The Grigsbys Part Four - John's Burial

To know where John was buried you need to understand funeral and burial customs of the time.  John, so they say, committed suicide by drowning, which, much like today, is looked upon with shame.  You don't get buried in a church by committing suicide, you might not even get buried in a churchyard.

One thing you'll notice is that Christian churches tend to orient their altars to face east.  This actually started as a pagan tradition by the early sun worshippers.  Along the same lines, the dead are buried with their head in the west, and their feet facing east.  The important people and martyrs were buried inside the church, and everyone else in the church graveyard.

People were buried as close to each other as possible, all facing east.  But you'll notice that the graveyard around a church will be full of stones on the south, east, and west sides, but few on the north side.  For here is where the outcasts were buried - criminals and suicides.

"In order to understand the matter we must know that the north or left-hand side of the altar which is, of course, in the chancel at the east end of the church, is known as the Gospel side, whilst the right or south side of the altar is called the Epistle side. In the Roman Catholic church the Epistle is read on the south or Epistle side of the altar, and the Gospel at the north or Gospel side.

Before the Reformation, this country necessarily conformed to this Catholic practice. The underlying idea of this is that the Gospel was preached to "call not the righteous, but sinners to repentance." Hence the side from which the Gospel is read was delegated to those who, having committed crimes, were in greater need of salvation, and those so buried were said to be "out of sanctuary."

If it is thought that this treatment of the social outcast was too severe, what will be said of the earlier custom which denied him even so favoured a position? The body of the suicide has in all times been subject to some sort of penal measures."

In 1582 the Kirk Sessions of Perth refused to allow the corpse of a man who had committed suicide by drowning to be "brought through the town in daylight, neither yet to be buried among the Faithful"--"but in the little inch (island) within the water." To trace the matter still further, we find it laid down by the canons under Egbert, Of A.D. 740, that Christian burial was to be denied to those who laid violent hands upon themselves, and who thus act by any fault, so excluding those who may commit the deed in a state of frenzy. Not unfrequently the suicide was buried in the spirit of charity, without ceremony in the unconsecrated ground in the churchyard as we have seen, but the earlier practice was to take the body away from human habitation and bury it where four roads met.
Various reasons for this strange custom have been given; knowing as we do, that one of the prominent features of the treatment of the dead is the terror which all ages and all peoples have shown at the possibility of the return of a revengeful spirit, we are justified in thinking that the real object was to confuse the mind of the departed as to the direction of his former home, and the fact that it was a common practice to anchor the body down by driving a wooden stake through the heart tends to support this theory. We see the same attempt to "maze" the dead in a sense of direction in another custom, for it was once considered necessary for the funeral procession to return from the graveside a different way to that by which the corpse had been carried, in order to render it more difficult for the departed shade to return if it had any intention of haunting the relatives.

A stake through the heart?  Crossroads?  Can you say vampire?  How about the Crossroads Demon (okay, you have to watch Supernatural to get that one).  

So we don't know where John was buried.  If he was buried in a churchyard, it would probably be in Mersham Churchyard, now known as St John the Baptist Churchyard.  There is no stone that survived, if ever he was privileged to have one, and being a suicide, he would be buried on the north side of the church itself.



Next up, we'll see what happened to John and Margaret's oldest son, Alexander.

The Grigsbys Part Three - Tragedy Strikes

John Grigsby married well by all accounts.  Margaret was an heiress and a woman of means.  So he was surely handsome and charming.  And he was no slacker either, having worked for both Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn, queens of England.

So why on earth would he kill himself?  According to official records, that's exactly what he did.

From the Public Record Office, Chancery Lane, London, there is a document written in Latin.

INQUISITION POST MORTEM
15 June 1550
KENT: INQUISITION indented taken at Ayssshetisford [Ashford] in the county aforesaid the fifth day of the month of June in the fourth year of the reign of our sovereign Lord Edward the Sixth [15 June 1550] by the grace of God of England France and Ireland King defender of the faith and on earth supreme head of the church in England and Ireland.

Before John Toke Esq escheator of the said lord the king in the county aforesaid by virtue of the office of Escheator aforesaid upon the oath of John Taylor of Shadockesherst, Laurence Colman, Nicholas Hawke, Simon Fagg, Thomas Marshall, Robert Gransden, Thomas Hall of Wye, William Igulden, Stephen Affryth, John Ayssherst of Bever, Robert Cavell, and John Smert, good and lawful men of the county aforesaid. Who say upon their oathes that a certain John Grygby of Mersham in the county aforesaid, GENTLEMAN who on the nineteenth day of the month of January in the 3rd year of the reign of the said Lord King [19 January 1550] at Wyllesberough in the county aforesaid, voluntarily and feloniously committed suicide by drowning himself on the said nineteenth day of January possessed as of his proper goods of and in diverse goods and catties and other utensils written below to the value of sixty pounds and more. That is to say, of four quarters of wheat, ten quarters of barley, seven carucates of hay, one horse, two geldings, eight heifers, twelve cows, one bull, twenty and four draught animals  and bullocks, ten calves, nineteen lambs, eight pigs and ten piglets and four beds with their appurtenances. But of what other further cattle or utensils the said John had at the time of his drowning the jurors aforesaid are ignorant. In testimony of which thing to one part of this present inquisition indented remaining in the possession of the aforesaid escheator, the aforesaid jurors have put their seals to the other proper part to the same indented inquisition remaining with the aforesaid John Taylor, first juror, the aforesaid escheator has placed his seal, the day, place and year abovesaid.

Signatures: John Taylor, Robert Gransdyn, Thomas Hall, William Igulden,
various marks — [seals removed] 

All property was confiscated by the Crown if one committed suicide, hence the inventory of his property, valued at 60 pounds or more.  Luckily, Margaret's inheritance was not considered part of his goods, so she was able to live on in comfort for another 10 years or so.  We know that Margaret was buried under the chancel of the church in Loose, which was an honor reserved for important people.  So where was her husband John buried?

More in Part Four!

The Grigsbys Part Two - Margaret

Leeds Castle has always been a haven. The Queens of Henry VIII came to escape the Plague and pestilence in London. With an outbreak of the 'sweating sickness, Cardinal Wolsey moved to the safety of the Castle.

Leeds Castle and park passed from Royal ownership in 1552, when the Royal treasury was depleted.

This fairystyle castle, dating from the 9th century, is built upon two small islands in a serene lake. Today it is open to the public to see the beautiful setting of a castle surrounded by water with the park, woods and pastures in the background. You may walk through the richly furnished apartments which include medieval tapestries and paintings and see the splendor once enjoyed by Royalty. There are adjoining aviaries, a duckery, grotto, maze, golf course and a small vineyard. You can view the "SEMINAR ROOM" where my ancestor, John Grigby, served the Queens as "Clerk of her Council and Registrar of her Chancery."

