FOOD. Our sustenance for life. Physical, emotional or spiritual, food is the foundation to our survival. From a nutritional standpoint, foods are the very source of my degree of good health. Recently, I was posed this question, “Are there any foods you dislike?” After a few seconds of pondering the pyramid, I concluded there are few foodstuffs that I find distasteful. My tummy rumbles every few hours, my tastebuds question, I respond to the call. Food becomes my friend as I schedule another affair of pleasure in eating.  

Raised on a small farm, a variety of food was always a bush, tree, garden, or cookie jar away. So many choices! Blackberries glistening off the bush. Tart cherries, pears and apples begged to be coveted from their trees. Hearty snacking from our summer garden provided all the fresh carrots, green beans and tomatoes one could grab and rinse with a garden hose. Add to that, all the chicken, eggs, beef, milk products, pork, venison, and a duck or three. I was nurtured in the land of plenty. An endless supply of yum, yum, and yum! 

Grocery day was not the usual bags of snacks, junk food or sweets as Momma’s double bagged purchases seldom included treats. Once in a great thought, she may have brought home a gallon of Neapolitan, a bag of Tootsie Pops, or box of Kellogg’s unsweetened cereal (usually corn flakes). These precious gifts were few and far.

For the most part, her purchases included the staple items of sugar, flour, soaps, and the like. Large was the order of the day. Twenty-five pound bags of Pioneer Sugar and Robin Hood Flour, three pound cans of Jif and Crisco, and gallons of vinegar. Momma cooked, baked, canned and froze EVERYTHING! 

It wasn’t until I was a teen that I had the “privilege” of junk, fast, and instant foods. From those lively commercials on television, I craved the likes of Twinkies, Pop Tarts, Fritos, and a Big Mac with fries and a Coke! What a surprise to find disappointment and disapproval. These luscious treats did not live up to my expectations of greatness. As a result, it is little surprise that I dislike most fast foods. 

If I was marooned and starving on that lonely island, fries and a vanilla shake might suffice. The Big Mac is my least favorite of all fast foods. Lettuce and special sauce between a sesame seed bun seem so artificial and plastic. Add to that a flat, browned disc called beef. Please, if these burgers are truly beef, then I’m Mrs. Ray Kroc! It’s a faux sandwich wrapped in Ewww!  

Never a question, Momma made all meals from scratch. Some more inventive than others as she did not always rely on a cookbook. I recall a few meals she prepared as offensive to the palate. 

Taking the blue ribbon of disgust was a European soup we called “Pyshel”. Beef tongue!  Simmered all day in preparation of eight hungry tummies, Momma added fresh garden potatoes and homemade bread. Those became our saving flavors as we ate the intense bay leaf infused stew. As we said grace before this concoction, I silently thanked God that cows had just one tongue! 

All in all, there are few foods I dislike. Of all veggies, I could live without eggplant and okra. Meh, not for me. As for meats, I could champion as a vegetarian. Having ample access to these proteins as a child, I have lost appetite for juicy and medium rare. Prime Rib, Pork Tenderloin, or Chicken Marsala can entertain another tummy; I prefer a large salad of greens with a slight shave of meat atop. Fruits and sweets are another plate in themselves. Bring them on, any and all! Correct me if in error, but chocolate is a vital support to the food pyramid, yes?

It seems rather foolish of me to think as a child, scratch cooking, or Momma-made equated to needy. I did not dine on the likes of pot pies, tv dinners or instant potatoes. Because Momma did not buy these products, she simply made all the foodstuffs. Such an irrational thought. How crazy was that? 

Holiday gifts also came from the kitchen. Momma often baked breads and supplied strawberry jams to teachers and friends. All along, because it wasn’t store bought, I concluded this act was a show of cheap. As teachers raved over these treats, I sheepishly accepted their appreciation. Again, how crazy was that? 

Likely, farm life with its hearty bounty of foods have enriched my flavors of most things edible. My perfect meal?  Baked Creamy Chicken Paprikash, Rice flavored with celery, onion, giblets, butter and broth, Fresh garden green beans, Cukes with sour cream, homemade bread and butter. Oh, and a slice of Momma’s German Chocolate Cake! From scratch of course, with a dozen eggs and real butter. Yum and buttery yum aplenty! 

Lessons Learned

Homemade does not symbolize poor. Yes I was raised on homemade and practice much of those prep skills today. I refer to these real foods as, “The gifts of the nutritious and delicious.”

Food is my friend. I like to eat. If something challenges my tastebuds, chocolate, ketchup, or red wine suffice as accompaniments. Eat, imbibe, enjoy! 

Thanks for reading! 

MUSIC. We write it, read it, rehearse it, memorize, or possibly accompany. Music can give us respite to think, dream, cry, laugh. We dance, exercise, and sing. Another language, another emotion grabber. I am the first to admit I so admire these talents in others, however, cannot perform minimally to most of the above mentioned gifts. One long-lasting memory continually reminds me of my minimal competence.

During my years as an educator, we faculty and staff would perform at our annual holiday music concert. Mr. B., our illustrious and most talented choir director, would provide us with a simple Christmas song, offer a few hours of lesson, and empower us to become more than we imagined. Donned in black pants and a festive holiday tie, hat and/or sweater, we would perform as the audience enjoyed, applauded, and donated monies for our families in need. Good as good could get.

The third and final rehearsal of “Silver Bells” had wrapped up and we were as ready as expected. Mr. B. had asked me to stay behind as he had a few words to impart. I had mastered the lyrics and the highs and lows of this classic tune. Hmm, what more could I do? 

“You know, Jo, you have that beautiful smile and energy. Thank you so much for that. But, you can’t sing, can you?”  Mr. B. had me there. I so wanted to give something back to my school, but obviously song was not it. 

I lightheartedly responded to Mr. B. “Well, you got me there. I tried to sing quieter and go unnoticed, but your talent with those ears is undeniable! I don’t want to make a fool of myself and you. Is there something else I can provide?”

“I don’t want you to quit. You offer so much liveliness to the group and I have a plan that might work. I don’t want to offend you, but I have used this before and it’s a lifesaver.”

With that said, I joined my fellow staff on stage to perform the best “Silver Bells” ever. I was placed in the second row of our ensemble of 20 or so real singers. I joined with a holiday sweater of glittering red and green, my pearly whites, and positive energy. As our accompaniment began, I silently mouthed the word “W-A-T-E-R-M-E-L-O-N” over and over. I sparkled, amused, and helped to energize our amateur performers. No one knew but Mr. B. and myself. He winked, I smiled. As good as good could get. 

