Hey! I Mean Hay!

I've only got 10 bales of hay left and my hay farmer is sold out. I'm leaving messages with all the phone numbers I keep in a folder but everyone must be watching football. If any of you Minnesotans know of someone selling decent grass/alfalfa mix or even all grass hay, please let me know as I'm already way too stressed out to have this worry too.

Food and Fun

Thanksgiving morning started out with me making three loaves (not sure if you call these round things loaves) of bread. The bread was a big hit at my cousins. And I also brought an apple pie from Costco. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

There was the usual kitchen business, getting everything ready to put on the table. My aunt and my cousin have the same determined set to their jaw as they work on getting the gravy just right.

The sweet potatoes and yams being prepared here were excellent. They were cubed, mixed with olive oil, salted and seasoned, then baked.

Of course there was the turkey.

I worked on getting the various pickles, olives, pickled beets (not crazy about those), and cranberries into their respective relish dish section.

My second cousin was very proud of his arrangement of the raw veggies. It was darn awesome.

Of course, there was Wii bowling.

Some very intense puzzle workings.

And even more intense football watching. Sorry, no photos of that.

Here we sit, waiting to get instructions on how to play a game that's kind of like Pictionary but with a twist. I wish I had a photo of one of the pieces of paper after the game was done but I'll try to explain it.

Each person gets a sheet of paper and writes a sentence (it can be anything, but should be drawable) then hands it off to the next person. The sheet I got said, "My cat is sick." I then had to draw a picture to match the sentence.

You fold the paper over so the next person can't see the sentence, just the drawing and they have to write a sentence to explain the drawing. My drawing turned into "The cat was smoking a cigarette after having missed the cat litter box."

The paper is folded again so only that sentence shows and the next person does a drawing and it keeps going around the full circle. By the end, the last sentence was something about "The cat was afraid of worms and mistletoe." The bigger and more silly the group, the better.

It was wonderful being with my cousin and her family.

Thankful, thankful, thankful.

Thanksgiving Thoughts

Thankfully there's always another chance to love, to live, and to get it right, until the day we die. -- Maery

Last Thanksgiving, I was at my Dad's with my siblings -- holding his hand, talking to him, hoping he heard me say how much I loved him and how sorry I was we hadn't had much time to get to know each other.

On November 28, 2008, he died. We fell apart. There was no Thanksgiving meal. Not everyone was able to be there so we figured we'd wait to have a memorial service. We still haven't had it. It's a long story. A really long story.

I wonder sometimes what he would say about my current situation. He always expected a lot of his daughters. Not much sympathy coming our way. I wonder if I would be a disappointment. But, you don't get to be disappointed in the children you didn't raise. And anyway, I'll never know what he would have thought or what he would have said or done. It doesn't really matter.

Yes, it does. I just don't want it to matter to me.

I miss him. I miss the sound of his laugh, his hugs, his dry humor, his arguments about politics, his philosophy on horses and life, his stories, his poems, the dandy way he dressed, the sight of him pulling weeds and raking around his home, the way he handled a horse. I miss him.

When he died, it was more than losing him that I grieved, so much more than that.

It was the loss of the possibilities of our relationship. Of what could have been after we met, and what could have been if he had never given me up in the first place.

In some strange way, he grounded me. I'm not sure what we had in common besides the love of horses and that part we shared of being in tune with the critters. We were both hard workers. Both had that dry sense of humor. Both got pretty spun up over politics. We were different though in the importance we placed in family and in the relationships in our lives. He carried hard work too far. He carried his pride too far. His expectations too far.

Still, I lost something indescribable when I lost my Dad. I can't put my finger on it. A part of my history? A part of me? A dream of love and acceptance from a father? A sign of what we all meant to him? I don't know.

I never got to finish the mourning process before I got shaken out of it a couple weeks later and had to concentrate on trying to save my marriage. But I didn't really move on. I'm sure you've all had the experience of what happens when you stuff thoughts and feelings. I was angry, frustrated, scared to death, hurt, confused, and incredibly sad. And those feelings came out about things that had nothing to do with the feelings themselves. Then more loss, piled so close on top of each other that it seems unlivable. I guess loss always seems that way.

Like I said, I miss him. And maybe I miss me, the me I might have been, the me that I saw in his eyes, the me that should have spent hours riding with him but never got to, not even once.

