Indiana Summer

Two weeks ago little Abe and I went on a five hour trip south with my mom and my sister. We found ourselves in southern Indiana where many of my mom's relatives live and also where my grandparents lived when I was a kid. When I agreed to go on the trip with my mom and sister I wasn't really sure what I was signing on to. I haven't seen the majority of my relatives in Indiana since my grandmother's funeral eleven years ago. In a way they're almost like strangers. Between five of my cousins there are at least ten children in the family in southern Indiana that I'd never met. Is it weird for me to have been a little nervous about visiting my own family?

When I was a kid I remember dreading the drive down there. It was about an hour longer back then but for as old as I was and as annoying as my brothers could be it seemed more like a fifty hour drive then like the six hour drive it actually was. But the six hour drive also meant that we were going to visit my grandparents and their wilderness wonderland. For that I'd make the excruciating trip again and again. I know that at least once my parents dropped my brothers and I off at my grandparent's house and left us there for a portion of the summer. The three of us were free to roam the thirty two wilderness acres, investigate the gardens, swim in and fish in the ponds, and for hours on end enjoy every single bit of what it meant to be a kid.

Grandmother and Grandpa with
one of my aunts (their first born)

 I'm convinced that my intense love for nature started after those six hour drives in the summer as a kid. I hold very dear some of my fondest childhood memories from my Indiana summers. I remember so clearly the adventures my brothers and I had with our cousins in those clay bottom ponds. Visions of us swinging from grape vines over ravines in the woods have never left me. I remember firefly evenings and the smells that always came from my grandparents kitchen. I remember my grandpa taking us for amusement park like rides in his little tractor which he fondly referred to as Little Mack. Sometimes if I close my eyes and think hard enough I can smell the cigar smoke, Indiana clay aroma, and sawdust that mingled together in their garage. And how prim and proper both of my grandparents were, our grammar was always corrected, no running in the house, and no hats were allowed at the table.

Their home in Indiana shorty after it was built,
with only a small corner of the bigger pond showing.

After my parents divorced my grandparents sold their home in Indiana so they could move next door to my mom, their youngest. The property had housed their dream home. They built the house and spent their retirement working on the land. It meant a lot for them to move away from so much of their family that they'd spent so many years near and to leave behind their home. They did it to be with us, with my mom. Unfortunately my grandpa passed during the move. It was weird how in a very few short years during my adolescence I lost my family (when my parents divorced I felt like I lost my mom and my dad), I lost sight of who I was and all self confidence, I lost my favorite place in the world (my grandparent's home in Indiana), and I lost my grandpa. I mean talk about childhood being ripped away all at once.

My grandparent's have both been gone for a long time now. Eleven years ago my grandmother very happily departed in her sleep. She was ready. She missed my grandpa so very much. And more then twenty years ago my grandpa left us far, far too soon. It's been close to twenty five years since I last felt the magic, the safety, the love, and the very meaning of what it is to live while at my grandparent's home in Indiana. I've lamented that loss ever since.

Back to where I started, two weeks ago, seven hours after I got out of work including one rather exhausting five hour car ride later little Abe, my sister, my mom and I found ourselves in southern Indiana at my aunts house in the country. The sky was a dark nigh time expanse, clear as could be and speckled with millions of stars. Crickets were chirping, tree frogs were singing. In the darkness I could smell my grandparents home (although we were no where near it actually).

We spent the next three days reuniting with wonderful family. Except for the new children and the years we each wore (everyone looks so much older, including us to them) it was like time hadn't really passed. My mom's family are so kind and inviting. They're so down to earth and real. They're just as I remembered them and better.

A bridge my cousin built over a
fantastic stone bottom creek.

Between the five different homes we visited and the (literal) hundreds of acres combined that surrounded the homes, the three separate ponds, fish, the wilderness trails, dogs, goats, goat dogs... lets just say my Indiana family is living my grandparents Indiana legacy. I was in heaven. One morning my sister and I sat on my aunt's porch enjoying paradise for two hours while little Abe played in the wonderful hot end of summer sunshine.

This little man had the time of his life
(and made several new furry friends)

Little Abe took tractor rides through the forests, skipped rocks in the creek, threw fish food to catfish, watched Doug the dog try to catch fish, oh yeah while he was swimming in the ponds with Doug and Cooper (another dog). He also swam and played with new cousins he'd never met before. He ran around outside barefoot for hours on end. He climbed trees, watched a plethora of different birds and butterflies, and truly enjoyed the beauty of hundreds of different flowers. Apart from the fireflies I remember as a child that were apparently out of season and swinging from grape vines (which I'm okay with him not having done) he spent three days in southern Indiana almost exactly as I remember it. It was the biggest blessing in the world for me to witness my son enjoying exactly what I remember so fondly enjoying when I was a child.

During the last evening there we had a big family cookout. Seeing everyone was wonderful. Enjoying the Indiana wilderness, and more than that, watching my son revel in adventure was priceless. The vacation away from home to just relax, with family, in so much beauty... it was basically like being at a cabin in the woods by a small lake for three days which I never ever get to do, was amazing! But most of all I regained something vastly precious that had been lost to me for almost twenty five years. Even though my grandparent's home in Indiana is essentially gone (no longer in the family; I can't go back and be with them there) I felt like I was there. And spending time with my aunt who looks (and acts) SOOOO much like my grandmother in her "mature" years, visiting with cousins that remind me of my grandpa, being with family that we mostly have only been with and around through my grandparents... I think the best way to say it is that pieces of my grandparents are in all of their children and grandchildren and great grand children and I could feel that while we were down there visiting. My grandparents have both been gone for eleven years, plus, but they were there. My cup runneth over. 

I am happy

This year feels weird. It feels hopeful but weird. Maybe it's just the way I'm interpreting the fresh feeling of newness that virtually every January holds. After all we're only eleven days in and I've been focusing not on cleaning my home, nor on losing weight, or any other respectable task but instead I've been focusing on laughter. I imagine that could give this brand new year a feeling of hopefulness. Whatever the case it has one.

My husband and I seem to be on the same page in many areas. There's nothing normal about that. When they say opposites attract they were talking about him and me. There's something really fresh and new and revitalizing about this place of strange unity. I feel like little Abe is at a place, at an age where so many huge new beginnings lie before him. He's getting so smart so fast. He's getting so aware so fast. He's able to do so many things so much more fully. It's mind boggling to witness. I'm in awe of him.

Also, in terms of myself I feel so calm. I think my job was giving me so much anxiety for so long, and my health suffered as a result. Now that I'm feeling content and peaceful in my daily life I can feel my back pain decreasing. I can feel strength finally starting to build up in my back after so long of feeling almost cripple (something I try and not speak of often on the blog). I'm finding more motivation for little things, granted that has a lot to do with back pain decreasing. It seems that progress can now be made in so many areas that have been stagnant for a long time.

And I'm excited. I'm excited to live each day as it comes. I'm excited for every tiny beauty. I'm excited for all things new. I'm excited for the joy that can be had in simplicity. I'm excited just to be. There's a really lovely calm amidst the excitement and I think it's what they call happy. I am happy.

