Posted on by ChatterLei

Operation Santa!

After three years, of writing his annual Christmas letter to Santa, it finally happened….

On a cold winter afternoon, three days ago, there came a knock at our daughter and son-in-law’s front door. Our daughter opened the door, her eyes widening with wonder and a feeling of disbelief at the tall moving-box-sized box she saw sitting on the porch as the USPS driver backed out of their driveway and headed down the road. She walked around the box, straining to view the postal stamp at the top of the box to see who it was from. She noted the shipping price on the box and, again, her eyes widened. One hundred seventy-three dollars! Just for shipping! Then she noticed who it was from…OPERATION SANTA!

She and my son-in-law drug the box over the threshold through the front door and into the living room. Not knowing what to expect, she opened the box to see what was inside and if she needed to wrap anything. She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw how many wrapped gifts were inside. About that time, her son came running out of his room to see what all the sound of rustling paper was about.

Kneeling down to be closer to him, his mommy wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him close to her. “Remember when you sent that letter to Operation Santa a few weeks ago and I told you that your letter might not be one of the letters to get adopted?” He answered in the affirmative. She explained that someone in New York adopted his letter this year and purchased several gifts for him that he had asked for in his letter.

His could barely contain his excitement. Turning toward the box that was now lying on its side with wrapped gifts spilling out onto the floor, he raced over and picked up one of the gifts asking if he could open it. His Mommy let him open one gift. Then another one. And another one. Until all of the gifts were opened, except one. There were Mario and Paw Patrol toys that he had asked for, as well as a remote control boat. The last unopened gift was substantially larger than all of the other presents. Curiosity got the best of him and his mommy. She let him open that one last gift. As he tore more and more paper off of the box, it became clear. There it was! The first thing on his Christmas list to Santa! “The Big Dig Sandbox Digger Excavator Crane with 360 Degree Rotation with Base Great for Sand, Dirt and Snow, Steel Outdoor Play Toy in Yellow”

The tears streaming down my daughter’s face, as her sweet thankful son hugged her, were not for the fact he received all kinds of new toys for Christmas. Rather, they were heartfelt tears that reflected her feelings of gratitude for the generosity of a complete stranger in a state several thousand miles away, a stranger who chose to adopt the letter from a kind-hearted boy who hoped for toys that were not clothing or shoes or things like that. My daughter’s six-year-old son who still believes in Santa Claus experienced the joy this year of being on the receiving end of someone’s else’s sacrifice of time and money to bring a child (and his family) joy at Christmas time.

This will be part of my grandson’s Christmas memories that will be shared for the remainder of his life. What a beautiful memory to share!

My daughter, for the last three years (including this year) has adopted letters and sent gifts to children who have written to Operation Santa. She has felt the good feelings of being on the giving end of this great program for those three years. And, this year had the opportunity to see her son’s excitement of being on the receiving end of Operation Santa.

My husband and I also felt the effects of being on the receiving end of this this program. As our grandson shared his excitement with us about gifts he received from someone in New York, my heart swelled with gratitude for those people who so lovingly and willingly brought joy to the face of my grandson and his parents.

I want to be a part of Operation Santa! We are too late to adopt a name this year, but next year and every year after that, we will choose a letter from a child to adopt and send gifts of joy and happiness. I can’t wait! If you want to join us by adopting your own letter for a child, click here and mark your calendar for next year to participate in OPERATION SANTA!!

Posted on by ChatterLei · 3 Comments

A New Phase of Life

The phone call came before 7:30 a.m. last Wednesday. My mom was sobbing as she told me she thought my dad was having a stroke. He would not let her call 911 because he “would rather die than go to that hospital.” I said I would be right there. I kissed my husband goodbye and rushed out the door.

That five mile drive across town felt like an eternity.  As I opened the door to my childhood home, a door I had opened thousands of times, there was a fearful feeling I cannot describe. Anticipation of the unknown… it was bad.

My mom, her eyes red and still moist with tears, met me at the door. She said she could not wake my dad. I looked his direction. It shook me to the core.

