. Does a steroid user shrink back to normal size once he quits the dope? McGwire still looks huge to me.

*Considering the number of top media celebrities who have been in Haiti this week reporting on the devastation, would it better serve the afflicted to hand out the water, food and other amenities the “stars” are using up? We could all have heard the news if ONE reporter had gone in. Perhaps the big networks could cooperate and take turns sending someone in?

*Bad things happen to good people; we all know this.Thankfully, that coin has a positive, flip side. It says, bad times can bring out the good in people. The economic downturn of the last couple of years has forced some Americans to rethink their habits, spending and otherwise. Instead of growing their credit card balance, some families have taken to growing a garden. Instead of buying designer clothes, some people are now designing and sewing their own clothing, and they’re having fun doing it. Families are cooking together and eating at home, finding out that once they’ve tried real food, fast food five nights a week now makes them sick. Table games are enjoying a huge resurgence in popularity, among kids of all ages. Libraries are busier than ever, and bowling alleys are once again the cool place to hang out. I hope it all lasts.

*Bullets (*this kind*) are fun.

That’s enough of my self-absorbed pontificating for today….now, back to my knitting….I’ve got the coolest new scarf pattern, and I’m on rendition number 3.

Oh, I hear someone knocking…

                                    …later, fellow xangans.

Requiem for a Good Friend

This is not something I want to write. As you know, I like to keep things light and upbeat. But sometimes life intervenes.

This morning we learned that we lost a good friend last night. We knew this was inevitable, but still, it really took us by surprise because we weren’t expecting it anytime soon. But just last week Stan and I noted that Tex was taking on the look of an “old man.” He was whiskery and gray around his muzzle, and he didn’t hold his head up as alertly as he once did. When the other horses frisked around, he stood aside and watched rather than taking part in the fun. And although the horses have access to shelter, perhaps the extreme cold of the last couple of days was just too much. This morning when Stan went outside, he found his old friend gone.

(Lucky is the white one….Tex, a quarter horse, turned black in the fall when he put on his winter coat. In the spring when he shed it off, he was lighter, a color called bay. In either color, he was beautiful, with strong hindquarters and deep withers…what you want in a cow horse.)

I don’t know how many times I’ve heard, “Tex is the best horse I’ve ever had.” And this cowboy meant it. Horses on our place have to earn their keep, and the livin’ aint easy. The ground is rough and rocky, and hollers are steep and deep. But Tex was always sure-footed and had plenty of go when he needed it, even heading straight up. 

     (Tex turned 20 last June, about the time this picture was taken)

We always suspected Tex had a hard start to life. He was probably ten years old by the time he came to live on the Diamond T. He always refused to be shod on his back feet and seemed unable to completely bend his back legs as he should have been able to do. Some early injury was lasting. But no matter…he always got the job done, bare hooves on the rear notwithstanding.

This is my favorite picture of Tex. It was taken in December, on a cold winter’s morning. He was really gettin’ it, head up and lookin’ sharp, going after a wily calf that didn’t want to be penned. Few horses have real cow sense…Tex did. That’s the highest compliment a horse can receive around this place. He had a lot of fun doing his job. That gives us comfort in this time of loss…that, and knowing that he was well cared for and loved.

Peace ride with you, Tex. May your pastures be green, the waters clear and cool, and the trail smooth…we sure will miss you.

AN ODE TO PANTYHOSE AND ELECTRIC CURLERS (or, Some Newfangled Things I Really, Really Like)

Do you remember when pantyhose were invented? That must be a red-letter day in the mind of every girl who endured garter belts or girdles to hold up stockings. Liberating…truly liberating…is what they were! I remember feeling quite extravagant and worrying about runs, but it was surely worth it, for the unsurpassed comfort.

And about the same time, along came another life-transforming invention. In a single day, after paying $12 at Katz Drug Store in Springfield, I went from endless nights of not being able to sleep because of having my stick-straight hair rolled on excruciating metal brush rollers (and let’s not forget the painful, dented head that ached all the next day; perhaps I owe my propensity for headaches to sleeping on those durned brush rollers) to a simple, 15-minute morning routine with electric curlers. So simple…just plug them in, let them warm up and then wind the hair around the heated rods…voila! Instant curls with no pain! It was so good to sleep again.

I must say that those two innovations surely ranked right up there in importance with other landmarks events of that era, such as man walking on the moon and the invention of the calculator and the invasion of the Beatles. I really, really liked pantyhose and electric curlers and what they did for me.

Today I’m thinking appreciatively of a few current things that I really, really like. I would almost go so far as to say I love them…but let’s save that for more important notions. Let’s just say LIKE to a high degree….exponential like, as time goes by. The more I use them, the more I like them.

