Day 7 of NaBloPoMo2018: The Perfect Day

Excuse me, but I'm using yesterday's writing prompt for today.  It was "describe the perfect day."

A perfect day to me- although I'm too much of a realist to actually believe there is such a thing as an absolutely perfect day, but maybe a near perfect day- is balanced.

It includes a just-right portion of rest and relaxation juxtaposed against something productive to do.

It also includes a perfect balance of time alone and time in good company.

I can't do social all the time.  I'm not anti-social, I just need time alone with my thoughts to recharge my batteries.

I also can't do alone all the time.  I think nobody needs to do alone all the time-it's unhealthy.  Our aches and pains grow more noticeable, our fears and hangups will swallow us if we isolate ourselves. We need face to face time with people!  And social media won't cut it.

Weather plays a big part in my perfect day.

It could be bright, sunny, and 70, or there might be a slow steady rain falling all day.

It could feature a winter wonderland or a blazing hot day on the beach or by the pool.

Or it could be a cloudy day with a soft breeze and leaves falling...an Indian summer type day.

I'm glad I live where there are four distinct seasons.

The thing is, I just want to be able to spend a least part of my day outside enjoying the weather, unless it's just horrendous.

Besides "me time" to read, relax, think, write, pray; time with family and/or friends, and time in the great outdoors, the perfect day involves something good to eat.

That usually correlates with the weather.

Cold watermelon on a hot day, hot chili on a cold day, homemade pumpkin snickerdoodles on a fall day- the process of preparing these items, then the process of eating and enjoying them...they all contribute to a near perfect day.

Spice such a day with a bit of encouragement extended or received and a little surprise of some sort. (They are everywhere, you just have to pay attention. Just look for the unexpected, the different angle).

My recipe for a perfect cup of hot tea.  Red chai sweetened with pure maple syrup and topped off with a splash of almond milk or cream.  

End your darned near perfect day with a hot cuppa or a cold glass of tea.  Drink it on the front porch and watch the sun slip out of sight.  Or curl up with your coziest blanket in your comfiest chair and read your favorite newspaper or magazine, maybe watch something interesting on television.

Near perfect days remind me of a perfect plate which might include a little meat, a little savory, a little sweet, a little sour, a bit of spice, some creamy and some crunch.  Maybe that's a whole lotta perfect plates!

Anyway, the key is balance.  And I'm always working on that, it seems.

Gotta run!  I hear my tea kettle whistling for me.  ;)

Day 6 of NaBloPoMo: The Election

So this is gonna be brief.

I'm still at work having just sent the final two pages of the paper, and I haven't eaten. That makes me hangry when it's almost midnight.

The large voter turnout and a local power outage or two resulted in some polls closing late.

I won some of the votes I cast, and I  lost some.

But I'm thankful that all is quiet in the streets. No rioting or anything as far as I can tell.

As flawed as our nation is, I'm thankful we still have relatively peaceful elections.

Now, it's time to regroup and press on, people. Let's try to work together.

Day 5 of NaBloPoMo 2018: My earliest memories

Today's writing prompt is: What is your earliest memory?

Gosh, I don't remember.

Nah, seriously, that's a hard one for me.  I don't remember much about the first five or so years of my life.

But I do recall seeing two of my younger siblings going to the creek one bright and sunny day when I knew they weren't supposed to go there, no matter what kind of day it was.

I watched them until they got close to the bank,  as I stood on the back porch beside Mom while she was running clothes through a wringer washer, in true Appalachian style.

I tattled on them, and Mom made haste to run after them and chase them back up the hill to the house.

I felt very mature and quite smug, I'm sure, for saving my siblings from near death by drowning.  I was four or five, I think.

I can picture the bend of that creek, the way a lovely old white-trunked sycamore curved out over it, and how it leaned enough that you could sit at the base of it to fish or to lower yourself into the water.  That's where my siblings were standing that day I saved their life.  :)

I still miss that old tree, gone now for decades.

I can see my Uncle Clyde nestled in that same bend of the creek with a can of worms and a fishing pole.  He'd study that hole of water like a devout fundamentalist searches the Scriptures daily,  always pointing out to us kids "turkles,"gar, snakes, and hellbenders (we called them water dogs).

He'd catch stringers of little bluegill and sunfish for Aunt Myrl to fry up "good and brown."

That's how she always liked them.  Good and brown.  That's how I like them too.

I remember how Uncle Clyde looked as he walked from his house to ours, trudging along over the hill in his denim overalls that Aunt Myrl always had to hem, because he was only about 5'2".

If it was hot, he'd take off his cap and fan his red face, then he'd pull a bandana out of his hip pocket and wipe the sweat.  He usually had a big chew of tobacco in his jaw, and he'd turn his head and spurt it to the side.

Gosh, I miss him.  I've done gone and made myself sad.

All the years I knew Uncle Clyde, he lived up in the holler in a modest little house, until that house burned to the ground and they were forced to move.  They moved to a nearby holler into another modest little house.  That move was only a mile or so away, but it liked to've killed him.  They never did truly get over the loss of their home, but if you've ever been to that scenic little holler, you'll understand why.

Uncle Clyde was a veteran of the Army, and he'd traveled the world before I was born.  He developed rheumatic fever and was discharged from service, and he spent the rest of his life close to home, where he'd grown up.  He never did have a vehicle.  I don't know if he ever learned how to drive.

He always said if he ever revisited any of the places he'd been with the Army, it would be New Zealand.

We saw him almost daily during my growing up years, and my siblings and I loved him dearly, even though he could be a bit gruff and would sometimes scold us for messing with things around the house and garden.

Isn't it crazy how when you really delve into memory, so much can surface?