I so love music and admire anyone who is talented enough to write, produce and sing. Not one to be known for my vocal abilities, humming and moving my lips have provided me countless hours of satisfaction. As a mother of two daughters, I was adamant that they were given opportunities to appreciate the musical arts. Jennifer danced, sang, and played an instrument. Alison sang, played instruments, and piano, and performed. As a proud momma, I hummed, tapped my feet, and applauded. While they became proficient, I so enjoyed the benefits. 

Music will always be a part of me. Happy and spirited for the most part, I have provided a  few of my favorites. They are simple, entertaining to all ages, and timeless. Hum/sing along if you feel the groove!

YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE, MY ONLY SUNSHINE

YOU MAKE ME HAPPY, WHEN SKIES ARE GRAY.

YOU’LL NEVER KNOW DEAR, HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU…

PLEASE DON’T TAKE MY SUNSHINE AWAY.

Truly, I have enjoyed this tune as a child, sang it countless times to my daughters, grand children, and to those facing their final journey on earth. I provides me calm and happy. 

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW, WAY UP HIGH

THERE’S A LAND THAT I HEARD OF, ONCE IN A LULLABY.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW, SKIES ARE BLUE

AND THE DREAMS THAT YOU DARE TO DREAM,

REALLY DO COME TRUE.

SOMEDAY I’LL WISH UPON A STAR,

AND WAKE UP WHERE THE CLOUDS ARE FAR BEHIND ME.

WHERE TROUBLES MELT LIKE LEMON DROPS,

AWAY ABOVE THE CHIMNEY TOPS,

THAT’S WHERE YOU’LL FIND ME.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW, BLUEBIRDS FLY

BIRDS FLY, OVER THE RAINBOW,

WHY, OH WHY, CAN’T I?

IF HAPPY LITTLE BLUEBIRDS FLY

BEYOND THE RAINBOW

WHY, OH WHY, CAN’T I?

This childhood song continues to evoke messages of dreams, hopes, and yearning. A timeless classic from the “Wizard of Oz,” Judy Garland gave it life. So much more than farmlife, I wanted to experience that too.  I just had to “fly”. 

WHEN YOU’RE DOWN AND TROUBLED, AND YOU NEED SOME LOVE AND CARE.

AND NOTHING, NOTHING IS GOING RIGHT.

CLOSE YOUR EYES AND THINK OF ME, AND SOON I WILL BE THERE.

TO BRIGHTEN UP EVEN YOUR DARKEST NIGHT.

YOU JUST CALL OUT MY NAME, AND YOU KNOW WHEREVER I AM,

I’LL COME RUNNING, TO SEE YOU AGAIN

WINTER, SPRING, SUMMER, OR FALL, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS CALL.

AND I’LL BE THERE… YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND.

IF THE SKY ABOVE YOU, GROWS DARK AND FULL OF CLOUDS

AND THAT OLD NORTH WIND BEGINS TO BLOW,

KEEP YOUR HEAD TOGETHER, AND CALL MY NAME OUT LOUD,

SOON, YOU’LL HEAR ME KNOCKING AT YOUR DOOR.

YOU JUST CALL OUT MY NAME, AND YOU KNOW WHEREVER I AM,

I’LL COME RUNNING, RUNNING, YEAH, YEAH, TO SEE YOU AGAIN.

WINTER, SPRING, SUMMER OR FALL, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS CALL

AND I’LL BE THERE, YES, I WILL, … YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND.

When in doubt or afraid, this song fills me with hope. God is Always there as my trusted friend and coach. I know I can always count on HIM to get me through any troublesome crossing. I’ve got that friend.

On the contrary, when others seek me out for good times or difficult struggles, I am there. I am the listening ear, the comforter, the calm. This has been my signature for years, whether a daughter, sibling, teacher, wife, mother or friend. Thank you, Carol King for providing this ageless tune and lyrics for those hiccups and interruptions in life. 

And there you have it. My minimal talents being used and all the while, saving face and dignity. Music provides me solace and happy. What are your favorites? May you carry a tune, hum to your delight, and/or pen the next golden hit!  

Thanks for reading and have a happy on me! 

In this time of crazy uncertainty, insecure emotions and thoughts are at a peak. Bandaid usage is at an all-time high as we are in constant “fix this, make this work” mode. Anxious behaviors have become the new normal. Fresh and new for some, while a constant for others. 

Throughout my career of working with teenagers, parents, and fellow educators, doom and gloom was just a sidestep away. Those moments of near defeat, however, were a mere drop in my bucket of life compared to the fulfilling gratification I received for my efforts.  No matter the situation, I greeted each new day with positive energy and a simple smile. Often, that was the impetus in facing the battle for these students and families. 

The following poem, “There’s Sunshine in a Smile”, has given me strength and empowerment whenever times have seemed overwhelming and bleak. Uncomplicated truths, it has followed me to countless places and situations.  A continual reminder that something so simple may be all someone else needs.  

“We are in this together. We’ll get through.” Enjoy!

THERE’S SUNSHINE IN A SMILE…

Life is a mixture of sunshine and rain,

Laughter and pleasure, teardrops and pain,

All days can’t be bright, but it’s certainly true,

There’s never a cloud the sun didn’t shine through.

So just keep on smiling whatever betide you,

Secure in the knowledge God is always beside you

And you’ll find when you smile, your day will be brighter,

And all of your burdens will seem so much lighter.

For each time you smile you’ll find that it’s true

Somebody, somewhere will smile back at you,

And nothing on earth can make life more worthwhile

Than the sunshine and warmth of your beautiful smile.

A quick fix when I’m feeling insecure, uncertain, or just pitiful. Too, “Sunshine”  has provided comfort in knowing how important MY smile is to another.

No matter the time. No matter the place. No matter the circumstance. Be that someone today. Help yourself and others to placate, soothe, and move forward. Your smile will help mend, console, or support those broken thoughts. 

Deep breathe, exhale, repeat. The return on your investment will be priceless! 

I engaged in a 35+ year career as an educator of high school students.  Located on the fringes of Flint Michigan, this factory based neighborhood enrolled anywhere from 1,000 to 1,300 teens. With a staff of over 75 adults, my “little red schoolhouse” in this quiet, blue collar community became my home away from home.  

Working primarily with those diagnosed with specific academic, emotional, and physical handicaps my room was a hub of learning, entertainment, and a pinch of anxiety. Serving this silent minority, I spent minimal time knowing or teaching the general population. 

