There have been several times over the past couple of weeks when I thought "I should take the time to blog about that . . . ". I should have told y'all about the three ring circus when 4 grown men brought 11 calves, just days old and not yet weaned, home. 4 grown men + 4 bottles of formula + 11 calves . . . . well I think you can do the math and can probably imagine the mayhem.

I could have told y'all about the heartbreak of being a farmer as one by one our frolicking herd of frisky calves succumbed to "shipping fever" and we're down to four "hopefuls" and one good strong heifer (she'd already been weaned and has been getting her fill of hay).

I could have told y'all about the tornado-like storm that passed through our area just over a week ago that took down our huge apple tree and an even bigger cedar tree but literally skirted around our house. I should have told y'all how grateful I am that our Lord and Savior saw fit to place a hedge of protection around our home and our animals.

All of those things would have made good posts. There could have been some laughs and some tears. My days are so full with work and home, though, that by the time I could sit down at the computer, I honestly just didn't have the energy. I either had the energy to stop by and read some of your posts OR the energy to write a post. Selfishly on my part, I chose to read yours!

Today, however, something happened that has me stirred to the very center of my being. Something that makes me want to climb over boxes and dig through the furniture in our storage room in search of my beloved needle point stool. Some of you may not be familiar with my needle point stool. Some of you actually have one of your own. Being vertically challenged, I use my stool to help me reach for things like the loving awards I've received throughout my blogging journey. This time, however, my needlepoint stool would serve as my soapbox. Just high enough that I might be seen. Just padded enough to comfort my feet as I voice my concerns. Just low enough to keep me from sustaining permanent injury in case someone should decide to knock me off. This is something I can't talk to "just anyone" about because not everyone would understand. However, you my dear friends, have proven that I can trust you with my feelings and that whether or not you may agree with me, you'll still love me with the same unconditional love that you've shown me over the past 18 +- months of my blogging journey.

Today, when we should have all been celebrating the good fortune that has been given to a deserving young person allowing them the opportunity to break the familial cycle they've been born into, I witnessed some of the most blatant displays of prejudice, scorn, bigotry, envy, pride, disgust . . . . and although I hesitate to say the word . . . . hatred. All targeted at someone most had never set eyes on. All based on opinions. Opinions about why that person should be given this and why that person should be able to do that and why that person . . . . And when one extremely immature, but very opinionated voice asked "well, would you want your daughter/son to date or marry someone like THAT?" I bit back the response "I would be proud to have my son/daughter date or marry someone like that, it's people like YOU I would hope they have the sense to steer clear of!" Then I got to wondering - is it just here in this place in this culture that people react in this manner? Would someone from the slums of Philadelphia or the streets of Miami or the poorest section of any city in any state in the union who had been given the opportunity to brush the dust of a life filled with poverty and drugs and hopelessness from their clothes and with the generosity of many break the cycle that has been a part of their family for generations have received the same scorn? Then deeper thought brought me to the realization that YES some people would chose to find fault rather than embrace the wonderful gift that has been given to this person. Then, upon even deeper thought, I realized that the Person who has been scorned for centuries because of His lowly beginnings has been the center of many heated arguments and even wars over the years is the King of Kings. He couldn't be the Messiah. He couldn't be the Savior. After all His "parents" weren't even married and he was born in a barn. Families and nations have been divided over this issue for years. I guess there's not going to be an easy resolution to today's rift amongst co-workers, is there?

So, my friends, as I breath a sigh and carefully step down off of my needlepoint stool, I ask for nothing more than your prayers. Prayers for a peaceful work place. Prayers for a very deserving young person. Prayers for those whose hearts are so hardened.


Blessings from The Creek y'all!

An expectant mother . . . .

Twenty years ago last weekend I was sitting in Plant City Florida eating strawberry shortcake with my mother and my Aunt Margie and Uncle Bill who were visiting mother from Pennsylvania. Among other things, we talked about the excitement of my pregnancy and that it would only be a few weeks before I'd get to see my bundle of joy for the first time.

