Enter, The Chaos Goblin

Once upon a time, we had four cats. Scootch and Boo-boo were the first — brothers from the same litter— Tinkerbelle was next, then Luna, short for Lunatic.

Luna was found abandoned at my husband's work. We got her back up to health and adopted her out, as her energy didn't fit the current cat dynamic. Boo-boo was ten when he passed away in 2019, and when we moved to the boonies in October 2021, we were left with two cats: Tinkerbelle, who was about 10 at the time, and Scootch, who was about 13. Then Tinkerbelle went over the Rainbow Bridge to grumble and grouse to her heart's content. We adopted her from a shelter at 2.5 years old to be a girlfriend to Boo-boo, but they never liked each other; in fact, Tink didn't like anyone but my husband and me.

Scootch is now 17, and my husband talked about another pet, possibly a dog or another cat. However, with two budding businesses (a bakery for him, and an author for me), another pet was out of the question. We just don't have the time and energy needed for another pet, and we both agreed that once Scootch was done living a life of pettings and catnaps in the country sunshine, there would be no other pets, unless someone came to visit with theirs.

I was at work when I got a text from my husband. When I went on break, I opened my messages and froze.

He sent a picture.

It was a kitten.

In his arms.

In. The. House.

For the record, I'm the one who usually caves, but my husband? Nope, not in a million years would he budge — unless circumstances warranted it.

I texted back, "What is that, and why is it in the house?" 

Before he could text back, my daughter chimed in, "Ooh! Can we keep her?" 

How did my daughter know she was a girl? Calicos are almost always girls. 

Apparently, my husband made this a group text. I was already outnumbered.

"What's this 'we' stuff?" I replied. "You just moved out and don't live here anymore. You don't get a say in this." I half-joked.

She sent back crying emojis, like that would change my mind.

Then my husband chimed in.

Kitty backstory: She was brought by a neighbor's relative to live with our neighbor, since they had a farm, and they put her out with the other cats to be a farm cat. We don't think the other cats took to her because she came to my husband thin (not skinny) and ate cat food like there was no tomorrow. 

When I got home, I asked the neighbor if this was her cat, and she said we could have her if we wanted her.

Well, the kitten didn't know how to hunt and was probably just a week or two off of being weaned.

She kept running back and forth across the road, which would get her killed. No sense of self-preservation at all, according to my husband.

She liked people and was a cuddle bug, but could play rough and still be gentle.

My daughter desperately wanted a calico with these qualities.

Dang, dang, dang.

I waited a week to see what would happen. And then, I named her. Meet Pipsqueak, Pips for short.

She will not be our cat. She will be my daughter's cat once she gets spayed and licensed as an emotional support animal, so Pips can live with her at the ranch where she now lives and works. 

Why not keep her, you may ask? Because she's a chaos goblin who adores my sewing room (which has no door), and so far has wrecked three of my projects, and shed over everything else. 

Scootch is also not thrilled with her energy level, especially when she tries to pounce on him every chance she gets. He's swatted her good a few times, but she won't leave him be. We have to put her in a separate room on occasion, which she is also turning into modern art with Spider-Man scratches all over the furniture. 

And she chewed through my husband's earbud wires on his headset. 

And this is what she does when I'm trying to read a book or text:

(Tell me you love attention without telling me you love attention.)

Yes, it's cute the first three times, but not when you're trying to read and relax, and someone keeps swatting at the pages and chew/suckle on your fingers. And if she falls asleep on you, it's never in a spot where you can do anything but be her living pillow.

She will be staying here until late October (we think), after she heals from getting spayed earlier that month. In the meantime, I'm packing up my fabric before she gets into anything else, and Scootch has learned that Pips is not allowed upstairs, so he asks us to let him up there when she gets to be too much for him.

Huh. He might have the right idea!

Tweet, Tweet, Tweet, Hoot

 My husband and I are early birds. My daughter is an early bird. However, my son is a night owl.

He is the older of our two children and has Asperger's; to define the Gen X lingo, he has high-functioning autism. That means when he was growing up, family life was very interesting.

Especially when a certain little boy had to get up for school. 

We bought a ton of different alarm clocks — one was the old-fashioned kind with the two metal bells and clanger on top. It was loud. It was obnoxious. It was perfect. 

It worked for a week. 

He eventually managed to sleep through it, though the rest of us did not. When he entered teenagerism, the task was nearly impossible. We resorted to shaking, yanking him out of bed, yelling songs at the top of our lungs, but Sleeping Beauty was down for the count.

Sometimes our efforts were successful; however, after I went downstairs to make breakfast, he'd go right back to sleep.

Until Momma decided she had enough and gave a little tough love by trickling water on his head down to his butt when he refused to get up. That worked beautifully. He was mad, but he was up; that's all that mattered when Mom had to walk their butts to school before the bell rang for classes.

In 2021, we planned to move from Northeast Philadelphia to the boonies in Central PA. My son, now 23, was not only a night owl, but loved the city. My husband, my daughter, and I loved the country and were looking forward to being in the middle of the mountains. That prompted him to move about a week before us, into a small town about 2.5 hours away from our new home.

He doesn't drive, so when he had vacation, it was a 5-hour round trip for him to come for a visit, because when you live in the county, transportation is by horse or by vehicle, period. We'd planned a lovely cookout, because he loved having them in the backyard when we lived in Philly.

He arrived with a huge bag of laundry and an appetite. 

We handed him a tray filled to the brim with an assortment of meats to cook over the fire pit my husband built in the backyard. My daughter was behind him with the camping forks, and they made their way outside. It was going to be a beautiful day; the air was cool and slightly scented with flowers.

And flowers bring bees. 

Now, before I go further, country bees are different from city bees in the attitude department. City bees tend to be aggressive, going after anything remotely close to their hives. I was terrified of them. But after living in the country for a few months, I could sit outside relatively calm, and on occasion, a heavily pollen-covered bee would use my shoulder to rest before making its way back to its hive.

I won't lie — that took a lot of self-control on my part, but eventually bees would hover near me to check me out, and instead of going into a swatting frenzy, I'd gently wave them away if they got too close.

Even the yellow-jackets weren't out for blood up here, so long as I was giving them honey water on the other side of the property so they'd stay away from the sweet baked goods on the picnic table.

But my son didn't know any of that.

A scream rent the air as the tray of meat went flying in all directions after a bumblebee flew near his 6' 1" 260-pound self to check out this new mountain of a human. My 23-year-old son ran back into the house, yelling, "I hate nature!" leaving my daughter to deal with the "killer bees the size of cats" and a storm of descending meats. 

He spent the rest of the weekend in the darkest room of the house, earphones firmly secured to his head as he watched videos on his phone. He wouldn't budge, and when I asked if he wanted to try going outside to do a cookout again, I got this look:

Since then, his visits have been few and far between. The distance doesn't help matters, but we all know he's more likely to visit in winter when nature is sleeping, and snow keeps the "killer bees the size of cats" from getting curious.