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Food groceries $8.11 (Mon & Tues)

Average daily spending for 2017: $20.87

The hoarder and the aftermath

Two doors down lived a hoarder. In just a few short years he filled the entire house with things, floor to ceiling. He filled the entire garage with things. When the three story home and garage were packed to the brim he began to fill the backyard with things.

The hoarder rode a bicycle around town all day and brought back loads of street corner finds, dumpster finds... I don't think he purchased any of his hoard, or at least not much of it but he spent seemingly his every waking hour on collecting.

Despite how important the things seemed to be his home began to crumble. Weed trees along the edges of the house and garage started to grow into the roof. Portions of the hoard barely contained in the front porch began to push out windows. The hoard had officially taken over. That's when the city stepped in.

The city cleaned up the outside hoard two times, billed him for it, and then I hear they put a warrant out for his arrest for not meeting a court date. He moved out when he got in trouble. We (the nosy neighbors) don't know where he went but I've seen him riding his bike around town with bags full of things dangling from the handle bars. I can only assume he's now collecting at a new residence.

I know his sister took responcibity at one point. I'm not sure if she was trying to get him out of trouble but for several weekends in a row she had a dumpster brought to the house. Men who worked with her husband were hired by her to clean out the kitchen. Several dumpsters later the kitchen was emptied.

I watched as the bank put a foreclosure notice on the front door. Weeks later, now in the frigged cold of winter a group of people are clearing the house out once again. I don't know who they are, if they bought the house at auction, if they were hired by the bank or the city; This time they're getting rid of everything. From morning to night for the past three days they've been filling big black garbage bags with the hoard and throwing them into the backyard. It's been awhile since the backyard pile was in place but the enormous pile of black bags is familiar to us neighbors, even though they've a very different purpose now.

Not once, as far as I know, not once did the hoarder himself get rid of anything. He collected. He stored. He worked feverishly to fill every inch of the home with stuff, with things, to insulate it with collecting. Yet now, tireless hour after tireless hour, through the smell (I've seen many face masks sported over there), and the filth, through the horrible neglect and pointless piles the collection has been removed by so many different people who I can only guess detested the chore.

The whole scene hits me in a strange way since I spent eleven years of my life in a home that collected its own hoard. After the bank foreclosed on that house it was demolished. But I can still remember the stench. So many of my childhood relics were lost to that house. I despised that place. I'm glad it's gone. But watching the scene two doors down I can't help but feel bad for the hoarder. I honestly feel really bad for him but somewhere inside I'm also furious at the disease, I'm furious that so many other's have had to clean up his mess. There's no reason for it. There's NO good reason these people should have to be wasting hours of their lives over there, with those big black bags, and dumpster after dumpster. Something about it infuriates me.

This is where I take the scenes I've watched play out two doors down over the past few years and think about myself. I can't help but wonder if there's anything that I collect, anything that someone else has to clean up after. The first thing that comes to mind is how ridiculously opinionated I am towards my husband's family. It's almost as if I collect opinions that I won't let budge, opinions that do taint me like the hoard pushing out the windows on the front porch at the hoarder house. And I think my husband is the one that has to clean up after my collection. Maybe clean up isn't the right expression but in a way he has to deal with the weight of it. How much time do I waste on things that don't matter, things that just create messes and who ends up dealing with it in the end? Honestly though, that's just the first thing that comes to mind. I hope I'm not collecting things that others will ever have to clean up after.

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Sunday spending
Food groceries: $28.48

Thankful for 2016

I'm so very thankful for the contents of this past year. There were of course some things that were less than ideal. I think I spent less time with friends this year than many years past. Although, I did spend much more time with one of my many friends, a tender sweet soul who lives a few blocks away, has a son of her own who is close in age to little Abe, and she watches my son on Monday's when my husband and my work schedules overlap. So maybe in the grand scheme of things "friendship" time actually balanced out.

I'm also very out of shape. I did a horrid job of keeping track of spending for the second half of the year. The budget also suffered. And I would have liked to spend much more time with extended family. All in all, I think the list of "less than ideals" for 2016 is rather short and for that I'm thankful.

But, to return to where I began I'm very thankful for 2016. I'm thankful that my family is in good health, and specifically that both our aging dogs are still with us. Last Christmas Eve (2015) our eldest dog was diagnosed with diabetes. He was horribly ill and we thought we'd lose him (one month after saying good-bye to my precious kitty of 13 years). The insulin, syringes, and many vet visits to treat the diabetes this past year have been a financial burden but our boy Bozzy is in very good health, holding out like a trooper and I can't express my gratitude at him still being in our lives. I'm under no allusions about him no longer being around sooner than later but as of now he is still here. We love him as much as ever. His eye sight is barely remaining (from the insulin) but regardless he is very healthy, happy, and he is ours. I'm thankful for a year of life.

It can be bittersweet watching a young child, your only son, your "baby" growing like a weed, or shall I say like a tomato plant. I look at my son who seems to grow two inches taller each night in his sleep and I'm not sure where this young man came from and where my baby boy went to but I am so thankful for his growth this past year. I'm thankful to have been witness to all the things he learned, to all that he experienced. I'm thankful that my once baby can now count to 50 (and is on his way to 100), knows all of the letters, letter sounds, and can write his own name. I consider it a blessing that we read 970 books together this year. I'm constantly amazed at his witty conversations and the world of imagination that he often lives in. I'm thankful for a year of growth.

I can't say that it wasn't a whirlwind of discomfort but I'm incredibly thankful for mine and my husband's job changes this year. With a high level of terror I walked away from my job of 12.5 years, a job with rapidly increasing stress, disorganization, and frustration. I honestly dreaded leaving for work each day. I dreaded the weekly new projects riddled with poor instructions and ridiculous time constraints. The new job is one, for the past six months, I haven't once dreaded going to. I'm already making more money then I had been, work a consistent set schedule close to home (which is the exact opposite of what I had been doing), and I feel highly appreciated for the work I do. The change is night and day different in every way possible (except that the actual work of both jobs is very similar). My husband is a million times happier in his new position at a different store and we still haven't need for childcare (except for 1.5 hours on Monday). I'm thankful for a year of wonderful changes!

As far as all of my own little projects go, I'm so thankful for this year's garden, my third go at it. It was again overflowing with fun and so very fruitful. I feel I learned a lot more through this year's gardening experience AND my life was so much more enriched through it. Another project I'm quite happy with this year was my attempt to take at least one photo each day. The file on my computer containing all the selected photos has just over 300 pictures in it. Thus, I clearly came short of my goal but it's a project I will definitely repeat in the new year. I LOVE looking back at the photos spanning the year. I have multiple photos of little Abe playing with his friends, visiting with his relatives, multiple photos of him and me, of him and my husband, of all three of us (and the dogs), of little Abe doing projects, crafts, ect;. We have photos of the many places/ outings we went on. There are so many photos I would have not taken if it weren't for the point of having a photo for the day. Possibly more than any other THING I acquired this past year I'm thankful for the collection of photos that document the life we lived in 2016. I'm thankful for a year of fun and enriching experiences.

Wishing you all an enriching new year in 2017!

Happy New Year!!!