Let's pick up where we left off - when John married Margaret Sharp in 1525 in All Saints Church in Loose, Kent.

Margaret was an heiress to all the properties of her father, Alexander Sharpe, gentleman. Those lands were located in the Parishes of LOOSE, FRITTENDEN, FARLEY, BIDDENDEN, CRANBROOK, and BENNENDEN.  What exactly is a "gentleman", and why is it important?  A gentleman was the lowest rank of the English gentry, below an esquire, but above a yeoman.  Because of that, stuff was written about them!  Otherwise, this family history would have been impossible to trace back this far.

Margaret was also the sole heir from her mother, Johanna Brode whose grandfather, John Brode, Senior, gentleman, was of Smeath, Brabome and Mersham Parishes, Kent. He held the positions of Coroner and Under-sheriff of Kent County. This title and position was an appointment from the Crown.

Their home in Maidstone was evidently the property inherited from Margaret's grandparents, John Brode, gentleman, and his wife, Joanne. It is described as "a messuage (house), garden and orchard in the towne of Maydston."

The family was living here in 1542, which date covers the time period their six children were bom about 1527-1538. Soon afterwards, they moved to Mersham Parish.

Margaret inherited an estate in that Parish from her BRODE ANCESTORS, which lands extended into Brabome Parish. The Manor House was called "BOWE." She was living here when she made her will dated: 7 MAY 1560, and it was given to her son, Alexander Grygsby, as recorded in her will.

You will note that she gave equally to her four daughters, lands and estates, as well as her two sons. She was fair and generous when the law in England at this time recognized that the oldest son have all the inheritance. My 11th great-grandmother believed in women's rights!  Margaret, along with her daughter Catherine, are buried in All Saints Church in Loose, under the chancel (right in front of the altar).  According to the church's website, evidence still exists in the stone.

37. Chancel, under the E window, just north of centre. Ledger stone, head towards the west: [Catherine] LAMB wyf Xpo[pher LAMB] Gent a dafter of [Marga]ret GRIGSBY died [......] of Decembar 1590.

Important people and martyrs were buried inside the church, so Margaret was well respected (or filthy rich).  

 

So whatever happened to John?  We'll find out in Part Three!

The Grigsbys Part One

So let me tell you a story.  A story about real people.  My ancestors; the Grigsby line.

I could start with the Vikings from Denmark invading the British Isles since there is a general belief that's where we came from.  "Bye" means closed settlement in Danish, where people usually lived that were related to each other.  What we spell Grigsby now was spelled in many different ways back then; Grigsbye, Greagsby, Greaby, Grigby, Grebby.

The use of surnames is relatively new, and they certainly weren't in use when the Vikings invaded Lincolnshire, but there were many settlements in that area with variations on the Grigsby name, so it appears likely that the surname was chosen to indicate a place.

Henry VIII was the first to order that "marital births be recorded under the name of the father" in the mid 1500's, which is when we meet our first ancestor, John Grigby (1495-1550).  John was in London when retained by Queen Catherine of Aragon (Henry VIII) "as clerk of her Council and Registrar of her Chancery." John was paid 5 pounds for his duties in 1529.

"King Henry VIII, with an entourage of many persons, set out from Greenwich Palace
near London on his way to a meeting called the FIELD of the CLOTH of GOLD-20 May
1520, reaching Leeds Castle the 22nd."  Leeds Castle was one of the King's many "Summer Palaces", and I continue to use that name to reference my little camper in Detroit Lakes, MN.

In 1521, the Queen occupied her suite in Leeds Castle, located five miles southeast of Maidstone in Kent.

For all you history buffs or historical romance readers, Catherine of Aragon was Henry VIII's first wife.  The daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand, yep, that Isabella and Ferdinand from your history books.
 
And when Henry divorced Catherine and married Anne Boleyn, John went to work for her as well.  In 1534 he again earned 5 pounds.  John worked for Queen Anne until her death in 1536 (she was executed).

Maidstone is about 5 miles from Leeds Castle.  Here he met and married Margaret Sharp about 1525. Margaret was from Loose, about 3 miles from Maidstone.

Maidstone, Loose, and Leeds Castle

More to come in Part Two!

Sad Dream

Early this morning I dreamed that I had just come back from long travels and was now in a temporary place waiting to go home.  I didn't have a home, so I was going to move in with Mom until my home could be built.

I felt the deep contentment of where I'd been, and the sweet anticipation of just going home again to rest somewhere where I  could be quiet and know I was loved.

At the end of the dream, I remember that Mom was dead and I didn't have anywhere to go.  I was alone.  What woke me up was 4 knocks somewhere in the house, and a female voice saying something to me that I didn't understand.  Grace (my cat) heard it too, or she reacted to me thinking I heard it.  Of course there was no one there at 0630.

I know that my dreams are an attempt to reconcile the deep feelings that I have about leaving Texas and moving closer to family.  My Mom used to ask almost every phone call "when are you coming home", meaning "when are you going to give up this silly dream of living away from North Dakota and move back in with me?".  She gradually gave up the notion and celebrated every success that I had, and kept every postcard from exotic places I sent her.

So where am I in moving?  We continue to take delays - insurance okayed a new roof, siding fix, and even some fence repair, but it has yet to be done.  The siding has been discontinued, so we're fighting the insurance company to replace all of it so that the color matches.

And the sliding glass door hasn't been installed yet.  My handyman got cold feet on me and confessed he wasn't sure he could do it.  Then he thought that maybe he could, but got an emergency plumbing call.  So hopefully today?

Here's some progress pics - sometimes I feel like I've done nothing and have to look at them to understand.

It Could Be Worse, Right?

Baseboards are done, bedroom doors are replaced, the broken tile in the bathroom has been replaced and grouted, the old room electric heat controls have all been removed, and I have half hardheartedly started painting.  The entry door has 2 coats of varnish on it (it looks fabulous by the way), and the new sliding glass door and new door to the garage will be delivered tomorrow morning.

And just as I suspected, the more work we do, the more we find to do.  If I learned one lesson here, it's to not put off house maintenance!  It's always seemed overwhelming to me, but if I had done one thing at a time, I'd be ready to put my house on the market.

Today was supposed to be tree day, but I got a call this morning saying that the owner had poison oak all over his body, and that he needed several days to recover.  Bummer.  I was really looking forward to the positive changes tree trimming and removal was going to make, especially to my backyard.