The Tooth About TV Tag

Back in elementary school, there was a popular game called "TV Tag", where, instead of a base, you had to touch the ground with both hands, stick out one leg for balance, and yell out a TV show before the tagger got you.

The one rule was that you could never repeat a show once someone yelled it, and if you couldn't think of one, you ran for your life until you could.

At the time, my best friend, Laura Church, who had the same birthday as me, would play on the school playground during recess or in the morning before the line-up bell. 

One morning, the tagger was trying to catch us. Laura was ahead of me, and I looked behind me to see how far the tagger was. Unfortunately, Laura picked that time to touch the ground and yell out a show, sticking her leg out. 

Down I went, hitting the ground not with my hands, but my face, specifically, my two front teeth.

Crack.

I felt my teeth hit the concrete, and my head snapped back a little. I tasted blood, and I could feel cold air on my teeth that made them hurt.

Lip split and face scraped, I stood and realized I had a lovely triangle-shaped hole in my two front teeth. Laura and the other students stopped in shock, and the school guardian ran over to see what had happened. She took me to the nurse right away.

Some kids looked at me enviously in the hallway, knowing the event warranted the rest of the day off from school.

No one was able to find the shards of my teeth, and I wasn't sure they could put them back in place anyway. I wondered if the hole would let me make those loud whistles people did at sports events, but when I tried, it didn't work. Bummer.

My mom was called, and off to an emergency trip to the dentist I went (back in those days, you were seen right away), and during the ride, my tongue found the empty space fascinating. We arrived at the dentist, and I got a new partial set of fillings and something from the goody box he had when a patient behaved. By the time it was done, all you noticed was my fat lip and a couple of scrapes.

I didn't care. I had a new toy, and Mom took me out for fries and chicken nuggets.

After that, the kids agreed to squat instead of sticking out a leg when playing TV Tag. It made the game a bit more challenging and often more fun; It wasn't easy to stop short and squat with your hands on the ground after running full tilt. Sometimes the target fell over into a roll, and the tagger had to leapfrog over or become another school injury statistic. 

Laura and I still played TV Tag until the end of the school year. I never saw her after we graduated from fifth grade, and I never blamed her for the accident, because that's what it was. I wish adults were as forgiving as children. Maybe that's why God said to be like them.

Although TV Tag in my late 50s would probably require a medical team on the sidelines! 

Gym Class Superpower

 Last week's post was about what I couldn't do in gym class, which was, unfortunately, a lot.

I couldn't do chin-ups, climb the rope, or run very fast (although the boys always watched when I did), and I was absolutely abysmal at baseball. No one told me I had to put the glove on my non-throwing hand. Have you ever tried throwing a baseball with the glove on? I dare you to try — it's not easy, and the ball doesn't go far.

So, I was always picked last for most team events, basically the 'default' player who wasn't chosen, but fell to the opposite team that chose last. Then we were introduced to Tug-of-War. 

The biggest, tallest, and strongest kids were usually placed at the end, called the Anchor, and that kid was the one who usually helped the team stay behind the Red Line of Death. My team groaned when I was defaulted to them, and though I wasn't fat by any means at the time, my weight was more than the average for a 12-year-old, well-developed, curvy, and I had thick muscles on my legs and thighs. Leg strength was what was needed for this sport, so they made me Anchor, hoping they wouldn't lose within the first few seconds.

I was determined to show them a thing or two. 

One trick that always worked well for me was quickly running to the bathroom before class started and wiping down the bottom of my sneakers with a damp paper towel. This gave me more grip on the polished gym floor when running or performing other activities that required speed or fast turns. 

Done.

I got in my place, took the thick rope in my hands, and wrapped it behind my back, making sure my grip was firm.

The whistle blew, and I whipped around, facing away from the team, and leaned forward hard, using everything I had with the rope wrapped fully around my waist. I'd made my first few hard-earned steps when the whistle blew.

"Stop! Back to place!" yelled the gym teacher. "No one is allowed to turn around. Face forward to the center only!"

Crud. That was a rule?

I wasn't sure if I was the only one who inadvertently broke the rules, but I was glad he didn't single me out. But he didn't say anything about the rope, other than a slight shaking of his head when he saw me wrap it fully around my waist again. 

I formed a different strategy. 

The whistle blew. 

I got a firm grip on the rope, leaned back, and bent my knees, letting all my weight rest on my legs and hips, not depending on my arm strength. My sneakers held fast as I pulled back as hard as I could, keeping my arms straight but loose.

I could feel the rope tension fighting me at first, then a slight slacking before pulling taut again. Every time it went slack, I did the opposite of my classmates and pulled harder, instead of trying to get a better grip.

The red rag tied in the center of the rope shifted to our side of the Red Line of Death inch by inch. 

The whistle blew. We won!

Cheers from my team as they let go of the rope right before I was done pulling, I squeaked in surprise and fell right on my butt. I was a little embarrassed when they laughed at me, but it didn't matter as much because we all realized I had a gym class superpower. 

I was still the weird kid in the class, but whenever we were scheduled for Tug-of-War, I was the first one picked. And it felt good. I knew the reason they chose me, but I didn't care — because I had a skill they needed, and it was nice not being last for once.

Not everyone is built to fit into everyone else's expectations. I knew I would never be a ballerina, play golf, or be a sports star. But if someone needed a push to get their car out of a snowbank, or needed something heavy moved a short distance, I was your gal. 'Strength like bull,' I'd say, in a Russian accent to my friends when they needed help, but after that expenditure of energy, I'd need to rest before I could do it again.

Play to your strengths. Know your weaknesses and don't cater to others' idea of what you're capable (or not capable) of. Be you, and be blessed!

The Golf Lesson

Back in my middle school days, when we used to call physical education Gym Class, we also had lessons on a multitude of skills for those who weren't athletically inclined, and one of those, to the chagrin of my gym teacher, was golf.

Each of us, in our gym rompers — outfits more like giant, ill-fitting royal blue onesies with elastic thigh bands so tight they almost qualified as tourniquets — was given a golf club and a ball and told to use self-control until the teacher could give instructions.

That lasted about 3.2 seconds. It took another twenty minutes for my classmates to retrieve their errant golf balls before the real lesson could begin.

"Okay, everyone!" my teacher bellowed to the gaggle of 11-and 12-year-old chaos critters. "Bend at the waist slightly, and hold the club like this-" demonstrating a V-shape with his arms on the club, "Arms straight, and don't bend your elbows."

Easier for him and all the other boys, but some of the early blossoming young ladies (including, or perhaps especially, myself) were having trouble. I could either bend my elbows or stop breathing because straight arms sent my bosom into my neck, not only blocking my view of the ball, but constricting my breathing as the compressed womanly blossoms impaired my esophagus from its proper functioning.

My teacher, a mostly balding, very tall man with kind blue eyes, made his rounds, clipboard in hand, correcting and instructing my classmates into proper form — until he got to me, the most endowed girl in the group.