In the kitchen, there is my handy mini-chopper. This is really a sweet little device, much like a food processor except small. I had a food processor, and the clean up was large. So I neglected it. The clean up for this is small. I use it mainly for nuts, and mainly that would be pecans, my favorite. I use lots of nuts in cooking, and it takes a matter of about five seconds to chop up a cupful of nuts with this handiest of little appliances. It does plug into an outlet, so it does require electricity. But it is surely worth the milli-kilowatt it uses. I really, really like this mini-chopper. And I do use it for more than nuts…

Now let’s go to the living room where we keep our television, and find connected to it a DVD player. While I’m not a huge tech fan, I do really like what this player does….it lets me be really choosy about what I watch. Hand in hand with this item is Netflix. I can choose from thousands of DVDs and be very picky. That’s what I am, when it comes to television and movies. I’m very critical and generally don’t like network television, except for a few things on public television. So this way I can have good quality entertainment when I want it. Can’t beat having it my way! I really, really like the service provided by Netflix.

Among DVDs, there are some good ones out there for children that this adult also appreciates.

Last summer while in Colorado, I picked up two new ones for my grandchildren. Lost in the Woods and Stranger in the Woods are both simply delightful! I’m thinking of giving one to a friend for his birthday…he is far from childhood but loves the outdoors and nature and will appreciate the clever way these short but totally charming films are done. But I digress…

Beside our bed is a stack of books that I keep handy. When it gets low, I must replenish for I’m desperately afraid of running out of something good to read. I read only at night, when I go to bed, and since my farmboy falls asleep before I do, it’s important to not disturb his rest. I really, really like my little purple clip-on book light…very bright and does a good job for me. I’m so thankful it isn’t a kerosene lamp that I must read by.

But I really, really do like kerosene lamps! The glow from them is so soft and becoming to everything and everyone. I know I look better by lamplight…the wrinkles and skin spots recede and, hopefully, an aura of romanticism appears (wishful thinking?)

In this window, I have gathered together the ones I’ve collected and been given, and from Christmas to New Year’s I kept them lit at night. I like to think of how welcoming it must look to passersby. But here I’ve digressed again…these lamps are not newfangled things. I’m such a digressor, especially where old things are concerned….

Back to modern stuff. Under the stairs sits my favorite household cleaning aid. I really, really like my sweeper. It’s a Dyson, bought on the recommendation of another xangan who told the truth. I like seeing how much it picks up and I like its power. My old Electrolux, bought in 1975, was a dandy, but it died. I bought a new one in the 1990s, and it just wasn’t the same. The Dyson, now a year old, has yet to disappoint me. Keep up the good work, Dy!

Now I’d like to hear about some things you really, really like. What am I missing out on? Perhaps there are some newfangled…or just unknown to me….things that I need to learn about in this new year. Something along the lines of a self-dusting something or other, a mop with a motor on it, or a self-propelled iron?

It’s January 2, and I’m wondering how many New Year’s resolutions have already been forgotten, mere hours after they were made. A promise whispered to oneself is so easily not kept. Who would know? What would be the consequences? Who would feel let down? It’s no big deal, right? Easily spoken, as easily broken. Perhaps it is better to simply not make them, if they are, in the end, meaningless?

And just look at the big picture. A glance back upon the last couple of years brings visions of turmoil and unrest in our country, the troubling insecurity of the financial market, the rumors…and reality…of war, the threat of a fragile, crumbling environment, a picture of a government riddled with corruption and lies…No resolve on one individual’s part will make a whit of difference in light of those monumental concerns.

So, maybe it is easier and better to skip the New Year’s resolutions this year. What difference does a little self-improvement make, if the rest of the planet is going somewhere in a handbag?

That is what some would have you believe. I don’t believe that. I do believe we need times, situations and occasions that inspire us to look into our hearts and lives honestly, to see the gaps and holes, sore spots and weak places. Then we feel the desire to make vows of renewal, promises of improvement, to find hope for healing and to make a commitment to change. Would we do this without a New Year’s Day? An anniversary? A birthday or other milestone occasion? Without these specially-marked, set-aside-on-the-calendar dates, the busyness and routine of ordinary life would consume the hours, days and months, even the years.

We need a little Christmas…and New Year’s…and the 50th anniversary party and the Fourth of July…and Thanksgiving. We need a calendar day…right this very minute…that reminds us to resolve to try harder, to lose that extra 15 pounds, to finally give up those cigarettes, to get up 30 minutes earlier each morning to read a really good Book, to get outside and get walking, to get a grip on our finances, to really commit to living greener, to look around for ways to help our neighbors in need, to…fill up those gaps and heart-holes, heal the sort spots and strengthen the weak ones. We need special occasions…or we won’t do it.

So, what is my New Year’s resolution this year? I’m only making a single one, and this is it. I’ve realized how much I need some self-rejuvenating time in my regular schedule, no matter what. And where do I find that precious healing? I find it in my sewing room and I find it when I put words on paper (so to speak, for this looks like a piece of paper I’m typing on.) But weeks and weeks go by when I don’t sit down to write or sew, and those are the times when I begin to feel my life spin out of control. So, for 2010, there will be specific notations on my calendar for sewing and writing. Pens and needles. I need them as much as I need food and water and exercise and spiritual sustenance. And so I resolve to find time for them, in the same way, by making them a priority.

Happy New Year to each of you, my xanga friends!