About a year before he died, my Dad had asked me to write about my childhood. But I never did because I didn't think it was the kind of story he really wanted to read. I think he longed for a fairy tail with a happy ending as much as I did.

I think I need to let go of that person that might have been if... Who knows if she would have been better or worse.

There is the woman that I am today, right now. And if nothing else, she's interesting.

I hope my family will have the chance to have that memorial service sometime in 2010. I think we need it. I know I do. I think we need to be together and share stories and grieve this out and maybe mend some fences and pull some weeds, both literally and figuratively, in honor of our Dad.

Thanksgiving Prep

Even though my cousin is supplying me with a Thanksgiving feast, I still like to make my own turkey at Thanksgiving so I have leftovers for soup and sandwiches and such. Plus, I still had the turkey I received from work last Christmas to use up.

So I started thawing the turkey a week ago, with the intention of making it last weekend. However, when I pulled the turkey from the mini frig in the basement, it was still pretty frozen.

Anyway, it finally thawed and I made it after work Monday evening. It should have taken about four hours, but it was falling apart after three and the internal temperature had reached the desired 180 degrees.

I love making turkeys. They are easy and provide the fixings for a variety of meals. Part of this will need to be frozen and thawed as needed.

I'm supposed to bring some bread for Thanksgiving day. I haven't made my own bread for awhile so I decided I better do a practice loaf and if it bombed, I'd go buy some bread.

I make up a large batch of dough and then make small loaves as needed so they are fresh. Some batches of dough just aren't as good as others. This time, I used whole wheat for half of my flour so I wasn't quite sure how it would turn out.

I think it turned out pretty good. Now that this batch of dough has been tested, I think it will be safe to make about three small loafs and serve them to someone besides just me.

Java approved of the bread too. She always gets the bread butts.

I should have made a double batch of cookies so I could bring those too. Alas, there won't be enough of these left by Thursday to bring them.

I'm planning on picking up a pie for Thanksgiving also. Maybe next year I'll have more time and more know how and I can make a pie from scratch too. I haven't made one since my childhood when I used to help my Mom make apple pies from the apples off of our trees. Yummm!

I've got a few days off for Thanksgiving and I'm debating about putting up Christmas decorations while I'll have some extra time to do so. But I picture a Christmas tree with no presents underneath it and no one to sit by it with me on Christmas morning and that mind photo does not look very jolly.

Java enjoys a Christmas tree because she can steal decorations and chew them up, which is why I put the ones made out of felt on the bottom branches last year.

Maybe wrap a few presents for Java and a few things for myself? Like cross country skiis for me and a skijoring harness for Java?

Note for Maery's Family: By the way, if you are feeling sorry for me (and who wouldn't) and want to send me something, good salsa would be appreciated. They just don't carry the good stuff in Minnesota, at least not that I've been able to find. I like the stuff with cilantro. Oh, and from my niece who's the photography genius, I want photography lessons next time I see you. Or a CD of you and your Mom singing would be wonderful. And son, I want a drawing - come on, you can do it for me.

How about you? Have you already started or are soon starting to put up the Christmas decorations and do Christmas shopping? Do you go all out on Christmas or just small and low key?

Hope you have a very happy Thanksgiving!

A Study in Trees

"The best time to plant a tree was always 20 years ago. The second best time is always today."

-- Chinese Proverb

I was looking for a photo and ran across the photos taken of our house when we were doing our pre-buying walk through. The dirt in front of the pine trees is from the previous owners having to put in a new septic system. That's their horses that are out in the paddock and they had a t-post fence.

Okay look closely at the pines back then:

And the pine trees now:

Quite the difference. I didn't realize they had grown so much over the years. I sure like the view off the deck better now.

It was a very dreary day today but the temps were in the 50s. After church and all the singing I did this morning - (We sang EIGHT songs! Choir is fun!) - I needed a walk in the woods.

Even on a non-dreary day, this is pretty much what it looks like everywhere this time of year -- your basic brown. Makes me long for snow to brighten things up.

To give the eyes something to look at that doesn't put them to sleep, it helps to focus in on some of the details. I'm wondering if this is what is called artist conch? Or do I just call it white fungus on tree bark?

Then there were these crows that were watching Java and I suspiciously and shouting warning cries to their pals.

I think this oak wanted to be a saguaro cactus when it grew up.

And then there were a couple opportunities to shoot Java while she was sitting still. What a pretty girl!