I swear I could hear the man utter a small sigh, thinking I didn't hear it. I was always his challenge student because I'd never been able to do pull-ups or get more than two feet off the ground on the rope climb.

"No, your elbows are bent," he said. "Do it like this," and demonstrated again. He noticed me turning a little blue and tried to hide a chuckle. "No, you have to lay your arms on top of your chest."

On top of my chest? I gave him an odd look. "Tell me you're kidding," I said. 

He told me to try. I gave him a knowing little smirk and did exactly as he instructed. My arms were straight, my waist was in perfect form;  however, the golf club was at least a foot off the floor. Unless I bent in half, there was no way that club would hit a ball, unless I used a railroad spike as a tee. We both looked at the club, then at each other. I shrugged, looking sheepish, and he shook his head, trying not to grin.

"You get a C," he said, marking it down on his clipboard before walking away.

He always encouraged me to try things, but after a while, we had an understanding. I had muscle, but it was short bursts of strength-muscle, not athletic endurance-muscle. And he learned later on that I had a place in the gym world after all — but that's a story for another day.

My Daughter, the Demon Fighter

My daughter moved out of the house (sort of) to the job of her dreams. She's been working toward running a horse camp for more than a decade, and an opportunity arose to work at a Christian ranch camp that plans to start a horse therapy branch in September.

She's staying on the grounds, playing house mom to the under-18-year-old counselors, bunking with them until personal housing is provided. This is something she had to do anyway, as it's never a good idea to let teenagers run loose in mountain country, even if the boy counselors weren't in another cabin on the other side of the ranch campgrounds.

This helps prevent the 'I'm sorry, but your daughter got eaten by a bear on the way to the bathroom' letters to their parents.

Two days into her new life, we got a phone call. Or my husband did, because I was at work.

My daughter shared an incredible tale.

The girls were getting freaked out because, in the early evening, they saw a shadow of someone walking around in the empty bunkhouse where they slept. The property owners and my daughter checked it out, but there was nothing there. However, my daughter felt something was off.

The girls went to bed, and again, shadows that blocked the outdoor floodlights moved outside the windows. Humanoid shadows with no one there to create them. 

My daughter had enough.

Let me give you a little background on my daughter. She can see spirits, good or bad. Not always in detail, but she does see them. And we've dealt with demons before, so she knew what to do.

She went outside and prayed a hedge of protection as she walked around the cabin three times. The girls watched with interest, but didn't step outside. My daughter came back in and settled down. Her confidence that they were protected settled the girls a little, though it didn't stop them from casting nervous glances out the windows.

When my daughter looked out the window a few minutes later, a large black shadow seemed enraged, backed up, and charged at the cabin full force. 

The girls screamed as the shadow hit an invisible barrier, exploding in a gold-glowing flash of bright white light.

No one else on the grounds saw it, but all of the girls inside did. They said it was like lightning. Yet the skies were clear.

The shadow was gone and never returned.

I'm the proud mom of a demon fighter. You GO, girl!

Since she doesn't have a cabin for herself yet, she comes home every other weekend for some personal downtime (someone else takes over staying with the girls when she's not there). She's making her way in the great wide world, and though my nest is (almost) empty, I couldn't be happier or prouder of her. I just wish she'd stop bringing loads of dirty laundry when she visits, but I guess even demon fighters need to wash their clothes!

Updates: a New(ish) Job, a New Book, and a New Outlook

 So much has happened since I last posted, and I do apologize (again!) for not posting regularly. Honestly, there are more than a few reasons I haven't posted:

1. I didn't have much time (like I did before...NOT)

2. I didn't want to post the negative stuff, and 

3. I forgot not only my password but the new email I transferred the Blogger login info to. Oops.

But with diligence, a lot of tears, a few threats, and some dark chocolate, I finally figured it all out.

And now, a condensed version of the past year and a half.

I got a new part-time job as a rural news reporter in 2023 (okay, so more than a year and a half, but still relevant. Shush). Lots of writing, but just the facts, please! Though sometimes my boss lets me put a smidgen of humor into the plethora of articles I've written, it doesn't happen often enough. Do you know how hard it is not to make a funny blurb about a cow that got loose and knocked over several police officers? Gotta love rural news!

You'd think that would make me blog more often, but after a few sessions with a therapist, I have been told I 'unofficially' have ADHD.

That means when I should be letting the funny part of my brain off the leash, it defies me by shutting down any thoughts regarding humor. Ugh.

When I'm supposed to be serious, I want to be funny, and when I want to be funny, my brain takes a vacation. Joy and rapture abound.

Since I last posted, my husband has been running his bakery, except during the winter months. Just as we were getting to be known in the community and gearing up for spring, a new inspector came and shut us down, but not for the reasons you think. 

We were mislicensed. 

So we have to make a few renovations to be properly licensed, but since that was our major source of income, it put a damper on things — especially since it was the beginning of tourist and camping season. 

We're not mad at the inspector. We've just been misinformed about so many things between the FDA and the Department of Agriculture; the wires got crossed somewhere. It happens. It's just bad timing. Why don't these things happen in winter when we are already shut down? Blah.

We were shut down after he did a day of baking, so we had fresh pastries and bread we couldn't sell, so we either had to eat them or give them away. 

I gained three pounds.

Just kidding. Sort of. We did find hungry families to donate the bread and goodies to, after 'taste testing' to make sure they were safe to give away. Nom nom nom.

Just a few weeks ago, I had a breakthrough. The book I've been writing for over 25 years finally became a published entity, and I have a new book out! PMS is My Life — Ticklish Tales from Booties to Bunny Slippers has made its way onto Amazon and Kindle, and I'm working on an audiobook for it (once I learn how). It will also be in print at Barnes and Noble, and I'm working on getting it out into the world, one book signing at a time. 

The plan is to sell enough books to get the bakery up and running again, and to get three children's books illustrated for publication. They are already written, I just need to pay my illustrator, because he can't live on bread alone. Though he did enjoy the cookies we sent as a bribe...er, thank you.

PMS is My Life is a series of stories I've written from childhood, up to speculations about being a grandma one day. The PMS part is in the chapter titles: Post Mommy Syndrome (babyhood), Produce Munchkins (motherhood), into Perpetual Meddler Syndrome (when the kids move out and when you visit you see they're doing it all wrong), and ends with Pamper Much Syndrome (when I try to guess what kind of grandmother I'll be).

It's filled with short personal essays of true-life happenings, some funny poetry sprinkled in, and enough speculations about life — like what would happen if men took turns being pregnant — to brighten your day and your predisposed perspectives. Here's the link to the book: PMS is My Life Book

Think Erma Bombeck if she had Philly snarkiness.

Here's a gander at the cover:

One of my new fans suggested I do a syndicated column. I looked into it, and the idea excites me a great deal! Can you imagine my stories making people laugh in newspapers throughout the country? How phenomenal would that be?

Please remember to like, share, and comment! I'd love to hear from you!

