A Fresh New Day!

I woke up to SNOW!  I love it. It feels so good and clean. So familiar.  I went out to faithful Clyde, the wonder truck, and the moment my feet crunched the snow... I giggled. It always takes me back to skiing- "Get your gloves. Do you have everything? I'm not coming back to the car to find your hat. Come on- time's wasting. Snow's waiting!"  My dad, the ski enthusiast, never seemed irriated with the task to herding four children to the slopes.

So I crunched new snow, smelled crisp air, giggled.



I've been asked- "Where do you get your  (crazy, weird, scary.... well, whatever) sense of adventure?

Here....

my Mother!   she went out last night but her car didn't make it back up the hill.  
She's my hero- and drives me nuts.... I did offer to take her to her play but no...
 "I 84, I do it myself!"  

Yeah, me too, Mom...



So we  had breakfast and went out ....  in the the snow 

to a local festival.
Hundreds of geezers have four wheel drive or  pickup trucks in South Dakota.

And yes, my family has Nowegian roots. My mother's a Viking.

So we had -

Fruit Soup- better than it looks

 and Lefse - bland  Noweigan tortillas -

   

but skipped the....

Lutefisk- Norwegian blech.

Lutefisk (pronounced LEWD-uh-fisk) is dried cod that has been soaked in a lye solution for several days to rehydrate it. It is then boiled or baked and served with butter, salt, and pepper. The finished lutefisk usually is the consistency of Jello. It is also called lyefish, and in the United States, Norwegian-Americans traditionally serve it for Thanksgiving and Christmas. In many Norwegian homes, lutefisk takes the place of the Christmas turkey. In Minnesota and Wisconsin, you can find lutefisk in local food stores and even at some restaurants. It is a food that you either love or hate, and, as some people say, "Once a year is probably enough!"


http://www.davethefox.com/words/0112lutefisk.htm 

                                          Yum, yum- see, not just the Brits can ruin food.

 But enough fun and game -

 time to get mom's car home and Clyde and me back to the cabin .  

And, of course, I couldn't resist the back road. 

Gotta love 4wheel drive!

I wrote about Sheridan Lake in a blog.... my potential kayak spot- next summer

Hey, Donna- look, more rocks!

....with snow.  Beautiful :)

.

Clyde loves snow. Clyde can drive over dividers in parking lots.
Don't ask. 

 

Fading light- hard to capture, love the feel

And Home again - almost

Whoa- they didn't clear the road into my neighborhood?
 Giddy-up, Clyde. Right into the sun.
(lazy photographer didn't even get out of the truck)

Home stretch - down the hill. 

See the tiny horses... next time, use a camera not a phone.

Ahh... cabin, sweet, cabin in the afternoon light . And all snowed in. 

If I go in, can I come out?  Stay tuned

This is the north deck... with no roof  :(   ...yet.  

This is the south deck with a roof....
next year, the north deck will also look like this after it snows.
 Check out the classy cardboard box wood holder.  

So...what's a girl to do?  

Snowed in, truck sitting in a foot of snow, no skiis.... well, 

First you make a cuppa tea....

Then you set up the wireless modem- success ! it's great to have.....

a computer in front of the.....

ahh.....

I could  watch a ...

or read a ......

and definitely listen to some .....

Jonathan Maracle 

http://www.brokenwalls.com/content/multimedia/

And I can sit by the fire and share with you. 

Yep, it's a gonna be a good evening. 

I am alone. I wonder what I have just done to my life. For it is too late to retreat.

I'm sitting in my mother's quiet apartment. She is gone for the evening. I am avoiding the snowy roads and the reality of the tasks for the coming holiday. I've begun Kathleen Norris' evocative "Dakota - A Spiritual Geography". She begins with this beautiful line,

 "The high plains, the beginning of the dessert West,

often act as a cruible for those who inhabit them."

A cruible, a container for the smelting process, the holder for the molten ore. Latin for "a night lamp".