One Hundred and Fifty Six Books

Over the past year and a half little Abe and I kept track of all the books we read together in a book log from our local library. The log was supplied through a program called "1000 Books Before Kindergarten." I love reading to him (even though it takes carving out time to do). He loves books, discovering new books, and re-reading over, and over, and over all of his favorites. The book log was a fun exercise for many reasons but I really believe that keeping track of the books we read encouraged us to read more often.

I picked up a little journal from the dollar store after the "1000 books" log was filled. So I'm still recording all the books we read together. Some days we read upwards of ten. Some days we only read one story, a book before bed. I record each chapter we read from any chapter book as a single book since reading a single chapter takes considerably longer than reading a child's picture book.

On days that we've read only one or two books I always feel like such a slacker. Somewhere in the back of my mind I feel like we should be reading books all day long. I'm not sure how my mind sees that as a possibility since I do work, have to take care of our home, make meals, schedule play times for little Abe with friends, make sure he gets outside to play, let him watch television while he plays with toys, ect; Yeah, unrealistic mind of mine reading books all day long makes perfect sense!

While that little voice in the back of my mind is telling me that I've dropped the ball and we aren't reading nearly as much as we should our book log tells me that we've read 156 books in the past month. That averages out to almost 2000 books (or chapters read) in a year. Okay, so here's what I have to say to the unrealistic voice in my head saying "we need to be reading all the time," little voice, "We are rocking it. 156 books read in a month is better than 100, or 50, or 10, and I'll take it! I'll take it and I'm proud of it."

This past year, while I've dropped the ball in recording the daily spending, and I haven't been reading books to my kid every minute of every day, and I don't take the dog's for a walk every day as I'd like to... yeah, I could go on and on... I've also grown a lot in that I've started talking back to that voice of failure. My best, even if my best is far from perfection, my best is enough. I think I've been trying to tell myself  this for a very long time but the failure voice has always been louder. This year I've really started to believe that I'm doing good enough. I am not perfect. I can't do it all. There will always be huge short comings but I keep striving, I keep trying harder, I keep setting goals I can't actually reach AND my best is enough. 156 books was last month's best and I think we rocked it.

It was a double layer yellow cake that I'm pretty sure I overbaked

Sometimes (maybe often times) I feel as though I've grown old way before my time. Or I'm actually much older then I allow myself to realize. Possibly I was born in the wrong era, or maybe I'm just crazy? I truly love doing things the more difficult way, taking the longer route, the opposite of saving time. In my kitchen I have the most basic utensils. I don't have a food processor or a stand mixer. I don't have a bread maker or a coffee maker (I use a coffee press) or even a microwave. And I practically adore baking and cooking from scratch. I love the feel of fresh dough in my hands. I'm giddy at watching a few basic ingredients come together to make something spectacular. There's a sense of accomplishment so great when pulling a hot dish from the oven, knowing exactly what went into every component, realizing how much time and how many steps that I personally poured into it, and then getting to enjoy the final product, flaws and all.

Little Abe and I were reading books the other day. We came across one we've read many, MANY times because we've had it all his life and it's a really simple book, easily keeps the attention of babies and toddlers. It's called "It's My Birthday" (Helen Oxenbury). A little boy discretely asks all of his animal friends to bake a cake with him for his birthday and in the end they all eat it together. The last page of the book has a recipe for a birthday cake. Little Abe didn't even realize the recipe was there. But as we finished the book I showed him the recipe and asked if he wanted to bake a cake.

He's been baking with me since he was little. Just recently I've been letting him crack eggs all by himself. And instead of me filling each measuring cup and him getting to dump the ingredients in he's been able to fill the cups on his own. He's yet to make a cake "all by himself" thus he was thrilled at the suggestion. He did all of the scooping, dumping, pouring, and egg cracking by himself. He did some of the mixing and a lot of tasting. Then we waited.

It was a double layer yellow cake that I'm pretty sure I over baked. It was quite dense, quite dry, and we frosted it with a minuscule amount of glaze on top of each layer (basically it didn't have frosting). I was certain that he wouldn't like it. We paired it with ice cream (that's why I didn't frost it) and he scarfed it down. He said it was delicious and he seemed thrilled. I'm not under any delusions that he loves dense dry cake but he made it on his own. It was a work of his own hands and there is truly something delicious about that. I honestly believe that life is so much more vibrant when it's our own hands that have shaped it.

The other day a close friend and I were talking along these lines (although in no way about baking). Life is filled with heartache and hardship. Sometimes the most basic aspects of our lives are just crap, whether it's a hard patch in parenting, a bad sickness, or a crap time at work, a co-worker (or boss) you absolutely hate, or a patch in your marriage where you're not sure you even recognize your spouse let alone like them. We're living in a society that preaches happiness and comfort. I'm all for being happy but the truth is that a lot of things in life are going to be very hard and not happy and we can't get away from that. Trying to always get away would be like spending your entire life running away from home. I think more often then not we just need to dig in and power through. But it's the little things that make the crap bearable, like pulling a home made decadent (not dry) chocolate cake out of the oven and slathering it with rich chocolate mousse. Or going for an adventure around the block with your four year old. Little things like watching sunsets and letting yourself really enjoy how beautiful they are or realizing that it's the long wispy grass along the roads time of year and then smiling the entire ride home from work as you gaze at the overgrowth dancing in the wind.

Baking from scratch, taking the long route, and enduring a hard patch in something that's truly meaningful to you can seem like the crazy thing but as long as there's light along the path, bits of intense joy that you wouldn't have known if you weren't on that path to begin with, and you stop to notice all the roses among the thorns then I dare say you're just as crazy as I am and that you're really living life. Seeing my kiddo enjoying the fruits of his labor, I dare say, that will never get old!

When Horrible Becomes Normal

Several people at work today asked me how I was liking the new job. My answer to all of them was, "I actually love it!" And frankly, those words were filled with sincerity and enthusiasm each time I said them.

I'm not sure that during my twenty some years of employment I have ever said, "I love my job." And yet today I said it at least four times. Work has always just been something that needs to be done for a pay check, you know. Now, don't go thinking that I've found myself some super fun, creative, dream career. Not in the least. My new job is a little weird, very busy, go, go go; it's almost exactly what I was doing before minus a lot of little awkward and messy details and all of the chaos.

Before I left my last job, before I buckled down and finally told myself that enough was enough I had completely gotten used to the disorganization, the horrible communication, and the obscene inconsistencies on a daily basis. I had gotten used to my hours being all over the spectrum. I had gotten used to constant stress and anxiety. I had gotten used to horrible. I knew that it was bad. I knew that it was getting worse. But it was my job. It had been my job for twelve and a half years, well over half of my working life and longer than all five of my other jobs combined.

Only today, after the fourth or fifth person had asked me how I was liking the new job, only after I answered with the utmost sincerity each time, "I actually love it!", only after I started to listen to myself say it and realize how refreshed, how revitalized, how excited I was to just be doing a regular job at one location for a company that strives to have all of their ducks in a row did I realize how truly normal horrible had become.

When horrible becomes normal it's virtually impossible to see it for what it truly is: not okay. I'm beyond words glad that I got out. June has truly, TRULY been filled to overflowing with sunshine!

