Just For Today

I have recently (within the year) been introduced to the concept of "just for today". Sometimes I make it "just for the next ten minutes", but the idea is the same.

For years, I have tried to change myself. I have tried to be tidier and more organized. I have tried to be more patient. I have tried to be quieter. I have tried to be more (insert just about every desirable quality here) and less (insert every UN-desirable trait here). It seems like I have spent my entire life trying....

....and failing.

I don't fail anymore. I figured something out, something that I knew in my head for lots of years but was never able to really believe: I'm human. That means I make mistakes. That means that - even with the best intentions and hardest work - I will never be perfect.

So I quit trying (and failing), and I started doing. One day (or 10 minutes) at a time. Oh, I still screw things up. I still say the wrong thing at the wrong time, or forget important steps when doing a project. I still yell when I should give myself a timeout to calm down. Even with all these mistakes, I still have entire 10 minute periods of time (and the rare full day) when I do everything I could wish from myself.

It's amazing how easy it is to succeed when your expectations are changed. I don't expect myself to do every thing right every day. I set little goals for myself that have a time limit and a definite focus. More often than not, I can look back at my day and see that I did accomplish those goals. If I didn't accomplish them all, it's no big deal. I know that I will have another chance tomorrow to achieve whatever goal I set for myself, whether it be listening patiently to Little Sprout's long, involved stories for a full ten minutes.... or cleaning the house... or accepting  life/people as it/they come.... or getting on the treadmill of misery for half an hour.

It's all about the attitude folks, and I'm sorry it has taken me over 30 years to figure it out. I stopped paying attention to how far from perfection I am, and started focusing on all my positive traits and accomplishments. That change in attitude makes all the difference in the world.

~....And that's all I have to say about that...~

Where Are My Priorities?

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

~Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken~

Life is full of tough choices. I know that. Part of being an adult is making those choices and doing the best you can.

Right now, I have a choice to make. I don't have to make it today, I don't have to make it tomorrow, but sometime over the next week, I have to choose which path to take.

And I have no idea which way to go.

I have made no secret of the fact that my job is a pain in my butt. I don't like my boss. I don't like the actual job duties. I don't even really like the clients I work with. They are too young for me. I prefer senior citizens. (not that I don't like my guys, it's just a preference thing. Some folks like working with kids, some adults, some seniors. Some of us prefer high physical care, some of us prefer to put more effort into the behavioral side of things.)

Two times a week, I end up staying awake 30 hours plus. It's not necessarily the job's fault, it's just the way things work out. Obviously, this is a terribly unhealthy way to live. I have been doing it for almost 7 years, and I can feel myself getting stupider and stupider every day. See? Stupider isn't even a word, but I'm gonna use it to prove how stupid the lack of sleep is really making me. (well, spellcheck says stupider is a word. How 'bout that?)

Pretty much, I get nothing out of my job except a paycheck.

I know that if I were to be able to have some kind of routine in my life, and get sleep every night instead of 3-4 nights out of a week, I would be much healthier. I would feel smarter. I would be more efficient. I would be able to establish routines in other parts of my life, and those routines would benefit everyone in my family.

I was offered a job today. Full time work, regular sleep hours, and much easier work than I do now. The pay is about the same.

Sounds like heaven, right?

The problem is, it's a job working with Teacher full time. I would be self-employed, for all intents and purposes. This means a loss of vacation time, sick time, benefits, retirement, etc. And I would have to put Little Sprout in Daycare two days a week, meaning more of my wage would be lost in paying that. And there is no job security. Teacher is 100 years old, and so my time working with her is limited. Very limited.

It would work, but $$ would be tight. Mr. Barefoot and I have struggled with finances all our adult lives, and just now are getting to a point where we can sock a little bit away out of every check. Only in the last few months have we had any financial breathing room, and we are both loving it.

So what do I do? On the one hand, the job I have now is secure. It pays the bills, with a little left over. It is also killing me. On the other hand, I could have a position that meets all my needs as far as health is concerned (as well as being a whole bunch of fun), but would put the family back into a place where the tiniest unexpected expense could put us in financial trouble.

Sometimes, being a grown-up sucks.

Call of the Wild

Late at night their mournfull call fills the night air. I am unable to read when this happens, and my cig is forgotten as I look out into the darkness. The song of the Loon rises from the lake, and something wild and free comes to life inside of me.