To acquaint myself to the vocal majority, I often took to sponsoring various student organizations; Student Council, Junior Honor Society and the like. Energy-filled, driven, and focused, these students offered me a positive change up. In addition, many of them often stopped by my room. These brief interactions provided positive relations my charges had with peers. A win-win for acceptance and communication. Good as good could get for all.

Along with student interactions, I continually honed my skills to effectively communicate with fellow teachers and administrators. If I offered the proverbial olive branch, these comrades would more readily accept “my” sometimes “difficult” students into their classes. Once again, good as good could get.

Twenty or so years into my career, I was truly “at home”.  I was fully accepted as an  expert of special needs teens. Administrators and teachers alike sought me out to assist in solving behavioral and academic alternatives and simplified classroom management.  I’d advise here and there, they’d accept, educate, and favor me and my tribe. Good as good could get.

“Ah, Josie, I need a big favor from you. Stop by my office by day’s end and we’ll chat.” With his teamwork ethic, Principal Larry had successfully led his teachers and staff. I was ready and willing to hear him out and assist. 

In essence, I agreed to chaperone a group of 30 seniors to Stratford Canada. Leaving school before dawn, we would ride a chartered bus several hours to tour, dine, and attend Shakespeare’s Macbeth. I was assured these students were bright, mature, and well-mannered. Each was responsible for my instructions and words. A break from my classroom, a visit to Canada, and a play to boot was a welcome trade off. I would solely manage this senior troop and at the same time, gain a bit of knowledge and culture. Good as good could get.

Tomorrow came very early. Around the dark hour of 6:00 a.m., students began arriving. Yawning and stretching, they quietly boarded the bus. By 7:00 a.m. we were on our way to commence adventure with Shakespeare. I knew NONE of them!

As the bus slowly crept from the parking lot, I rose from my seat to officially greet and advise these sleepyheads. I suggested they pair up or form small groups. No one was to venture out alone. Because we were traveling to Canada, there would be the mandatory stop at the U.S./Canadian border. Students would have to provide their student ID and answer questions asked of them. Not a time for joking or teasing. Firm and direct, I did not pause for possible mishaps. Best behaviors = Fast entry to Canada. Good as good could get.

Minimal disruptions provided an almost seamless trip. By 11:00 a.m. we had arrived in quaint, charming Stratford. Modeled after the English town, this Shakespearan village was bustling with busses and tour groups. Spring air had a chilly briskness as we inhaled its freshness.

Everyone parted for a short stroll and bite to eat. With tickets in hand, they were advised to promptly be at the Studio Theatre early for the 2:00 p.m. performance. Off they scattered as I took in a deep breath of gratitude. A coffee and light lunch sealed my fate with an afternoon with bards Mac and Lady Mac. 

As expected, my 30 charges arrived at the theatre in a timely fashion. Loads of chatter as they compared foodstuffs, trinkets, and the exchange rate of the dollar. I was a proud momma with her brood of nameless chicks. Good as good could get.

As a side note, knowledge of Shakespeare’s works often prove to be rather basic and rather grim. Deception, greed, fractured ambitions with dark consequences. These factors play well with Good vs Evil. However, in most cases, good does not always prevail, as was the case of Macbeth. We were prepped and ready thanks to a Cliff Notes review. Good as good could get.

The Studio Theatre was a massive replica of London’s original Globe Theatre. Seating was rounded in fashion. Our particular viewing was center front, ideal for up close and personal. At 2:00 p.m. sharp, the lights lowered and the stage was ours.

Grim, dark, dusty, shades of gray appeared. Minimalist scenery consisted of primitive, drab, cement-ike pillars oddly placed among a few benches of the same. Out of the dark came thunder claps and wretched screams. Several of us jumped in our seats as the witches echoed their forewarnings. “Fair is foul, and foul is fair…” 

Within seconds, four actors were visible to the audience. One bantered while the remaining three ran in frantic circles. Vicious tones secured their paranoia. Hoping to make sense of this, the speaker took an aside to speak. With his intense British brogue, his spittle flew in all the wrong places! Fast moving, the three witches changed tones and morphed into another character! 

This interwoven predictables of ambition, greed and untimely death continued as the four actors each played four additional characters. Excessive tirades and spittle persisted. No costume changes, including who impersonated who was not clearly distinguished! If that was a taste of knowledge and culture, good was not as good as it could have been.

All in all, I had learned little of this tragic tale of ambition gone wrong. Cliff Notes and tidbits gathered from these seniors helped gain minimal understanding. The best of this experience was the lasting impression these young adults provided. Mutual respect, maturity, and a few giggles they shared had me hooked as a believer of good. Yes, it was as good as good could be. 

Lessons Learned

Make life as good as good can get. Dwell on the positives and let the negatives fade. You’ll be better for it!

Kids are kids, no matter the age, no matter the size.  Although I had initially feared  my “older, wiser” charges, these responsible seniors made me proud and honored to chaperone this memorable trip.

Thanks for reading!

With the annual tribute of Mother’s Day just around the corner, I am continually reminded of who helped develop my confidence, perseverance, and kindness. Endeared and revered, Mom was the power to be throughout childhood and well into my adult life. She worked endlessly to protect, feed, and nurture her Crazy Eights. It is with deep love and respect that I honor Miss Tootsie, a predictable strength when life was so unpredictable. 

My momma, Tootsie for short,  was a sane and sensible woman. God so cultured her emotional strength and reserve to manage eight children, a loving husband, and a small farm filled with good crazy. A commander, comforter, and comrade, Momma T. so often put others’ needs before her own. 

COMMANDER. 

I’m not certain this woman of strength ever slept! It seemed Momma easily hatched plans to keep her kidlets outside so that she could tend to the business of inside. The garden needed tending. Eggs needed to be gathered and cleaned. Take baby sister to the swing/sandbox/for a wagon ride. Her mind stirring activities were endless. 

As night time drew, Momma would draw the tub with hot, soapy water. Two at a time for baths, no questions of who bathed with whom. Within a few minutes of wet, came the call to scrub each other’s back, rinse, and exit for the next pair of dirty. Gathering the usual dinge and grime of the first four, the tub would be emptied and refilled for the remaining four.  A quick in, scrub, rinse, and out; eight squeaky cleans in less than an hour. Momma commanded the troops and we answered her call. 

The nightly ritual of bedtime by 9:00 p.m. was accompanied by prayers and “Goodnight Mommas” as they echoed through the house. Once in bed, a few giggles here and there were often interrupted by Momma’s directness,  “It’s time to settle and get to sleep. Your dad doesn’t need to be woken up. Goodnight, Goodnight, Goodnight!” That was that. Her customary tone assured us who was in command. 