Youth, Independence, and Pop

I was one of the first of my friends to get a drivers license. And only because I got mine the day I turned sixteen and for some reason several of my friends chose to wait. The friend group I spent almost every weekend with during those horribly awkward adolescent years was made up of about ten girls. After we could drive we added about six guys to the club.

Shortly before getting licenses, at the age of fourteen and fifteen we would walk downtown in all of our independence and glory and hang out at the local coffee shop. I grew up in an uppity college town, The coffee shop we frequented was a posh college hang out and we certainly felt mature whenever we were there. A few of my friends were drinking coffee, mocha's and lattes and cappuccinos by that time but I certainly was not. My mom said it stunted growth and I thought it was repulsive. But I did have a paper route (a source of income) and I loved to order the Italian creme sodas from JP's (that was our coffee shop).

To this day I've only ever had an Italian creme soda from that coffee shop in my hometown (a neighboring town to where I live now). Maybe they made the thing up, who knows but I loved that drink. They'd take club soda and add any syrup you'd like. I always chose strawberry. They'd top it off with half and half which sounds weird but it foamed up a lot like whip cream and slowly fell to the bottom as you drank it and it was heavenly. I'm fairly certain that whipped cream was then added to the top of it all as well.

Rhubarb cordial use #2

Flavoring for a Rhubarb Italian Soda

Lemon lime soda (I just didn't want to buy club soda)

a good splash of Rhubarb Cordial

Topped off with half and half

Perfection!

I know it looks like an alcoholic beverage in a weird fancy glass at a picnic. It's pop in my backyard. This pink soda perfectly represents independence in my youth. A time when my friends and I were wild and free (or so we thought), when life was chaotic to say the least (adolescence always is) but simple. This is the first time I've ever tried or thought to make this beverage at home and it turned out fantastic!

New Chapters can be terrifying, but the terrifying ones are sometimes why we keep reading

10:00 PM, June 5th, Sunday night.
Right now my story has me sitting in a quite room in front of my computer. Piano music is playing softly in the background and the dishwasher and old laptop are humming along. As the sun began to set only moments ago the sky turned ferociously dark and raindrops are now tapping on the tin siding. My loved ones are sleeping, aside from the two furry children who are slowly pacing around at my feet. The smell of ginger and coffee cake is wafting through the house as an early morning treat is baking in the oven. I could hardly be more at peace. Apart from actually being asleep this is rest, this is the rest I was seeking out this month and yet my mind... I am at peace but a terrifying anticipation is swirling right at the edge of all the calm.

I just keep thinking, "twelve and a half years." For twelve and a half years I've put on a black polo and khaki pants five days a week. For twelve and a half years I've worked such a strange job, driving from store to store filling out reports, resetting sections, installing graphics and application books and pretty much anything else that might be found in a supermarket, signs, stickers, fixtures, the list is virtually never ending. For twelve and a half years I've been a wanderer of sorts, never having a concrete schedule, never really seeing my boss (or any fellow co-workers for that matter), never having guaranteed work and often times having much too much work. The people I saw each and every day weren't ever really co-workers even though I've made many friends throughout the eleven stores I called mine. For twelve and a half years I haven't worked a weekend or a holiday. For approximately 20,000 hours of my life I've been on the clock working for the same employer and for eleven of those twelve and a half years I was pretty happy with my job.

For most of those twelve and a half years I worked for a very small company that like most every small company these days was bought out by a very large company. Just recently we've "officially" been absorbed. Just recently my job has become unbearable. But, for a little over a year things have been getting worse, and worse, and worse. Tomorrow is the day that I let my company know that enough is enough. I can't do it anymore. I can't work at a place where I feel very little respect, where my voice is not heard or at least never listened to, where almost every answer I get for almost every question I ask is a total non-answer. I can't work at a place where communication, organization, and direction are going downhill at an ever increasing pace.  I've been scared to leave. I've been scared to change paths, to jump ship, to do something else. I was just holding on hoping that a better day would come. I can't hold on any longer. Enough is enough but there's a twelve year backstory and that makes me a little heart sick, a little nauseous, and a little terrified.

Tomorrow is the end of twelve and a half years. But I think this is the end of the terrifying chapter. I think new, exciting, and just a little bit different are the theme of the chapter to come. I did mention that big changes were happening this month, right?
(My husband isn't the only one starting a new job this month)

A rickety garage and its beautiful blue gems

Did you know that the American Robin is Michigan's state bird? Don't ask me why any particular state should have a state bird but ours is the American Robin. This bird with its bright orange chest is known throughout North America as a sign of spring. The American Robin and the European Robin are entirely different birds. It just so happens that way back when, a long, long time ago when some of the first Europeans journeyed to this incredible continent they saw the American Robin and it's red (orange) chest reminded them so much of the European Robin that they decided to call this "new" bird by the same name. The name has obviously stuck and so the world has two entirely different Robins.

The American Robin, being Michigan's State bird is a bird I have the pleasure of viewing in my yard daily. In my mind everyone in the world sees at least one Robin per day although I know that's not true. One of my favorite things about the great outdoors is listening to and watching all the feathered beauties that fly too and fro from morning to night. I'm in awe of the way in which birds communicate with spectacular song. They are such hard workers and yet if you sit and watch birds for awhile they seem to be playing and at least enjoying a large portion of each day. With their light frames and delicate feathers it's amazing that any bird ever manages to survive but survive they do. And they thrive.

We left the garage door open not much more than a week ago. The very next day I saw a Robin fly in and out again. A very short while longer I noticed the Robin return with twigs in it's mouth. Our garage is such a rickety old structure. It actually has a pretty significant lean to the East. We use it only to store our bikes, lawn tools, and the mower. It's also a wonderful spider habitat (yuck!). I realize I should have probably put a stop to this nest making project the minute I saw it begin but in truth I felt a bit honored that it chose our rickety little mess to make it's home.

I had to stand on a ladder and hold the camera up really high to get a photo of the eggs in there.

These delicate creatures do what it takes. It doesn't matter if life presents them with a leaky leaning garage. A bird will utilize that diamond in the ruff for it's needs no matter. I like to think that the Robins currently inhabiting a rafter on the roof of my tiny garage are quite proud of themselves for such a secluded spectacular find. They have certainly deposited the most beautiful blue gems within our rafters that our garage has ever or will ever see.

I'd like to learn a lesson from these two determined birds. We (I) tend to fret and worry, plan and plan, and make the biggest to-do about ultimately meaningless things. Sometimes (actually a good portion of the time) I'd like to just be like the birds, look at what life has to offer, make the most of it, and have a good bit of fun along the way. Often times it does no good to go on anxious about things that are out of our control anyhow.

Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?
Matthew 6:26

The Heavy Haul

One of the stores I work at, it's my Thursday morning store is actually in a pretty nice neighborhood BUT it's butted up to one of the worst cities in Michigan. The violent crime rate in this tiny city ranks just below Detroit. If you were to assume that the vast majority of people living there are living well below the poverty rate you'd be correct. If you were to assume that drug use and crime are exponential there you'd be right. It's a city that everyone around here knows to just steer clear of. However, this neighboring city causes my Thursday morning store (in a pretty nice neighborhood) to have very high theft, interesting clientele, and I've seen many the strange scenario play out there.