In a way, I hate these moments. Something about the eerie sound makes me want to run. Go north. Go west. Go somewhere that streetlights and headlights and cell phones have never seen. Hide myself in a forest of trees that have never known a chainsaw or an axe, and wash myself in streams that run free of the beer bottles and pop cans found so often further downstream.

It doesn't seem fair that this call comes to me when I am chained to a place where nothing, it seems, is clean. I yearn for the clutter of fallen trees and self-seeded wildflowers, and I see trash caught in bushes and grass. I long for the fresh smells of a pine forest or a clear lake, and instead am assaulted with the stench of car exhaust. I dream of the song of crickets and wolves and the wind whispering through trees, and I hear instead the humm of A/C units and the swish of tires on the highway.

And yet....

I am grateful, too. The Call of the Loon, the sound of the wild, reminds me that there still are a few places (precious few) where things are quiet and clean. It reminds me why I keep my corner of the world a little quieter, a little cleaner. It reminds me that there is a part of me that hasn't been numbed by the constant noise and color of "modern life". There is a space in my soul that is still clean, still fresh, still simple. I am glad.

~....and that's all I have to say about that....~

Winter Peace

We sit together, Teacher and I, and watch out her dining room windows. At 100 years old, she has looked out these same windows at the same fields for 80 of those years. She never seems to tire of the view, talking of years long gone and watching the birds as they flit from feeder to lilac to tree and back. Teacher has fed her children at this same table, and her grand-children. Now she looks at pictures of great-great-grandchildren from the same chair she sat in for so many meals. She doesn’t really remember who the pictures are of, but she likes to look at the children’s smiles. Sometimes there is enough of a family resemblance that she knows they are her relatives, sometimes she just smiles at the beautiful faces of strangers looking up at her from the album.

Photo credit

Two pheasants come to peck at the sunflower seeds that the raucous jays have spilled on the ground, and even Teacher’s failing eyes can pick out their vibrant colors. The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, and we both “ahhhhh” like the crowds on the Fourth of July. “There’s the sun!” she says, “Isn’t that just beautiful…” I ask if she is warm enough (she never is these days) and offer a blanket to wrap around her shoulders. Teacher smiles her thanks and goes back to watching as the golden sunlight pours over the fields, contrasting deliciously with the purple shadows where the snow has drifted and dimpled.



We spend much of our time in silence. Teacher drifts through the memories of the years she has seen, and I wait for the tidbits she chooses to share. I crochet a lot when I am with her, just sitting and enjoying the silence. I keep an eye on the bird feeder, letting her know when an unusual bird arrives for a visit or commenting on the antics of our “regulars”. I used to ask her to identify some of the different birds for me, but now I get out the bird guide and we look them up together. I like to watch the way Teacher touches the pages of her bird guide. She caresses each page, tracing the colors and outlines of the different birds. There is a tender joy in her movements. Two of her favorite things, birds and books, combined in one object that she can touch.



Today, the snow is blowing across the fields, rising in clouds that blur the stand of pines beyond. I turn on some soothing classical music – she is partial to Debussy – and we let the music drift over us. Teacher asks (again) what project I am working on, and I hold it up, shaking out the wrinkles so she can see the bright colors I am weaving together. “It’s going to be an afghan. I hope Big Sprout will want it when it’s done” I reply (again). This sparks the same conversation we have already had 3 times today. She asks how old the Sprouts are, what grades they are in, and if they are happy. I answer her questions, and tell her a few amusing anecdotes about their behavior. Then we settle into silence again. It never bothers me to answer her questions over and over through the day. Teacher doesn’t remember asking, and I like that she is interested enough to ask.



Sometimes, Teacher will hold the end of my crocheting project while I work. Her hands are still strong, the fingers nimble, and she seems to enjoy the textures of yarn as she traces the loops and swirls of each stitch. Teacher watches as the hook darts in and out of loops of yarn, light flashing off the colored metal. I think she gets a little hypnotized by the motion. I can see her eyelids droop and her eyes lose their focus as she watches. Soon her eyes close altogether, and I stay as quiet as I can to let her nap.



The day will come (probably sooner rather than later) when she will move on to whatever comes after this life. There will be no more afternoons spent in companionable silence, no more pecks on the cheek and promises to “see you soon”. I can’t worry about that. Every day is treated like it is our last day together, and I know that when the time comes for us to part ways, I will be happy for her. I will have the memories of 12 years of her friendship. I will have all the many things she has taught me to keep her with me over the years. And I will cherish every one.