Chains of Convenience

 

    I love it when shows give me a fresh perspective.

    I started watching this Western series called 1923 (after watching 1883, of course). During this series, electricity was becoming a regularly used resource among the elite but was still resisted by those of lesser means. 

    One scene hit me like a ton of bricks.

    The family was in town, and there was a salesman with all kinds of appliances sitting out for display on the street. The men rode on by, but the women were intrigued and asked what they were for.

    Washing clothes, the salesman said. The older woman scoffed at such a ridiculous-looking piece of machinery, but the younger women were curious, though wary. After all, why have that big thing in your house when clothes could be washed in a tub, with a metal board and bar soap?

    Then one of the men chimed in, asking how it worked. Electricity, the salesman answered. The man laughed, saying that made no sense. Doing it the old way was free, but doing it with the machine that had to use electricity meant they'd be working for the electric company, not themselves anymore, because there'd be a bill to pay every time you used it.

    I paused the show. Holy conglomerates, Batman, he was right!

    Think about it. Who do we really work for nowadays? Ourselves? No. We work to put money into other peoples' pockets. The energy companies. The gas companies. The cell phone company. The internet. The government. And all of it runs on electricity.

    Don't get me wrong—I love the stuff. It allows me to write on this blog (after more than a year...oops), run my car, and do everyday life. But in the beginning, they made us want it, then made us unable to live without it. All to save labor.

    Would anyone be willing to live without electricity in this day and age? Even most of the Amish are using it nowadays in the form of generators.

    No, I'm not blaming electricity for everything wrong in the world, but sometimes I wonder if we'd be better off without some of our 'creature comforts'.

    Communities would be stronger. Several generations of one family would live and work together. Everyone would come running if you ever needed help. 

    There's a joke where a man was fishing on the side of the road, and a businessman stopped by, asking the man what he did all day. He said he sits out in the sunshine until he catches six fish, sells two, and he and his wife and two children prepare the rest for dinner, singing songs and enjoying time together. The businessman told him all he needed to do was catch more fish to earn more money, then he could buy a boat, start a fleet of fishing ships, and then retire a rich man. The man asked what he would do then? And the businessman replied, sit on the side of the road, fishing, enjoying the sunshine and time with his family...

    I think that's the reason people are running towards the homesteading life. Corporations have gotten so big and so bad for us that the world as we know it will implode from their greed and laziness. 

    Homesteading is a lot harder (especially when you're older), but at least you know what's in your food, who your true friends are, and how to fix something if something breaks. And if you didn't, one of your neighbors did and would teach you what to do for next time.

    Boomers are ignored as they try to give wisdom to their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. What they remember is almost extinct. Their ingenuity will soon be lost to the ages, unless someone can find that eensy-weensy spot where lost secrets go on the internet.

    GenXers are the next in line to be ignored. We are the last generation that knew how to play outside, even in the rain, and rode our bikes to the corner store with our friends, getting candy from the penny candy vending machines. We're the last generation to freely use our imaginations with toys and Play-Doh. Our books were something to be cherished and held under the blankets after bedtime as we read that last page under the glow of a flashlight so our parents wouldn't catch us awake. Computers came into schools around the time we graduated high school, so the internet bug didn't hit us as hard as our lesser-graded peers.

    We resisted cell phones, home computers, and the need for any tech that wasn't a gaming system with cartridges. Eventually, technology was a disease we all willingly contracted, and now the contamination is so ingrained that no one realizes they're still sick anymore. I have little hope we'll ever be free of it, unless God Himself decides enough is enough.

    The sad part is, many of our children and grandchildren can program our phones and have access to a vast amount of information, but their brains are like 5-hour-old oatmeal. Boomers and enXers cringe when we hear some of the 'wisdom' coming out of their mouths.

    I've heard more than my fair share of doozies.

    'We don't need gravity,' one young lady on the internet said. 'Issac Newton should've never invented it.'

    'We don't need trees,' said another. 'They take up too much oxygen.'

    'Cows need to stop being on farms,' said someone else. 'Methane is destroying the planet.'

    I just put my forehead in my hands and ask God to take me Home before these people run for office.

    If there were no electricity, I wonder where we'd be now? Or if the use of it was limited where there was no internet or computer games, would we be better off? Or do the homesteaders have the right idea?

    Wake up when it's light, sleep when it's dark, start fires when it's cold, and swim in streams when it's hot? The trade-off would be that most of your time is spent growing and processing your own food, and crafting things to trade when you can't make them yourself, surrounded by family and friends.

    Think about that for a minute. Food, shelter, family, friends...isn't that what most of us want?

    Sounds like a good life to me! Anyone want to go fishing?

The Holy Trinity of Updates- Part Three: Blessings Through Hardship

Blessings are only sometimes seen once you've been through the rough stuff. It's like a geode; You don't see the good until you crack them open to see what wonders are in store.

God was readying my wings for flight, but I wasn't ready to fly yet. Just a month before my raise and benefits would come, maybe wait until the end of the year, after the holidays, or even Spring, when the farmers markets would open. I could then quit and help with the bakery as I established myself as a fabric artist...

God had other ideas.

I was let go last week. I was shell-shocked. Within fifteen minutes, my life plans changed, and I was driving home in tears.

When bad things happen, I tend to spiral down into a depressive misery that takes weeks to recover from. I was finding it hard to breathe as I drove home, but the Spirit in me started to speak, and I decided to listen this time.

You were already thinking of quitting. You wanted to establish the bakery and work from home as a sewist. Isn't this an opportunity in disguise?

I realized with surprise that it was. So why was I crying to the point of not breathing?

Because someone else decided when I would stop working. I was not given time to adjust. I was my family's primary source of income and had yet to establish my business.

I was still trying to control my environment instead of letting God handle things.

So I pulled over, calmed myself, and started talking to God. Not a prayer per see, but telling Him I would let go and trust Him in all things, including being newly unemployed.

He provided before. He could provide again. Duh. Why do I keep forgetting that? And I thought the Israelites were forgetful...sheesh!

I still had bouts of tears on the way home, but there was also relief. I could spend time with my family again. I could start sewing what I wanted and write what I wanted. When I returned to blogging, I realized I was a week shy of a year since my last post. Yikes!

But what about the money? Yes, we would need it, and I still don't know where it will come from. I got my last paycheck today, but beyond that, I have no idea. Usually, I start obsessing immediately about money when hardship happens. This time it took almost a week before I began to spiral, but instead of remaining in silent misery as usual, I decided to call a family meeting and share what was happening in my head. 

I needed prayer and reassurance to keep me from shutting down into a depressive state.

As I confessed my worries, they assured me this was a blessing in disguise and things would be okay. I was encouraged to continue sewing, and we'd pray and let God tell us what to do concerning the bakery.

Then my husband started playing on his phone, or so I thought.

At first, I was annoyed (no phones during discussions, please!), but he showed me a listing for a home-based double oven. And after asking about it, they offered a flat-top stovetop as well. We rushed all over the house, gathering all the loose change, raiding our wallets and the donation jar for baked goods he's been testing on the locals for the past few weeks. 