As for the Chinese Proverb at the top, I think it's referring to a lot more than just trees.

November is National Adoption Month

I took a writing class at the Loft Literary Center today. The Loft is a nonprofit arts organization that resides in the Open Book building. They offer writing classes in all genre, special readings by local and national authors, competitions and grants, open writing and reading groups, writer’s studios, and more.

I love the place. When I won a mentorship there, part of the award was to have a writer's studio for a few months. I got so much writing done in my little private studio, plus it just sounded cool, "I'm going to my writing studio after work" (said in a very literary-type voice).

The building itself is special and you feel creative and happy just being there. The Loft is one of the reasons I sometimes think about living in Minneapolis. Right now, it's hard for me to participate in anything there because I need to run home to Java and once I've driven 25 miles away from Minneapolis, it's pretty hard to convince myself to drive back for a two hour class or a reading.

But I just don't know about me and living in the city, especially in one of these condo thingees, although I do see quite a few people walking around with dogs.

I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to breathe. And the traffic is so noisy. And where do you put a bird feeder? And I'd be too far from whatever stable I end up boarding at. Sounds like I have my answer on that one.

Anyway, back to the class. It was called, "Writing Your Family Stories: A National Adoption Month Special".

The description of the class went something like this, "Most people are touched by adoption in some aspect of their lives. The session will include readings by the instructors, writing activities, and discussions. You will have the opportunity to share your newly hatched writing and become enriched by the family stories that are brought to light."

The instructors were:

• Margaret Hasse, whose newest collection of poems is called "Milk Tides" (Nodin Press, 2008). The poems touch on the stages of motherhood, biracial adoption and the surprises of aging.

• Linda Back McKay, whose books include "The Shadow Mothers: Stories of Adoption and Reunion".

• Kate St. Vincent Vogl, whose most recent work is a book called "Lost & Found: A Memoir of Mothers" (North Star Press, 2009), in which she reveals what happened when her birthmother found her through her mom's obituary.

It was a fantastic class! For so many more reasons besides just the chance to write.

There were some great writing exercises, one of which was to think about something that bothers you that involves another person, then write about it from the other person's point of view. That brought some interesting results.

And it was great to hear other people's adoption stories -- some from the viewpoint of the birth Mom, others the adoptive Mom, and then the adoptee. Some of the women there had been on more than one side of the adoption triad.

Another great part of the class for me was that I volunteered to read when the option was opened after every exercise. I'm generally a one-on-one person. I don't know where to focus in a group. I don't know when it's okay to talk. I'm usually more of a listener. Usually... used to be... not so much anymore.

One thing I've learned is not to expect other people to notice me, to invite me to join in, to draw me out. Those kinds of expectations only lead to frustration and disappointment.

I'm learning to like speaking up. I'm really liking that it means I meet a lot more people and that they open up to me because of the things I reveal to them. It's worth taking the risk. If I'm more myself, it allows others to be more themselves.

Here's a sample of something I wrote in class. I wonder if I can take credit for my word count today, even though this is for another book I have percolating.

I was about five years old when I was told I was adopted. My parents had a special book the adoption agency had given to them to help them gently break the news to me. It was called "The Family That Grew". The story used the concept of being "chosen" to help an adopted child feel loved and special. I quote, 'Choosing a child is called adopting a child, and the minute they saw you, they wanted to adopt you.'

But I knew even then, that what was chosen, could also be rejected. It's been proven to me over and over again, throughout my lifetime. I was chosen, like a pup from a litter is chosen. 'Isn't it cute! Isn't it cuddly! I know it will grow up to be the dog I have imagined in my mind. It will fit in perfectly into my life and seamlessly become part of our family.'

But then perhaps what you've chosen doesn't fit in. With a dog, just bring it back to the pound. With a child, not so easy to return. With a wife... well, whatever.

If only it was like making a selection from a box of fine chocolates, that has special markings on the top of each morsel and a key in the box cover that tells you what's inside. I hate the boxes of chocolates where you they leave you completely in the dark, forcing you to stick your fingernail into them to see what oozes out.

If only children up for adoption were like cream filled chocolates where you can cheat and poke your finger into them and see if it's the dreaded white cream filling or a rich dark chocolate, your favorite.