He was sitting in a chair next to the table. The left side of his face was drooping. His left arm and hand was resting next to his body. His right arm was resting on the table, and his fingers were scratching back and forth across an indentation in the table, which was something that had become a habit over the last few years, the scratching on the table.

The look of helplessness on my mom’s face as she walked over and gently shook his arm while repeating his name was unsettling, as was my dad’s effort to lift his eyebrows as high as he could, to open his eyes, yet his eyelids remained closed.

“This is serious,” I whispered desperately to my mother. “I’m calling 911!”

Those few minutes between the time I reached dispatch to the time I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance pull up in front of the house felt like an eternity. 

Two EMTs entered the house. It was surreal watching one of them ask my dad questions and see my dad sit in that one position without moving or opening his eyes, except to scratch back and forth across the table. He looked like my dad. But, as the EMT lifted my dad’s eyelids, the eyes he exposed were not the same caring eyes I was used to seeing. They were blank. Void of warmth or emotion.

His eyes remained closed while more EMTs entered the house and helped move him from the chair to the stretcher, then out the front door and into the ambulance.

When my mom and I arrived at the ER room, my sister was already there. My dad was alert and talking with the doctor, who happens to be my first cousin.

Life is funny. One minute you are babysitting your cousin so your aunt and uncle can have a date night, and the next minute, that little cousin is all grown up and helping care for your ailing father.

My dad survived the stroke with very few deficits. He is in a rehabilitation center where he can receive PT to strengthen his muscles so he can come home soon. My mom is staying home without my dad for the first time ever for such an extended period of time. I am staying with my mom to help ease her concerns. My husband is home waiting for time to pass so we can be together again in this new phase of our lives as supportive caregivers to my parents for as long as they need us.

This is not my favorite new phase of life. However, I am so grateful for the extra time with my dad. ❤️

Posted on by ChatterLei · 1 Comment

Saturday, A Busy Day

Saturday Morning

Doing the mundane Saturday morning chores: get gas, buy groceries, and pick up prescriptions.

Today is going to be cleaning day while the homemade dough for hamburger buns does its rising thing. Have you ever made homemade buns? It is super easy and delicious, plus no preservatives. Try this recipe on Pintrest here.

We stopped at my parents’ house to pick up my laptop that I left there last night after playing pinochle with them. What is it about walking through the front door of the home of your parents that feels so good? No matter how many times the walls have been painted or the furniture has been rearranged or the fireplace was added or removed, it feels to me like a place of comfort and safety. A place where I could just stay forever.

My favorite front door

My parents are in their eighties, which means their time on this earth is getting short. Feelings of guilt already creep in for the time I don’t spend with them. It is a challenge to find the balance between working full time, spending time with my husband, parents, adult children, and grandchildren, plus creative time, and working on personal growth. Not to mention cleaning and cooking.

Sigh….To be that twenty-something with the whole world ahead of me. 🙂

Well, I better get my 50-something-self moving. It’s time to get the Christmas tree and decorations up!

What are you doing this weekend?

Posted on by ChatterLei · 2 Comments

Benefits of Writing Your Life Story

Writing your life story can be a therapeutic tool that can help you gain insight into your past and present self, understand how your experiences have influenced the path you chose in life, and become aware of ambitions or dreams that you have not yet realized. It can also help you overcome unresolved trauma by documenting your journey through life and remembering the challenges and triumphs you faced.

Capturing a life story is more than just an exercise in storytelling. It’s a chance to pass along wisdom and life lessons, exercise your memory, organize your photos and music, and discover if any events from your past are still impacting your life. It gives you an opportunity for self-growth, reflection, and awareness. It’s a chance to strengthen family bonds, friendships, and intimate relationships. You can capture your health history and even draft an ethical will to share your values, blessings, life’s lessons, hopes and dreams for the future, love, and forgiveness with your family, friends, and community. It has been interesting and educational to read my Great Grandma’s life history. One of her life’s lessons that she shares by example is that it is ok to be kind to those who do not deserve your kindness. Even ex-husbands.