After counting up everything, we not only had enough, we had three dollars left over without touching the bank account. (I traded the coins at the local store for bills- I wasn't paying them with all that change and singles!)

They were ninety minutes away, and we zipped off in the truck to bring home our bakery booty. We told them about our bakery, and they were happy to hear their renovation benefited us.

Something weird happened next.

I did something I never did. I moved my husbands' hand truck out of the way. He did something he never does. He forgot to put it in the truck. In fact, he felt God prompting him to get out of there as fast as possible. So we did.

We were almost all the way home before he realized he left the hand truck behind. I confessed to moving it, and when we had a signal (there's no internet in the mountains), we found the family had tried to contact us in every way possible to tell us about the forgotten hand truck.

But something else was weird. The time stamp on the messages was only minutes after we left their house. We had an internet connection for forty-five minutes before we lost signal. So why didn't anything get through?

We arranged a time for me to go get it on the fifth since the next day was the fourth of July (my daughter and husband were working the fifth), so I made the solo drive, mad at myself for moving the darn thing in the first place, but glad to be able to bring them a sample of our baking as a thank-you.

As I pulled up, I was greeted by the kids, that squealed with delight as I brought out the cake box. Before I could hand it off to the mom, she stuffed something in my hand before I could let go of the box, telling me it was for the cake.

The cake she didn't know I was bringing.

It was money. She said she was refunding me for the stovetop because they wanted to support us in our bakery adventure. Before I could reply, she also asked if I was interested in a venting hood for the stovetop.

Gobsmacked, I blurted out that yes, I'd be interested. She told me they ordered a new one, but it arrived dented, and the company told her to keep it- they'll send a replacement. So she offered it to me. I accepted and offered to give her back the refunded money for it. She refused.

I was expecting their old one (since they were renovating), but when she mentioned the new one with a dent, I said the thing could look like Quasimodo for all I cared, as long as it worked! We both laughed, and she brought it out so I could put it in my trunk.

It's a good thing that one of the kids remembered to bring out the hand truck- I'd almost forgotten it again!

After loading up and waving to Mom and the kiddos, I drove home, resisting the urge to call my husband at work to tell him the great news. I started singing hymns all the way back home. Let him open the trunk when I arrive and be surprised!

Now we know why God told my husband to leave right away! It also explains why we could only communicate with them once we got home. Isn't God amazing?

I'm still not sure how long it will be until we can work as a cottage bakery, but we're definitely on our blessed way!

How has God worked in your life that seemed terrible initially but became a blessing? Tell me about it in the comments!

The Holy Trinity of Updates- Part Two: Open, Closed, and Hidden Doors

It's hard to know which doors are opportunities and which doors should be shut, locked, and have a HAZMAT label. That's why we need to trust God in all things.

In my last post, it seemed like life was kicking me to the curb. But there were blessings between all the bad stuff; this post will reveal them.

We were sixteen weeks without internet. If we were any younger, this would've been a disaster, but it was more of an inconvenience- like losing our favorite tool. We could deal without it if we had to, and sometimes we had a lot of fun!

There was no TV, so we watched DVDs and played card and board games instead. We talked with neighbors and got to know them. We had a landline, so if people needed to speak to us, they could. Once a day, we'd drive a few miles to find a connection and text our correspondence, and once a week, we'd go into town with our laptops to access things not on our phones.

I wound up closing my Etsy store almost immediately after opening it, simply because I couldn't fill orders daily. I didn't want my customers to wait a week or more for me to respond to their requests.

So I found a job.

During the job search, we started having engine issues with the van. We discovered a recall on our van engine, but they refused to replace it, stating we were the second owners, not the original buyers. We only had the 2016 Kia Sedona for a year and a half, but they wouldn't budge.

Then my husband hit a deer, and though there was a lot of body damage, we could still drive it. We put in an insurance claim and asked about the recall issue. They would get back to us.

A week before my new job started, the van engine died. Little did I know this was a blessing in disguise!

Local friends helped me to get back on the road via borrowed vehicles, and I was able to get to and from work for the first few weeks. 

We could not afford another vehicle and ran out of cars to borrow. We made a request to our internet friends, and one of my writing buddies had a 2000 Toyota Camry she was willing to give us if we wanted it.

Woohoo! We went on a two-day trip and came home with a great car. We returned the borrowed vehicle with many thanks and some home-baked goodies. We gave everyone who helped us home-baked goodies. That's how we roll!

In the meantime, the insurance company sent an inspector for the dead van, and they decided to total the vehicle. When we came home, there was a surprise check in the mailbox! 

We got my husband a 2000 Chevy Silverado truck with the money. We not only had two vehicles now, but because they are older models, he can do all the basic repairs and care for them!

And because we have two vehicles, he found a local job that desperately needed his skills. God provided! 

Why am I always surprised about that?

With both jobs, we could stay current with the bills and get what we needed to do some much-needed test baking. Unfortunately, I had to put my sewing business aside, but I was steadfast in my prayers for a way to work from home via the bakery and my side hustles of sewing and writing.

Honestly, I was still going back and forth between writing or sewing as my primary business, and I believe He used the job to help me figure things out.

I hoped for a regular forty-hour week, but the hours were so irregular I had no idea when I'd be home. I could leave anywhere from two hours early to two hours late, making it hard on the family since I was still trying to intermittent fast and eat dinner with them. But when the hours started going into the fifties and sixties, I gave up fasting because I was getting dizzy and would often wake up on the other side of the road on the way home from work.

I stopped losing weight but managed to maintain most of my loss. But that's for a different post on my weight loss blog.

The job was also a time of tempering. I hadn't worked a full-time job since starting my family over twenty years ago, and though I did work, it mainly was self-employment as a contractor (Uber, Lyft, Medical delivery, etc.). This was a new ball of wax, and I had trouble adjusting initially.

I had a fantastic boss. She was patient and willing to answer any questions and talk to me about work etiquette. She was bilingual and would teach me Spanish, while I would teach her a bit more English than she already knew. The workers would let me practice talking with them and correct me if I got something wrong. 

It also tempered my muscles. Sewing twelve hours a day on a fifty-five-year-old body takes its toll, and I went through several packs of Bio-Freeze pads before I stopped aching. My sewing skills also improved, as well as my speed. Though I admit, those industrial machines did spoil me. I especially loved the auto thread-cutting feature!

Eventually, I got into the swing of things and adjusted to the feast-or-famine hours, though I started feeling like God was trying to strengthen my flight muscles for my fledgling leap into the world of self-employment. 

I was faster and better than I used to be, and I was confident I could sew for twelve hours at a time if I had to. I also learned to be flexible with my time and adjust to interruptions- two things I've always struggled with.

But where did God want me? What was He setting me up to do?

That and more in the next post!