Last weekend, I sat in the bleachers at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, with my husband by my side as we waited expectantly for my son - that unnamed bundle of joy I held so close to my heart twenty years earlier, and waited so expectantly for - to march across the parade field as he graduated from basic training.

The joy I felt last weekend was no more or no less intense than what I felt twenty years ago. Just different. Tears still clouded this expectant mother's eyes as I waited for my son to march past me - just as they did twenty years ago as I waited for him to arrive. This time, though, there was pride in my heart. Pride in knowing that my unnamed bundle of joy of twenty years ago has grown into a fine young man. A young man who has made his mother proud and whom I have no doubt will make his country proud.

The kind of story you WISH they'd show on the evening news . . .

Last Friday morning, on our way to take our handsome soldier to the airport, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel in Lake City, KY for breakfast. I left the table for a few minutes to look around the gift shop while we were waiting for our food to arrive. While I was gone, a sweet little girl who had evidently been sitting at the table behind us came up to our table and presented Ryan with an envelope. Ryan said she had the sweetest smile on her face. He thanked her and she skipped away. When he opened the envelope this is what he found . . . .

Inside the card was a gift card for Cracker Barrel that we found out later the little girl had purchased with her own money. A selfless act. A child who has obviously been taught that our service men are not to be scorned - that they are making a sacrifice to keep us all safe. A family I wish I'd had the chance to meet and thank in person. Thank you Smith Family! The card is hanging proudly on the bulletin board in my son's barracks so his entire platoon could be blessed as much as he was by your kindness.

Into each life some rain must fall . . .

A belated MERRY CHRISTMAS and a very HAPPY NEW YEAR to everyone. I'm beginning to think that someone hit the fast-forward button on my life over the past few weeks. December was over before I really had the idea that it had begun. We were incredibly busy at work. Then there was the church cantata, Sunday school Christmas party, office Christmas party . . .well y'all know how it goes. Add to that the fact that we didn't know until just a few days before Christmas whether or not we were going to have the money to pay the mortgage or the utility bills never mind do any kind of Christmas shopping due to a broken contract on the part of the people who bought our business and most of you can guess what my frame of mind was for most of the month. Although I tried my hardest not to let everything get my spirits down, there were a few occasions where I turned in to Ms. Scrooge McGrinch and I was not thinking kind thoughts about certain people. At other times, I had a difficult time stopping the hormone-stress-holiday induced water works. The only thing that kept me from sinking into that deep, dark pit of depression was knowing that my son would be joining us for Christmas.

Ryan got here on December 23 at about 9PM safe and sound. We sat and talked until about midnight, catching up on all the news he brought with him from Florida. At about 2:30AM on the 24th, something woke me up. I stepped out of bed into a puddle. I was just about ready to have me a little talk with a couple little puppies when I heard Gracie drinking water . . . in the hallway . . . and her water bowl is waaaay out in the kitchen. After stopping long enough to step into my fuzzy slippers (did you know that fuzzy slippers can hold up to 5 times their weight in water) I walked out into the hallway into about an inch of water. I followed the water trail down the hall, into the living room and out into the kitchen. It wasn't raining. We're not in a flood zone. There was NOOOOO way that the beaver dam had backed up THAT far and God had promised not to destroy the world again with a flood. By that time, hubby had gotten up to see why all the lights were on and after he waded down hallway-creek, he discovered that the housing from our water filter system under the kitchen sink had cracked off at the threads. Once the water was turned off, the clean-up began. We used towels and the shop vac - something that led me to wonder exactly how safe our borders are when a National Guardsman slept through an hour of sucking water up off the floor - part of it in his bedroom - before we woke him up to help move furniture out of the way so we could pull up the carpet and pad in the bedrooms! We discovered that the kitchen, half the living room, the hallway and all three bedrooms had sustained some sort of water damage. Of course we couldn't tell the full amount of damage until everything started drying out and the brand new hardwood floors started cracking and curling and the sub floor in the bedrooms started dipping and curling between the floor joists. The good news is that hubby and I are both card carrying procrastinators. We had set a goal of having all the new hardwood floor down by Christmas. The kitchen had been done for a couple of months and by Thanksgiving weekend we had taken up the rest of the ceramic tile in the living room and hallway. But with hunting season and other obligations getting in the way, as well as the emotional turmoil we'd been going through, only a strip about 2 feet wide of hardwood had been installed. I had to be at work by 8:00 and by the time I got home at around 2:00, hubby and wonderful son had fans going and boxes moved and just about everything under control. Sure, everything is a mess, but everyone is alright, the house is livable and the insurance company has already sent an adjuster out to assess the damage. It looks like they're going to pay for the labor to unistall and reinstall the kitchen cabinets, uninstall and re-install the floors, replace the damaged sub floor and replace the carpet and padding in the bedrooms. So, looking on the bright side, hubby won't have to do the labor, the floors will be done and we'll be able to move the rest of our furniture into the house and unpack some of these boxes a lot sooner than expected!