In addition to the mental health benefits, writing your life story can also have physical health benefits. A study published in the March 2018 JAMA Psychiatry found that writing about a specific upsetting memory was just as effective as traditional cognitive processing therapy in treating adults with post-traumatic stress disorder.

Writing your life story can be a powerful tool for personal growth, self-reflection, and healing. It can help you gain insight into your past and present self, overcome unresolved trauma, and pass along wisdom and life lessons to future generations. So, why not start writing your life story today?

Follow these suggestions here to write it in one hour.

Posted on by ChatterLei

Surgery and Reservations

There are so many thoughts rolling around in my brain that I wanted to write about this week, but did not have time to write. These are the topics for tonight: My Husband’s Surgery and Hotel Reservations. The next blog post will be Eclipse and Road Trippin’

My Husband’s Surgery

Do you know that It is highly unusual that a person would have a total knee replacement and then get an infection in that knee? Do you know it is even more unusual that a person would get an infection not only in one knee, but in BOTH knees after the infection turned septic? Do you know what the treatment is for that? Besides the obvious loads of antibiotics, both knee replacements must be surgically removed. “Spacers” need to be inserted into the knee joint. The spacers are impregnated with two or three different kinds of antibiotics that are left in the knees for several months. Once the tests for infection in the knees come back clear of infection, the spacers are then removed, and the new knees are replaced. That is a total of 6 surgeries my husband had last year and the year before.

His walking has been going downhill (no pun intended) ever since the last surgery in June of 2022. Especially in his right knee. He cannot straighten his knees. He walks with a walker. The walker barely keeps him somewhat upright. Falls are quite common for him lately when not using the walker. He wears striped shirts, so I can tell whether he is walking or rolling! 😊 Just kidding!

After a several tests and X-rays in the last month or so, it was determined last week that the patella in the right knee has Avascular Necrosis, which has caused the patella (kneecap) to basically disintegrate into pieces causing the three screws which were placed during the last surgery to hold the patella in place, are now “floating” around loose in the knee joint. My husband’s surgeon said with a sense of urgency that those screws need to be removed before doing damage to the knee replacement parts. I quietly thought to myself with a smile on my face, “Ya think???

Surgery is scheduled for this Tuesday at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City.

Hotel Reservations

Thursday night, I did a Google search online for a number to call to make reservations at the hotel near the U of U. I called what I thought was a direct connection to the hotel. I made the reservations, gave my credit card information and everything to this person who gave us an amazing price for our hotel stay. He stated he would email the reservation number to me, so I gave my email address to him. I thanked him and we hung up. Guess what! No hotel reservation confirmation number arrived in my inbox.

The next day (yesterday), I called the front desk at the actual hotel and asked them to confirm if the reservation had indeed been made. It had not. They said it can take a while for the reservation made through a third part to reach their system. I gave it 5 hours and called again. They suggested I call the reservation number back that I had called the night before. I called and followed the automated system to the point where it told me no reservation could be found with my phone number.

Tonight, I called the front desk at the hotel. They still could not find a reservation for me under my name. So, I said let’s just make a new reservation. The night manager at the hotel said he would be happy to help me make a reservation. Unfortunately, they cannot make the reservations from the hotel. He would need to transfer me to the “reservations” number. I was thinking, “Oh no! Here we go again!” But, the call was transferred and the reservations are made. And, this time, I have a confirmation number AND an email with all of the reservation confirmation information. (Say that three times, fast!)

Posted on by ChatterLei

Conference and Fall

The first Saturday and Sunday in October and April are my favorite weekends. They are when the fall and spring Conference Sessions for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are broadcast. Yesterday, we spent the day watching conference with my Mom and Dad. Between the first and second sessions, we ate lunch together. The hotdogs were fried in a skillet, placed on a bun with ketchup, mustard, finely chopped onions, and topped off with sauerkraut. Deli salads are not my favorite, but we had a variety of sides to choose from – macaroni, red potato, and coleslaw – along with cottage cheese and cut strawberries, as well as a veggie tray.