Next week the tub is getting refinished, hopefully the fence will get done, and siding repaired.  Tonight I worked on a Pinterest project; picked up some trim molding and stained it with the stain I had leftover from the entry door.  It'll be cut to "frame" the huge mirror in the downstairs bathroom.  There's not enough room to actually frame it, so it will be glued to the mirror with Liquid Nails.  The downstairs bathroom is the ugliest room in the house, so any little bit helps.

I have the whole week of Thanksgiving off, so I can finish my painting chores then if I don't finish them this weekend.  I really hate painting.

Sweat Equity

I have a list of tasks that need to get done before I can put my house on the market.  It seems like an awfully long list, but I know that once I get started it'll all be done before I know it.  The list is separated by items I can do myself versus tasks I need others to do.

This weekend I have spray painted the gas fireplace surround (very successful), spray painted an old air intake vent (not so great), sanded and painted a patch my contractor left on the wall upstairs after fixing HIS plumbing mistake (bastard), and started work on my entry door.

When I first looked at the door, I thought for sure it would need to be replaced.  The finish was peeling, and it squeaks when opening.  But knowing that my budget is tight, I decided to see if I could refinish it instead.  First I sanded off what varnish I could, then put paint stripper on the parts I couldn't get to.  Then I put a coat of Gunstock stain on the door.  It doesn't look half bad!  I'll add a second coat in a couple of hours, let it dry overnight, then do a couple coats of varnish.

Lowes finally delivered my baseboard and bedroom doors this morning.  They were supposed to be here Friday morning - they called Thursday afternoon and said that they didn't have a driver.  I explained that I had already taken the day off and really needed the baseboards - she said they'd get them to me sometime on Friday.  Friday night they called and said that the truck broke down, and could they please deliver on Saturday instead?  I called bulls**t on that one; was the truck broke or did they not have a driver?  Profuse apologies and waiving the delivery fee later, I hung up.

Saturday...all day...no Lowes truck and no phone call.  By this point I was resigned to not getting my stuff until Monday.  My handyman was waiting for the delivery so he could start, but he has a doctor's appointment on Monday, so now he can't start work until Tuesday.

This morning (Sunday) I got the phone call - Lowe's will be here in an hour.  I didn't take my frustrations out on the drivers; I don't think they actually work for Lowes anyway.  Since we're expecting another round of cold and rain Tuesday, I guess I'll be painting baseboards on my birthday (tomorrow).  Good thing I took the day off to celebrate!

All You Need to Do is Ask

I vowed that this winter was the year I was finally get my house fixed up and ready for sale.  It's sometimes overwhelming the list of items that have to get done, and the list seems to get longer by the day.

I separated the list by what I could do and what I needed to hire out for, and went to Lowes for supplies for the jobs I could do myself.  As I was pondering what brush would work for varnish (my entry door), a man behind me asked what I was going to paint.  Assuming it was a Lowes employee, I answered before turning around, then discovered that it was just another shopper who saw the confused look on my face and stopped to help.

As we discussed the project, he gave me all sorts of helpful hints, and then as he was walking away offered up his card.  He's a handyman!  I hired him on the spot.

Today he came to the house and we discussed my projects.  Some things, like the sliding glass door which I thought I'd have to replace, he said he can fix instead.  We measured for doors and baseboards and then headed to Lowes for supplies.

Since the supplies won't be delivered until Friday, I got lunch at Taco Bell and headed home.  My first bite of taco was interrupted by a knock on the door.  I answered it, thinking my handyman forgot something.  It was a man, probably a Gypsy, selling his services door to door.  He offered to clean and seal my vinyl siding, and his price kept going lower and lower while I stood there and listened.  

It's on my list to do.  Okay, it's on my list to call someone to do if we want to be honest.  

And I don't pay him until it's done to my satisfaction.  And he'll do it right now and be done in less than 3 hours.  

"Okay", I said.  He and his wife are doing it now, and from what I see so far it looks a lot better than it did.  The front porch looks all clean and shiny, even under the eaves.

One of the items on my list was one I felt I could tackle, even though it involved electrical.  The switch on my old closet pull chain light had broken last fall, and the only way to turn the light on was to screw the light bulb in.  To turn the light off?  You guessed it; unscrew the light bulb.  Before I left for Lowes I figured it would be good to measure the old fixture, so I climbed up on the step ladder to do just that.  For grins and giggles, I pulled the cord too.

It fixed itself.  Or my housekeeper fixed it this summer while I was gone.  Or a miracle happened.  Anyway, it was the first item I could cross off my list!

I got the hedges trimmed and a hinge fixed too.  Three down, a million to go.

My point in all of this, is that sometimes when you truly have an intention, the universe puts people in front of you to help you.  Instead of not answering the door like I normally would, I took a chance and there was someone willing to help me accomplish my goal.  By striking up a conversation in a hardware store, I found a handyman who is already acting like a father to me, offering to show me what's wrong and how to fix stuff (like the leaky toilet flapper).  

And Gypsies are cleaning my house as we speak.  One more item off my list, and one more day closer to achieving my goal!

On the Road Again

I just spent the week in Santiago, Chile, where it's springtime and bursting with flowers and green.  The flight down was miserable - 10 hours of trying to find a comfortable way to sleep when you can't even stretch your legs out.  The entertainment system didn't work on the 777, nor did the wifi, so there wasn't a whole lot to do except try to sleep!



So on the flight back, I expected more of the same.  This time the plane was an even older 767 - no entertainment system and no wifi.  The older gentleman that arrived at his seat next to me introduced himself by saying "oh, so you're the unlucky one that has to sit by me?".

Oh boy.

Turns out he was a sweet Southerner from Tulsa, and we chatted for quite a long time.  He mentioned that he never at the soft cheese wrapped in a triangle shape that usually came on the dinner plate - I told him that I actually liked that cheese.  You know, innocuous conversation that is pleasant and makes the time go faster.

Dinner service came, and both flight attendants treated us like we were one of the family - when I asked for a beer, she gave me two.  Cheerful, friendly, and funny - that was Kay and Kirina.  I haven't had service like that in years, especially in economy class!

Later, I settled in to try and rest some, and and my seatmate did the same.  I woke up in the middle of the night, and saw that someone had tried to tuck him in.  He told me never uses the pillow or blanket, but he had a blanket on his lap, and pillow behind his head.

Then I noticed the cheese.  Someone had placed two pieces of cheese on my armrest while I was sleeping.  In the morning I asked the flight attendants which one of them overhead my conversation - they claimed they didn't do it.  They even asked the flight attendant further back if he had done it - nope!  And neither did my seatmate.