This season, between one life and another, this has become my cruible.  My life was melted down to "widow".  My heart holds the heat of wounded children and my own anger. The process has brought out the ugly impurities.  Have I been a night lamp?  A light to show others the way?  Somedays, perhaps.  Many days and nights, I was too preocuppied with my fire to wonder who was behind me, watching for a light for their path of grief or transition.

But the days passed and the nights again became haven's of sleep, not restles hours aching from the clench of grief.  The children regained their balance. Their lives built forward, as it is the way.  And the house became too big, too many memories. "I will not maintain a museum to the past nor become, at last, a houseWIFE". The wife of one man, not one house. And so the process began- "Pick what you want, dispose of the rest" sounds good; the boxes  with their names is testimony to my backbone.  But slowly, the treasures emerged and the dross burned off.

So today, the death is final. The house our family built, the home my children came home to for fifteen years, is gone. Sold. Belongs to another. 

We wired that house for an intercom system by wrapping wires in ten year old Abby's toes and letting her climb in the rafters.  We rarely used the system but we love that story. We gathered on a dusty subfloor and ate pizza, delivered up a mud slide of a driveway.  In the years to come, the children terrified and impressed our guest by valet parking - and backing that steep, narrow five hundred feet at top speed. We laid in the back yard on a trampoline gazing at stars and were awed by the owl that swooped over us in a whisper of power.  We danced on the deck. The stories are endless. We made it our home.

And today it is sold. Another family will move in and make their own memories.  Ours are safely tucked away.

And I am here. In the Heartland of America. In a log home as horses graze in my pasture and coyotes yip up the ridge. I can stand on my porch at dark and look a mile away to the friendly lights of neighbors across the valley.  It is quiet. There are few memories yet.

And this too is my cruible. I have been heated by this ardorous process of transition. This striving to get that house right so someone would want what I treasured. The work to move the treasures I kept.  Stressed by paperwork, misunderstandings, forgotten permits- details I depise; yet, the fuel to consume the rising dross. Who am I? Why do I respond  this way or that?  What is the purpose of pain and suffering? Of frustration?  Why was it so hard and confusing? Where were You when I was pushed to the breaking point?

Then the radio had my a reminder of my answer.  A new song for me is Mathew West's -

                                                      "Strong Enough"

You must think I'm strong
To give me what I'm going through

Well forgive me
Forgive me if I'm wrong
But this looks like more than I can do
On my own

I know I'm not strong enough to be
everything that I'm supposed to be
I give up
I'm not stong enough

                                                    Hands of mercy won't you cover me
                                                    Lord right now I'm asking you to be
                                                    Strong enough
                                                    Strong enough
                                                    For the both of us

Well maybe
Maybe that's the point
To reach the point of giving up

Cause when I'm finally
Finally at rock bottom
Well that's when I start looking up
And reaching out

I know I'm not strong enough to be
Everything that I'm supposed to be
I give up
I'm not stong enough

Hands of mercy won't you cover me
Lord right now I'm asking you to be
Strong enough
Strong enough

Cause I'm broken
Down to nothing
But I'm still holding on to the one thing
You are God
and you are strong
When I am weak

I can do all things
Through Christ who gives me strength

And I don't have to be
Strong enough
Strong enough

I'm not a big fan of contemporay Christian music but it hit a chord tonight. I couldn't do what I've done, what our family has done on my own. I was not strong enough. I hit bottom several times. I gave up and.... His hands of mercy covered me. He was strong enough.

And he sent His children to help - to encourage, to work, to pray, to listen to me rant or cry or rant and cry together.   I didn't have to be strong enough. I have not been alone in the fire. And I am so grateful.

So in the cruible of life, I was purified, I am being purified;  I will continue to be in the fire.

I am sad and I am thrilled. I am missing my old life and excited about the new.  I watch snow flurries cover the stones that form the landscape of this new home. And I am content in my place in His world.

Happy Birthday, Marines!

