Author: cahall63

Writing 101: When I’m Not Writing

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This was the Day 11 assignment from Writing 101:

“What do you do when you’re not writing? How do you reset and return to this dashboard, refreshed? What do you need in your day-to-day life to maintain balance: Running? Yoga? Gardening? Painting? Cooking?

Today, publish your post in any form you wish, as long as you focus on one or all of these questions.”

What do I do when I’m not writing? Every thing else!

The most important thing I do is spend time with the Lord. I talk to Him. I read my Bible, and sometimes some other devotional material. I write down scriptures from my reading that speak to me that particular day, and sometimes I write down prayers, and other thoughts. The earlier in the day I can do that, the better.

Then, of course, is the work of the homestead: Cooking, cleaning and caring for critters. There is gardening and foraging. Look at this beautiful Goldenrod. I recently found out that tea made from the flowers can help with kidney trouble.

Goldenrod

Goldenrod

Today, after we ran to town for groceries, Ed, Kat and I worked on expanding the chicken coop. Although Moonrise is much smaller than Sunrise; we’re pretty sure he is a rooster too. So, we will have to find some hens soon.

Sunrise and Moonrise

Sunrise and Moonrise

The almost done, expanded coop

The almost done, expanded coop

Then there is the homeschooling. I really like Charlotte Mason’s methods, but coordinating it all takes a lot of time and a lot of reading. The upside to that is that my daughter is getting a great education, and I’m improving on mine.

When I don’t have any of that to do, then I work on repurposing projects, practice piano and guitar, and try to learn new things for myself.

I try to check in with facebook at least once a day. I have a lot of family spread out across the country and that is the easiest way for us to stay in touch.

I really like Pinterest, but I could really waste a lot of time in there, and I can’t afford to do that right now.

At the end of the day, I try to come back and write it down to share with you. Sometimes I’m better off sleeping on it first.

Oh, and here are some pictures of a few other projects I’ve been working on.

My first refrigerator pickles. They were awesome!

Refrigerator Pickles

Refrigerator Pickles

Straining the mullein and plantain oil that I started in July. Now I can make plantain salve. I put some of the mullein oil in a recycled brown bottle with an eye dropper. That way, it will be ready should one of us have an ear ache.

plantain in oil

plantain in oil

straining the plantain

straining the plantain

mullein oil

mullein oil

Remember the day I was going to take pictures and it rained? Well, as promised here are some pictures of my painted junk. I’m thinking of planting clematis around the bike, and turning the baskets into fairy gardens. There are some rather sickly cone flowers (echinacea) between the pots.

painted junk

painted junk

Here is some of my not painted junk as well as some nice mums I bought at the flower shop here in town. You can see my tin man and some other stuff in the back ground.

Not painted junk and mums

Not painted junk and mums

This is my latest project. I got the idea from something I saw on Pinterest. Those are olive oil bottles that I coated on the inside with acrylic paint. You just pour some paint in and swish it around until it coats the bottle. I want to do my kitchen and dining room in these colors…someday.

painted bottle candle holders

painted bottle candle holders

Anyway, that is just some of what I do when I am not writing.

Connie

Writing 101: Over a Cup…Pot…of Coffee

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The Day 10 assignment said to “write an update post in the form of a virtual coffee date.”

I tried to write it that way, but all I could think of was a friend that used to live down the street from me. For about ten years, getting together for coffee was at least a weekly occurrence for Maggie and I. Sometimes it was daily. Maggie isn’t her real name, but it is a name that she chose for herself, so I know she won’t mind me using it.

Maggie and I knew each other in high school, but we weren’t friends. It still amazes me how maturity and experience can change our relationships. We both moved back to our home town within a year of each other, and had children close to the same age, so it was just a matter of time before we ran into each other. Then I rented the house up the street from her, and before long, we were visiting a lot over coffee. One of the first things we realized was that we could tell the difference between the people who had never left our tiny (less than 400 people) home town, and those who had. I left home to join the Army at 17, and had been to Korea, California, and a few other places. Maggie had married into the military and had done some traveling as well. I think she would still like to move back to Alaska.

When her teenage daughter became pregnant about the same time I became pregnant with Katherine, it was just one more connection. Kat and “R” were friends before they could talk, and Maggie and I often wondered if they were so close (and prone to mischief) at three, what would they like at thirteen? We didn’t get to find out, because “R” moved to another state, and we haven’t seen her for a very long time.