It's a flight like that that makes me realize why I loved traveling all those years.  Little acts of kindness that mean so much when you're exhausted and just want to be home.

Oh, and Chile was nice too.

Why Am I So Afraid to Follow My Dream?

I have the opportunity to make my dream come true, and it's causing me no end of anxiety.

My dream?  To live in Minnesota full-time, in a house in the country, with big gardens and maybe even a chicken coop out back.

There's a sweet piece of land for sale in a subdivision outside of town I've long loved.  It's 2 acres, half wooded, with no special covenants or assessments.  It has tarred roads, and I've been told that they're kept plowed in the winter.  The builder I like looked at the land with me, and says that it's a good spot for building, albeit it after they move some dirt around to build up the low spots.

I have really, really, good credit, and started the pre-approval process a couple of months ago just to see what the banks said I could afford.  It was WAY more than I thought, and WAY more than I want to spend at any rate.  But it really expanded my view on what I could have, and with the interest rates being so low, my payment wouldn't be any more than what I'm paying for my old house in Texas (note: it's a 15-year mortgage, plus I pay $500 extra a month on the principle.  It will be paid off in March 2016).

So why the fear?  I'm scared of getting in over my head.  Those 2 acres will need to be mowed (well, part of it anyway), and snow removed.  I've never operated a snow blower in my life, though I guess I could learn.  Building a new home seems so daunting to me, and I'm just positive that there's a key piece that I'll need that isn't covered in the cost.  My builder has already told me about the driveway, septic system, water well, and bringing fill dirt/excavation.  Appliances are also extra - that pro range I want might not be possible.

What if my house in Texas doesn't sell?  Where do I get the money for the down-payment for the land?  Should I just take out a 401k loan and buy the land with cash?

Am I too old to start over in a new place?  Am I fooling myself that I can handle it on my own?

But then I go back to the dream.  Entertaining family after their day on Detroit Mountain skiing (it's only about a mile away) in front of a fire.  Watching the deer right outside the window.  Having the room (and storage) to can/freeze/dry all of the fresh produce I can grow in my many raised beds on the property.  Working in my 4-season porch with expansive views on 2 sides.  Hiking in the woods and on the many trails nearby.  Watching the leaves turn.  The first snow of the season dusting the ground.

Even better, not having to pack up and move twice a year across country (yeah, I'm really dreading that trip in a couple of weeks).

Anatomy of a Migraine

It's been more than a year since I had a full-blown migraine, or I should say one that I wasn't able to head off at the pass before it got bad enough to make me wish I hadn't gotten out of bed that day.

I woke up with a headache; that's typically how they start for me.  If I'm smart and take two Tylenol right away, often times it stays a dull roar all day.  Today I was busy with work stuff, and chose to ignore the headache.  It stayed a dull roar most of the morning.  I had coffee like always, and some raspberries for breakfast.

Then WHAM, the headache went from a dull roar to a gut-clenching, soul-killing, head-throbbing, make me want to puke kind of pain that I had almost forgotten about.  It happened so fast I literally got on a conference call and bowed out immediately, saying I was ill.

I finally took the Tylenol, but it was already too late.  My migraines include a runny nose, sneezing, diarrhea, nausea, and vomiting.  Sometimes a hot shower helps, even though it's contrary to what the physiology of a migraine is.  A migraine supposedly results from dilated blood vessels; they get big and set off the pain.  And cold will shrink the blood vessels; heat will expand them.

Yet for years, a hot shower with the water directed at the back of my head has brought relief, along with breathing in eucalyptus and peppermint essential oil while in the steam.  Not so today.  I took two hot showers, with vomiting in between, and pacing the floor in between that.  I'm not one that can lay down in a dark room with a migraine - it makes the pain worse, so I have to sit up or stand up for the worst of it.  But past history has shown me that the vomiting signals the end or nearly the end.  I was finally able to lay down propped up on 4 pillows and wait it out.  With my eyes closed I could see shapes like an old fashioned kaleidoscope, all silvery and moving together.

I finally dozed off, and when I next opened my eyes, sweet relief.  I'm never more thankful for feeling normal (well, mostly normal) than after a bad migraine.  I feel shaky, out of it, still with little appetite, and a bit headachy, but compared to what it was like just a couple of hours ago, I'll take it!

Tomato Tomahto

Last week I was too late - a lady bought the bushel of Roma tomatoes just as I got in line at my favorite Farmer's Market vendor, Lida Farm.  And oh, did she gloat!

So this week I got there early, and was the first person in line; in fact the booth wasn't even set up yet, so I "helped" display the peppers, cukes, cherry tomatoes, kale, beets, corn, and assorted other beauties.  I saw the bushel of Romas behind the table and told Ryan (the farmer) that I'd take 'em all.  He thought that it was about 25 pounds, but having experience carrying 30 and 40 pound containers of cat litter, I think it was closer to 30 pounds.

He also had some yellow Romas - I couldn't resist those either, but stopped at 2 quarts.  And took two ginormous red onions, a dozen jalapenos, a bunch of basil, and a dozen ears of corn.

So what does one do with 30 pounds of tomatoes?

First up - dehydrating.  I took the yellow Romas and some of the little red Romas and cut them in half and put them skin side down in the dehydrator.  These babies were juicy; I cooked 'em 12 hours yesterday and only some are ready.  Once dry, they'll be vacuum packed and frozen for the long journey back to Texas.  To use, I'll pour boiling water over them and let them reconstitute for about 30 minutes, then use them for pasta, stews, bruschetta, etc.

Next up, I made a batch of basil garlic tomato sauce for the canner.  I can see throwing some meatballs in this sauce and slow cooking it all day.

I still have two large bowls of tomatoes left, so today I'll can some in their own juice, and also make some salsa.  I don't have any cilantro, and I'm feeling very lazy today, so I might wait until tomorrow after I can get to the store.  Since I'll likely be giving all the salsa away, I'll use cilantro even though I can't stand the stuff (apparently I'm genetically special in that regard, as was Julia Child).

I also have a few tomato plants of my own.  The Cherokee Purples are gorgeous and so sweet!  And with the cukes I have growing up a small trellis, I made a delicious and simple salad Friday night.

I added feta cheese just before serving.  The vinaigrette was olive oil and red wine vinegar, with salt, pepper, and a little za'atar thrown in.  Za'atar is a Lebanese spice mix of thyme, sumac, and toasted sesame seeds, which I can't seem to get enough of.  Order it from Amazon.com since you're unlikely to find it in a grocery store around here.  It's also the traditional topping for Labneh, which is nothing but regular yogurt with some salt added that's been strained in cheesecloth for a couple of days until it's the texture of cream cheese, but oh so much better tasting (and better for you).  Top the labneh with extra virgin olive oil and za'atar and eat with Pita bread, veggies, or chips.