Was it time for Momma T. to find slumber as well? Not by any means. This was HER time to wash floors, sew new dresses, or sit solo with a hot coffee, cigarette, and enjoy the quiet of drawing up grocery lists, entering contests, or catching a bit of late night with Jack Parr. Limited as it was, bless the time Momma found for herself. 

COMFORTER

Although Momma seemed to rule with her stern voice, she provided doses of comfort. Funny as it seemed, being sick had its benefits. One on one time with Mom was limited until our ills demanded her attention. Little brother Johnny recently recalled a day home from school with Momma was the best get well medicine. Pulling cans of Fresca from outside snowbanks assured him of wellness and her undivided attention. 

I, too, remember the good of being ill. Home sick with something or other, Momma and I  cuddled on the sofa watching the “Price is Right”, Jack Bailey’s, “Queen for a Day”, and her favorite soap, “As the World Turns”. The comforts of Momma with toast and a dish of canned peaches soothed my heart and  tummy. Warm Jello water or Vernor’s sufficed as hydration for queasy. A noxious cold, however, was soothed by hot water laced with honey and a half shot of Kessler’s. Tootsie’s comforts for a bad day.  

COMRADE

Being the second of four sisters, I was the most likely to be without a Friday night date. Momma T. filled in as my counselor and comrade. She was the know-it-all advisor and guide. My spirited soul for popcorn, hot cocoa, and rounds of Scrabble, she made good for my sense of empty.  In reflection, those precious “dates” with her were by far, superior to sitting on cold football bleachers or the like with a boy and limited conversation.

Taking time from school to help Momma with home duties was a rare treat we shared.  Having above average grades, she often inquired, “How’s tomorrow look for you? I need to get bedding washed and dress out about 30 chickens to sell. You wanna stay home and help?”

How could I refuse? Regardless of these despicable tasks, I had Momma’s attention, wisdom, and heart ALL TO MYSELF! We made a great team as I learned many of her survival strategies while at the same time how to defeather, dress out, and cut up a chicken for dinner! Laundry, chickens, chores became delights as I enjoyed Mom’s individual, precious time.

As an adult, Mom continued to impact my life as a wife, mother and teacher. If I was at the end of my thread of patience, thoughts of her strength and calm often emerged. She had raised eight children the best she knew how, while managing a home, husband and farm. She succeeded day to day with her proverbial, “It is what it is” attitude. What was I to fear in my own abilities to juggle life? 

Free counseling and limited advice, Momma style, built up my independence rather than encouraging my negative banter. She was only a phone call away. In retrospect, my life was doable compared to her continuous life as a wife, mother, nurse, gardener, you name it. Her home and children were priority. Her work ethic, a true model. Her support, immeasurable. 

Although she has been gone for nearly ten years, I am in constant reminder of this lady of empowerment. Whenever I need a listening ear or a shot of patience to get through the next hour of crazy, Mom’s face often appears. “It is what it is” echoes in my heart. Yes Momma, YOU will always be my imprint of strength, calm, and good. 

Lessons Learned

Beauty is not who you are on the outside, it is the wisdom and time you give away to save another soul. S. Adler.  Momma T. did this for not only her family, but so many others as well.

All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.  A. Lincoln.   No truer words. 

Thanks for reading!

Once upon a time, not so long ago, a family of 10 lived on and survived the adventures of a midwest farm. They were a lively tribe sharing daily chores with inventive shenanigans. Momma tended her forces of home and family while Poppa kept his farm in tip top working order. All in all, it was a happy place, filled with endless giggles, hard work, and love.  Happy chaos, 1960s style.

When not working the fields or in the throes of barn chores, Pops was likely delivering assorted goods and services to neighbors and townspeople. His blacksmithing skills came in handy as he shoed horses, clipped hooves, and forged metal machine parts for those in need. Weekly, he delivered dozens and dozens of farm-fresh eggs to restaurants and loyal patrons. Multi-tasking came easy as he provided the talented odds and ends of his varied trades. 

As was usual, Poppa often bartered his goods and services. “I’ll get that straw baled if you can bring in my wheat with your combine.” Neighborly kindness. Neighborly respect. Cooperative treaties agreed with a handshake. 

In addition to his enduring work ethic, Pops was the mastermind to all things fun. A ride through the countryside to witness fresh corn, oats, and wheat thriving. A stop at a friend’s home to drop off fresh butchered meats. Ice cream trips to town. All the while, one, three, or all kiddos would load in the car, seatbelts amiss, windows down and breezes to bless our faces. Priceless fun for us. Priceless quiet time for Momma! 

Pops also guaranteed his kidlets hours of outdoor activity and adventure. A new sandbox and swing set allowed for hours of delight. Old, worn tire swings provided hours of sway under the large sugar maples that shaded the house. Bikes, trikes, and go-cart contraptions insured our summer escapes up and down the driveway. As Daddy invented fun outside for his kiddos, Momma was provided much needed quiet in the house while she enjoyed respite to bake, stitch, and rock her babies. 

Poppa also frequented the stockyards. Selling a cow, calf, or truckload of young piglets, Pops found ways to bring quick cash into the home. Oftentimes, however, profits dwindled as he sometimes brought home more than he had sold. Ducks, geese, rabbits and such were welcome surprises, as we kidlets imagined new-found adventures. 

Likely one of Daddy’s surprises to the family farm was Tony. “PandePonyum” Tony! Without warning or pleas with Momma, Pops had bartered a small pony for money owed him. In total, I recall the trade was in the range of about five dollars. 

Family calm took another back seat to pandemonium. We could not contain our excited banter. “Daddy, Daddy, what’d ya get us? Is it a real pony? Ya, a pony Daddy, did you get us a real live pony?” We were on fire as Daddy’s bright eyes and energy guaranteed us another playmate. Out the door and screaming with joy, we took to the pickup bed. Tony would be our adopted forever.

The summer of Tony became a life-long memory of experiments. Could he be ridden without a saddle? Yes. Small enough, mounting him was doable. The same could be said of falling. Tony trotted rather than galloped. Sliding into soft grasses was a short slip and tumble. Tony did not seem to like riders, but preferred to toss us lightly as he stood and munched. 

Yes, stood. He did not move with fervor or youth; there was none. With seven young cheerleaders promoting enthusiasm, Tony often disappointed. Younger brother Jojo, however,  hatched an idea to turn him into our version of a circus star. Tony would take to a harness, ropes, and a dilapidated Radio Flyer in an effort to provide us short rides on farm paths! 