The coffee visits became so routine that either one of us felt perfectly comfortable making a fresh pot at each other’s homes, should one become necessary. Sometimes, more than one was “necessary”. It was over those cups of coffee we connected dots that we hadn’t been aware of as teenagers, and found out we had more in common than we could have imagined. At the same time, we couldn’t be more different. Maggie has been known to tear down a wall in her 130-year-old house, turn the kitchen in the a spare bedroom, and the dining room into a kitchen. I can’t drive a straight nail to save my life. Although we both love books, I read everything, and she reads “just the facts”. She is a minimalist, and am not. We both like dogs, but she barely tolerates cats. She prefers birds. She can paint and sew, and I’m not very good at either. I understand science, and have a head for foreign languages, and she does not. I could go on and on. Over those cups (and pots) of coffee, we grew to understand our differences; celebrate them, over look them, and focus on those things we had in common. Did I mention, we both drink our coffee black?

She is smart, hard-headed and extremely blunt. She gave Ed a place to stay when he first came to Missouri, and made him an herbal tea to help with the alcohol withdrawal. She was the first one to suggest to me that Katherine might be autistic, even when the experts said she wasn’t. Maggie insisted that she was somewhere on the spectrum. You see, Maggie spent some time in foster care, and had a lot of experience with “different” kids. She has a huge heart for kids, but will not tolerate disrespect. She home schooled her youngest, and provided me a ton of support and information when I started looking at homeschooling Katherine years later.

She was the first one to show me plantain and tell me I could use it for medicine. Oh, and she can pull up a plant and throw it out on the sidewalk, and that thing will grow for her. In an emergency, she is level headed and calm (even when her house is on fire). She absolutely hates asking for help (another thing we have in common). We both have children with Bi Polar disorder.

There were many times, I thought she was just crazy, and I’m sure she thought the same of me. Sometimes those cups of coffee came in the middle of the night, when we felt like our worlds were crashing down around our ears. We both got divorced and remarried, but sadly she didn’t get her happily ever after. She would tell you that she doesn’t believe in them anyway. Her big old house is gone now. After she had to let it go, the city tore it down.

Now she has a small house in the city, but she is working on making it her own. I don’t get to see her often, but we do try to keep up on facebook.

I miss you Maggie. How do you feel about a ninety minute drive for a chat over coffee?

Connie

P.S. I promise a real update in a day or two, with a bunch of pictures!

Writing 101: Reinvent the Letter Format

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Dear Grandpa,

Did I even call you Grandpa? I don’t remember, because I just barely remember you. You are more of an impression than a memory. I think I was seven when you died, and I don’t think I got to spend much time around you. I vaguely remember candy: Dad says you used to give me candy. I remember a man in a ball cap. That was you.

Most of what I know about you, I know from my Dad: your third son of only the Lord truly knows how many. Did you have nine children? I know all of them. Ten? Dad swears there was another baby. Please understand, I’m not judging. I’m just trying to wrap my head around what it must have been like for you: An Appalachian boy, often left on his own because of aging parents, during the Great Depression. You learned to take care of yourself too, didn’t you? Is that why Dad was pretty much on his own from the time he was 13? Because you just didn’t know how it’s “supposed” to be done?

What was it like to play baseball at 17, thinking it might be your future, only to learn that your fifteen-year old girlfriend was pregnant? What was it like when she left you (or did you make her leave) a few years later with four little boys to care for? What was it like working in the coal mines, loading coal, when the canaries were dying? So many things you experienced, I can’t even imagine.

I know that you had a lot of patience with animals, but not much with people. Your fists often spoke for you, and when you did speak, the words were often hurtful. I don’t know that you meant them to be, but you, like your son, and your great grandson, evidently did not have a filter between your head and your mouth. Why else would you call your own daughter “Berky” because she reminded you of a Berkshire hog; or tell my dad that he was “the dumbest white boy you ever saw”. Did you even know that words like that stick? Did you care?

Speaking of your great grandson, my oldest son James; Dad says you would have “loved that boy”. I know you loved to fish…James does too. Too bad you couldn’t have been around to take him. I know that you were hard headed and had an iron will. When the “black lung” took you, the nurse told Dad that if there had been the slightest chance for you to live, you would have. She had never seen anyone fight as hard as you did. You didn’t know any other way, did you?

This letter is not to air grievances of all the things you “did wrong”. I can’t judge: I wasn’t there. I have seen the results of some of your actions and attitudes, but again, that’s not what this letter was about.