Despite the flood, we spent a wonderful 10 days with Ryan. He and Tony got to do some target shooting and some hiking and exploring along the upper part of our property,they fenced in part of the back yard for the canine crew (something hubby wasn't able to do by himself). We went to see a movie one night. I got to cook some of Ryan's favorite meals. All in all, it wasn't the holiday I had envisioned, but you know what? I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas!

Blessings from the creek, y'all!

It flurried this morning. It was a perfect day to stay inside close to a crackling fire, doing nothing in particular. So that's just what I did. A dear friend called me this morning and we chatted for quite a while - catching up on our respective moves and our new lives and reminiscing a little about our lives as they were just a few months ago. I pulled out a few Christmas decorations and decorated the mantle and kitchen table and hung a nostalgic decoration on the kitchen wall - we're in the process of redoing the living room floor so I'm not ready to put up a tree yet. I played with the pups. Brigitte and I snuggled up in the bed for a nap. We baked an apple pie and put a pan of lasagna in the oven. We've watched a little college football and have just enjoyed a lazy day. Life just doesn't get much better than this!

Blessings from the creek y'all!

Thanksgiving Blessings From Goldens Creek!

I've learned some new things this week. Things that are easily forgotten after living in Florida for 30 years. I've learned that one must allow at least 10 minutes in the morning for the car to defrost - unless one is ingenious enough to think of using a plastic putty knife to scrape the frost off of the windows (which by the way works extremely well). I've learned that horses that sleep standing up outside in the pasture (yes we have a barn, but they choose to stay outside) will have a layer of snow on their backs in the morning and it doesn't even phase them. I've learned that a puppy (or a grown dog) will not have to go outside to do their business until well after dark when the cold wind is blowing and the temperature has dropped to 25 degrees or less.

Speaking of the puppies . . . it's been a bittersweet week here at the creek. The puppies have weaned themselves! They no longer require or want bottle feeding every few hours. I was actually a little depressed at that idea until I realized that although they have become very independent in their own little way, they still enjoy snuggle time in the evenings - something both my hubby and I relish. Speaking of my hubby, I've learned to read him like a book! He got that "far away look" in his eyes the the other night during puppy snuggle time. I knew he was thinking of our old friend Buck and how much little Clyde's personality reminded him of Buck. So, being the sentimental old fool that I am, I asked him if he wanted a puppy for Christmas. He just grinned and proceeded to tell Clyde that he didn't think Clyde was a suitable name and has renamed him Buster. Now tell me, who has who wrapped around their little finger (or paw as the case may be)?



Our little lost beagle found a new home this week too. We think she may be in the family way, so we had decided to take her to the animal shelter. We didn't feel that we could handle the responsibility of litter of puppies in the dead of winter. Evidently the volunteer at the animal shelter has a soft spot for beagles, so she was going home with him. Whew! Now if we can just keep the neighborhood dogs from dropping off their stray friends on our doorstep . . . . .

Blessings from the creek ya'll!