After both sessions were over, we baked Pilsbury biscuits to go with my homemade potato soup for dinner. My soup never tastes the same as my mom’s, dad’s or paternal grandma’s. I like garlic flavor in mine, ½ and ½, potatoes, bacon, garlic, onion, celery, carrots, Better Than Bullion, chicken flavor, salt and pepper. Theirs is a simple flavor of canned cream, potatoes, bacon, onion, celery, salt, and pepper. It’s the canned cream. It makes all the difference.

Sitting there in the house where I grew up, eating dinner with my husband and elderly parents, I realized that every day spent with my parents is a gift. My dad seems old. He is still sharp, but the edge is dulling a bit. All of the medications that are used to “help him” feel his best, I suspect, are affecting his quick thinking. The meds have not affected his desire and ability to talk…and talk…and talk…and spend quality time with his family, however. I am grateful for him and my mom and the days we get to spend together.

Today, I thought my husband and I would spend a quiet Sunday at home listening to Conference. My husband had a moment of spontaneity, though, and said he wanted to go for a drive somewhere today. He didn’t care where. He just wanted to go for a ride together. It was a cloudy, cool fall day, a great day for a drive. I planned a route that would take us on a 5-hour loop through several small towns in Wyoming, and loop us through older towns in the southern part of east Idaho.

Starting out later than anticipated, mid-morning, with my husband’s metal detector in hand and jackets on, we decided to go a different route, including what was supposed to be a 30-minute side trip to the old pioneer townsite of Chesterfield, Idaho, which was settled in 1881. It is a ghost town now.

After waiting for about 45 minutes for the stopped train to move past the railroad crossing over the road in Bancroft – the only way to our destination – we arrived at one of the buildings where visitors often meet prior to touring the old townsite of an old mercantile, “gas station” and homes of the settlers. Today, the visitor’s building was closed.

In front of the meeting house, my husband found an old square-head nail and a couple of bent screws. It was clear to us how well-made the old nail was compared to the more modern screws. While we were searching for potential “treasures,” the dark clouds in the distance, the thunder rumbling through the air, and the cold wind picking up urged us to stop looking. We returned to the pickup, turned up the heater, and headed back the direction from which we came.

My husband said he had a wonderful day and wondered if I enjoyed my time riding and enjoying the scenery to which I affirmed. The drive was relaxing. The changing colors of the trees amidst the evergreens were breathtakingly beautiful. Autumn has arrived. Listening to the uplifting words of our prophet and apostles was comforting. It was a wonderful day! Fall has always been my favorite season!

This photo says Idaho!!
A red bed of trees
Storm clouds in Chesterfield, ID
Autumn in Idaho
Posted on by ChatterLei

What Is It About Birthdays?

Happy Birthday!

September 5th. A special day to celebrate. Our family has had three birthdays already this month and one early celebration today. My mom’s youngest sister of six siblings turns 60 next month. She and another sister are here for a visit from Alaska.

My aunt does not look 60-years-old. Nor does she act sixty. She is as bubbly and full of life today as she was cheering for the high school sports team back in the day. Never able to have a child of her own, her spunk and easy infectious laughter will not be passed down through the generations. However, everyone who comes in contact with her, leaves feeling better for having known her. Her friendly, life-of-the-party type of personality draws people to her happiness. They find themselves relaxing and laughing right along with her funny antics or comebacks to friendly jabs thrown her way. In that way, her goodness is passed along to others. Most are not even aware they need the laughter permeating the room like a photographer is not aware of the need for mist over a scenic lake early in the morning as the sunrises, to increase the beauty and emotional connection captured in that moment.

Celebration with loved ones. Reminiscing about old times. Enjoying specially prepared foods and lovingly made cake for such an occasion and this. Being together, increasing bonds of love and friendship with family. And, spending time with others with the same or similar traits as yourself. It is a wonderful feeling to be accepted and loved for who you are. Birthdays are a fantastic opportunity to let others know you are thinking of and taking time to connect with them.