Preserving My Summer

I am a curious cook and love this time of year, when my gardens and the Farmer's Market overflows with fresh produce.  Yesterday I made wild rice (grown here in Minnesota), pattypan squash, and apple sauteed with baby kale and it was surprisingly good.  

I've made Caprese salad for the neighbors with my beautiful Cherokee Purple heirloom tomatoes, and my cucumbers have made delightful salads as well as pickles (both dill and refrigerator).

To give you an idea of what I've preserved this summer:

Sauerkraut; plain, with caraway, and with celery seeds (3 batches)

Fermented kosher dills - 3 gallons

Fermented garlic

Strawberry Rhubarb jam

Meyer Lemon Marmalade

Blackberry Lime jam

Fermented dilly carrots

Fermented dilly beans

Fermented asparagus

Pickled jalapenos, Serrano, and Hungarian hot wax peppers

Pickled ginger

Pickled beets

Tomorrow I'm going to make rhubarb chutney, which I've made before.  It's a sweet, savory, chunky sauce just perfect for pairing with pork or chicken, or over a block of cream cheese.  I'm also going to make a savory pluot jam.  A pluot is a cross between a plum and an apricot.  This jam calls for honey, rosemary, balsamic vinegar and fresh chives.  

And the Farmer's Market is tomorrow, so I will probably get more beans and dill...

And frozen food - I invested in a Food Saver vacuum packing machine, and I wonder how I survived all these years without it!  I've frozen 18 ears of corn (blanched and cut off the cob), tons of rhubarb, fresh sage (who knew you could preserve it this way?), fresh chives, and even quartered heirloom tomatoes.  I was going to can the tomatoes, and still will when I get more, but I didn't have lemon juice at home and was too lazy to go back to the store.  

I've given away lots of my jars, but still have a lot to pack in my car for the drive to Texas in October.  I'm gonna have to ship everything except jars and frozen stuff, and even then there will barely be room for the cat!

Local Food, Charm, and Small Town Wonderfulness

All summer I've been wanting to make brined dill pickles.  You know, the kind that sit in a barrel in New York delis just waiting to be chosen to accompany that delicious Reuben sandwich on rye.

So at the local Farmer's Market, I asked several of the farmers for pickling cucumbers.  "Sorry, we don't focus on them", said one.  Another farmer said that they simply weren't worth the trouble, since you have to pick them sometimes twice a day to ensure they don't get too big.

So in desperation I went to the local grocery store, Central Market.  I knew they sold some local produce, and last week they even had boxes and boxes of peaches meant for canning.  A young lady, probably in her late teens or early 20's, was stocking grapes in the produce section, so I asked her about pickling cucumbers.

"We only have what's out on the shelves", was her first answer, and truthfully, the answer I expected from a (probably) low-paid employee of the local grocery store.

"Does no one can their own dill pickles anymore," I asked aloud.

"What size are you looking for", she responded.

So I pulled the package of cellophane wrapped, Canada produced "mini" cucumbers off the shelf to show her.  "About this size" I said.

"We have a farm that we get our cucumbers from - do you want me to pick some for you?"

"Central Market has a farm?" I asked.

"Yes, we have 40 acres 2 1/2 miles outside of Frazee."

"And you would personally go to this farm and pick the right size cucumbers for me?"

"Sure - how many do you want?"

"Wait, I want to make sure I understand.  You, the underpaid, teenage, employee of this store, will personally pick the cucumbers I need?"

Okay, I didn't say that exactly, but it's what I thought.  I asked for a bushel, and she said that she'd have them waiting for me in the back room on Wednesday.  We'd figure out the price when I picked them up.

So I offered her some free marketing advice.  Underneath some of the produce there was a small sign that said "home grown", indicating that it came from a local farm.  I knew that some local food was sold here simply from the fact of how it looked - not so perfect, a little dirtier than the mass-produced stuff on the shelves.

"What if you really advertised your local food.  Home grown could mean that it was grown in California.  Locally Grown is the key word to getting our attention, and it should be in big letters on the bins.  Better yet, a whole section of local grown produce to draw people in."

I figure the natives roll their eyes at me when I talk like this.  Local food isn't anything new here; it's just the same as it has been for a hundred years.  But a big population of Detroit Lakes in the summer months come from cities where our tomatoes are shiny and full of ethylene gas, which makes them look fabulous.  And they taste like sawdust.  And our cucumbers come shrink wrapped in packages.  And rhubarb is something people of heard of, but never eaten.

And our pickles come from Clausen, not from our kitchen.

For Winter Blues - Meditation on Summer

As always, summer is passing in a blur of sunshine, food, family, and fun.  We can always count on the lake water being warm enough to swim in around the 4th of July, and so we've been taking advantage of that fact.  Yesterday much of the lake was smooth and shiny and just begging for us to get in.

We're so used to our boating routine that we sometimes forget how cool we are, until someone new comes along to remind us.  Our new friend Bianca came out with us yesterday.  Bianca has been living in the U.S. for about 4 years, but is from the Netherlands.  Our "typical day on the boat" consists of slowing motoring along the shoreline oohing and aahing at the homes we'd someday like to own, followed by burgers and/or brats on the grill.  When it gets too hot we jump in the water to cool off.  And a special treat is to wash our hair in the lake to get the kind of shiny softness you just can't get from city water.

Sometimes, in the dead of winter, I pull out my summer memories as almost a meditation exercise.  I'll close my eyes and recall floating on my back in the lake, or standing near the shore letting the sunfish nibble on my toes and ankles.  Or just laying back on the boat with my face to the sun, where there are no bills to pay, no work to accomplish, and nothing to think about except the gratitude felt when a perfect day presents itself.

And even when it rains we manage to have fun!  Last night the showers rolled in, so a campfire was out.  Instead, we played cards at the kitchen table, ate Swedish Fish, and laughed until midnight.

Grace, The Mighty Mouse Hunter

Grace is about 16.  I say about because I adopted her as (I thought) a kitten in 1998.  Her Mom was a feral cat that I used to feed, and she brought at least two litters to my front porch when they were old enough.  Missy (Mom cat) would sometimes almost let me pet her, and she brought me a dead snake once as a gift, but she and her brood were pretty feral.  The cat I now call Grace was originally called Blackie because, well, she was black.  After putting food in the dish on the porch she followed me in the house one day, and the rest is history.