A large portion of the customers walk to the store or take the bus. (There aren't any large metropolitan areas close to where I live so most people in my part of the world own/ drive cars. The people taking the bus or walking to the store in this particular scenario, generally aren't very well off.) Last week while I was leaving my Thursday morning store there was a man stopped in the entryway with three dark scruffy backpacks. He had purchased several cartons of pop and was standing there filling (I mean FILLING) his bags to the brim with the cans. He was an older gentlemen. He looked worn, tired. His clothes were a bit ragged and dirty. I'm being purposefully very descriptive for pondering's sake; he looked like he had a hard life. Even if hard meant less money then most, or uncomfortable living arrangements, or having been laid off and without work for too long; who knows what the case may be. He looked worn.

I walked to my car thinking, "That man enjoys pop so much as so go to the trouble to walk all the way here, load up those three bags full of it, and walk all the way back home with that weight on his back? Really? Is it worth all that trouble?" Even if he were taking the bus it would still require a lot of walking and carrying of those bags. I thought about this for quite awhile.

Just recently a friend and I were discussing our values, or more specifically what we value. If you value a collection, your home may be filled with trinkets and chatchkes galore. If you value simplicity your home may be open and empty. If you value spending time with your dog you may allot hours a day to going for long walks, grooming, and caring for you furry family member. Other people might have zero interest in dogs but may spend hours a day playing video games or watching and playing some sort of sport. I could give a million examples; our lives very much reflect what we value, even though often times we may not ever think about it or realize it.

Clearly the man in the entryway at the grocery store with three incredibly heavy backpacks filled with soda, who was getting ready to haul his stash home values pop. I can't see any scenario in my lifetime that would put me in his shoes. I don't drink pop (except on rare occasions). Even if I had to walk to and from the grocery store I would never go to the trouble of loading up several bags filled with heavy pop. The sight was truly shocking to me. The money he spent on it, the time it took him to go to the store and back home, the weight and inconvenience of his haul. He really values pop!

But there are things like this in my life, certainly. Maybe? I think there are for all of us. I imagine those cans of soda must bring him great joy. Maybe he needs one as the perfect accompaniment to watch a sports game? Maybe the pizza he planned to eat at dinner just wouldn't be enjoyable without that perfect can of pop to go with? Maybe he spends hours a day sitting on his back porch watching the birds and drinking soda? "Ah, perfection!" For all the trouble he was going to pop must really bring him joy. This sounds pretty silly and maybe even a bit mocking on my part. I'm not mocking him in the least. If he gets such great joy from drinking all that pop that he's willing to go to the trouble I only glanced at for a portion of a minute then I would never dream of begrudging him that.

It does make me think about my own life though. I wouldn't want to go to all that trouble for pop. I wouldn't want a sugary beverage to be that important to me. I DO NOT look down upon him; I almost respect that he'd go to so much trouble for something so simple. But I wouldn't want to work so hard for something like that. But do I? Is there something, are there things in my life that I sacrifice time, energy, portions of my life for, things that when it comes down to it really aren't worth the heavy haul? Hmm...

Say You're Sorry

We've all heard this a million times, right? You "accidentally" pushed someone on the play ground when you were a kid, "say you're sorry," comes flying out of your mother's mouth... Saying you are sorry and actually feeling sorry are two very different things but I think it's safe to say that the latter is highly encouraged, praised even, and an incredibly healthy part of life. Okay both are healthy, the saying it as well as feeling it.

I thought about my post yesterday, No Regrets, a lot today. One simple time, singular, who knows for what reason why time, I was shamed into feeling bad for having regrets and ever since then I've been trying my darnedest to regret nothing. In truth, I've also always been VERY bad at saying sorry. I am such a perfectionist that saying sorry is intensely painful to me. It means that I am a failure... No, it feels to me that I'm a failure.

Saying sorry does not mean that I'm a failure. It means that I messed up, made a bad decision, actually more times then not it means that I made a mistake. That's not me being a failure. That's me making a mistake. If you read yesterday's post then you see the same thing at play here, I'm a perfectionist. I should never make mistakes. Wait, perfection is unattainable. Being a perfectionist is like living inside a delicate beautiful bubble in a world covered in sharp pieces of broken glass. The bubble is going to pop, and pop often.

Now, back to regrets because I've been thinking about this all day. Saying I'm sorry, being sorry, feeling sorry is a good thing. We're supposed to feel bad when we've wronged someone. We're supposed to let the wronged individual know that we're remorseful (we're supposed to be remorseful). In fact the Bible talks about repentance all the way through. So why are we told that we're not supposed to be remorseful about bad decisions that we've made in life that led us down the wrong path? When we've done something that's hurtful to ourselves we're not supposed to be sorry? Is it because we're now stuck on that path (or feel stuck on that path) so we're to "have no regrets" and just embrace the new path?

My old way of thinking: have no regrets. If I've done something wrong, made a mistake, taken a wrong turn just go with it, shake off the feeling of remorse (or bury it at least/ ignore it/ pretend it's not there). Regrets are bad. Regrets are weak. Regrets are something to be ashamed of. Don't look back.

My new way of thinking (and what a tiny voice inside of me has been saying for a very long time): regrets are a normal part of life. If I've done something wrong, made a mistake, taken a wrong turn I need to acknowledge the failure (NOT that I'm a failure) and right the wrong or at least forgive myself for it. Regrets can be used constructively. You can't put back together a delicate bubble that's been popped by sharp pieces of broken glass but you can find a better way to travel through a land of shards and sometimes broken things can be glued back together if you don't try and sweep them under the rug (talking about all the metaphorical glass that I had laying all over everything in the perfectionist's world, not the bubble. I've never successfully glued a bubble back together.).

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NO SPEND day number two for the month. So far so good.

Debt Quote Tuesday, No Regrets

Like all emotion, regret can be used constructively and destructively, but the wholesale dismissal of regret is wrongheaded and dangerous. "No regrets" doesn't mean living with courage, it means living without reflection. To live without regret is to believe you have nothing to learn, no amends to make, and no opportunity to be braver with your life.
-Brene Brown, from Rising Strong

Are there any statements in your life that somehow solidified a place in your mind, like each of these simple statements have their very own shelf where they sit on display inside of your head?

My first ever moment of body shaming, that I can recall, that meant anything to me at all was when I was sitting in the front seat of my parent's car. I must have been wearing shorts or a skirt and my dad was sitting in the drivers seat when he said to me, "woah, your legs are hairy!" He may have said something like, "gross," or "you should shave." I could not have been older then ten. I've had very dark hair for most of my life but still I know that it was little girl peach fuzz type hair that I had on my legs at the time. There was NOTHING about the hair on my legs that I should have been embarrassed or ashamed of but I was mortified in that moment.

My dad is definitely an antagonist and I'm certain he must have made the comment in a mean joking way but that one comment has shaped my life. Actually, I hate to admit it but as long as I can remember I have been ashamed of my legs. There have been years worth of time when I've gone without wearing shorts or skirts shorter then ankle length and I wonder if that one comment that has stuck with me for so long has anything to do with it. It's not the comment itself that hurts but the intense feeling of shame and ugliness that overcame me when he said it.