Happy birthday, everyone! May you all feel and/or spread love and happiness on your special day… whenever it is!

Posted on by ChatterLei

Grandpa was only TWO YEARS OLD!

Grandpa Francis

I have been working on family history. My favorite place to research is in old newspapers at Newspapers.com. I discovered that my grandpa had amazing parents and that he, himself, was an amazing human being. He had experienced a lot of loss at a young age, yet he did not grow up to be bitter or angry. He was authentic, sincere, and unpretentious. My mom said she never heard my grandpa and grandma argue. The were kind and patient people.

My grandpa, Francis, was two years old when his mom died at age 31, while giving birth to her third son, my grandpa’s baby brother. Francis’s older brother was about 7 years old when their mother and baby brother passed away.  

Grandpa Francis’s dad had gone blind and could not raise his two boys after his dear wife passed away. My grandpa and great uncle were sent to live with my great-grandmother’s parents. Grandpa’s dad (C. M.) went to a school for the blind after his wife passed away, where he learned how to live with his blindness. He learned how to tune pianos and was able to get by okay.

My grandpa was nine years old when his maternal grandfather died. He lived with his grandma until her passing when he was 25. He moved from Kansas to Idaho where he met and married my grandma a year later. She was 17 and he was 26. They raised 7 children together, worked hard, grew a garden each year, canned their own fruits and vegetables, loved their family, and each of them lived to be 90 years old. Neither of them drank alcohol. Grandpa was well-liked in the community, running the downtown “show-house” early on in their marriage and working for the City on the canals later in their marriage.

Grandma was quiet and busy with, cooking, canning and raising their children. She loved spending time with Grandpa, however, on coin-hunts, camping, and traveling back to Kansas so he could spend time with his brother and other family members from time to time.   

My grandparents have both passed away. My mom (turning 81 in 9 days) and her six younger siblings (the youngest turns 60 in October) are all still alive.

Posted on by ChatterLei · 1 Comment

Rainy Days and Mondays

If you are retired, you might need to remember back to when you had to work on a Monday and just what that felt like. Until 3 years ago, all of my jobs for the past 17 years included having Mondays off. I loved it! It’s been three years and I still have not adjusted fully to working on Mondays. I like to have the weekend to play and then have Monday to sleep in a little, then clean the house. Now, I cram everything into two days. It’s exhausting! 😊 

Dad Jokes

Today, at work, the young men who work as aides at our PT clinic were on a roll with their “dad jokes,” which is funny because none of them are dads, yet. All of them are newly married (married about two years or less).

  • Do you know what a dancing bird is called?

               A twerky.

  • Do you know what is odd?

               Every other number.

See! Dad jokes!

They tell the jokes so seriously that I can’t help but laugh out loud, then they start laughing, which makes me laugh harder. I enjoy where I work, who I work with, and the fact that age does not matter. We are like a big family.  

I guess working on Monday is not so bad after all, even though it was raining outside. 😊

Posted on by ChatterLei

Does Boldness Pay Off?

“Hey, you want a raise?”

I looked up from my administrative/reception desk to see my supervisor standing there leaning in with an eager look on his face, anticipating my affirming answer to his question.

“Uhhh, sure?” I answered questioningly.

“Good! Your annual review is tonight. Will that work for you? We can move it to another day if tonight is not good for you to meet with the owners.”

“Tonight is great!”

It was going to be great, even if I had other obligations. A raise? Heck, yeah! Any other obligation became flexible at that point.

My supervisor smiled, turned, and walked back to his office.

As I was contemplating throughout the day about how I was going to answer the typical questions of: What goals I have made for this year? How did it go in accomplishing last years goals? How is my job going? Is there anything they can do to make things better at work? Etc…. There is a question that came to mind that I was not sure I should ask. I contemplated about it all day. I went back and forth a few times about whether or not I was going to ask it. Then, I pondered on what my parents taught me. They taught and encouraged me and my siblings that if you have a questions, just ask it. What is the worst thing that can happen? Whoever you’re asking the question of can say, “No.” But, they just might say, “Yes.” If you don’t ask the question, then the answer will always be NO.