Since then, she's been an indoors-only cat (she did escape for 2 weeks once, but she came back).  I sometimes find lizards in the bathtub in my Winter Palace, and none of my cats ever bothered with them.  They were all spoiled, pampered, royal kitties who never had to hunt or gather their food.

Grace normally sleeps on my pillow or right next to me at night.  Last night she settled in, then left.  I fell sound asleep early and dreamed about fishing (who knows why; and this has nothing to do with the story anyway).  I awoke to her insistent whining and meowing, and thinking maybe she was hungry, got up at 10:30 pm and put more food in her bowl.  She sniffed at it, then went halfway into the living room and meowed some more.

I turned on the light in the kitchen to see what was going on, and there, in the middle of the floor, was a dead mouse.  I picked it up and threw it away (ewww), and praised Gracie for killing it.  I haven't seen even droppings in this camper for a couple of years, so I figured it was a fluke.

I turned off the light and went back to bed, but Grace kept whining.  I thought, "oh no, what if the mouse was poisoned and now she's ill"?  So I got back up and googled it.  She was still acting weird, but now she was acting weird with a purpose.

"There's a second mouse", I thought.

No way - impossible.  No mice in years and suddenly two in one night?   Another mouse laying on its back was in the same spot on the floor.  I bent down to pick it up to throw it away and it suddenly recovered its senses and ran.  Damn.  I went back to the computer and this time googled "mice in campers".

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement.

"There it is!"

Grace didn't seem to see it, so I got a tupperware container, trapped it, and released it outside.

Grace was still patrolling the perimeter.

"There couldn't be three, could there?  Nah, I got the last one."

Leaving Grace to monitor the situation, I went back to bed.  At 3:30 a.m., Grace is in the bedroom pacing underneath the bed, whining.

"There are three", I thought.  Damn.

Turning the lights back on, I realize that she brought me this one, alive and squirming in her mouth.  She realized that there was no way I was going to be able to hunt and kill on my own, so she was attempting to teach me!  She dropped it at my feet and the mouse scrambled.  When I didn't give chase, she had to.  I heard occasional squeaks from behind the curtains as Grace stalked her prey.

When Grace temporarily lost sight of mouse #3, I went back to bed.  Again.

4:04 a.m. Grace is back in the bedroom - she caught it again.  And once again, she held it alive and dropped it in front of me.  I was able to catch it in Tupperware this time and release it outside.

Back inside, Grace seemed calmer.  So I went back to bed.  Again.

A little known fact - mid-June in Minnesota, the sun comes up, oh, around 4:30 a.m. or so.  The birds started singing soon after I hit the sheets.  My Mighty Mouse Hunter was sound asleep in her chair of course, resting up for another night of patrolling.  She seems pretty disgusted with me that I can't seem to catch on to what she's been patiently trying to teach me, but she'll keep trying anyway.

I've got one covered trap set up and 4 on order.  Once the rain quits I'll see if I can find where they're coming in - got a supply of steel wool to plug any holes, and "mouse repellent" too (mint).  Hopefully last night was a fluke, but I'm ready to go to war now.

Tonight, if I sleep (and that is doubtful), I'll dream of Grace dropping mouse after mouse on my slumbering body, trying to wake up my killer instinct so I won't starve.

Summertime...and the Living is Not Easy!

My Friday nights and Saturdays are full of fun, sun, family, food.  I'm not complaining!  Sundays though, people drift out of the campground back home so that they can mow their yard, do laundry, and get ready for the work week ahead.

Some Sundays I simply collapse with exhaustion, catch up on the TV shows I DVR'd during the week, and retreat from the world for awhile.  I am the classic introvert, and while I love people and having fun, they wear me out!

Today I was determined to cross off some of the items on my long to-do list.  I sprayed dandelions and thistles, put pesticide on the multitude of ant hills in my yard, harvested rhubarb, watered plants, weeded my gardens, and expanded my back garden to make easier to mow around.  That last task entailed hand cutting sod on ground that legend has used to be a rock quarry.

Some neighbors rode over to say hi on their bikes, and while we visited, a chipmunk ran to my feet, up my shoe and sat there for a minute.  My neighbors think I'm a chipmunk whisperer!

After they left, the same chippie came back and ran up my shoe again and then hung out around my feet for awhile.  I got some sunflower seeds, sat on the ground and waited.  He almost ate from my hand, but at the last moment scrambled up the shepherd's hook for the safer meal choice in the bird feeder.  It was a nice break to a back-breaking chore, and reminded me to be grateful for where I live.

I'm done with the yard chores now, and will start on the laundry and the dishes after I take the Tylenol for my aching back...

Decoration Day

The trees are leafing out, the grass is a vibrant green, and the dandelions are everywhere.  This weekend is the unofficial start of the summer season.  It's also traditionally a weekend of reflection and gratitude for the service our men and women have given for our country.

When I was a kid, it was called Decoration Day, and we would pile into the station wagon and drive to the old family cemetery in Oakes, ND so my Dad could clean up the gravesites and lay flowers.  The cemetery is on a hill, and we'd shriek with fear and delight when the car would tilt almost sideways, and I was certain that we'd start rolling down the hill.

There's another cemetery in Cassville, Wisconsin that holds the remains of many more McCartneys.  Orris McCartney was born in New York state in 1794 and was one of the pioneers of the upper Midwest, moving through first Illinois, and finally settling in Cassville.  A local historian in Cassville has researched my great great great grandad and said that the funeral procession went on for miles when Orris died.

We don't have a huge tradition of military service in my family.  My older brother served during Vietnam, but my father was denied, because, he said, flat feet.  Based on letters I found from his father written when Dad was in college, I think his parents thought that education was more important than the war.

Today, I think of my friends in Texas who lost their son in Afghanistan this year.  And I think of the serviceman that sat next to me on the plane that day.  He was close to my age, and saw me watching a TV show on my IPAD, saw the acronym TAPS on the screen, and started a conversation.

His family DID have a big military tradition.  His only child, a son, followed him into the service as soon as he was eligible.  The Dad had done 2 tours in Iraq, and expected to do more, and when his son was deployed to the Middle East, the family couldn't have been more proud.

Less than two weeks into his deployment, his only son was killed by an IED; a roadside bomb.  He left behind a young wife and a newborn.

This man on the plane was brave enough to tell me his story while crying through it.  This big, strong man with the graying crew cut sobbed as he told me about his son's funeral and memorial.  I never looked at a man in uniform the same way again.

Because of their service, I am able to enjoy summer in my beloved Minnesota.

Scarlet Tanager

Killdeer

Goldfinch

Indigo Bunting

Rose Breasted Grosbeak

Baltimore Oriole

Bully? Or Just Free Speech?