  

This is Station Camp Creek, just a short distance from the little house where I spent the first nine years of my life. So many of my earliest memories are associated with this beautiful creek. While these trees are lovely, they don't compare with the much larger and more elegant sycamore that curved over the water in one of our favorite fishing holes.  

Day 4 of NaBloPoMo:The bare bones beauty of fall.

Well, here we go....dark by 6, and I've been ready to hibernate since the last light of day faded.

I had to force myself to get some things done before I allowed myself to plop on the couch.

Still, in the dark of winter I often procrastinate about  going to bed. Last night it was nearly 1:30 before I turned in!

I kept thinking, the clocks are not set back yet... it's really only 10:30,...it's really just 11.30...

So much for getting an extra hour of sleep!

It's been a relaxing Sunday, though, with church and family time, and a pretty day.  I took a nice long walk through the countryside with my sister, and wouldn't you know, we both forgot our cameras?

There is still quite a bit of color left in the hills, but I predict there won't be many leaves left by next weekend!

I like the way bare tree branches look against the sky.  Every season has its own style of beauty.  

I'll call this the "bare bones" look.

Day 3 of NaBloPoMo2018: What are you holding onto?

My writing prompt for the day: What am I holding onto?

That's funny.  Looking around my home, it's pretty obvious I hold onto a lot. Books, papers, clothing...shoes, beauty products, dishes...

Why? Memories.  I'm a memory keeper.  I'm reflective by nature, and I guess I'm kinda weird in that I don't really feel that I've experienced my experiences unless I've written about them.

Therefore, I do a lot of journaling, blogging, social media posting.

..."Today I walked across the road, across the field, and down to the creek.  Once again, my boots got muddy.  And yet again, I almost got stuck.  Literally."

I'm sure I bore folks to death, but it's just my way, okay?

My house is like a family museum.  Please don't get the wrong idea and think I'm bragging about owning something fancy.  Quite the opposite is true.

My house is filled with family cast offs that nobody else really wants.

Because I live in an old, old house where generations of my family have lived, this seems like the place to deposit those family cast offs, because, you know, they would look good in here.  They suit the place. Some of it was carried off from here decades ago.

I'm not really complaining.  I kinda like being surrounded with things that have a story attached.

New stuff doesn't have that, unless it got rained on during delivery, or blew off the truck and got broken, or you stubbed your toe on it carrying it in, or you pulled your back out of whack when you picked it up.

If you keep your new stuff around long enough, it will most likely collect some stories, I guess, but I digress.

What am I holding onto?

If I'm not careful, if I don't make a serious effort to counter my natural instincts (because I think it is hereditary, ha!), I'll hold onto everything.

The past in general, belongings, memories...even grudges.

And some of that's not good.  Still, if someone told me to not look back, I'd surely turn into a pillar of salt.

Sometimes I wonder, what would it be like to only live in the moment, with an eye toward the future most of the time?

I really can't imagine, but I reckon some folks operate like that.

I'm holding onto a photo of this little guy.  I don't know who he is, or was, but someone told me he once lived here.  So I keep him on the dresser next to my children.  (Those are obviously not my children in the other photo.  They are my badass grandpa and his brother-in-law, both of whom died long before I was born.) But they are family, so I hang onto 'em! 

NaBloPoMo Day 2: Some Hometown Drama

Well, that was fun.

Our local theatre group, the River City Players, performed their annual Christmas play tonight at the high school auditorium.

I've been to nearly all of their performances for the newspaper, and it's always interesting to see who has stepped out into the limelight each time.

Sometimes I'm surprised.

Watching people you've known for years in roles that isn't typically "them" can be pretty entertaining.

I have to say, I admire those who step up and try something new like that. It takes courage to break out of the old comfort zone.

Every now and then, I'll think of doing something totally unexpected and out of character.  But what I typically do is overthink my way out of it, because I'm cool like that. ;)

One of these days, though!

Right now, this ol lady is going to bed. It's been a long day.

National Blog Posting Month, Seventh Edition

I love taking strolls around the fields with the dogs. Can you see them?  They get so excited when they sniff out a mole, a field mouse or even a grasshopper.  They know how to live in the moment and appreciate the little things.  


Some do "No Shave November;" I do "National Blog Posting Month (in November)."


I can't really tell you why, but for the past seven years, I've taken it upon myself to post some sort of blog for each day of this month, even if it's "just a photo."

Some days that's about all I have in me after a busy day of writing, editing, etc., as editor of a small town weekly newspaper.

But I'll take a stab at making some kind of post, even if it's just sharing a few details of my life on the farm.  Because for me, that's where my best life happens-down on the farm.

One reason I choose to participate in NaBloPoMo is because it takes place in November.

Here in Kentucky, we turn our clocks back an hour on the first Sunday of November.  That means  our mornings will immediately become brighter, but on the flip side, it means we will have longer darker evenings.

That also means that we wanna-be farmers are forced indoors, so I have more spare time on my hands.

Another reason I like to do NaBloPoMo in November is that it sorta serves as a gratitude journal.  I try to exercise my gratitude muscle in November, because, you know, Thanksgiving happens this month!

This year for NaBloPoMo I've joined forces with a group of bloggers whose aim it is to cheer one another on through this challenge. As of now, we are small in number, but we are a very diverse group from all over the world and of different ages.

We also give each other writing prompts. Today's prompt was, "What are your dreams?"

Hmmm...I don't really have any lofty dreams or great big ambitions such as becoming rich and famous.  I know that sounds dull, but all I really want is for everyone to be healthy and to learn to get along and enjoy their best life.   Wait! Maybe that is a lofty ambition!

Stay tuned, and we'll see if we can figure it out.