I hope this encourages you that He has a plan no matter your struggles, even if we don't know His end game. Keep praying without ceasing- He hears you!

The Holy Trinity of Updates- Part One: When the Devil Wears Cleats

You know you're going in the right direction when Satan jumps on you with both feet- in cleats.

In our case, it started with an involuntary sixteen weeks off-grid. Yes, you read that correctly. Sixteen weeks without internet. There's only one provider here (so far), and they decided they didn't need to fix or provide services until we called the FCC.

I was starting an online business. Was. With no internet, I couldn't maintain a store on Etsy, so I had to look for work. I found a job as a sewing machine operator. Little did I know this job would become my life for nearly a year.

A week before the job started, our only vehicle died.

Local friends helped me to get back on the road via borrowed vehicles, and I was able to get to and from work for the first few weeks.

The job itself had its shortcomings, including irregular hours. I was either asked to sacrifice hours and have very short weeks, and other times I was working so much overtime all I could do was wake up, go to work, come home, eat, and sleep. Some days my family only saw me for fifteen minutes before I had to fall into bed, sore and exhausted.

The drive was an hour and ten minutes one way, so at the end of the week, I spent nearly twelve hours on the road. When you add fifty to sixty-hour work weeks, that time adds up! I often had to call friends for as long as the signal lasted to stay awake on the road home.

We finally entered the slow season two weeks ago, where we were asked to sacrifice hours again. I was glad because the busy season lasted a whopping five months, and I was ready for a break. Next month would be a year at the job, and I would qualify for a raise and benefits, including vacation pay.

Last week, they called me into the office and let me go.

If I left it at that, you'd think I'd be depressed. I'm not. I just told you all the bad stuff because these things happen for a reason, and though we don't always know what that reason is (in fact, God can be pretty tight-lipped most of the time), we need to remain faithful because His plans aren't ours. In my case, I need tempering before I can be the sword He wants me to be.

He is preparing me for greatness. He's preparing you too. 

I divided this blog post into three parts, so you didn't have to read a novel-worth of text (a blog-vel?...Nah). Keep reading- it gets better!

The Holy Trinity, Explained

For years I had trouble with the concept of God being three separate beings, yet one being. It just never made sense!

I'm an out-of-the-box thinker (possibly autistic), so I put my brain to work to understand this nearly unfathomable concept. Then, a few years ago, it hit me.

Water. 

Photo by Tobias Bjørkli

Wait a second, I hear you say. What does water have to do with the Three-in-One?

Good question. And now, I can hopefully define the answer.

Water can be broken down into three separate entities yet still be what it is-water. So you have water, ice, and vapor. God is the water, Jesus is the ice, and the Holy Spirit is the vapor.

Let's break this down a bit further.

God:

He is everywhere and in everything. Too much water and we're overwhelmed; too little and we're thirsty. No water at all, and we're dead. We need water to survive, just as we need God.

Jesus:

He is the physical manifestation of water-ice. It can be seen, touched, and has a presence you can feel. Ice can also be broken and crushed by us. Once shattered, it melts, goes back into its natural state (water), and can be remade into ice.

Holy Spirit:

This is vapor. It protects us from the sun (so we don't burn up), and when breathed in, it's absorbed by the body, making us a part of everything around us. Once condensed, it returns to its natural state (water, in the form of rain).

God is there whether we want Him there or not. He's all around us. First, however, we must actively breathe Him in to make Him a part of our lives.

I hope this post helps you understand God a little better. I know it helped me a great deal when He showed me this concept a few years ago. 

So breathe deeply, my friends. He is there. Always!

Saving Snakes and Pear Trees

It's not easy being a hero.

When our pear tree lost a primary branch, our family gathered cuttings, and I'm trying to bring all nineteen of them back to life. Spiders were caught and released into the wild. The same goes for mice (if the cats failed to do their jobs), flies, ladybugs, and even stinkbugs.

But the other day was the most interesting save yet.

My daughter called out that there was a black snake ever-so-slowly crossing the road in front of our house. It came from somewhere under our house, so I have no idea where the thing was sleeping, but the weather warmed enough that it awoke and was looking for a place to warm in the sun.

Image by Storme22k from Pixabay 

The middle of the road isn't the best choice, snake-dude.

Traffic here in the boonies is sparse but not so light that a snake can sunbathe without getting hit. So my daughter, terrified of touching it, was trying to coax it across the road with a stick.

The snake wasn't having it and stayed put. It was still a bit torpid and didn't lash out, but it didn't move across the road either. So I told my daughter to just pick it up by the back of the head and near the end of the tail and carry it over before someone came down the road.

She looked at me as if I lost my snake-pickin' mind.

Now, this is a young lady that can make a bucking, twelve-hundred-pound horse follow her like a puppy in less than ten minutes (truth- I saw her do this!), but she squealed when she was required to pick up a three-foot black snake this is neither poisonous nor venomous.

At the tender age of five, this same child dropped a little white mouse into the tank of a friends' boa constrictor and giggled when the snake got the mouse. Did it matter that she was playing with the feeder mice before this? No, of course not. But sixteen years later, she decided snakes were off her 'cool and touchable' list.

Mom to the rescue!

She backed away as I approached, picked up the snack gently by the back of its head and near the end of its tail, and carried said rabid python of doom to the other side of the road.

The snake barely even reacted to me, and I forgot that snakes are all muscle. It was weird holding its body as I felt muscles flex under its leathery skin. I let it go on the other side of a small ditch next to the road, far enough away from the asphalt in hopes of deterring it from the street. 

Just in time too, because a car was coming.

As I came back across the street, my daughter, dumbfounded, gave me a high-five and exclaimed how impressed she was at my snake-handling talents. It felt so good I thought about sewing myself a little cape and playing the Superman theme.

Okay, maybe not, but it still felt pretty awesome.

Spring in the boonies has been an adventure so far. I wonder what the summer will bring?

In-Deedy-Do!

Sometimes you need to pursue what you want in life. In this case, it was the deed to our home and store.

In October of last year, we were supposed to sign the papers for the property and move in. Unfortunately, there was a mix-up, so the document signing was postponed until November.

However, we'd already made plans to move on October 9th, and we couldn't get out of it because the day we were moving out, the new owners of our old home were moving in.

Luckily, our property owner said we could move in for a security deposit that would be taken off the total purchase amount of the house and store. So we agreed and moved in.

The following month, we signed the documents, and the attorney said we'd be mailed the deed as soon as it was surveyed and registered with the county.

We waited and waited. The locals warned us to not call the county because that would delay things further. So we bided our time and wondered if we would ever get our bakery up and running.

Finally! The surveyor showed up in January. Excited, I went out to speak with him. Unfortunately, the news wasn't good. He told us they were backlogged, and we wouldn't see our deed for another six to nine months.

Months. Not weeks. Not days. Months.

We had to come up with a new plan. Repairs and a few renovations were made to the home, but we had to have the deed to get the grants and loans needed to make any profound changes. The sale of our old home allowed us to pay off all debt and avoid a mortgage on the new place but didn't leave much left once the necessities were purchased. Nearly three months after the move, the money was running thin.