I'm quite active on a series of online forums that deal with weight loss, more specifically with weight loss surgery.  Right now, there are 4 common surgeries - RNY (gastric bypass), VSG (Vertical Sleeve Gastrectomy, which I had last May), DS (Duodenal Switch), and Lap Band (which I had 8 years ago).

There's also a general forum encompassing weight loss surgery in general, and a "secret" Rants and Raves board for off topic subjects.  I say secret because the terms of service for this site forbid you from mentioning its name.

Why keep it a secret?

The Rants and Raves board has a loyal following of regulars.  It's where you can swear, talk about anything, and blow off steam.  Unfortunately, it's also the place where the same group of people go to make fun of other posters on the other boards.  Lately, it's gotten really evil in my opinion.

There's a lady on the VSG board who just had surgery.  From the time she joined the forum, she would post probably 10 to 20 topics a day, some serious questions, others "fun" topics.  She was lonely, and wanted conversation.  Annoying?  Yes, but you can ignore the posts that annoy you.

She became quite the topic of conversation on Rants and Raves, with people calling her the "C" word, and others piling on.  They didn't like the fact that she was Christian, they didn't like her screen name, they didn't like her avatar.  Many of these regulars hadn't had VSG surgery, but they would surf the VSG board just for ammunition.  And felt totally free to bash posters asking a question that they felt was stupid.

Someone told one of the more regularly bashed posters about Rants and Raves, so she went there to defend herself.  The fighting escalated to the point where one person told her that if she didn't like what was being said, she should just kill herself.

 Now, this poster had just had VSG surgery and her gall bladder removed at the same time.  There were complications with her gall bladder removal, and she had just been discharged from the hospital after a 2-week stay, where things were touch and go.  Yes, the Rants and Raves regulars made fun of that too, saying that it was karma that caused her complications.

Another R&R regular posted a pic of a child's gravesite, where her brother was playing.  A real gravesite, and she thought that it was a funny topic.

And if ANYONE disagrees with one of the regulars, they accuse you of hormone dumping, as in "poor so-and-so, we should excuse their behavior; they're going through hormone dumping".

So the owners of the website are pulling the R&R board down effective Monday.  The regulars are very upset, saying that it's the only board that tells it like it is, and it's full of vets who only want to help.  And of course they're screaming free speech.

What do you think?  Does this fall under the free speech rights, or have they gone too far?  Do you have a right to make fun of emotionally fragile people because they're lonely, or asking a question that has been asked a million times before?  Do you have a right to tell someone to kill themselves because you don't agree with them?

I agree with the decision to pull down the board, by the way.  It won't stop these nasty people from replying to posts on the surgery boards, but at least now the worst of it won't be on public display.

I fully support your right to say anything you want, as long as it doesn't make someone feel threatened or fearful.  And apologies are great, but if you did the deed, you still need to pay the price.

Fun Times

There are signs in the air that my winter hibernation is nearing an end.  We're having more days of 70 degree weather, the first day of Spring has arrived, and Daylight Savings Time has begun (or ended?  I never can remember).  I'm hoping that I can get "home" to Minnesota by Easter this year, which falls on April 20th.  10 days hauling water wouldn't be so bad, right???

Also, social events seem to be popping up all over.  Tonight we're having a reunion of the folks I started my Sabre career with.  Some have retired, some have moved away, found other jobs, but it will be good to spend time with people that taught me a lot of what I know today.

And tomorrow night I'm going to a dinner party - a colleague is in town from Malta, and one of my coworkers is hosting the event.  This is the same guy that served crab legs at the last party I went to, so it's bound to be good!

Monday night I'm going to the Dallas Stars Hockey game with a customer - happy hour prior, and we're in a suite with food and beverages galore, so that'll be fun even though I don't follow hockey.

Next Saturday is the Women Rock 5K race.  I haven't trained, so I'll walk most of it.  I also volunteered to work at the Athlete's Village afterwards.

I'm obsessed with the search for MH370.  Even though there is no new updates for days at a time, I'm learning all sorts of things about satellites, radar, sonar, and how a 777 airplane operates.  My personal view is that there was a fire onboard, all passengers and crew died, and the plane flew on auto pilot until it ran out of fuel.

Crazy Texas Weather

Those of us that live in Texas know that the weather can change on a dime.  Last Saturday it was over 80 degrees for the 2nd day in a row.  I went to the park and walked for almost 6 miles (and still didn't work off that darn bacon cheeseburger I ate in celebration of National Pig Day).  It was a warm, muggy day, and Friday night I tossed and turned with my windows open because, damn it, I was hot!  But I didn't turn on the air conditioning, because, well, it's March.

And Sunday?  23 degrees, going down to 17 as the sun set.  My water pipes froze up for the 3rd time this winter, even though I left them dripping.  Frozen sleet tapped at my windows most of the afternoon, and school was cancelled most places on Monday.

How do Texans react?  Well, when I did some grocery shopping on Saturday, the eggs were sold out, and although I didn't look, I almost guarantee that the milk and bread was too.  Apparently Texans get a hankering for eggs and toast with their milk only during cold spells.

And in other news, this morning my scale said that I was .2 pounds from being a "normal" weight.  Since I haven't been normal since I was a child, that was pretty exciting to me.  Another 11 pounds and I'll be "ideal".  So there.  Those size 6 pants I bought last weekend will fit even better now (yes, that is a gratuitous mention of my clothing size for no other reason than I've never been able to say it before, unless you count 6T, but I don't think I cared back then, being I was six).

I am more than ready for summer to begin - I look forward to the first day I say "it's too hot", without it being a hot flash!

Early One Saturday Morning

I just could not sleep last night, so at 4:21 a.m. I finally gave up and had my first cup of coffee (wild blueberry flavored if you must know).  I fed Gracie the cat, indulged her in her morning adoration, and had my second cup of coffee.  

Like food, adoration is essential to a cat, at least it is for Grace.  She will climb into my lap and raise her butt high in the air until I stop doing whatever it is I'm doing and pay attention to her - undivided attention, for at least 3-5 minutes.  She likes me to focus on her back and hind quarters more than anything else, and vigorous rubbing is welcomed.  She lets me know when I'm done by laying down, still in my lap, contented and ready for a snooze.

Sam, her son, who died last summer, would do the same, except he liked me to focus on his head, nose, and chin area.  Sometimes they'd both be in my lap at the same time competing for attention.

Since yesterday was Valentine's Day, I wanted to treat myself this weekend.  Although I badly wanted the 85% cacao dark chocolate at Whole Foods, I stuck with high protein/low carb and bought the ingredients for a lovely frittata.

