Andrew received a wonderful Cort for Christmas and was thrilled but dreams of a Gibson SG.($1500). He jams with an old family friend who has played for years and is allowed to play the SG. This is his dream, to own one. I simply answered, When you are grown and you have worked as hard as Bennie has, you may purchase your own.
That made me think of comparisons. Compared to Andrew's first pawn shop electric, the Cort is a prince of a musical instrument yet he dreams of another...he wants the KING.
If we did not compare, would we be more content? Yes, we would be unaware of things others have and be more aware and grateful for what we do have. Envy is a demon but sometimes, it is a motivator.
I speak of comparisons because I am guilty. My house is not Martha Stewart's but I do own this one. My car is old, but it does run. I could list forever the things I envy...and that saddens me when I have so many things for which to be grateful.
Now, as I type, the soft gentle rain, needed for so long, is falling, reminding me all things come when needed. The heat comes on and I am aware I am warm, when many are not.
I am reminded of a friend, a Veteran who had no legs. It was a beautiful, warm summer's evening as we gathered on the deck with cold drinks to talk. Hubby was complaining about his ingrown toe nail. Our friend politely listened and said, "Do you know how much I would give for an ingrown toenail?"
Sometimes, we just need to be grateful, simply grateful.
that is Christmas holiday...a few extra boys to make the holiday fun for the one that stays. There has been music, football, games and pop corn in places I would never dream.
Dishes do make it back to the kitchen as I allow them freedom to feed themselves. No toothbrush patrol or bath brigades here. I eavesdrop on laughter and conversation and feel their happiness in the safe freedom I have given them.
It is quiet now in the hour before I leave for work.
I hear the rooster outside my window, discovering the dog food as he calls to his friends, Here! I have found a banquet.
A new calf, on the coldest day, frolics beside her mother, not knowing it's cold for this is the world in which she was born.
The innocence of youth silently sleeps, scattered on pallets, filled with dreams...and I smile with the pure joy of it all.
As the sun burned on the horizon, I noticed the different color of the sky. The chem trails, fluffy streams of chemicals lasting longer than vapor trails, criss-crossed and danced in the sun's setting light. I knew the end was approaching, I did not have to wait until 2012.
Most cameras had been confiscated, but I was lucky, I had hidden mine before the Home Police came to search. They want us with no communication, no way to tell the truth, but the people must not know what is coming.
Hidden with my computer in a place they never thought to look, I was able to capture the beginning of the end.
These are the pictures I have captured. I must send them out before the Home Police break down the door! I hear them now, Open up, Home Police, You have no rights...
First, I must expose the secret of the chem trails and let you know the danger they carry. Run, hide, this infection is spreading quickly. It can reach around the world in just one night.
This never before seen picture exposes the truth behind what the makes these chemical trails through the skies....
The first time a lunar eclipse has occurred during the winter solstice in 372 years and I missed it!! I shot the moon Wednesday morning as I drove to work, thinking what a fool I was not to witness this event.
Granny Pruett, Mom's Mom, was a midwife. We found her midwife's license in The Box I showed in an earlier post.
There was also a letter from what is now the state health department. At that time it was against the law for fathers' names to be on the birth certificate if you were not married.
Granny, who took it upon herself to add the father's name when completing a birth certificate, was being reprimanded by the aforementioned department. Although they were confident that she was in a position to know the father of each child born in the community, she must cease and desist supplying those names or they would recall her license.
as the geese, flying south, called to me in the early night. The amazing V formation as they crossed the moon had me wishing I could capture the beauty and the sound of their flight. Only in my mind, did I capture it, tucking the memory away to bring out, like a good book, and revisit the wonder of it.
The coyotes were active last night and their voices echoed through the leafless trees as they pursued their night's meal. I heard them run along the cedar glade where deer were grazing earlier. As I called my husband to hear their song, they grew silent. I continued to listen, in the cold night, and imagined their path. As they picked up their prey trail again, they sang to the night, crossing the creek and following the old road up the hill...and then silence. The silence left me wondering, were they successful in their hunt or did they search for another main course.
While listening, I was warm and lost in the moment but as the night sounds left, the cold crept in. I returned to the warmth and shut the door on the night.
I was absent under the guise of holidays. That was not the truth.