This letter is from a wistful grandchild who wishes her grandpa could have been around to teach her his secrets for growing the best tomatoes around, and how to care for sick animals, and what he knew about foraging and mountain medicine. Those are the things that I feel that your untimely death cheated me of.

Dad says you used turpentine to treat sick dogs. Really? How did that work? He says you could whittle and play the harmonica. Your great grandson Kyle has played harmonica a little. James can play anything he puts his hands on.

I wonder if you would have “mellowed out” in your old age, kind of like Dad has. Recently, I got to see a picture of you and Grandma when you were young. By the way, I met her when I was about fifteen, and we stayed in touch until she died a few years ago. Anyway, looking at you, so young, I was struck by how much Dad and Uncle Dale look like you. What a handsome young man you were!

Grandma and Grandpa Clark and Bob

My dad’s parents, Opal and Jim Clark, and his older brother, Bob, probably sometime around 1940.

I’m just sorry that I never got the chance to really know you.

Love,

Your granddaughter,

Connie Ann

P.S. No one calls me that anymore, except Uncle Bill. It’s just Connie now.

Writing 101: Expand a Comment

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A few days ago, I read a blog post over at My Enduring Bones called “The Young and the Rested”  She wrote about those nightmares that send you screaming from your bed, and how she loves them, because they give her lots of creative material.

This was my comment:

“I have dreams like that too; some of them I still remember from when I was a child. Full of color and terror that stays with me for days, those dreams have the opposite effect on me. They leave me frozen, and unable to focus. I’m glad you can make use of yours!”

How often do children have recurring nightmares? I don’t know, but I had them. I dreamed about a girl with no face, and an old woman reminiscent of Whistler’s mother at least three or four times over several months, maybe even years. My early grade school years were rather chaotic, so it’s hard to pin things down. I remember events based on who I was living with and where I was going to school. I don’t remember the details of those dreams, beyond what I already said, but I remember waking up scared witless.

In my early twenties, the nightmares were so bad that I would be afraid to go to sleep. That was before Freddie Kruger and the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. I didn’t like those movies at all, and I loved horror movies!  Most of the dreams then were about demons chasing me. At the time, I was in the Army and married to my first husband. I drank a lot in those days too, and I don’t know if that helped or hurt. I do know that sleep deprivation and booze is a really bad combination for someone with Bi Polar disorder.

In the thirty years since then; my dreams have calmed down significantly, and nightmares come rarely. As a matter of fact, the only one that sticks out for me is when I was dreaming that Kat’s dad was acting like Jack Nicholson’s character in “The Shining”. That said more about the deterioration of our relationship than it did about anything else.

Did you know that some medications can cause vivid nightmares? Yeah, guess what? Starting with the one dose of morphine they gave me in the hospital and continuing with the other necessary medications, my freaked-out subconscious woke up! You ever see the movie “Rose Red”? It took me a day or two to figure it out, but once I did, I did the only thing I knew to do. I prayed. I said something like “Lord, you know I have to take this medicine, and you know that I have to sleep. I’m trusting you to keep the bad dreams away.” I still had vivid dreams, but they weren’t scary. Not even the one where Ed was telling me I couldn’t have coffee. Thanks again, Lord.

Connie

Come Unto Me

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Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  -Jesus (Matthew 11:28)

It’s been an exhausting week. The anitbiotics I was given after my kidney stone surgery had a side effect of causing drowsiness, as did most of the other drugs they gave me. I could chose whether to take the two different types of pain medication they gave me, but the other two drugs were not an option. So, even when I stopped taking the pain meds, I was still pretty useless well into the day. How do I know it was the antibiotic? I only took it twice a day; morning and night. I took it right after breakfast, and within an hour I was back in bed. I was sleeping until three or four in the afternoon, and then I would be fine for the rest of the evening. It kind of messed up the whole day.

Sunday morning was the last day for that drug, which meant I missed church (GRRRRR)! Yesterday, I took my other medication after breakfast, and Ed, Kat and I made a trip into Independence for the day. A friend of mine from high school was selling a tiller, and the price was right. We did some other shopping, visited my son Kyle (aka “Bam Bam”) who was just getting off work, and got back to Braymer about five; just in time for Katherine to go to her volunteer first responder class.

Braymer is a volunteer fire department and they recently started a junior program for teenagers, fifteen and older. A friend from church thought of Katherine, and although I was doubtful of her interest or ability, I have been pleasantly surprised. She took to it like a duck to water.