First, I diced about 4 oz. pancetta and cooked it on the stovetop until it was crispy.  Removing that, I added 4 diced shallots to the pan and cooked them until they were nice and soft.  Finally, I added a bunch of baby arugula (the recipe calls for spinach, but I like the bite or arugula better) and cooked it just until it was nice and wilted.

In another bowl, I whisked up 8 eggs, about 1/4 cup of freshly grated Parmesano Reggiano (my indulgence at Whole Foods yesterday), and just a grating of fresh nutmeg.  To that I added the arugula, shallots, and pancetta, and put the mix back in the fry pan I started with.  I let that cook over medium-low heat until the bottom was set, then added about 4 oz. goat cheese to the top.  Final step was putting under the broiler for a couple of minutes just to set the top.

It's 6:44 in the morning, and I'm just waiting for the frittata to cool so I can have a slice with my 3rd cup of coffee.  There is a hint of light in the sky, and I hear a bird greeting the morning.  It's supposed to be in the high 60's today, 75 tomorrow, and 80 by Thursday, so perhaps I'll go to the park today and enjoy the promise of Spring.

Walking Through The Valley of the Shadow of Death

No, I haven't suddenly become born again.  I'm talking about Super Walmart.  I woke up early this morning and wanted to get groceries before the weather turns to sleet and ice, and Walmart was open this early.

Winter months suck for me.  My carb cravings go through the roof, and until a couple of weeks ago, I was eating a peanut butter cup every day as a "treat".  And popcorn would make up one of my meals at least 3 times a week.  The scale showed it, too, refusing to budge.  So when I ran out of both two weeks ago, I resolved not to buy more.  I had to white knuckle it a few days, let me tell you!

But after that, I felt more in control again.  I became more diligent at logging my food, because I wasn't ashamed of what I ate.  And the scale cooperated - I'm down 6 more pounds in the last two weeks.

Back to Walmart.  At 7:30 in the morning there weren't a lot of people there.  But today is Super Bowl Sunday, so guess what was on display everywhere?  Chips, dips, candy, popcorn, Velveeta cheese (yuck) and all sorts of desserts.

My weight loss pattern is to lose a couple of pounds, and then sabotage myself by buying crap.  I know that, I've always known that, but the devil on my shoulder almost always won out.  Today the Angel won.  I got the stuff I need for chili, stir fry chicken and broccoli, baked ham and eggs, and other yummy dishes that fit into my plan.  I got over my dislike of leftovers, so I usually make two dishes (serving 4) a week and alternate between those for lunches and dinners.

I made it out of Walmart, patting myself on the back for my supreme courage, started the car, and you know what thought popped into my head?  Ummm, McDonald's breakfast burrito.  Gah!  Goes to show you that the war is never over - that devil on your shoulder is always going to try and convince you that it'll just be this once, it's not so bad, it's a treat...but the devil can go back to where he came from today, because I'm home, and baked ham and eggs are on the menu for breakfast, and chili is in the crockpot for later.

Baked Ham and Eggs
Serving size is as many as you want to make

1 egg
1 slice of deli smoked ham
Salt and pepper
Paprika (optional)
Chives (optional)

Preheat oven to 375
In a muffin tin, put one slice of ham in the cup.  Crack one egg into the ham "cup" and season with salt, pepper, paprika, and chives.  Bake for 15-20 minutes.  Let cool for 2 or 3 minutes and carefully remove.

Resolution(s)

From Wikipedia:

Cheating refers to an immoral way of achieving a goal. It is generally used for the breaking of rules to gain unfair advantage in a competitive situation. Cheating is the getting of reward for ability by dishonest means.

January 1st - the first day of the year (at least on western calendars).  The time for resolutions.  I haven't made a New Years Resolution in many years, but I know that fitness centers are hopping this time of year, so diets must be high on the list!

So when people say that they are cheating on their diet, what does that mean?  If you read the Wikipedia description, it must mean that they are only eating carrots and celery, since by definition they're getting to the goal by dishonest means.  And the goal is losing weight, right?  Or maybe they're taking water pills and laxatives.  Or photo shopping their profile pics?

Based on what I'm seeing on Pinterest, not a lot of my friends made a diet resolution this year.  I see pins for caramel pretzel bars, and death by chocolate cake, and, oh my...I can't go on for fear of the food porn police coming to get me.  

On a totally unrelated subject, my alma mater, North Dakota State University, won the NCAA FCS football championship for the 3rd year in a row!  Here we are with #4 Ryan Smith, who had to stand on tippy toes for the shot (I didn't, but that doesn't mean I'm vertically challenged).

And here I am with Thundar, the Bison Mascot the night before the big game at the Pep Fest.  It was so cold, and at that point I was shivering and barely able to hold on to my wine!

The highlights of the game weekend were my Niece's family visiting, meeting my nephew-in-law's Mom and Pop, the homemade dilly beans and chokecherry jelly my Niece brought me, and well, just being with family.  I've been dreaming about my move back north for a long time - sometimes it seems impossible, and sometimes, just sometimes, I can see it.  

In order to sell my house, I need to come up with the money to install baseboards, repair some siding, and replace some fence.  I don't know now where that money will come from, but if I hold on to my dream it'll come.

What is my dream now?  When I was younger, my dream was to travel the world and have adventures.  I DID THAT!  Dream realized 100 times over!

Now?  I want to be close to family.  Close enough to have game watching parties at my house.  With a garden out back.  Ideally, chickens out back, but that probably isn't going to happen.  I want my geriatric cat Gracie to go with me, but she's 16 and has kidney and liver disease, so when she goes, I want 2 kittens - not to take her place, but to start anew.  I want to laugh, and cry, and live near those I love.  I want to sweat because I'm working out.  I want to be in the best shape of my life.  I want to run a 5K - not walk/run, but run the whole way.  I want to learn how to recognize mushrooms in the wild, pick them, and create magnificent food.  

The last couple of days I've done a count down in my head.  I'm 53, so how many years does that give me?  By no means do I feel like I've wasted my life, but the warning bell is sounding in my head to do what I want now.  There's no guarantee of more, ever.  My family has been incredibly blessed with  rare fatal illness.  My folks both smoked and died from it (heart attack and lung cancer), but incredibly, we're okay.  My big brother has had heart issues (bypass) but it now in the best shape of his life.  My sister-in-law and step-father have both had skin cancer scares.  Type 2 diabetes has been cured by weight loss for my younger brother and me.   

Long, rambling post tonight.  But it's full of my wants, needs, and dreams.  May they all come true - sooner than later!