My supervisor sat down next to me in the conference room at the appointed meeting time. The table, large enough to fill the room, is made of beautiful solid hardwood. The kind that makes you want to run your hands across it, side to side, feeling the smoothness on your skin. Surrounding the table and barely fitting in the room, are eight black leather stuffed swivel rocking chairs. Each is perched on an octopus-looking metal base on wheels. It was so hard to sit still! One of two owners of the company I work for, and signers of my paychecks, sat down across from me, placing his laptop in front of him on the table and scooting his chair in close. The other owner was out of town on the day of my review. Whew. Only one person firing questions at me. My supervisor was there for moral support, I suppose. He is kind-hearted, and only ever has good things to say.

The review started as usual with questions about how my job is going and if I like my job and if my coworkers and I are doing well, etc. I shared my new goals for the year (taking an education course, setting up new system for use of our equipment to generate revenue, and start meeting quarterly with coworker to discuss improvements we can make, and so forth) . Then we started discussing the change that was made in the company’s billing processes. The owners decided to outsource our billing because the billers that had been with them from the early days of the company decided it was time to retire and become full-time grandmas.

Early spring, this year, is when the new billing company took over. The change has been less than stellar. Our revenue collection is not what it was prior to contracting the new company. The bills and payroll are being paid, and nothing more. However, I was reassured this is only temporary and things will start to pick up soon.

Rolling over and over in my mind is the thought, “How can I even think of asking my question, given what I was just told?”

As soon as the owner asked me if there is anything they can do for me, I decided to be bold (crazy?) and step out of my comfort zone. I explained that I realize this is less than optimal time to ask, but I was raised to believe that if you have a question you want to ask, just ask it. So….

“If you are thinking about giving me a raise this year, would you consider giving me a three-year raise? I will not necessarily need a raise for the next two years. There is an increase in work load with the new billing system, now that it falls on us in our department to correct mistakes, follow up on denied claims, etc. Plus, I would like to be able to set aside more money for retirement, since I am getting closer to that day than feels comfortable, at the moment.”

He asked if I am feeling older. Since he and I and my supervisor are close to the same age, we all chuckled as I smiled and nodded. He said with a smile that I will definitely get a raise, but it might not be as big as a three-year raise. I will get a raise, though.

As we all stood up from our seats and walked out the door, I turned, looked at the owner with a smile and said, “It really is ok, if my raise needs to wait.”

He smiled and said, “We are going to be just fine. Not to worry.”

It was a little strange to feel relieved as I walked down the hallway with my supervisor. He was making small talk while I was silently questioning myself about whether I should feel more embarrassed and less hopeful than I was feeling.

I’ll let you know when I get my next paycheck if the answer to my question is “no” or “yes”.

Posted on by ChatterLei

A Wannabe Writer, Burgers, and a Paintbrush

I sat down tonight to write. It was going to be an exercise in writing fiction, using my imagination to write from story prompts. First, I wanted to start with one paragraph, then multiple paragraphs, then chapters, etc.

It seems that my imagination is not deep enough to write anything interesting enough to read. My memory is not good enough to write cool stories about my childhood. My vocabulary is lacking depth, so my writing seems simplistic and probably boring.

A blogger needs to blog. A writer needs to write. I am not going to give up, but it may take me a long time to get this blog and/or story writing to a place that is worth reading. Until then, I guess I will journal about my days….

Thursdays are my favorite days of the week at work. It is the slowest day of the week, and, I get off work at 12:30pm and have half of the day to enjoy hanging out at home with my DH or working on a project or writing or whatever I want.

Climbing into the pickup after work where my husband was sitting and waiting for me, I smiled and asked him what he wanted to do today. The click of my seatbelt barely registered. We drove the short distance to Five Guys for lunch, talking all the way.

