Ok, so the stuff I made didn’t turn out, too salty, even rinced. So I bought some. Never tasted it before and all these years I had no idea how much I would like it. Oh my goodness! If I put it on my salad it’s better than salad dressing. Love the stuff.
And who would think it has probiotics? Cabbage great stuff.
Do you know what it’s like to wake up in the morning, rain or shine, and be thankful for a life you love? To jump out of bed happy to face what ever challenges the day will throws at you.
Do you know what it’s like to be doing all day exactly what you wanted to be doing since you were little? To be the very thing you answered when grown ups asked you: What do you to be when you grow up?
Do you know what’s it’s like to have people pay you to do what you would for free just because it makes you so happy?
Do you know what it’s like to crawl into bed at the end of the day so tired and satisfied that sleep envelopes you like a warm soft blanket? To sleep blissfully knowing tomorrow will be full of joy again?
So, that might help explain why I miss the things I do so much. It’s hard to not look back to times with so much joy in them, to not want that life back. Just a little grief talking today.
Writing is actually therapeutic, for me at least. Just reading what I write about my life’s journey helps say things that sometimes I don’t want to admit to my self.
The whole day has been one of good memories from my trip to Latvia and the U.K. last year. I still can hardly believe I was brave enough to do something so seemingly crazy.
I guess it happens to most of us especially when you don’t feel good. At least I hope I’m not the only one.
Some days I’m just angry. I think I’m doing good, all positive attitude-wise, good food choices, doing productive things, being patient, and then suddenly I feel like a string that is strung too tight.
Like I could snap, knocking Ali out in the first round, there is so much pent up energy behind it.
Anger is just not healthy. I have to find some way to get rid of it before that becomes what kills me.
I’m bored today. Excruciatingly so. First time ever. I can’t find one blinking thing to do living in the city that helps. I tried walking, driving, even went to look in a greenhouse. Maybe it’s just a horrible case of spring fever but I feel like if I have to spent one more minute inside I’m going to scream and start throwing stuff.
I should be out fixing fence, getting ready for the cows to come. Seeing baby calves in everyone’s fields and laughing at the antics of the first gophers of the year. Listening for a robin. Cities suck!
I’m not sure if you can tell from the photo but inside the little glasses on top of two of my candle holders have little butterflies and flowers (albeit plastic ones). And little solar panels so the butterflies are constantly moving. Even though spring is just a wish right now they remind me it’s coming.
It’s kind of sad I’m missing the spring bluebonnets in Texas and the daffodils in Wales but maybe this spring I’ll see the precious little crocuses blooming in every little dip on big vast prairie. They are my favorite. Crocus and little baby calfs, curled up beside them, napping.
Just thought it might be interesting for you to see what the weather was like here as I write this. Obviously still winter. But wait five minutes, it could change.
Dust of a homesick heart. More personal stuff, sorry.
I drove to the Brooks today, (so many memories there) and when I left I started to cry and I cried the whole hour drive back to the city where we live now. I actually said, out loud, “I miss the person I used be” thinking about when Brooks was the place we shopped for everything, often groceries after dark and a long hard day in the saddle.
I try not looking back, but it’s hard since the view in front me is blocked by a really big Wall.
I am climbing but it worries me what I might actually see from the top of wall. Will the hard climb be worth it?
My cowboy must have felt it too; he started talking about wanting a mule again. Once a cowboy always a cowboy.
It was Oct 31 and I was eleven when I first met my old Desk. I had just started Grade 6. That was a cold prairie winter I walked clear across town so I could finish out the grade instead of moving to the new school that was just a few blocks from our new house. New to us as it was built in 1904. Cute little place it was. It was my mom that made it that way with her inherited Danish hygge (which means something like cozy).
The Desk and a few other things were left behind by the older lady that sold my parents that house (for all of $6000). The Desk sat in my bedroom upstairs and I used it everyday, if not for homework, then for painting or writing kid-poems as I often did.
I don’t know much about it other than that, except that it’s old, way older than me.
I thought about selling it but could bare too so I plan on giving it to one of my granddaughters. I think she likes to write too. Not sure how to get it to her but I hope she can love it as much as I did and maybe think of me when she looks at.
A couple of the latest books I’ve been reading. I sure do love the library, free books (for up to 9 weeks anyway). Seems to go with my eccentric new diet.