Anyway, she went to her class, and Ed, who had felt lousy all day, went to bed. As most of you know, I was here writing. I don’t know how long I was in here when I realized that the dishes hadn’t been done all day. I went to the kitchen and made an executive decision that they weren’t getting done then either.

This morning, I got up around 7 to rumblings of thunder. Ed still wasn’t feeling well, so I just let him sleep. Kat and I watched the radar and the sky for awhile and finally decided to go ahead and let the chickens out, and feed the dogs. Kat got a great picture of a caterpiller chewing on milkweed. She was conviced it was a Monarch caterpiller and I think she might be right.IMG_20150915_094323 About the time we got finished, the sky opened up on us. It was a cold rain; the kind that can chill.

I came in and cooked breakfast. By that time Ed was up, and I was kicking myself for not having any herbal preparations ready. I did set some sage and mint simmering on the stove for him to breath, and put some eucalyptus essential oil in a small jar of baking soda by his bed. He said it helped some, but later, we went to get him some cold medicine. Katherine is sneezing and coughing too…so here we go.

We did some other chores, started the laundry, and then, had school this afternoon. It went much better that way. After supper, I was still working on yesterdays dishes, and still trying to get laundry done. Kat and I went out to check on the dogs and put the chickens up. Ed has gone back to bed, and I sent Katherine in that direction too, thinking they both need some sleep.

As I went to the basement to rotate the laundry, it occured to me that I was tired. Deep, down in the soul, tired. Sometimes, when I know that I really need to talk to the Lord, and I don’t really know what I need to tell Him, I just call his name. “Lord?” Then, I remembered that I still needed to write. So I set some pots to soak, and came in here. The day seven instructions for writing 101 said to start with a quote, and this one came to me as scriptures often do; just when I need to hear them most. That’s the great thing about the indwelling Holy Spirit.

In his letter to the church in Rome, Paul wrote, “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” Romans 8:26

The Spirit knew exactly what I needed to hear. Jesus says to come to Him when your worn out, and beat down, and He’ll give you rest. That dosen’t mean that your circumstances will change; although sometimes they do. It means He is right there with you in the middle of whatever is going on; giving you strengh and peace like only He can.

Thanks, Lord; I needed that.

Connie

Yes, I AM a Glutton for Punishment!

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A few weeks ago, I signed up for both Writing 101 and Blogging 201, and guess what? They overlap!
Blogging 201 started today.

The first assignment is to set down three concrete goals for this blog. So let me tell you what I’m thinking.

1.Always be God-honoring in every thing we post.

2. After these two classes (Blogging 201 and Writing 101) are over, publish at least two quality posts per week. Let’s face it; no one has time to read “Twaddle”!

3. Spend at least fifteen minutes per day, reading and commenting on other blogs.

At the far end of this, of course we would love for the blog to be a source of income for us. Right now, we don’t even know what that would look like, or even if that is in the Lord’s will, so we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing. We’re going to share with you what’s going on here, and what we’re learning along the way. In the meanwhile, we are loving getting to know some of you. Keep up all your great work!

Connie

Writing 101, Day 5 and 6: “Let Social Media Inspire You” and “The Space to Write”

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On day five we were shown five “Tweets” , told to chose one and write a response to it. Here is the one I chose:

It’s true, at least for every serious writer I’ve ever known…well, there may be a few narcissists out there, but you can’t go by what they think anyway, can you?

I don’t think any of us feel entirely adequate: that’s why we take classes like this one. There is always someone else who seems to have an easier time putting words to page.

My mother can write a poem, and a good one, at the drop of a hat. She makes up poetry for her answering machine, and people call just to hear her message. A friend of mine once said calling my mom was like calling Dr. Seuss!

On our birthdays, we know we will get an early morning call from Mom,singing a birthday song with new words written just for us. Mom figures she’s a decent poet, but nothing special, although we’ve all tried to convince her other wise.

I wish I could do what she does. I can write poetry, but very rarely does it all come out at once. When it does, I almost always have to go back and fix it. I get bits and pieces, which leads me to the Writing 101 assignment for day six: The Space To Write.

Here are the instructions:

“Where do you write? Do you prefer blogging on your laptop in a coffee shop? Are you productive in a quiet room, door closed, away from civilization? Today, describe the space where you write. Or, if you don’t have a dedicated place, what is your ideal setting?