Our daughter got a job. However, during our employment search, we got The Virus, and after recovering, my husband badly sprained his foot. That double blow knocked us out for over two months. During that time, we did a lot of searching for ways to get the bakery started. But it all fell on the premise that we have a deed first.

My husband is a patient man, but this delay was even wearing his patience thin. My patience was almost non-existent from the start, so I kept looking for loopholes. I wanted to call the county, but my husband discouraged me due to the advice of the locals. They know how things work here, and we don't. I complied.

For about two weeks. 

My husband found a job two weeks ago. Last week, they were both working. Being unsupervised, I decided God gifted me with a big mouth and tenacious nature for a reason, and I would call the county while they were at work, thanks to a neighbor who gave me a name and number to speak to at the courthouse. 

I'm also gifted with being polite and tactful (she said humbly), so I knew better than to get on the phone and yell. All I wanted to know was how much longer we needed to wait, so I could make plans to have all our ducks in a row as soon as the ink was dry.

Unexpectedly, the county clerks were super friendly and really helpful! A fifteen-minute phone call clarified everything, and there was some surprising news. Our deed was already registered. It was recorded in early December.

What?

Apparently, the real estate attorney in charge of sending us the deed dropped the ball. Had they sent it in December like they should have, we could've gotten a three-month jump in getting the bakery started (despite covid and his sprain).

Deep breaths, people. Deep breaths.

Sure, we could get mad and badmouth the attorney that made the error, but to be honest, we'd rather put that energy into getting the business started. Much more positive and productive!

Last week when my husband came home from work, I told him the good news and why there was a delay. The next day he stopped by the courthouse on his way home and got our deed. 

WOOHOO!

Sometimes being a big mouth pays off. 

We have a lot of work ahead because our ducks aren't in a row yet. We got distracted with things like jobs because we needed heat and food and other stuff not bakery-related, trying to keep ourselves afloat. Sigh.

The good news is we just got a mentor two weeks ago from SCORE (retired business people mentoring new business owners) who is helping organize our ducks. So now we finally can apply for the funds needed to rebuild the store into our dream bakery cafe and an advisor to help us avoid making dumb mistakes. 

I don't know about you, but I can't wait to start!

Hoofin' It

Some say living in the country is boring. I disagree. In fact, a lot more goes on around here than you think; but unlike the city, these adventures often include our four-footed friends with hooves.

Who...me?

Deer run rampant in the mountains and sometimes wind up on the roads. Unfortunately, many get hit, especially around dusk and dawn. That's usually when people are traveling to and from work. 

Not good for the deer, but a mixed blessing for the driver.

You see, out here in the sticks, if you hit a deer, you can take it home for meat. The upside is that you get enough meat to last a few months; however, the downside is that deer can damage your vehicle when you hit one.

Our neighbor hit a deer on the way home, tossed the five-point buck in his truck, and drove another thirty minutes to get home. He put the deer in his shed and went inside to eat dinner.

After dinner, he and his wife went into the shed to butcher the deer (yes, many people around here are farmers and butcher their own animals for food.)

No deer.

They looked down the road, and their dinner was making a run for it. Talk about fast food!

Apparently, the buck was stunned unless we have zombie deer out here. They let him go without a fuss. If he could walk away, he earned a second chance. Just stay off the roads, buddy!

A few weeks back, I missed an incident with cows, even though it happened right across the street. A cow decided to play freedom fighter and managed to escape the fence by opening the gate. No one knows if the cow unlocked it or if the gate was accidentally left unlocked, but the heifer and a few others made a break for it and took off down the road.

Luckily, they got them back before they got too far. I still can't believe I missed that!

Spring is springing, and as the weather warms, we hear new sounds all around us. Unfamiliar birds chirping, the cries of hawks and eagles, and the occasional farm animal letting farmers know they're hungry.

The other day, I was at my desk and kept hearing my phone go off. I had the phone muted, but the vibrations were on, and every few minutes, I would hear my phone vibrate. But there weren't any messages or notifications.

Frustrated, I restarted my goofy phone. Again, those low, rumbling vibration sounds, but the phone was in my hand, restarting this time. It wasn't vibrating. What gives?

It took me a minute, but then it dawned on me. That sound wasn't my phone. It was a cow.

It was a low, soft moo that sounded exactly like my muted cell phone! I called my daughter downstairs to tell her the story and listen out the window; we both had a good laugh.

Spring is coming. The crocuses are popping up, as are the daffodils. The sun is out, and on warm days, I sit outside and read a book, enjoying the fresh air and gentle breezes. Sometimes I stop reading just to listen to the birds, chickens, and the occasional moo.

I know it was a cow this time because I'd left my phone inside the house!

Changing Gears (Temporarily)

 

Oh, Time, you manipulative beast. How you toy with us! Then, just when you think you've got a plan, Time comes along and pees on your shoe.

The weather up here is much like our lives, all over the place. 

Yesterday it was almost sixty degrees, sunny and warm. Today we're in the middle of a blizzard, expecting seven inches of the fluffy white stuff- and I don't mean bunnies.

Unfortunately, the same thing is happening concerning the bakery. Red tape is sticky stuff and can clog up the works under normal circumstances, but throw in a pandemic and things get downright entrenched.

We have the business registered. We also have the bakery name registered (I'll announce the name when we get the logo trademarked). However, we need the deed to the house and store to move forward. 

I know what you're thinking. Yes, we should've gotten it when we officially bought the place. However, the surveyor still hadn't redefined the property lines (they had to separate our property from the parcel of land of the previous owner), so until they surveyed, the deed was in limbo. 

So we made repairs on the house, excited that it should be only a few weeks before we could start applying for grants and loans.

The surveyor came in February. Yes! We could finally move forward! 

But wait. He told us it would take more than a few weeks. It would take at least six to nine months.

Uh oh.

We paid off everything- including the new place when we moved- so we had zero debt. However, the repairs had cost more than expected (especially when a thousand dollars in building material went from a full skid to barely one-fourth of a skid), and the reserves were running out. Fast.

Time to change gears. We had to start looking for work. In the boonies. Even the locals said, 'Good luck with that!'

Our daughter found a job with a local egg-producing plant. God blessed us unexpectedly because the plant allows us to take home free eggs (as long as it was for home consumption). My husband found a job that was twice the distance, but it paid well. All he had to do was take the safety classes, and he was good to go.

Then things got weird. 

On day two of the mandatory classes, we got The Virus. All three of us. He lost the job because he didn't show up to the second safety class. He was viral. Oh sure, he could've shown up for the class with a 102-degree fever, but the safety class he studied for said not to go to work if you're sick because they work in the food industry. So he was let go for obeying the rules.

Gotta love the irony.

He could reapply, but only after two weeks in seclusion. It was a significant bump in the road, but our daughter said she would do what it took to keep us afloat. I'm thankful that God blessed us with great kids.