The juice dripping down our hands and onto the burger wrappers in front of us was proof of the deliciousness of the dill pickle slices, lettuce, tomatoes, mayo, mustard, and ketchup, loaded atop the melted cheese on the freshly grilled burger patty between the two halves of a toasted bun. The stack of napkins given to us with our lunch in the bag, was much needed, and should have been our first clue about how messy and delicious the meal would be.

The freshly cooked fries made from Idaho potatoes, grown in the next county over, are my favorite. Blowing on the fries to cool them before dunking them in the fry sauce (it’s an Idaho and Utah thing) gives a false sense of security that I would still be able to taste after slowly lowering the long fry-sauce-covered fry carefully into my mouth, while leaning my face over the table, hoping not to drip onto my t-shirt or jeans. “OUCH!” Nope, still hot. Burnt taste buds are the worst! The remainder of my meal did not seem to have much flavor. 😉

Opening the driver’s side door for me, leaning in, and whispering, “Your chariot awaits,” my DH always brings a smile to my face and a warmth to my heart.

“Thank you, My Darling,” I often reply.

He lovingly closes the door and walks around to the passenger side. I start the engine. I hear the click of his seat buckle. And, we are off.

Arriving home a short time later, we decided to get a jump on our weekend project of painting the master bath and bedroom. The frameless mirror we removed from the wall above the sinks and countertop is heavy. I walked backwards, hoping not to trip, as we slowly and gently carried it to the front bedroom where it will rest until the painting is complete. The bathroom appears smaller and feels bare from the missing lights, light switch and outlet covers, and toilet tank, but is prepped for the “cutting in” to begin tomorrow.

My DH will start with the brush work while I am at work. Then, when I get home tomorrow evening, I will roll the paint on the walls. It is my favorite. And, it should go quickly with the 14-inch roller I use. I will paint all I can in the two hours we will have between the time I arrive home from work and the time we leave for Mom and Dad’s house for our weekly “Friday Night Card Night.”

Posted on by ChatterLei

Counseling

What is the purpose? What good does it serve? Will it make any difference? It won’t change anything. Should it change anything? Or just change how I see things?

I have an appointment shortly. I have been wondering what to say, how to start, where to begin. I’ve asked myself what I want to accomplish with counseling. I want to be me. I want to figure out who I am. What do I want out of life? Am I happy? Am I going through motions? What does true joy feel like? I know what I believe long-lasting happiness is. Can we have joy now? Or do we need to wait for some time in the future?

Lots of questions and pondering. So, while I wait, this gives me a few minutes to write a blog post about asparagus. Yep! Asparagus!

My memories of Memorial Day weekend as a child are of my parents, siblings and grandparents driving to the cemeteries to pay respects to our great-grandparents and other family members who have passed on, and stopping along the way home to hunt asparagus on the ditch bank along the roadway. It is springtime, so the grassy ditch banks are always lush green, which made spying the asparagus a bit challenging, but did not deter us from finding and picking enough for Grandma to make a pot of her delicious cream of asparagus soup.

This is a family tradition. One I was so excited to share again this year! So, on Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, while my brother’s traditional rotisserie pork roast was cooking in the grill, my sister and niece and I drove to our secret ditch bank to pick some asparagus for soup with dinner. Only to discover much of it had been picked. But, we persisted in walking the ditch bank and searching for those hidden gems missed by the previous hunters. Our persistence paid off, and we took two large handfuls home.

There wasn’t time to make the soup for dinner, so I said I would make a pot of soup for mom and dad on Sunday. My dad was less than enthusiastic. Come to find out, my dad only ate it because his mom made it. It was ok, but not his favorite. My mom doesn’t like it at all. Neither does my sister or her family. Nor does my brother. What?!! All these years!! I had no idea!! I always felt like asparagus soup on Memorial Day tied our family together…the living to those who had passed on!!

Well, I made the pot of soup for my husband and six-year-old grandson. We ate all but half of a bowl of that deliciousness! My extended family may not like the soup, but Memorial Day weekend, for me, will always be synonymous with asparagus hunting, making soup, and family time. Both, on this side of heaven, and the other!