Harmony

I went to church choir practice on Wednesday. I used to sing and play flute at the church I went to a year and a half ago, before I gave up church because I thought my religious beliefs were another thing separating my husband and I. Wrong again.

But now I'm going to a different church. I ended up there when I was driving by in late April this year and saw the sermon on their sign was titled "Don't Give Up - Face Your Fears". Now there was a sermon I needed to hear!

I've been going to that church ever since and decided to check out the "Praise Choir". At most of the church services, there is a worship team that leads all the singing and does a few solos. But once a month the choir backs up the worship team.

The choir consists of anyone older than 13 that happens to show up, but only about 16 people were there. The thing is, they do four part harmony that ends up sounding awesome!

Music is good medicine. It's like gauze packing, doctors use to fill in a gaping hole.

Okay, that wasn't a very pretty description. I'll try again.

What I love about music is the feeling of power in pushing sounds out and being able to control how loud or soft, straight or tremulous the sound is. When I was a kid and played the flute, I was told that technically, I was adequate. My real strength was the emotion I could squeeze out of the music. After I played at church or a concert, people would come up, take my hand, and thank me and tell me how beautiful the music was. It was a gift that I could share with people and make them happy. What's not to love about that?

Unfortunately, I'm not that good anymore. But I still love music, listening to it, dancing to it, and making it my own.

You can make sound come from just the back of your throat, or from your stomach, or from the soles of your feet. The effect is completely different; not only in what people hear, but in what you feel inside.

Whether the music comes from singing or playing an instrument, it's just notes until you put a piece of yourself into it. The beauty comes from taking the notes, starting out soft and slow, then building, letting the notes loose to fill the room and make the blinds shake!

It's no longer just music if you really feel it -- it's you -- you are a part of the song.

But whether you are a musician or an athlete or a writer or an artist, you know the sweet spot.

You know when you've hit it.

The Holidays Approacheth

my Willow girl

I'm wondering what kinds of traditions people have for the holidays? Especially anyone who doesn't have their family nearby. Fortunately, most of the people who read this blog don't appear to be in that situation.

My family has traditions like measuring noses to see whose nose is the biggest. It's not mine!

A couple of my past Christmases, I traveled to California to visit with my son. I've also gone to Arizona a few times. But this year, a Dec. 23rd divorce pretrial prevents me from going anywhere. Gee, I wonder why that date was wide open? Maery Christmas!

My cousin A invited me to spend Thanksgiving at her house, which is definitely something to be thankful for. I've heard her family is well known for rather strange games at gatherings. I've also heard there are puzzles. I love puzzles! I'm serious here. I don't do them much because I become slightly, okay, very obsessed.

Last Thanksgiving I was in Arizona. We spent the day by our Dad's/Grandpa's bedside where he remained unconscious until he passed away on the 28th. I think about that a lot as the holiday approaches again. There must have been ten of us sleeping in the living room on chairs, couches, the floor. Actually, there was no sleeping. We were all listening to him breathe and stealing covers and pillows from each other.

Christmas is tough, just because of the nature of the holiday itself. It seems to come overladen with expectations, some from others but often they are our own internal fantasy of the perfect Christmas.

I may be invited somewhere, but it's hard not to feel the abscence of well, all the people that are absent - my adoptive Mom and Dad and brother, and my birth Dad because of death; my husband, stepdaugher, stepson and the rest of that side of the family because of divorce; and my son, my two brothers, three sisters, birth Mom and their spouses and nieces and nephews because of distance.

My Mom (adoptive), son, and me

My brother (adoptive)

Mom, brothers, sisters, in-laws, nephews, and nieces (biological)

Dad and my brothers (biological)

Even when I have a group of people to spend the holidays with, just seeing people with their families, laughing and sharing family stories, makes me miss mine so much. I try not to let it make me feel sad and just enjoy the people I'm with, but it's hard.

I'm always wishing I had that too, those family traditions that carry on from year to year, those funny stories that you love to tell over and over, those people who just know and accept each other because they're family. I guess that's why I love phone calls from my son so much.

It doesn't always have to be blood or a lifetime of memories that bind people together. There are other things that give you that "These are my people!" feeling. Meeting other writers is like that. Or other dog lovers or horse lovers. Even meeting someone who's been through similar struggles in their life. You have an understanding.

Since it doesn't appear my family distance predicament is going to change anytime in the near future, I'm trying to figure out how to expand my definition of family.