He also blessed us with a great church. They didn't know us from Adam (a little Biblical humor there), but they still wanted to help and donated a few gas cards and some food items to keep us going. I can't tell you what a blessing they are!

Almost three weeks later, my husband was in the process of reapplying for the job when he had to fetch our daughter from work. Unfortunately, he severely sprained his ankle on some black ice walking to the van. He was down for the count for at least six weeks.

Honestly, We felt like the Hebrews in Egypt. You need to listen to what God tells you! The first time, he got sick for two weeks; the second time, he was hurt for six weeks. We are not stupid people, and we took the hint that God just didn't want him to work at that job. We weren't willing to see what 'third times the charm' would do! 

The last time he didn't listen, he was in the hospital for eighteen days with third-degree burns. Thanks, but no thanks. We'll listen to the Big Guy from now on.

We found out later that the job required a five-year contract. Yikes!

So now we were back to square one. Should we keep looking for work, or did God have something else planned? We delved deep into business regulations to see if there was an answer. There was, but it wasn't clear what we should do about it. So we prayed. a lot.

Several things happened this week that both clarified and muddied the business waters. When we first moved here, we asked for a mentor from SCORE (Service Corps of Retired Executives) but were told they were fresh out due to the pandemic. However, this week we were contacted by a mentor willing to talk with us!

Mentors help new business owners sort out what they need to start their businesses. His advice was constructive; we're considering changing the dynamics of our original bakery cafe. He also suggested we start out in the cottage industry until we get our business legs under us. He helped clarify a lot.

But we still needed income, and we knew God wasn't thrilled with the last prospect, so being more than a bit trepidacious, we looked for employment elsewhere. 

My husband starts his new job next week, and because we only have one vehicle, I'll be working out of the home, making things to sell at local fairs and online. In addition, I'll be going through what we don't need from the move to sell via a giant yard sale.

It won't be easy, but we will get this bakery off the ground! It might take a year longer than expected, but we know God put us here to feed people both physically and spiritually.

And when that happens, it's going to be awesome.

The Calm Before the Store

(yes- this is part of the actual store!)

Wow- has it been two months already?

How can time pass so fast when the outside world is so quiet?

Maybe it's because of the icy weather we've been having. It's been in the single digits for a few weeks. I didn't even know the van thermometer could go into negative numbers. So glad my husband was able to clear out the garage in time to avoid the snow- the entire yard is a sheet of ice. Yikes!

Much has happened lately, including all of us getting that lovely little virus that shut down the world. My homemade remedy helped a great deal, and though the actual virus couldn't be avoided, the symptoms were significantly less severe after drinking my special blend of tea.

We're over it now, though my husband is still coughing a lot. It aggravated his Irritated Bronchial Syndrome, but he's getting better each day. 

And speaking of my husband...remember that ice I mentioned? Well, Mountain Man decided to take the shortcut up the icy hill to the garage and sprained his ankle. Bad. I had no clue until he came in the door limping. He was surprised he could walk, no less walk back to the house. So he's been down and out for the past three weeks.

My daughter and I have been playing nurse, and he's recovering nicely.

As for the bakery, the paperwork is slow going, like molasses in...er...February. We have the LLC and the business name, but not much else- I won't go into details, but God let us know that him getting a job was out of the question (the ankle was the 'icing' on the cake- forgive the pun- but we got the point, Lord!), so our focus has been getting the business up and running.

So much paperwork! And of course, the papers we have aren't the right ones. And the mentors for the Small Business Association (SBA) and few and far between, so we're basically doing this blind. But I'm glad God is leading us!

We just have to be patient.

Patience is a virtue I barely have, but God makes me practice it- All. The. Time.

Ugh.

We're still getting to know the natives, but they are hermits and hibernate during the winter months, at least until the weather warms. It was a balmy 35 degrees this morning, and I greeted a few heads that popped out of their hidey-holes as they grabbed firewood or went to their day jobs.

We hear spring is where the action is. Not only is spring when fishing season opens, but flea markets, fairs, and farmers' markets start to pop up everywhere. In fact, we were told to have our yard sale at the first inkling of springtime. So hopefully, we'll have everything sorted by then!

The church folks are warming up to us, and we will start taking new member classes in March. I'm not sure if we'll be involved in any ministries yet, though we'd like to; we just don't want to commit too soon because we have no idea what the bakery will require of our physical and mental strength.

Community meetings are every second Wednesday, so Mr. Gimpy and I will be attending this week. We're curious to see differences from those in Philly, and we need to ask if we should present ourselves as a new business in the near future.

In the meantime, we'll bundle up and take a quick peek at the stars- because winter skies are crystal clear at night, and the view is spectacular.

And we get to go inside and warm ourselves by the propane fireplace when we're done!

Would you like to see a new blog depicting our journey into becoming business owners? I'd love to hear from you in the comments! 

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

The wait is over, and I have so much to share with you!

We've finally got an internet connection, and I can stop inundating you with multiple postdated posts! Not only can we upload and download everything we need to do, but our daughter can also talk on Zoom, which means she can do her spring semester classes online. No eleven-hour drive to New Hampshire, just to have her secluded in her dorm room!

Can I get a WOOHOO?

Renovations are going well for the sewing room. We've painted it, and the color came out so pretty! It really brightened up the room. My husband also decided to take out the carpet and replace the flooring- and I got to choose the color! We also bought a ceiling fan to match the floor. Not everything is finished yet, but here are a couple of pictures of the walls and floor (and the beautiful new air vents too!)

Next up is new baseboards with a fresh coat of white paint. After that is the ceiling fan install and an area rug (for the rolling desk chairs), and we're done! 

Well, almost. My husband wants to build a few more bookshelves before moving everything in, but I can start creating and writing before those are installed. We plan to turn a small part of the space into a reading nook for the three of us since we became avid readers during our disconnection to the Web.

Not having internet has its benefits!

As for the propane issue, the guy never showed for the appointment. Again. After a very heated phone call (from my husband, whose fuse usually wraps the equator several times), we finally got propane the day before Thanksgiving. We were very thankful for fresh-baked bread and turkey!

We learned an important lesson concerning certain gas stations. Some fuel might be cheaper, but not good if it has enough water in it to freeze in the lines overnight. We also learned that the locals sometimes know better than the mechanics when figuring out what's wrong. Leaving the van in the garage and storing a few bottles of dry gas makes for better winter driving.

And speaking of driving, we had a sprinkling of snow the morning we went to pick up our son for the holiday week. And I get to try out the camera on my new phone!

It was the perfect snow- just enough to coat the grass and trees, but not the roads. So pretty!

Last but not least, we are now officially a company! We have our EIN number and can finally start becoming business owners. Grants, schematics, trademarking, and copyrighting- and that's before we do any renovations.

So many more changes happening; my head is spinning. In a good way!

God has taken us a mighty long way into a whole new world of business we only dreamed was possible. I can't wait to see what He does next!