Today is the 236th birthday of the founding of the United States Marine Corps.  All over the globe, Marines will be cutting into some form of cake. The oldest present will have the first piece, the youngest served next- honoring both the leadership of experience and the pride of the youth coming into the tradition-

"Commandant of the Marine Corps Gen. James F. Amos cuts the Marine Corps birthday cake during the cake cutting ceremony at the Pentagon in Washington Nov. 8. A sword is used to cut the cake to remind Marines that they are a band of warriors, committed to carrying the sword so that the nation may live in peace."  2011

http://www.marines.mil/unit/hqmc/PublishingImages

From the halls of the Pentagon to the fields of Afghanistan to the corporate world, Marines remember.

   233rd Birthday, 2008

Unless you are in the field, the cake is cut as part of a long and traditional ceremony.  And obviously, even there, decorum is maintained. The flags are presented, sabers are raised, the cake is wheeled in and  the current Commandant's address to the Corps is read.  And since 1921,  previous Commandant General John A. Lejuene's eloquent message is  also read-

MARINE CORPS ORDERS
No. 47 (Series 1921)
HEADQUARTERS U.S. MARINE CORPS
Washington, November 1, 1921

759. The following will be read to the command on the 10th of November, 1921, and hereafter on the   
10 November of every year. Should the order not be received by the 10th of November, 1921, it 
will be read upon receipt.

 "On November 10, 1775, a Corps of Marines was created by a resolution of the Continental Congress. Since that date, many thousand men have borne the name Marine. In memory of them, it is fitting that we who are Marines should commemorate the Birthday of our Corps by calling to mind the glories of its long and illustrious history. 

The record of our Corps is one which will bear comparison with that of the most famous military organizations in the world's history. During 90 of the 146 years of its existence, the Marine Corps has been in action against the Nation's foes. From the Battle of Trenton to the Argonne, Marines have won foremost honors in war and in the long era of tranquility at home. Generation after generation of Marines have grown gray in war in both hemispheres and in every corner of the seven seas [so] that our country and its citizens might enjoy peace and security. 

In every battle and skirmish since the birth of our Corps, Marines have acquitted themselves with the greatest distinction, winning new honors on each occasion until the term "Marine" has come to signify all that is highest in military efficiency and soldierly virtue..... http://www.marines.mil/usmc/documents/lejeuneMessage2004.pdf




And at many balls, after listening with one ear and watching carefully to insure MY Marine didn't lock his knees and pass out midway through the sword ceremony, I relaxed (like I had any control of the event anyway).  Then we ate and danced.  And yes, there was a lot of drinking in between.

I remember a few birthday Balls- 

1979- my first amazing parade of American military, i.e. USMC history at Pensacola, Forida- the Marines really pull out the big guns when they aren’t on home turf.  Pensacola is home to Navy Aviation-  and of course the heart of Naval Aviation is Marine pilots.  So Marines strutted their stuff and showed off for their envious Navy and Coast Guard fellow pilots.

"The US Marine Corps Aviation- the superior core of Naval Aviation"

(I may get some flack for that one!)

And in 1990 we arrived at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas- home of proud and ambitious Army officers at Command and General Staff College…. and as soon as our neighbors knew we were Marines, it was - “Can we get tickets to the Ball?”   Well, by now we had been to multiple balls and the glow was a little less blinding. I had just had baby number 4 in August and it was just another birthday ball.  After all there were less than twenty Marines at the school!

Well, it wasn't just another Marine Ball.  Turns out the Marines really are the worst dancers in the military.  I had long suspected but it was confirmed when the Army took to the dance floor.  They danced!   And some smart officer (probably Army) chose the band so we COULD dance. We learned Texas Two Step and line dancing before line dancing was cool. Must be all those Army posts in Texas.  Great ball.

Thank you, United States Army- you can lead the way on the dance floor any time. 

One more memory- in 1982, the much loved movie ET was released. 

That year was a rowdy ball. It was in a huge warehouse or hanger- with the customary backlit parachutes hanging from the ceilings, disco balls, complimentary wine glasses with the date inscribed- most Marines have a sizable collection of ball paraphernalia. And it was all done by Marines for their ladies. We didn't lift a finger except to drive them home.