As sister Kathy brushed and combed, a few of us stroked Tony with peaceful, loving words, Tony stood with unemotional patience.  All the while, Jojo readied Tony for his entertaining debut. 

We tugged lightly at the ropes. We pulled ever so gently. We forced Tony down the farm lane to the backwoods, feeding him fresh carrots all the way. Slowly, with lazy unwillingness, Tony heeded our efforts. 

As a few of us squeezed in the wagon, Jojo skillfully turned Tony to face the barn. Eying his paradise of rest, Tony took off with a quick gallop! Hanging on for our lives, PandePonyum Tony became real. A roar of giggles and premature upending landed us in soft grasses as Tony surged homeward. “Headin for the barn” took meaning!

That ride was the one and only Tony performed. He could not be coaxed, carrot baited, or petted ever again to parade or star in our circus. But alas, Pops had one more treat in store. 

By summer’s end, with Daddy’s goading, Momma took her turn at riding Tony. Excitedly, we led him to the front porch. Momma hesitated briefly as she mounted to Tony’s bare back. Facing the barn, we knew he was destined to move forward. With a gentle nudge, Momma hung tightly to the reins. Eight pairs of eyes crowded the kitchen window to see.

Tony would have nothing to do with giving Momma a brief thrill. Once again, he stood. Stoically at rest, he lowered his head to nibble on the grass. Unbalanced and fearful, Momma tumbled to the ground! Frightened, Tony took to the barn and in doing so, christened Momma’s head with a hoof! Momma was had and mad!

“That horse has been nothing but trouble. You need to get it back to the stockyards where it belongs. And I don’t care if you get two pounds of hamburger for him or nothing! He’s got to go!” The Queen had spoken.

With that said, Tony became a summer of hapless disappointment. Youthfulness had left his body and soul. He often appeared weary, disheveled, and pathetic. In the short few months of his residence with the farm, our prized pet had grown into a short, stocky, dusty-brown hairball of complacency. 

Minimal circus, maximum crazy! Pops entertained, however, Momma reigned!

Lessons Learned

“Winner, winner, Chicken dinner.” One of Daddy’s favorite lines as he often gifted us with odd treasures and finds.  Tony was one of his myriad of surprises and adventure.  Although short lived, Tony was a brief winner.

Farm + Family + Fun = PandePonyum!  Homemade chaos and never regretted. 

Thanks for reading!

NONE OF US. NO ONE. WE ARE NOT ALONE. Hearing, reading, and saying these phrases has become all too common in the last few weeks. Not your home. Not your community. Not your state, nor nation. Mother Earth has suddenly, with little warning, taken our carefree, mundane lifestyles and turned them literally inside out.

Employers, government officials, and even our inner voices are asking questions that possibly have never been posed in our lifetimes. Why can’t we? Where will we? How are we supposed to? When can we ? Who’s responsible for? Staying put in our homes has sidelined jobs, entertainment, social, and religious activities. Recently, a friend emphatically stated, “This pandemic has got us all by the _____!”  You fill in the blank.

COVID-19 has virtually touched every life on this planet. Some more personally than others. Sudden unemployment, unexpected illness and untimely deaths have knocked at our doors. Where are we in this misfortune and mayhem? How does one make sense of this “new normal”?  WE JUST DO.

Continuing to hunker down, I have grown to accept what is. It seems rather odd that so many activities that have been stashed into closets and future dates are now ever present. A spiritual tune-up seems to be in order. TIME is available. Time to think and time to do. There are no other excuses but to tackle, enjoy, and appreciate. 

TACKLE. Photos are finally in their frames and pose where they should have been years ago. Cupboards and drawers have been purged and organized. Wow, the new-found space is awesome! A lovely, nearly completed, cross-stitch destined for Mr. and Mrs. Newlywed, is now prepared for gifting as they celebrate their upcoming fifth anniversary! Renewing with a quick note or phone call has given shine to long ago friendships. A sense of relief and accomplishment are entertaining my soul! 

ENJOY. While working and raising a family, my life consisted of shortcuts and multi-tasking. Busy, busy, busy, as there was little time for deep breathing. Of late, however, I have opened those dog-earred recipe books and taken to cooking with renewed time, energy, and interest. I’m creating fresh dishes and deserts. The flavors of “Oink, oink” have joined me at the table and I’m not sorry.

Reading. I’m absorbing coveted, long-held, novels and the like. I’m feasting on WHOLE books! Preface, Acknowledgements, and Epilogues! Cover to cover has taken on a whole new meaning. 

Meditation and mindfulness have made new in my mind and body. Time to breathe, absorb sermons, and appreciate the beauty of a clear sky at night.  All have taken to soothing my blood pressure and soul. A spiritual tune-up has commenced. 

APPRECIATE. I have had time to listen, to rearrange my focus, and appreciate what my life has become. Happy, satisfied, and spiritual. 

Opportunities to connect daily to friends and family has given me a greater appreciation for our differences and our deep love. Although hundreds of miles away, I can perform one simple connection to see and laugh with my beloved grands, two beautiful daughters and never-forgotten friends.

Added to this, I have been able to connect via texting threads with all seven siblings. Almost daily, someone poses a thought to ponder. Throughout the day, we all add this and that. Miles away, it’s a connection I so appreciate and love. 

Exercise has become a daily routine. I have learned to work with this older body and know that I CAN stretch, walk, and move forward, for the betterment of me. Yes, it hurts, however, it has yet to prove harm. Time and Ibuprofen have provided that!  My physical and spiritual tune-up continues to renew my gratefulness. 

How have you used this time we have been given? Has the perfect storm of pity parties arrived? Have you made sense and begun to move forward? Are you beginning to turn tragedy into triumph? 

We could easily succumb to negativity and woe as we travel through this pandemic. This new normal. Take this time allowed to reassess when expectations did not materialize. Take this time to make sense and move forward. 

You’ve worked enough. You’ve cried enough. You’ve been generous, and kind enough. YOU are beautiful enough. You will get through…together, with everyone else. Be grateful. 

Lessons Learned

“We are strong, we will get through this…together.” Dr. Anthony Fauci, Governor Andrew Cuomo, Dr. Deborah Brix, and Almighty God. They have our backs. 

Physical and spiritual tune-ups will renew us. Yes, yes, and yes. I have found gratefulness in this new normal. Stay strong, stay safe, and stay sane. 

And thanks for reading! 