There are things my mom has said to that always come back in certain moments. Not necessarily negative things just random little statements. The funny thing about some of my mom's comments, certain ones that have their very own shelf in my mind, I've repeated a few to her in the past several years and she's actually said, "I never said that." Then this absolute truth, truth enough to be solidified on it's very own shelf in my brain is suddenly null and void? Gee mom, thanks for randomly telling your young daughter something so important that you never actually meant!

A friend of mine once told me that he, "never regrets anything!" He's a pastor of a church now and while we're not close friends and I don't remember why he was so adamantly not regretting anything there was shame in his statement. Every single time I find myself feeling regretful I think of him having said that and I feel bad, like I need to do away with my moment of regret. For some reason his No Regrets comment has had a very prominent place on display in my mind for a long time.

Having just read the above quote I am filled with delight. I have tried for close to fifteen years to "have no regrets," but I completely agree with Brene Brown. Do you know that after losing our cat a little while back I started to feel regrets. I think regret is an emotion felt by almost every single person after a death. It's completely normal. But as I was feeling this horrible loss and thinking, "I wish I would have snuggled her more. I wish I would have spent more time with her. I wish I would have responded every single time she meowed," (she really only meowed when she was talking to one of us about something) I just tried to bury the regret, ignore it, push it away. I kept thinking that I needed to use that regret constructively to spend more time with my puppies or be a little more attentive to little Abe but then I was scared of the regret and felt shamed thinking, "oh she's gone now, I can't give her what I should have, how dare I feel that I should use this horrible feeling to love my dogs and son more." No, I should use it to do just that. "To live without regret is to believe you have nothing to learn, no amends to make, and no opportunity to be braver with your life."

Same exact thing goes for the financial situation we are in. I regret having used credit cards like toys before my husband and I were together and then with our "excellent" credit both of us having used credit cards like we were living some sort of monopoly game for several years when we were first married. I totally regret that. But I do not let that regret shame me. It is fuel. It is motivation. It is absolutely constructive in helping me to say "no!" to non-necessities and try my darnedest to follow the strict budgets I draw up.

No regrets? Nope, I have regrets and I am using them to fuel gorgeous blazing fires!

If I say, "My foot slips," Your mercy, O LORD, will hold me up. In the multitude of my anxieties within me, Your comforts delight my soul.
Psalm 94:18-19

Forty Five Minutes of Christmas, Permission Slip

I recently checked out a new book from the library that an incredibly dear friend [Pieliekamais] recommended. The book is Rising Strong by Brene Brown and I'm LOVING it! Apart from feeling like I've just undergone a several hour long therapy session, the author presents incredibly useful ways to confront, embrace, and work through emotions that we've buried or ignored or have been denying but none the less emotions that are deep rooted and that control the way we interact with people and go throughout our lives.

This book has been VERY eye opening for me and I'd recommend it to anyone for that reason. Mostly through writing my eyes have been opened, over the past few years, to really deep hurts that are ever present in my life. I've slowly been praying through these hurts and keeping a look out for them but I have been without the tools to really confront many of them or haven't known exactly how to work through some of them. This book is helping identify ways to confront many of my yet healed wounds so that I can begin to heal and grow from them instead of just noticing that they are there without knowing how to really address them.

All that said (because I'm really enjoying this book) one small thing that the author touched on was setting too high of expectations. Disappointment comes from having too high of expectations. I am a perfectionist. Perfection is unattainable. So this is an oximoron of sorts, I'm a perfectionist, striving for perfection while knowing that perfection is unattainable. Seems like something needs to change, right? I mean, essentially I am always setting myself up for failure.

December is an incredibly stressful month for me. I love the Christmas season but I want to make it perfect! Ah ha, but I can't make it perfect. So I'm going to slowly drive myself insane all month long and end the Christmas season with that all too familiar feeling of having fallen short? What a great way to enjoy the holiday's right! I'm not completely sure how to fully escape this dilemma (which I've written about here before, so this is nothing new to many of you) but I am going to write myself a permission slip right now. I'm not sure this is exactly what the author of Rising Strong meant when she talked about writing emotional permission slips but it deals with my emotional issues so my permission slip states: I will spend 45 minutes a day on Christmas. Anything that doesn't get accomplished in the 45 minutes doesn't need to be done. Whatever gets accomplished during the 45 minutes of Christmas is perfection.

Baking, decorating, Christmas crafts, Christmas cards, presents that I'm still planning to make, the Christmas cookie get together at our house that I really want to host, all the parties that we'll be attending, shopping (I think we've very little shopping left), Christmas books and scripture reading that I have planned each day for my kiddo, the holiday parade... I'll likely spend more than 45 minutes a day on certain days, like party days or parade days, but 45 minutes a day is all I need to get in. (I hope that doesn't sound like a lot... that doesn't sound like a lot to me) That's really only about 18 hours from here on out and I probably spent close to that just on Christmas cards last year.

Merry Christmas!

Thankful

Yesterday while my son was off playing in another room, he had his toys set up the way he does so that little knights were fighting a dragon, a dinosaur, or riding their horses, he called to me to say, "mom, sometimes I hear Deedee meowing at heaven in God."

I replied, "I know honey. I do too."

My husband and I picked the little Siamese colored patchy runt of a kitten out from the humane society right after we got married. She was our first baby. For thirteen years I've fed her, cleaned her litter box, enjoyed her snuggles, listened to her tiny meows and for thirteen years, for our entire marriage she's been a part of our family. She's always been in little Abe's life. She's always been his beautiful, softest in the whole world kitty.

Cats are very easy to tend to. Our dogs require considerably more attention. I am far from being a morning person and I can tell you that I regularly find myself going through the morning routine with several deeps sighs, maybe a few grunts, and the occasional, "gosh I need a vacation from life."

In the morning everything needs to be done all at once: feed the dogs, let the dogs out, feed the cat, get them all fresh water, feed the kid, make sure he's got pants on (my son would be a nudist if we let him), make my coffee, get myself ready for work, and shortly after waking up my husband arrives home from work and generally wants some sort of dinner. I've never been able to prioritize my mornings. Everything needs to be addressed right off.

For the past week and a half I lament not having to feed the cat every morning. I should be happy that I've one less chore to clutter my morning right? The few times I've taken out the trash I've almost teared up at not needing to clean the litter box out before bringing the trash to the outside bin. It's not that I miss cleaning the litter box exactly. But I'd rather have to clean the litter box for 100 more years and still have her here.

This morning while deciding if I should feed the dogs first or start rolling out some pizza dough for the pizza my husband requested first thing I almost let out the normal morning sigh, "oh so much to do." Then I realized that I am so thank-ful I have to feed the dogs. That simple chore just means they are still here, that our lives have been blessed by them. I'll gladly feed the dogs every single morning for 100 more years and have them a part of our family. (for the record "feeding the dogs" is one of little Abe's chores that he does pretty often but even then a great deal of supervision is required on my part (or he'd starve one of them) and it's still work)

It's like this with so many things in life. I mean, how many horribly annoying things does your husband (or wife) do on a daily basis? I bet you'd miss every single one of those annoyances if he or she were gone. I would. What chores do the furry kids or the rambunctious two legged kids require that you wish you could just hire out for? I bet you'd be glad to do that chore just one more time if you suddenly had to say good-bye (for whatever reason).