Well, the evening started early, the food didn't offset the alcohol and the speaker - who really did resemble ET- went on and on. Someone took a large North Carolina pine cone and added stubby legs and floppy arms and sent it up the long, littered table with our own birthday message...."ET-phone home." At the time is was hysterically funny- now I look back and think, "Wow, the world's finest fighting men are little boys at heart!"  Love them still. 

dvidshub.net

And even when the Corps is but a memory, the birthday is still celebrated. 

2005. This was Bill's last time to honor the Corps and share a cake with the people he worked with at Computer Sciences Corporation.  As is tradition, he ordered the cake, brought in his sword and his lady was just there to enjoy the moment.  

Semper Fidelis to the end. 

And here's the Marine who cares for his beloved daughter.  Bill would have so approved of  Steven R. Haack, USMC

Happy Birthday, Captian Haack!

So - from memories past to future glory- here's to the United States Marines.  

Semper Fi!

To Denver and Back.... and bargains to be found

I live 369 miles  or 6 hours from my sister. At least that's what Google tells me.
The trip is a bit boring. SO... I find new routes mostly involving western Nebraska.  So not exactly the most scenic and I haven't made it in less than ten.  I do wander... and the shopping distracts me.

I'm realizing that I get this goofy pleasure in finding bargains. I always say I don't shop- what I don't do is window shop or mall cruise or actually buy much at retail. Except Ikea.  And along the back roads and small towns between my house in Hill City and Janet's house in Parker, there are bargains to discover.  I think I may need to start a new side blog or link - Great Thrift Stores of the World.  Hey, think big.

My bargains include wool blankets and down comforters for each of my guest beds. I've found great original art, pillows and decor items.  But right now I'm in the market for winter clothes- in the past winter has been pretty short and not too cold. Now I'm realizing this is true winter country and I need winter stuff- and well, this is the place to find it!

In Sterling, Colorado there is a great Goodwill and on this trip I found my final down comforter for ten bucks.  I wanted silk long underwear ( really, really warm but lightweight for skiing) and my route went  south to Sidney, Nebraska- corporate home of Cabela's- Land of all things for Hunting, Camping, Being Outdoors in Cold Weather.  Don't ask but I kinda got lost in a town of 6,000 and couldn't find the biggest, possibly only industry in town.  BUT, I found the Salvation Army- a.k.a. Jackpot.  Three longjohns and two long sleeve tops- all silk, all Cabela's, all four dollars each.  Retail? $49.99 for the bottoms, $41.99 for the tops. Each. Whoopee!

And the fun was just starting. Oooo- winter coats. Need that. And a Columbia down vest for five dollar. I know they're about ninety-five dollars retail. Nice.  And that's a great looking white coat with a hood. I guess seven isn't too much.  All I need now is a pair of boots.

Off to Cabela's- why, I don't know and I never made it. But look down that street- Play it Again, Sam Thrift Store.  This is a work program for the developmentally disadvantaged and they were so sweet to ask me what I want. "Can I take those to the register?"  Sure, but what I really need is some prices.  And there in the corner-  cute white winter boots. And they match to the "new" coat.  Total price? - "I put your things in a bag for you. The boots are fifty cents and the bag is a dollar."  I did give a generous donation.  Or I thought it was generous until I got to Janet's.

"You got Sorel boots for fifty cents! Those things cost about a hundred bucks."

Women's Arctic Parka

 And here's the cute coat. "Is that real fur around the hood? You got a Woolrich winter coat for seven dollars? Good grief, girl."  Turns out the coat retails for $345.00. Nice.



Happy Shopping!  And look for the bargains in unexpected places.

Umbrella of Grace

I just missed my flight to San Antonio.   I was fussing at myself, of course. “Idiot”, etc.  I was on time, I just misread the flight info and waited for 45 minutes at the FRONTIER terminal rather than the SOUTHWEST terminal.