What makes this blog tick? What makes for good interest in reading? Oh, so much more than you might imagine. I liken this to a favorite recipe. Combine hours of thought, organization, word placement and a sprinkle of innocent embellishment.  Gently mix an appreciative and supportive readership. Fold in my valued family of siblings and daughters. Presto, Gumbo, and you’ve got a serving of, “From Farm to Table”!

In just over a year, I have entered your minds and thoughts through this weekly blog. I have a new found pleasure with my laptop as I serve up words for thought. Good for you and good for me.

For my most recent birthday, I was gifted with a most lovely addition to writing. Daughter Jennifer provided me a year’s subscription to “StoryWorth”.  Every week for one year I will be given a topic of which to write. At the end of the year, all my entries will be combined into a book of memories. I am honored and thrilled with such an endearing, loving, investment. 

This week’s question posed, What Was Your Childhood Bedroom Like? Although this may seem rather personal and/or violated, I chose to gently mix and prepare today’s piece. Enjoy a blend of truth and comfort in my Slumberland of Dreams. 

I grew up in a small two story farmhouse that included three bedrooms. For a family of 10, this was indeed, small! Two bedrooms downstairs and one large room upstairs. Momma and Daddy in one bedroom, brothers Jojo and Johnny in another. Upstairs, the whole room belonged to all sisters. Early introduction to dorm life on the farm. Who would have imagined? 

This slumber arrangement seemed so huge, as it consumed the length of our whole house! A large window at each end provided a comfortable flow-through breeze in the summer.  Plastered walls were pale, light green in color; nothing fancy or feminine. Two double beds and two single beds kept all six girls comfortable. I cannot remember who shared with who, or what, but we made do. One of my fondest memories included the feather ticks, also known as comforters; oversized and oh so warm.

All beds were covered with the puffy, brown flannel of a cozy tick. Nothing fancy or colorfully fun; utilitarian for the most part. Momma had sewn these bundles of warmth and love. Stitch, stitch, stitch, just like that!  Every spring they received a newness as they were taken outside to wave in the fresh, gentle breezes. Ahh, the smell of fresh air clothing and bedding!

Their puffy goodness consisted of an overstuff of feathers. Goose, chicken, duck?, I had no idea. Since they couldn’t be washed, Momma would sew up new outside coverings every few years. Trying to keep the feathers from flying all over the house, she would use the vacuum sweeper to suck out the feathers in the old comforter. In some odd way, she could then reverse the vacuum’s power and blow the feathers into the new coverlet! An all day affair, Momma urged us to stay away while she created. And that we did!

Momma expected her tribe to take daily naps. If nothing else, she likely wanted a short time of peacefulness away from her Crazy Eights! Us girls would take to our dorm-like haven and often “created”, rather than slept. We played church. We played hospital. We played school. Our quiet imaginations used pillow cases, blankets, and the few toys, crayons, and books we had.

The day we enjoyed Art Class was like no other. Having no paper or supplies to create, we relied on our crayons. Twins, Annie and Mary, along with myself, took to the walls with color. We drew large shapes. We wrote our names. We made a beautiful mess! Pleased with our masterpieces, we could not wait to share them with Momma.

Our pride was quickly dashed as Momma clearly was not pleased nor amused. As usual, her discipline was not harsh, but direct and enforced. In her calm but serious voice, she assured us that the art would remain on the walls. “You may as well enjoy what you’ve created because this is staying for a good long time. Wax will not come off these walls and will stay put until I decide to repaint.” And there it lingered for years; until I was a teenager! Our creation did not appreciate value. It grew to appreciate in hideous!

Not fancy. Not princess-like. Not exclusive. My bedroom was shared and served not only as a quiet place of rest, but entertainment in a myriad of adventures and pretend. Gossip, giggles, and secrets with my sisters will never be forgotten. The best of company and sharing.

I welcomed summer breezes as they encouraged wondrous slumber.  Always having a front row seat in a window sill, I gazed at spectacular constellations, the Milky Way and all phases of the moon. Newly sown fields, an orchard of fruit, and Fourth of July fireworks from a town far away provided the changing colors to satisfy my calm. My bedroom was a paradise of safety and peace. I was lulled into cozy with feathered ticks and a sister or five to keep me warm! My slumberland of dreams and rest. 

Lessons Learned

One’s bedroom is one’s palace. Peace, calm, sleep. Although my bedroom was a shared entity, I never lacked in good rest.

Thanks, many times over, for reading! 

As you may or may not know, I grew up with seven siblings. Seven brothers and sisters that in total, were nine years apart in age! It seemed I had playmates all the time. We lived on a farm and had gobs of activities along with acres of land to play. Did we always get along? I introduce you to my tribe of good chaos!

First of all was my oldest sister (by one year) Bernadette. Being the oldest, she knew EVERYTHING of course. She also was the first to get EVERYTHING! A new doll, a pretty coat, a two-wheel bike, and all the flu, chickenpox, and measles she would bring home from school! She was so pretty with her long, wavy, black hair. Her nickname was Berni.

When we played, she was the mother, doctor, teacher, and any other leader we could pretend. Berni was the director of all games and fun. Always helping Momma with chores in the house, I remember her cooking, baking, sewing, and clipping coupons from the Sunday newspapers. A planner and organizer, we trusted Berni’s word. She seemed more mature than the rest of us and enjoyed her position.

Berni always had a boyfriend and so often in love. In fact, she married her high school sweetheart, Jim. Together, they shared two children and a wonderful, rich marriage. Homemade everything and love earned her the title, Berni Crocker (after the heroine of General Mills).

I was the second oldest in the family. I grew up really skinny, had lots of curly hair and big brown eyes. Even though my full name was Josephine (named after my Daddy), I was called Joey, Josie, or Jo. I remember getting along with all of my siblings, but not always at the same time.

Next in line were twin sisters, Annie and Mary (nine months younger than me). The twins were born two months early and named after Momma’s two sisters, Aunt Ann and Aunt Mary. Because we were so close in age, we were probably the closest with each other. Momma raised us as triplets. We learned to crawl, walk, and talk at the same time. Momma was crazy busy!

Annie was quite funny and I loved keeping secrets and playing with her, however, she could be a little bossy. She had qualities I so admired; she was taller, cuter, and more assertive. Sometimes we double dated. I always thought she knew everything about boys. I wanted to have her courage, sass, and boyfriends.

Daddy nicknamed her “Punna”. We thought maybe it was the Hungarian translation for Anna, but never asked. No questions, Punna she was.

