I have excellent long term memory. Short term is getting shorter as I age, sped along by grief and a multitude of head injuries along the way, I am sure. But, long term…you can make bank on the accuracy of my memories. My earliest memory takes me back to sitting in the front yard, in the dirt, just inside the fence. I was still in diapers. I remember the way the sun shone on the plastic pants I wore over them as I rolled the material between my chubby baby fingers. Two large neighborhood dogs came up on the other side of the fence and started barking at me. My mother ran and picked me up, comforting my terrified screams. I had nightmares often and can remember sitting in my crib, seeing those dogs coming at me and screaming for my mother to come save me.
Yesterday was International Pie Day. Ooooooh…that one blew right by me till we were watching the news last night (yes, I actually watched the news but just this once. I was updating my computer and got caught by surprise. sigh) There was one of those inevitable human interest stories that told us about the annual celebration of my all time favorite dessert…PIE! I used to bake competitively and was known as The Pie Queen in my little valley in Colorado. Those were the halcyon days of my youth, teaching people the intricacies of a proper pie crust. These days, Mr. Pillsbury and I make our pies with that fabulous ready made crust that you unroll, fill and bake. Voila! Instant dessert!
Although I am at the farm quite often, I only do a real walkabout once every month or two. I check the outbuildings for damage, do a quick inventory of the chores that need doing, watch for trees than need felled before they come down where I don’t want them, and get a feel for the land in every season. That way I am more aware when things look out of the ordinary and I can fix them right away. I’ve noticed the old tool shed has tipped more toward the barn so this summer I’m going to have to get down under the back corner with a hydraulic jack to even it up. The yard is yet again full of mole hills. I need to spread something to kill the cutworms they feed on and that will send them on to greener pastures. I need to get ahead of the poison ivy in the spring. It’s easy to spot the vines when the leaves are off. The vines are “hairy” and often grow up the sides of buildings and other trees.
Marshmallow Ranch actually started in 2001. I was separated from Hubby #2 the year before. I had worked in medicine before becoming a stay-at-home mom in 1986. Unfortunately, since my soon-to-be ex was a doctor in the community, it was a decidedly uncomfortable environment in which to seek employment. I found myself struggling to find a new career in our small, mountain community. I worked for about a year filling in at the local downtown shops…working one day a week at each of five stores, giving the shop owners a welcome day off. I found I enjoyed the interaction with the customers and I was very good at merchandising. My ex noticed this and proposed I open a shop of my own and he would help me get started.
I had a huge day planned yesterday. I was really looking forward to gathering with two different groups of friends. I awoke sometime before dawn and my body just said, “Nope. Not today. Go back to sleep.” In the past, I might have forced myself up and made myself go. Since losing Mr. Virgo, I’ve learned to listen more to my body when it speaks to me.
Grief not only causes things like “grief brain” which was illustrated in the article I shared with you the other night. Several health ailments can be attributed to grief and the resultant stress it causes. High levels of cortisol…the “fight or flight” hormone…can cause everything from high blood pressure to heart disease to depression to substance abuse. It also affects your immune system and you tend to get sick easier and things last longer. There isn’t an expiration date on grief either. You may not be actively grieving, but you can still suffer from the repercussions.
The first time I set foot in a trout stream, I was six years old. It was the summer before my life would be forever changed by the illicit touch of a stranger. The summer of 1960 found my family on its very first vacation. We traveled to the mountains of West Virginia and rented a small cabin for a week. I remember mom frying trout in an iron skillet. I remember my brother and I playing quietly in the shade of the many trees surrounding our camp. I remember my dad standing in the shallow middle, up to his knees, casting over and over with the flies he had meticulously tied at his workbench in the basement. And I remember the river. The North Fork of the South Branch of the Potomac River, to be exact.
One of the best ways to catch up with paperwork is to have peaceful surroundings. Mr. FixIt had a day of errands to do. I think he kinda wanted me to tag along with him yesterday, but I know us well…I would have ended up coming in at 9:30 last night and none of this work would have gotten done.
As soon as he left (with a big hug and kiss) I turned on praise music and cranked it up. I always need a little extra dose of Jesus when I am heading into a formidable task. Wading through many bags and boxes of papers and sorting them into some sort of organization that allows me to actually put my finger on things was the order of the day. With praise, and good coffee and French Truffles…I waded in with both feet and started making the first cuts. What was trash. What needed to be kept in which pile. I really, really hate paperwork! “Jesus is calling…” I can do this. “Do you thirst for a drink from the well…” I can do this. “The Father’s arms are open wide…” Oh, yes…I can definitely do this! “Bring your sorrows and trade them for joy…” YES…let’s DO this!!!
I love a hot cup of tea on a cold winter day. And, baby…it is c-o-l-d! It is nice to just stay in and get stuff done around the house. Catching up on correspondence. Going through stacks of paperwork and organizing. Tossing old magazines. All things that need to be done and can be accomplished when you’re stuck inside.
I’m reading my friend’s final draft of her book so I can write advanced praise. You’re going to love it…I’ve cried ten times! I can’t wait to share it with you.
I was a doctor’s wife. I had a beautiful life, for all intents and purposes. While he wasn’t a demonstrative man, I felt I was coping as best I could with his inability to meet my emotional needs. He was a good provider and a good dad. I could overlook the rest. There came a point when I started unraveling a bit. The clouds of depression circled around but never lit very long in those days. That is, until I went in for a physical. My doctor asked how I was doing and I told him I was a bit blue of late. I would often walk into the baby’s room, pick her up and rock her…and cry. “Hmmmmm… Inappropriate crying.” he wrote in my chart. He gave me a prescription for Zoloft and the race to self destruction began. How could I tell him why I was crying? How could I do that in the short time he had allotted for this visit? It was so much deeper than any pill could ever reach.
Mr. FixIt and I have developed this little routine the last few months. We have a nice dinner and clear up the dishes. We sit together for a while and talk or maybe watch a movie or an episode of Big Bang or MASH. When it’s time for a bedtime snack, I take mine into the bedroom at the far end of the house and write while my sweetie watches a ball game or the news and weather. It works out great and we both have that little bit of alone time everyone needs in a relationship. I’ve taken to listening to nature sounds on Amazon Music as I write so quite often, in my head, there’s a thunderstorm raging or ocean waves are gently lapping at the shore or birds are singing in a tropical rainforest. It’s so soothing and easy to write to.
“Little Girl in Blue”
“Three Apples”