Consider these questions to shape your post:

  • What are your writing habits?
  • What equipment or supplies do you use to write?
  • What do you need and want in a physical space?”

I write on my laptop at my desk, in what is my office/craft room/music room. The desk is an old double school desk a friend gave me years ago.

My desk

My desk

My habits are often haphazard, as they depend on what else is going on. In order to write about homesteading, one must DO homesteading, which means you are sometimes at the mercy of the homestead. Additionally, with schedules constantly changing, finding a specific time to write is nearly impossible. We have decided to switch regular school lessons to the afternoon, after Ed goes to work. That way, if we need to work on something together in the morning, we don’t have to worry about interrupting school. Also, if we need him for an extra curricular lesson, (like Archery, or Driver’s Ed) we can do those in the morning, when he’s home. Another advantage to afternoon lessons is that we don’t have the constant interruption of his running in and out.

All that means is that the best time for me to be able to write, at least for right now, is between seven and nine in the evening. Usually though, I try to open a blank document in the morning, so that if something comes to me, I can run in here and write it down.

Sometimes things come to me in bits and pieces, and I have to put them together like a jigsaw puzzle. (Thank God for cut and paste!) Sometimes, when I sit down to write, it’s all in my head, and sometimes, I just think it is, until I sit down. I suppose none of that really makes sense…unless you’re a writer.
Connie

Writing 101 Day 4: The Attic Window

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On day four, we were shown four images and asked to pick one. This is the picture I chose:

GOMY9CQSvmjKLxigsfxg_Attic
It is a picture of an attic window. It leaves me feeling a little nostalgic and melancholy. The picture reminds of me of a couple different places; both homes where the second story was one large room with closets running the length of the long walls. Had those closet walls been removed, the image would be similar to this one.

Both houses were built in the 1920s or earlier. One of the houses belongs to my grandfather, and my sister lives there now. It was home for me when I was a teenager, when my room had a view similar to the one in the picture. It was a little more sophisticated, but not much. It’s my niece’s room now, and it was my mother’s before me. I’m not sure exactly when it was built, but I do know that it was used for a school house in the early 1930’s. Now the house needs some work.

The second house belonged to my children’s paternal grandfather. The house was built by his father around 1920 on the family’s homestead in south central Kentucky. It was a great old house. Unfortunately, it was lost in an auction several years ago, and I have no idea what kind of shape it’s in now. It needed work then.

Although I love our place, I would have liked to found one of those old farm houses with the attic windows just like this one. On the other hand, I’m kind of partial to Queen Anne Victorian houses too.

On a personal note, Ed and I had our second wedding anniversary today. Poor guy is in bed with a head cold!

Connie

Writing 101 Day 3: Treasure

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On Day three of Writing 101, we were given a list of words and told to choose one. I chose the word “treasure”.

The expression, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure” has been around in one form or another for a long time, probably because of the truth of the concept. It basically means that what one person finds useless, another might find valuable.

I like junk. If I see something “free” on the side of the road, I have to at least slow down and take a closer look. I have done some excavating in the old burn pile on our place, and found quite a few treasures. When he found a small, old tractor or lawn mower tire in one of the junk piles left on the place, my son told Ed, “You know, Mom is going to want this.” He was right, and I think I have an idea of what to do with it. I’ll share it with you when it’s finished. I keep tin cans, toilet paper tubes, glass containers, bottle caps and whatever else I think might be useful. I think I probably told you about the time I picked up a used windshield wiper turned it at an angle and told Ed; “Look honey, it’s an eyebrow!” He just calmly said, “No baby, it’s a windshield wiper.” Its taken some time, but he is starting to come around. Here are some pictures of some of my repurposed junk.

We found this in the side of the road a few years ago.

We found this in the side of the road a few years ago.

same dresser painted and decorated with ribbon and scrapbook paper

same dresser painted and decorated with ribbon and scrapbook paper. The bottom drawer needed some work, so Ed has it in the garage

rub made from old sheets

rug made from old sheets

tin man, dog and flower

tin man, dog and flower

God tends to favor one man’s trash too. The scripture is full of examples of the Lord choosing the most unlikely, least qualified individual to serve His purposes. Jesus himself was the “stone the builders rejected” who became “the cornerstone”(Psalm 118:22, Matt 21:42, Eph 2:20, 1 Pet 2:6). I take great comfort in knowing that God sees the hidden beauty, the buried treasure in us; just like I see in a old piece of junk along the side of the road.

Connie