As I rushed through the airport to Concourse C, I pulled up Southwest on my smart phone; “Smart phone, dumb woman”.  Nope- missed the 10:05 AND the 10:55.  Earliest flight at 2:10.  “Go to the gate at 12:15 and request a seat. I’ll put you in the system (in some special way I still don’t understand but I’ll trust  you) and you’ll be close to the top of standby.”

Ok- 12:00 I found the gate and she said, “Let me just give you a boarding pass.” Thank you.  Maybe this isn’t a disaster.

But… my shuttle from the San Antonio Airport to the retreat leaves at 3:00.  They won’t wait or they will and I’ll make them late.  They’ll be mad or at least irritated. Why wasn’t I more careful?  Details escape me.  Woe is me.

So I called with my sad story to the driver in Texas and she was so kind. She called me back and  “No problem. Marshal is picking up Luci Shaw at 5:00 and you can ride with them.  All is well.  See you at dinner.”

REALLY?  REALLY… I get to spend two hours with the retreat speaker?  Even if she’s exhausted and needs to sleep I wanted to at least introduce myself.  I’ve been enjoying her work so much this last week.  AND…. Her story is my story.   Godly Christian husband of 32 years.  Didn’t smoke and died of lung cancer.  She was left with multiple young adult children.  And she published her journals.

What are the chances of the two of us being at a retreat?– I didn’t know her story when God tugged my heart back to Laity Lodge and this particular retreat.  What are the chances of my missing my flight?- even if I beat myself up about it, it rarely happens.  And what are the chances of my flight coming in at the same time as a woman I wanted to spend time with?

God doesn’t deal with chances.  He’s all about redeeming our mistakes. Blessing us in spite of ourselves.  Giving us the kiss of “Relax and let Me work it out.”  I’m not sure of the theology of all this- does God orchestrate all our moves to accomplish His will?  Does He know what we’re going to do and smirks as we hustle and bustle, as we try to scramble to FIX our mistakes?  While all along He intends to maneuver us into His PERFECT will?  As opposed to His permissive will- a whole concept and theology I never quite understood.

All I know is this – His heart toward me is Good.  I no longer care how He does it. I just know that He loves me and somehow it works out.  And each time I call myself an idiot for a few seconds less.  I catch my breath a few moments earlier.  I talk to myself in a kinder voice and remind myself of the goodness of God - last time, this time, next time.  He loves me- even if details aren’t my strength.  And the nice people I was talking felt empathy, not contempt, as I rushed off to the correct terminal.

My kind, kind sister texted me- “ This is why people want to walk under your umbrella with you ‘cause you’re not holding it so there’s room for others.  And it provides exactly what you need.”

Years ago, when my lead foot was even heavier than now, I was rushing to a doctor’s appointment.  Even before children I couldn’t leave the house with margin to spare.  So hurrying ( see the lack of the word- speeding- which indicates  error or responsibility), I was hurrying to the doctor and I was in my little VW Rabbit behind a big truck full of metal junk.

AND THE VOICE OF THE LORD SPOKETH:  And my pea size brain distinctly heard, “The umbrella of My protection only goes the speed limit. “ Sheesh…. OK, fine, I’ll slow down.  I was a little sheepish.  Not really aware of how distinctly He spoke.

And as I slowed to the speed limit, the large truck sped ahead, and a BIG wheel  rim fell off the back and landed in the road - right in the spot my little car had just occupied .  As I watched it roll to the side of the road, I was so aware of the danger, the death I had just avoided.  For I was rushing to a prenatal appointment and who knows. 

Who ever knows?  I don’t care how it works.  The heart of my Father is for my good. And His glory.   Let’s hang out under His umbrella.

Flight is boarding. The adventure begins.

http://www.laitylodge.org/artist-retreat/

Festival of Books

I'm in historic Deadwood, SD.

My memories are of a run down town with OLD stuff in the display windows. One year after Christmas with Bill's family,  there was a sale- 50% off everything in the store...and  I wanted the German nativity piece in the window. "I don't think that's for sale. It's just been there forever." Well, yes, it was for sale and I got a good deal since no one could remember the price.  Later when we traveled to Germany, I found out I got a real bargain.