I'll definitely include Cousin A since we did practically grow up together and act like sisters. I even pulled her hair once and scared her to the point of tears with a scary bedtime story. How more sisterly can you be?

My cousin A and I showing off our henna tattoos

What's that song? "Love the One You're With"; I think it can apply to more than just lovers.

A Quick Note

Just wanted to say thanks for the ideas on my story. You brought up some things I hadn't thought of. If Lucy doesn't totally space out and panic, she could lock her husband in his trunk or shoot out his tires or something. But this isn't the point yet where she's that strong. She's still very much afraid so I'll have to think about how much she'd be able to fight back.

Part of what I want to do with the story and why I had Lucy's dog be shot is that I want to show how abusive men will sometimes use a woman's love for her animals to control her and punish her if she doesn't do what he wants her to do.

About 27 years ago, I had my cat thrown against a wall (she was okay, I was not) and my dog was "taken to the pound" while I was gone from home, riding my horse. I never found the dog.

Valuing life means valuing all life. People who are abusive to animals are generally abusive to people too. Both offenses need to be taken seriously as I believe they are connected. Not that I needed to tell any of you that...

My son called me today. He's excited about making a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for his friends, who will bring something to share too. He's REALLY looking forward to eating a lot of food! I don't think that happens very often. I'd love to be a fly on the wall to watch the meal preparation.

Like I've said before, I love hearing about what my son is doing. He makes me very proud.

Pondering

You follow people's lives in their blogs and you rejoice over the good times, but you hate seeing people go through the bad times.

I suggest you read this post by Amy at the DVM's Wife and KB's post in Romping and Rolling in the Rockies and see if it doesn't make you think about how you look at life and how you want to go about living it.

I've had some injuries and some health problems, but I've been pretty lucky that so far, things seem to heal, at least physically. The heart is still aching, but that's no excuse not to give this thing called life my all.

At times, I do feel like I'm on a timeline. 52. How many more healthy years remain that I'll still be able to do the things I want to do? I'm afraid that I've wasted too much time already.

So the solution is to waste more time?

Some things that I want to do, I had decided were impossible and gave up on them. Some things I didn't even realize how much they meant to me.

Some of these things are big and some are very small. Some I fear are beyond my physical abilities and some seem pretty risky in that failing would strike pretty deep. And for each one, I can easily come up with ten reasons that I'll never get to actually do it.

So often now, I'm beaten down by the belief that I can't do that by myself. Or that too many things have gone wrong; I'm too afraid.

But other people are up against bigger obstacles, and they bravely keep on. And I didn't think I could drive a horse trailer or go trail riding by myself, but I did.

I'm just not going to put things off waiting for someday. Not ever again.

Often I feel selfish for wanting what I want. There's a voice that asks me, "Who do you think you are that you deserve to do or have those things?"

But isn't it really an insult to waste the life we have when there's so much we can do with it?

Oh Fiddle Sticks

It was one of those days where I just started out feeling weighed down. The kind of day when I know I just need to keep moving.

Java and I went to the bank so I could get some cash before stopping by a pottery show, at a my friend Sue's neighbor's house.

I really wanted a set of four cereal-size bowls that were on display, but they were more than I could afford. Some of Sue's artwork was at the pottery show also. I really love the reindeer and reincats she's created and they'd be great on my mantle for Chistmas, but I wanted something I could wear more than something I could put on a shelf and I couldn't have both.

I didn't see any of Sue's necklaces on display at the neighbor's so I walked through the woods, over to Sue's welding studio and bought the necklace below. The "O FDL STX" was a mild way of expressing my feelings.

The necklace was a bit over-shadowed by the fuzzy peace sign on the shirt I was wearing today. I love the necklace and the fact that Sue made it.

After visiting with Sue for awhile, Java and I went to a vacuum cleaner place and dropped off my old vacuum for repair. It sounds like it will cost a minimum of $50 to repair it. I told the guy, if it's not worth the amount of money it will take to repair, I'd prefer to put the money toward a new one. So he'll be letting me know.

As long as I was near to TJ Maxx, I decided to stop in to look for some pants. The whole folded over waistband, baggy butt, two sizes too big look needs to go but I couldn't find one pair of pants there. I did get three long-sleeve shirts however, for $32, which I didn't think was bad.

Then I went and bought some groceries. Dropped those off at home and Java and I went for a walk at the park. All that running around wore both of us out.