I so remember twin sister Mary as the patient, hard-working sister.  I saw her as one of Daddy’s favorites because she was always helping with chores inside and outside the house. I don’t remember Mary as mean, spiteful, or sassy. It was easy for me to get along with her. We used to share a bed and play a lot together. Daddy nicknamed her “Mudda-skush”. Not sure of this term, we agreed it was another Hungarian moniker. Not wanting to mispronounce her pet name, I have memories of calling her “Mud”. No surprises, she graciously accepted.

Without a doubt, “church” was one of our favorite pretends. We recited Latin learned at Mass and used goldfish food as our Communion wafers. When that ran out, Berni and I made hosts from flour, salt and water. Using pillow cases as head coverings, AKA, habits, Annie and Mary were nuns at St. Make Believe. I most remember this when we were supposed to be taking naps in our large upstairs bedroom!

The fifth child in my family was the first boy, Joe. Yes, we both were named after Daddy. We called him Jojo and he was always silly and often in trouble. Surviving in the midst of four older sisters likely contributed to his mischievous being.  Always planning and inventing, Jojo had lots of energy and ideas. His carefree spirit and incessant prattling often kept me in his company. 

Jojo loved being with Daddy. Together they did small jobs for the neighbors or small businesses in town. Patching roofs, fixing machinery, delivering seed corn, just to name a few. I got along with Jojo because he never seemed to get mad. He was always climbing, exploring, or inventing some contraption with Daddy’s collected junk. I loved his mindless sense of life! 

A most vivid memory I have of Jojo was on one of the hottest days in summer. I was helping Momma bake several fresh peach pies in the steamy kitchen. Jojo was outside yelling for Momma to look out the window. 

He had climbed the 30+ foot silo and stood on its top. With a foolishly, courageous jump, he made a landing on the roof of the peaked barn! There was an unbelievable gap between these two structures, however, on the peak of the barn roof stood Jojo waving at Momma and me. His champion grin was quickly dashed as Momma screamed, “I don’t know how you got up there, but you better get yourself down without getting killed!”

No harm, no foul. Joe landed safely and another day of his adventures were in the memory books. Today, Joe continues to be inventive and oh so talkative. He is a friend to everyone he meets.

Miss Kathy Sue is number six in my family. Of all my sisters, she is the most compassionate and loving. Just three years younger,  I remember her always being in the mix of collecting flowers and leaves in the woods, “fishing” in the county ditch, playing church, and riding bikes up and down the driveway. Daddy used to call her “Kukuts”. It supposedly meant “little worm” in Hungarian.

I don’t know why, but it seemed that Kukuts was the one who got hurt during our many outdoor adventures. She was younger, very small in stature, and so wanted to be included with us older ones. It became obvious that she was the “chosen” one to play along. 

I still remember the day we played Doctor. It was summer and we were in an empty corn crib. Whomever the “doctor” was, he/she had “prescribed” a corn kernel as medicine. At the age of two, Kathy had no choice but to be the “sick” patient and was administered the corn, UP HER NOSE! She couldn’t breathe, Momma couldn’t retrieve the swollen kernel, thus, a trip to the hospital! 

Little Worm was also the only sibling that ever broke a bone (her arm, falling off a horse), and chipping a front tooth (being shoved into a metal corn wagon). Minus the injuries, I so wanted to have her cuteness and gentle charm.  Kukuts was easy to love!

Number seven in our family was my second brother, John. Johnny, as we called him, was a favorite of Momma’s. He had a gentle spirit and the biggest brown eyes! He was five years younger than me and somewhat sickly. I remember very little about Johnny as a small boy. He was a great play pal, and I don’t recall any bickering or bad feelings between us.

I will never forget the day little J. was rushed to the hospital because he had quit breathing. He was about two years old and had been crawling on the floor. Fuel oil that had been leaking from a room heater and Johnny found it. Immediately he turned purplish-blue and was rushed to the hospital. Given last rites, no one believed he would survive. 

Johnny bounced back fine. He is by far, the tallest, most able, and kind-hearted brother anyone could want. He is a true giver, committed, and a wonderful husband, father and friend. I live closest to him and spend a good time giggling, reminiscing, and sharing a barley pop or two.

Last, but not least of The Crazy Eight is Baby Theresa. We are eight years apart in age and close siblings today. My memories include that she was the most spoiled. She always had someone feeding or holding her. Baby T. received all the swing, wagon, and yes, piggy-back rides! We’d all take turns dressing her pretty, combing and braiding her hair, and treating her like a princess. We lovingly called her Theressy (with a long “e”).

I recall one unforgettable incident with baby sissy. Momma had scheduled a photo session for her princess. A few of us decided to add the sweet smell of baby oil to her already dark locks. We used so much oil that her cuteness was quickly replaced with the likes of a rain-soaked duckling! Momma did not have the time or patience to get the excess oil from baby T’s hair! Cuteness had gone awry!

I remember little about Theresa growing up as I had various part time jobs as a teenager. When I graduated, she was about ten. Off to college I went as T. played sports in high school and then to work after graduation. She had lots of friends and independence. I know for a fact, she and Johnny were the best of pals and siblings.

Today, Baby Theressy seems to be a go-to for advice and knowledge. She has a strong commitment to her family and work. Always a giver, she is loved by so many.

Lessons Learned All in all, there were more happy, joyful, and playful times in my childhood than not. I rarely recall any long-lasting arguments of significance. It seemed if someone was on the outs with another, there was ALWAYS another sibling that would pity and side with you! Trivial spats and bickerings were reshaped and molded into a huge love connection of respect and companionship. Momma and Daddy kept their brood consistently appreciative of each other and cemented together with Godly faith and goodness. A loud, “YES!”. Yes, I DID get along with my siblings! Love lived! 

Thanks for reading and sharing the love! 

How our tree of life is fed, develops and matures into a masterpiece of being is in direct relation to those who nurture and support us. What are those attributes and factors that feed our lives? Specifically, what gives us strong roots that enable our branches to become viable, long-lasting limbs? Words, deeds, and a support system of peers, family, along with self assurance remarkably help transform our sapling into a mighty structure.

During my many years of maturing, I have been gifted with a number of healthy relationships. Along with these support systems, are the multitude of philosophies and philosophers regarding positive living and being.  As a result, much of my life has been positive and filled with endless energy. 

Included in this piece are the many thoughts of others that I have gleaned as twigs of my tree of growth and development. Gathered from conversations, sermons, and yes, tea bags, these words and thoughts have guided me in one way or another. May you find value and thought for yourself.