On this Thanksgiving I'm choosing to be thankful for all the annoyances, truly. Because I'm VERY thankful for the blessings in my life and I think of great deal of our biggest blessings come with a handful of annoyances. Those people at the family gathering today that bug the crap out of you (I may be speaking for myself here) wouldn't you be sad if you weren't to ever see them again? I'm going to try and be a bit less bugged today. I'm going to try and realize even more all that I am truly thankful for.

Happy Thanksgiving!

There's movement at the hoarder home again

All morning I've been walking to my kitchen to glance out the window at a crew of guys who are pulling piles of rubbish out from the hoarders windows (two house down from mine). Someone is standing at the hoarder's backdoor literally shoveling this man's belongings out the rear of his home. He's filled it to the brim with his collection. There have been items trying to squeeze their way out from virtually every window in his house for months now.

I'm glad someone is dealing with the mess. It needs to be dealt with. The city is talking of condemning the home. At the same time I see a pirate, a conqueror who spends his every waking hour sailing the seven seas of concrete on his bicycle collecting treasures a plenty. His secret hide out has been infiltrated (by a relative of his) and every last precious gem (or at least everything he's been able to pack into his kitchen) is being thrown haphazardly into an ENORMOUS dumpster that was dropped off onto his driveway yesterday. The dumpster is just about full now after a morning of hard work by a now dirty crew of guys in dust masks. And I don't think the kitchen is completely emptied.

I know it's a disease. I know there's something in the brain that needs to acquire, that needs to keep, that needs to possess. I know that hoarders, like my neighbor have a problem. This is a problem that reaches a little too close to home for me. I'm not a hoarder. Like me, I think most American's have hoarding tendencies hidden deep within but aren't actually hoarders. We're constantly being sold something. We're constantly being told we need something else or something newer or something bigger. We place an awful lot of self worth and identity in our things. We find joy and jubilation through the acquisition of stuff. We might not ride around on bicycles collecting discarded items on street corners but rather use our debit cards and credit cards to purchase shiny new treasures.

Watching the scene unfolding two doors down is a terrific motivating factor for me in my desires to live more simply. If someone came into my home and discarded all of my belongings where would that leave me?

Stupid Marshmallow!

"If you're thinking about the marshmallow and how delicious it is, then you are going to eat it," Mischel said. "The key is to avoid thinking about it in the first place."
-excerpt from Money Secrets of the Amish

I've just had a light bulb moment. I virtually always eat the marshmallow. I'm ruined.

I received the other book *my husband bought* today. The third chapter is titled, "Don't eat the marshmallow: delayed gratification." In a study some four year olds were presented with a marshmallow. They were told they could eat it right then OR if they waited something like an hour they could have two marshmallows. Many chose instant gratification and ate the one marshmallow right then. Some chose to wait so they could get two. The ones who chose to wait didn't sit there staring at the marshmallow on the table but rather played hide and seek under the table or distracted themselves in other ways.

I am terrible, down right horrible with delayed gratification. My husband is even worse than I. Oh goodness how have we survived these past thirteen years living our adult lives together!?!? If I want to eat something I eat it now. It doesn't matter how nutritious it is or if I'm even hungry. If I want it I eat it. I have slowly trained myself to desire less and less things in terms of purchases but I have a VERY difficult time waiting if I do want to purchase something. Heck, sometimes I'll make a grocery plan for the week and even though, on a Friday evening I don't need to run to the store for another two days (when I will actually be at the store working) I'll run out regardless just because I can't wait to buy those groceries I have committed to paper. Sometimes I'll have a plan to do these chores or those, whatever, but if I want to watch a show or read a book or sit down at the computer instead, good riddance to you delayed gratification, those chores can wait I'm going to do the fun thing instead. Neither my husband nor myself hardly ever make it to the actual holiday or birthday before giving each other the gifts we've gotten for one another. I'm looking over my habits and lifestyle and realizing I am horrible in this regard.

The book talks about how delayed gratification is one of the money secrets of the Amish. They are very good at waiting for the bigger picture. Let's face it delayed gratification usually makes the thing you were waiting for better and often times, like getting the two marshmallows later as opposed to the one right now, the outcome of delayed gratification is bigger and better than what it's instant counter part would have been.

Oh, please tell me you can teach an old dog new tricks? (I know, I know that you can) I was not taught this as a child. When my parents split, at age ten, we kiddos began basically taking care of ourselves. This of course meant for the most part we ate what we wanted when we wanted, as long as it was in the fridge or cupboards. We did what we wanted when we wanted. Heck I was the only one in the family that ever cleaned anything and only to maintain my sanity. I never did homework, for school. Honestly almost never. Well, now that I've identified a HUGE area of myself that needs working on... oh boy, not something else. This is truly a root cause for many of my issues though. Oh that darn Marshmallow!

And now there's something else that I consciously need to work on with my little one. Honestly, since I was never taught it, I can look at my parenting style and delayed gratification is not something I instill in him often. Wow. Just wow.

Walter Mischel, the Standford professor of psychology in charge of the marshmallow experiment, was quoted in a 2009 New Yorker article: ""This is where your parents are important," he said. "Have they established rituals that force you to delay on a daily basis? Do they encourage you to wait? And do they make waiting worthwhile?" According to Mischel, even the most mundane routines of childhood - such as not snacking before dinner, or saving up your allowance, or holding out until Christmas morning - are really sly exercises in cognitive training: we're teaching ourselves how to think so that we can outsmart our desires."
-excerpt from Money Secrets of the Amish

Living in the moments

Yesterday while at work I just kept thinking how much I needed a vacation. But not the tropical island sit on a beach somewhere or travel and have great adventures kind; I've just been craving time off. You know, to just do nothing; not cook, not clean, not take care of someone else (I live with two very needy boys). I've just been tired.

When I got home from work yesterday the two needy boys were both gone. Okay I LOVE my child. I'd rather bring him to any sort of outing or event with me then leave him with someone. Half the time I avoid any sort of venture that would exclude him. I'm just that crazy sort of mother that wants to be with her kid as much as possible. BUT arriving home to an empty house yesterday was the exact sort of "vacation" I'd been craving (this arriving home to them gone thing pretty much never happens). I had no idea how long they'd be gone but I could tell they'd left for a walk since the car was here. I chopped up some of our tomatoes, half an avocado, a clove or garlic and a little onion. Made a fresh bowl of guacamole out of the veggies (or is that mostly fruit?) and got a little bowl tortilla of chips. I sat on the couch with my snack and a book and I just read, in silence! No one wanted me to get up to get them juice. No one interrupted to ask me if I could put a load of his work shirts in the wash. The TV wasn't on in the back ground nor the lovely piano music that plays for two hours each day during little Abe's nap. Just a book, a snack (that I didn't have to share with anyone) and silence. Now that's a vacation!