My kids have some memories of wandering the only main street of Deadwood and getting taffy. Or even better, watching the taffy machine in the window as it slowly wound and folded sticky strands of sugar and goo into smooth taffy.  The big treat was if a fly landed on the goo and was slowly folded into the taffy. Yum... watch AFTER you eat a piece.

Well, a few years ago CASINOS came to Deadwood. Now everything is flash and glitz.  The pressed tin ceilings, Corinthian columns and crystal chandeliers of the historic Franklin Hotel's foyer share the space with slot machines and neon "HOT Video Slots".  All the mom and pop stores that serviced the mountain mining towns of Lead and Deadwood are now large casinos complete with "All you can eat Buffet!" There is no end to the endless medicore food Americans can eat on vacation.  People come in buses, seniors mostly, on day trips.  I find it depressing.

So it's being redeemed today with the South Dakota Festival of Books.  Two weeks ago, the National Mall in Washington, DC was covered with the ubiquitious white tents that signal a festival there. Those huge tents held displays for libraries, new authors, established authors, Barnes and Nobel, Amazon and everything related to books.  BIG.

For the last nine years, the state of South Dakota has celebrated books and this  year it's only an hour from my new home. No big white tents but lots of authors. I'm about to go to a screening of a movie by a memoir writer who writes about her two years of travel.  Hey- I'm in the right place!

SO... off I go to rub elbows with people who love books.  Deatails to follow.

Blessings, Kathryn

Home on the Range

Home On The Range


Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day 


Yep- that's my fantasy!


Home, home on the range- well there is a some cool pasture land off my big porch...

Where the deer and the antelope play- I do have deer wandering through but I'd have to drive an hour to Wyoming to see antelope play.

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word- ah... reality hits.  If you leave a house in the Black Hills all September, you can return to Lord of the Flies. All those gross things trapped in my house by the terrific caulking job have hatched and died trying to escape.  My mother reminds me that last year they were shoveling them out with snow shovels... I'm merely filling vaccuum cleaner bags. Still.... this is gross.  ( You don't want a picture... trust me)

And the skies are not cloudy all day - YEAH! That's right.....except today. As I vaccuumed flies and contemplated why my clothes have multiplied like those flies.... it really is cloudy.  


So I guess there is no paradise this side of heaven.  My kids came for a week in August and we unpacked some boxes, moved some, ignored more.  I made piles in my house in the few days I had there after they left. But mostly I stayed in Rapid City and cared for my mother after her surgery. I flew back east and ran around like a crazy women- northern Virginia brings out the crazy in me.  I returned west and spent a few days vacationing with friends and family in Colorado.  Life is sweet.... 


Now I'm here- "home". In a small town where I know a handful of people- none of whom really know me. I have no internet cause I'm mooching off my brother and his is down.   I have a land line again but my answering  machine doesn't appear to be working.  My cell phone won't work at my house at all.  I'm in a Best Western coffee shop doing my internet stuff.  Life isn't exactly normal yet. 


So what is normal? Is normal having instant access to information or forcing myself to slow down and really read books instead of skim for highlights?  Is it being able to post a blog as soon as I write it or is it being patient with the process and writing anyway?  Is normal having the same people know you and put up with you anyway or is it being open to the new relationships God will bring?  And bringing your best to them. 


Could it be a season to discover who I am?  Who I want to be.  What I'm supposed to do next. More important, who I'm supposed to BE!  BEING not so much DOING. 

Lake Sheridan and my future kayak course

How often at night where the heavens are 
bright

Just a quiet spot

With the light of the glittering stars
Have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed
If their glory exceeds that of ours 

Then give me a land where the bright diamond sand
Flows leisurely down to the stream
Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along
Like a maid in a heavenly dream 

Oh I would not exchange my old home on the range
Where the deer and the antelop play
Where the seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day







I'm home. Not exactly a range and not a swan in sight. The skies are cloudy occasionally but the home He has given me. And I'll discover the rest.