Chaos:

• There is a fine line between creative and chaos. “I have lived a life of creative chaos.”
• Chaos is not a mistake, it’s a new opportunity to create. God is always working within us. Our curiosity in working chaos by peace, creating something new of our new, current mess!
• Do you rise to the challenge or let fear guide you? Oftentimes, the Goliaths get in our way of stepping out of our comfort zones.
• It’s tough to work to open the mind and heart to allow God the freedom to do surgery on the soul!

Light:

• Light does not come on by itself. Someone has to make it happen. It is a radiation from within that we give and share with others who live in darkness.
• God’s compassion in our darkness is what we are to be to others. Get involved and make a light.
• If you give someone light, it can make all the difference.
• Once we were all in darkness.
• Now, because of what God had done within me, I have become one who shines light on others.
• Like our God who puts stars in the sky as light..take your light and punch holes in the darkness.
• Live light, travel light, spread the light, be the light.

Controversy:

• Persecution is conflict gone too far.
• Good is generally contested by evil.
• Trouble will never leave you where it found you.
• We are living in a roller coaster of anxiety. Most of us just close down or shut off. We live in chronic anxiety.
• People, by nature, are fickle. They are easy to persuade, but difficult to keep their persuasion.
• People are filled with contradictions. All of us! No athlete achieves greatness as a lone wolf. We can worship anywhere and not be a member to receive support and growth.

Contentment:

• Choose to act better than you feel.
• Refuse to compare yourself to others.
• Accept others as they are rather than as you wish them to be.
• Accept things as they are rather than as you wish them to be.
• Be to others what they see as true contentment.
• In God’s pottery, there are no imperfect pots.
• Our society thrives on discontent. With our weaknesses, we allow ourselves to remain in a life of discontent. It’s the pattern of our world.
• I can do everything through him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13
• What do we need to be content? Food? Shelter? We often think what we want is a need. “Stuff.”
• There is always a place in time where we must meet ourselves and patiently learn something – to come to ourselves. It’s a fantasy that we think “the grass is always greener”, when in fact, it is not. 
• See the good in any situation and/or person. “I’m not homeless..my home is here, under the bridge.” It helps to cope when you see the good in every person and/or experience.
• All the “stuff” in our lives gets in the way of our love, loyalty, and openness with God.
• Believe in yourself. Be true to you. Unfortunate circumstances will come to you. Stay focused on your mirror, no matter what. L. Schlessenger

“Holy God, patient and kind, you know that we worry and become distracted by many things. Help us to choose the better – the joy and peace of your presence. Just as Martha offered hospitality to strangers and Mary listened carefully to your word, may we learn to be your hands and heart in the world.”

Pain:

• Pain is proactive – it’s the test tube of our faith.
• Pain pushes us to the edge of questioning. 
• We must make peace with pain to grow and move forward. 
• In the midst of all our grief/suffering, there is always a piece of JOY. 

Forgiveness:

• It’s a matter of acceptance. Sometimes it’s yourself. Just “Push and Pray.”
• Anyone can ride..but it takes talent to fall..and get back up. J. Walls
• Don’t ever apologize for your scars..they prove you are a survivor. It gives you texture. Some of us have more texture than others. It’s what makes your stories. J. Walls
• Our greatest need is forgiveness.  

Love Me/You:

• Love me as your friend; if you cannot, then love me as your enemy. Because the Bible says to love one another. Love me like that.
• The most wonderful places in the world are in someone’s thoughts, someone’s prayers and in someone’s heart.
• Your memories – all are a priceless treasure. Everyone has a story to tell..you slip on a banana – is it a comedy or a tragedy? It’s how you live it.
• Look into your heart – how can we throw more beauty into the world?
• We all have this beauty within us – music, reading, smiles, loving children, loving others. Bring it out, share it!
• The beauty of Michigan is God’s doing! It’s everywhere for us to use.
• “Make me a blessing”..”Count your blessings”.. Never focus on what you’ve lost, but rather, what you’ve found in your life.
• Sometimes the best way to remain sane is to love like crazy! It works for me!
• The more I give away, the more I seem to have. 

Justice:

• We need to heal the brokenness of today – Truth and justice matter.
• How we treat each other matters. We are all accountable.
• Are we hungering for justice and truth enough? This must be valued more than winning.
• I dream of the day all people become all for one and other. Continue to hunger and thirst so that one day we will all be satisfied!

Life/Death:

• In the rhythm of life is death – neither is negotiable.
• Nothing makes us consider life more than death.
• Life doesn’t happen to you – You happen to life. M. Dooley

Aging:

• Age is not how old you are, but how many years of fun you’ve had. M. Maldre
• Age is no barrier. It’s a limit you put on your mind. J.J. Kersee
• Age is not lost youth, but a new stage of opportunity and strength. B. Friedan

Keep Going:

• How do we keep going when life gets tough?
• Most often, times are the toughest when the road is the narrowest, the gate the smallest, and we have to get through.
• None of us ever get everything we want. We don’t get everything that is sweet.
• Tomorrow is another day and there will be another battle. It’s a part of life.
• Keep calm and prep for the run!
• Running from your own demons – Choose to turn around and face them. Put a harness around them and take hold. Take from your past and hold on to them; make the most of them.
• Everything we have comes as a blessing or a curse, just depends on what we choose.
• Do we insulate or isolate ourselves? Because of what we didn’t have, does that make us less of a person? NO!

Peace:

• There is so little peace in the world because there is so little peace within ourselves.
• Peace is the lack of conflict. Shalom – wholeness and harmony.God is the source of Shalom. Peace is everything working as it should.
• Gratitude and counting my blessings are one great sleek antidote!
• Open my mind, heart, ears, and eyes to YOU!
• Peace is an absence – usually of something negative.
• “Create in me a pure heart and renew a steadfast spirit within me..” Psalm 51:10

Blessings:

• The blessings of God comes in bucketfuls, not spoonfuls.
• Even in times when we feel so empty and alone, we have God and his many graces of love.
• People who are rich worry about everything.
• “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. – the desperately poor rely entirely on God. They are free from the bondage to be rich. 

Be You:

• Don’t give yourself permission to think less of yourself than you are. Be true to you!
• Give yourself permission to have your own opinion.
• Focus on what beautiful things go into your life. Beauty will then come out naturally.
• Find your beauty and send it out! It gives us a way of facing anxiety. WE HAVE THE TOOLS! What a beautiful gift!
• Follow your instincts – your heart. Give yourself delight. Approve of YOU!

May you find peace and contentment among the chaos in your lives. Continue to feed your stems, branches, and roots in order to produce a mighty tree of strength.

As always, thank you for reading and supporting my thoughts and words.