Today offered an equally lovely moment. I took the country road home from work because there was a lane out on the highway due to construction. This particular highway is heavily traveled and often gets congested without the closed lane. I was not about to drive home in that mess. I hadn't thought however before deciding to take the country road how revitalizing and gorgeous my drive home would be. I drove past several small family farms. There were large tractors clearing fields. There were people tending tables in small road side produce stands. Country life is so inviting, in that these are hard working people who know what needs to be done, they do what needs to be done, and in my mind they live pretty rewarding lives. And despite all the hard work there's a beautiful simplicity that envelopes everything about the country/ those rural areas where farmers live.

I witnessed the first real signs of fall on the back roads drive home as well. I saw a flat trailer loaded up with pumpkins and gourds off all shapes, colors, and sizes. The leaves may not be quite ready to change their hues but a trailer set in front of a barn covered in pumpkins, well that's as autumn as any forest filled with colorful foliage may be. There were these lovely fields as well that were showing their fall colors. The green plants that fill these acres and acres of fields are now a gorgeous yellow with only green at their base. (I have no idea what plant this is but may have to look into it now just for curiosities sake) These yellow fields, surrounded by long grass (I love the long grass of late spring and fall. It seems the road side grassy areas are really only mowed once or twice in the summer allowing for that extra long grass to be all around in the late spring and fall time. I love the way the extra long grass with seed pockets at it's tips dances in the wind and gentle breezes and how the seed pockets sparkle in the sunshine), and lush green trees as far as the eye can see, harvest set alongside back country roads and the occasional pumpkin display made for the most wonderful drive home today.

I may not have any sort of vacation slated anytime in the relatively near future but these moments in time that offer up so much pure simple beauty and loveliness sure do wonders at filling my cup back up. Ahh, my cup overfloweth!

Spending rundown today: $4.78 on lunch for me. $11.42 on lunch for my boys. Yeah today was a bust financially BUT I'm still very reasonably within budget so I'll let this one slide. I really REALLY need to plan out a very strategic shopping trip for tomorrow though. I bought some groceries yesterday but our food situation is in poor shape right now.

My budget for the month is $513.62 which leaves $219.99

Average daily spending for 2015: $18.01

A little goose and humility

My father in law went goose hunting a few days ago. Today he stopped by with at least five pounds of goose for us. His exact words were, "we shot 27 geese." I have no idea how many people he went hunting with but that sounded like a lot of geese to me. I said, "Wow, that's great. That's a lot." To which he responded, "Yeah, should have been more."

My husband won't eat it but I personally could not be more happy about free meat, free VERY sustainable, healthy, NOT factory farm raised, in fact lived a completely natural life in the wild meat. Oddly enough wild goose tastes and looks a lot like beef. You pretty much treat it like steak but there is an intensely gamey after taste. Little Abe and I don't mind it one bit though. I'm very much looking forward to goose for dinner tomorrow with fresh veggies from our garden!!!

So, can someone tell my why it is that people feel the need to stop by when you're in the middle of cleaning out the entry way closet and the front bookcase (or any such project)? I had stuff thrown all over the living room from sorting things out and it didn't really look like I was in the middle of cleaning. It just looked like a complete disaster. To make matters worse I've been doing a really great job of keeping the kitchen clean (something I've been quite proud of lately) but the sink clogged yesterday and I spent an obscene amount of time unclogging it. My goal was to not have to run to the store for drain-o and by golly I met my goal but it took some work and I did not clean the kitchen yesterday. The kitchen looked today as if it hadn't been cleaned in weeks.

And has anyone else successfully turned away an in law who came bearing gifts of free meat because, "no, you can't come in my messy house as I'm in my pajama's, not wearing a bra, and am in the middle of chasing down my kid while making dinner and mixing up cookies from scratch? (I might have looked like one of those scatter brained mom's you see on internet memes (yes, I did)) All I ask is that you call first. wah, wah, wah. Seriously is anyone else ready for stop in visitors at all times? I NEVER am. Just call first please. Yeah, a little humiliated tonight. And it's not like I'm going to say thanks for the geese but let me explain to you why my house is in shambles. Nah, I'm not good at making excuses.

Spending rundown today: Groceries for $30.70

My budget for the month is $513.62 which leaves $392.58

Average daily spending for 2015: $18.04

Debt Quote Tuesday with Albert Einstein and some reminiscing

Possessions, outward success, publicity, luxury - to me these have always been contemptible. I believe that a simple and unassuming manner of life is best for everyone, best for both the body and the mind.
-Albert Einstein

At first I was just trying desperately to get our spending under control. I embarked upon a year long journey to see how little stuff I could acquire (food not considered). That was shortly after I went on a mission trip to Guatemala and saw how little people can really live on, and not just get by on but really live lifetimes, generations; there are entire cultures of people who just don't have much of anything. Not long after, this blog began and I started to really budget all of our spending, track it, and try to get it lesser and lesser. I've come such a long way.

"It's what's on the inside that really counts." Remember your mom trying to tell you that when you were an adolescent and you were crying because someone said you were fat or ugly or that you would be cute if it weren't for your 32 chins? (someone really said that about me in the fifth grade) Who cares what really counts when what everyone really wants is more, bigger, better, smarter, and prettier.

Twenty years later and my heart, what's on the inside, screams with a peaceful sort of sound, "a simple and unassuming manner of life IS best; it is what's on the inside that really counts."

I remember wanting things when I was young. I remember before getting my first paper route I lost a pair of earnings that I adored. Goodness they were long. I think they actually touched my shoulder. Us 80's kids were the coolest. I remember crying and crying and asking my mom if she would "please, please, please buy me another pair." She refused. I'm sure she said something about me needing to take care of my things (in truth my younger brothers were responsible for the loss and destruction of most of my things). I remember screaming something like, "I hate you. I wish I had a job. I wish I were an adult." I cried and cried. I do not remember what I said but the memory of losing those earrings and wishing with all my heart that I could fast forward time and be an adult and have a job and buy my own stuff and be responsible for my life, that is a vivid memory for me even today. I remember the feelings I had in that moment, the ardent desire to grow up and work and have money and be able to buy stuff.

I wish I could take it back, that feeling. Do you ever think about going back and telling your little kid self something, a message, like words of wisdom or some advice on how to handle a certain situation? I think I'd go back to that very moment. I'd tell myself that childhood is a gift (I did not spend very much of my childhood being a child; my childhood ended when I was 10) and to try my very hardest to enjoy it and appreciate it. I'd tell myself that stuff is not important that it could never make anyone happy and to start there and then looking for the lovely bits of life. And of course I'd tell myself that I was VERY special and that it really is what's on the inside that counts. I suppose if I'd had listened I would probably have a very different life then the one I have now. Maybe that's one of the reasons we can't go back (you know, and the fact that time travel isn't possible).

This was going to be a quick little post. Oops. All that to say, less is more. Simple is better. It is what's on the inside that really counts. Things and money and stuff really aren't all that they're cracked up to be.

Spending rundown today: $17.89 on groceries.

My budget for the month is $436 which leaves $111.58

Average daily spending for 2015: $17.97