I have been reaching deep into my heart for forgiveness. It is hard to forgive, I have discovered.
Hard to understand, much less forgive, the persons who, uninvited, forced their way into OUR space. Not only did they steal, they destroyed. They methodically dumped each box, each drawer, each container. They deliberately damaged what they did not want. They took what they could sell for a pittance...any thing not to work honestly.
All they saw was an old house, ripe for the picking, "abandoned" therefore, free for the taking. If they had asked, I am sure the family would have given them what they needed.
It is not the loss of things. It is the loss of faith in people, it is the unnecessary destruction, it was the invasion of personal space and it was the loss of hours of labor and time.
Now, we are faced, not only with loss, but the repair of the remains. All shall now have to be boxed again, resorted, repaired and readied.
The purpose of this was to raise money for the farm operation and the care of the people who do the work here. To finally shed the "baggage" of generations and benefit from the sharing.
It was not our home, but it was our childhood home. It was not extremely valuable but it was valued enough to steal.
After this, I will speak no more of the feelings we sisters share...we feel assaulted as if it were a personal assault on ourselves, we feel unsafe, untrusting and very discouraged. All our work of gathering, cleaning and sorting is gone, hours of labor, personal items, treasures...and the saddest loss of all is faith and trust.
I, personally, have had a stretch of "What's the use?" I resent what the thief has stolen from me. My confidence, my plans, my hope, my joy and my ambition. I could not speak of it. I could not wrap my mind around the fact that someone could do this and find profit and joy in the doing.
Many of you have sent wonderful, kind, heart-warming comments and I have wrapped them around me like a warm blanket. I have chewed each piece of advice like a piece of jerky and know what you said makes sense...I cannot let the thieves steal my soul, my joy, my spirit. If I allow that, the thief wins and I lose all.
was found a few years ago by Beverly and me. We were cleaning the old house at the top farm, where we grew up. The thought came to check the attic, if it could be called that, it was only a space of rafters and air between the ceiling and the roof. I climbed onto a chair that was on a dresser and opened the attic space. I stood, head and shoulders into the attic space.
Far away, close to the chimney, I saw something tucked between the ceiling timbers...it was this box. It was wet from the recent rains. We opened it, saw papers but did not disturb them. We placed the box to dry so the papers would not be destroyed.
Tonight the box came to mind, I lifted it from the space it had occupied since that discovery on a rainy day years ago.
I slowly opened the lid and stepped back in time. I explored one small cardboard box within the large one. I discovered when Grandpa Albert Jackson Pruett died, Granny Pruett got a check for $25.
I now know they paid $100 for their farm in 1929(No longer in the family). I discovered they tested seven cattle for Avian Tuberculosis. I found train tickets from 1929.
I found Italian money Uncle Clifton had sent during World War II. I found his meal pass. Uncle Clifford received metals for meritorious service while still a Private in Italy. I know Uncle Clifton was in charge of the military mules during his basic training.
I found letters to home and the true penny postcard and a three cent letter. Letters that Granny Pruitt saved as precious letters from her two boys in the service, Uncle Clifton and Uncle Ugene.
I found some of my family's past, in this old box, and was very glad we had rescued it from the attic. Who knows why tonight, after all this time, I looked. I am very happy I did and very excited to explore the rest of the contents soon.
at work and hay day at home. Christmas has reached the postal service! I think every one in town and the surrounding counties had items to mail yesterday and that is good...job security.
I love email but there is something special about getting real mail, not bills, not flyers, but a real, honest-to-goodness handwritten note from someone. Knowing that someone took the time to send it, makes all the difference in the world.
Letter writing is a lost art in a time when the world is at our fingertips. Remember the joy of mail and drop someone a note just to let them know you're thinking of them.
That was not a paid advertisement for the postal service! I just remember the joy when that was the main way to communicate.
On the unemployment front, my brother-in-law asked me today how it felt be married to a bum. I said, no difference, he stills sleeps in the same recliner.
I have to brag on Hubby. He has worked on duct work, pieces that needed repair and on a few other things under the house...too cold to be fencing. I am presently sitting close to a vent that wasn't quite warming me yesterday, today my body is warm! Thank you, my poor unemployed bum of a husband. I haven't had to give him a honey-do list yet!