I'm hoping for a sunnier day tomorrow, both externally and internally.

My story is running into a few technical difficulties. I'm trying to figure out how my main character, Lucy, is going to wrestle a Remington pump action shotgun away from her husband, who just shot her dog with it, jump into the truck with said shot gun, keeping said husband away by pointing the gun at him. Then Lucy somehow has to get the truck door closed and speed away while pulling a horse trailer. Of course, her husband will easily be able to follow her and it's not like she can take sharp turns or speed away towing a couple horses. Yet, I want her to get away without resorting to calling the police, as that would take the characters into court and all, which is not where I wanted to go. But what else can she do?

I don't know. That might work. Just thinkin' out loud here...

An Ooh Aah Moment

I caught this beautiful sunrise yesterday morning.

There should be a better description than "beautiful". None of the adjectives cut it - gorgeous, awesome, spectacular.

Perhaps I could say that the purplish shades, highlighted in orange and streaming across the sky, remind me of a sky-sized canvas, that someone has brushed splashes of bright watercolor across. No. Such a cliche.

How about that it was like the second day of an especially nasty bruise? No, no. That doesn't sound very lovely.

How about that it was like blueberries and orange juice spilled across the counter?

No wonder people say a picture is worth a thousand words...

Speaking of a thousand words, I need to get back to my story. I'm at 16,157 words so far.

A Birthday Poem

It's my sister SB's birthday today so I did my best to write a birthday poem.

Sis, it's not the same as getting a poem from Dad, but I hope you know it comes from the heart and that I'm thinking of both of you today.

She's a wiley coyote
With mischief in her eyes.
A desert gal
Who enjoys gittin' a rise.
You always know
Exactly what's on her mind.
A more open heart
You will never find.
I don't always follow her advice.
Not made of the same stuff
She's clan of tigers
I'm clan of mice.
Happy birthday sis!
I hope you're havin' fun.
And always remember
I love you a ton.

Send Me an Angel

"I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much." -- Mother Teresa

I should be working on my story, I know, but I have some things on my mind that I need to get out first.

It's been a rough week. Things happen behind the scenes. The toughest part of the divorce is having my love and my memories and the work that goes into building a life with someone turned into something quantified in dollars and cents.

I know. That's just how it is. But it shouldn't be, and it's like daggers, with barbs, and poison, driven in slowly.

But your comments prop me up again and send me on my maery way. And I wanted to thank a couple other people who have been so comforting through all this -- my son and my sister.

My son called me when I was scraping the sweat off of Luke after our ride on Saturday.

Just having my son call, which he does pretty often all on his own, makes me smile.

He has turned into such an adult. I don’t mean to sound surprised but the kid has been through a lot and I worry that he didn't have a milk and cookies childhood.

So when I hear about his day-to-day activities, and his friends, and work, and how great his new roommates are and how they’ve fixed up the house they rent, and the other stuff he is doing, it makes me happy.

He also made some suggestions about my book. He likes it when a story has a strange twist to it. He suggested I have the woman running the women’s shelter in my story seem all helpful and kind but have it turn out that she's really evil and is selling the women as slaves.

Good idea, but I’ve got another direction I’m going with it. The way he first starting explaining what he was thinking, I thought he was going to suggest the lady was some kind of alien pod person -- now that would have been interesting.

Of course, during the conversation, I asked my usual motherly questions and imparted my motherly wisdom:

• Did you get a flu shot? (He hasn't. Well, neither did I but that's beside the point.)
• Have you been sick lately with all the stuff going around? (He has but he’s better now.)
• You should use a Neti pot and take some probiotics. Do you have any EmergenC? (He laughed just a little too hard at this one. “You would definitely fit in if you lived in Berkeley!" he said.)

Fine. So he doesn’t want my motherly input. But he is totally going to get a care package for Christmas with you know what in it.

Today I did a Maery is drowning in tears, emergency phone call to my sister T. I've been resisting calling her because I feel like I keep saying the same things over and over again and she has her own life to deal with and I feel like a pest.

But she was a good listener, loving, encouraging, and basically told me that I rock. Okay, maybe that last part was just what I wanted to hear, but she's definitely pulling for me and that means more than she'll ever know.

Pretty picture above. But I like this one. She's got that, "I'm in the desert and the wind and sun are doing bad things to me" look.