The New Notebook

The other day, I found a new notebook for myself. It was sitting there on the end cap, the last of it's kind, with a beautiful design on the front. I couldn't help it. I brought it home.

I have this passion for empty notebooks, journals, and diaries. All those fresh, unmarked pages just waiting to be filled with whatever I choose. It's magic.

Each new page is a beginning. A chance to record all the things that are beautiful, wise, and good inside me. An opportunity to start a new life, right from the moment that I write that first word. In this world of computers, email, and text, writing on real paper with real ink is a connection to the past. I can imagine all the women and men over the years who have recorded their thoughts and feelings in the same way.

I have been known to hold on to an especially nice notebook or journal for years, fearful of ruining it by writing things that are unworthy in it's pages. I will take them out, look at them, smell the unique scent of ink and paper, turn the pages, run my fingers over the designs on the cover...... but I won't soil them with unworthy thoughts. They are fresh and clean. It seems to be a terrible thing to fill such a precious book with messy handwriting and records of mundane events.

I don't know, yet, what will be written in this new notebook. I am itching to begin, though. I have chosen the pen I will use, and keep the book and pen near. Perhaps inspiration will strike, and I will find the perfect things to put in my new notebook. Or perhaps I will just carry it around for a while and enjoy the possibilities....

Looking For The Good

Well, I started the day by getting smacked across the face by a client. Then I ended up buying pea seed that we didn't need (well, Dad bought it, but I was the one who was wrong). Little Sprout decided she was hungry 5 minutes after having lunch with Grandma and Grandpa (she did eat), and spent the next hour screaming for more food. There are all sorts of strange folks at the lot next door, messing with the trees that were cut down and left all over the lot. My nap ran over, causing everything else in my day to get behind schedule. Looking at the camp registration for Big Sprout, I just don't know if we can afford it. To top it all off, my pork steak was just a little too fatty for my taste and the pasta sauce never thickened up.

But I am looking for the good today.

I will remember that it was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. The peas got planted, and Little Sprout helped. We finally started Big Sprout's science project (how do different liquids affect metal washers). I found 4 or 5 outfits for Little Sprout (summer stuff) for $11 at the thrift store....and she likes them. Big Sprout was very helpful with taking care of Little Sprout. Mr. Barefoot grilled supper so I didn't have to cook. Little Sprout is eating supper very well, out-eating even me. I get to sleep in my own bed tonight. My hostas are up in the yard. I am hoping to get the irises, daylilies, tulips, and daffodils planted this week, as well as getting the wood chips from the butcher job next door in my veggie garden.

Things are good.

I think.

How I Know It Will All Be Okay

The other night at work, I was struggling with fear and uncertainty. Whether it was hormones or being un-medicated and insane, I will probably never know. There I was, literally shaking inside and out, convinced that nothing would ever be alright in the world (or, more importantly, my life) again. I wanted to run, to hide, to disappear into the night and never have to deal with any of this ever again.

I went out the front door at work and lit a cig, praying a little that I would make it through the night. Somewhere in the anxiety, a little voice in my mind started to speak. Just one word: "Listen.....listen......listen".

So I did. I took a deep breath and I listened. I looked up to the stars, and somehow they seemed closer. I could have sworn in that moment that all I would have to do is reach my hand to the sky, and a star would have landed in my hand. The bare tree branches were starkly outlined against the night sky.

I took another deep breath, and listened some more. I heard frogs peeping in the distance, and a pair of owls hooted on the other side of the yard. A small critter, probably our resident skunk, rustled through the dried leaves in the woods. I could hear cars rushing by on the road about a mile away, and just a little further off something startled the geese at the lake and set off a rush of honking and splashing water.

I took yet another deep breath, and suddenly I could smell the earth around me. The wet, decaying leaves with their sweet scent so strong that it almost had a flavor. The fresh wind with it's faint trace of rain. The musty smell of newly disturbed dirt and rock. The scent of the lake just across the road.

In that moment, I knew that I was a part of all of it. I knew that I was a small part, but a part all the same. In that moment, everything was more real, somehow.

And it was okay.

God, Goddess, Great Spirit, or just the workings of a deranged mind..... it doesn't matter what spoke to me in that moment. I heard. For that one moment in time, I understood that my fears don't really matter in the big picture. I found comfort in my insignificance to the greater pattern of life.

Things are so simple when you let them be. I am no different than the birds and beasts I share this Earth with. I am no different than the goose, the owl, the skunk, the tree, or even the star. My victories ~ and my failures ~ make just the tiniest ripples in the patterns of life. Our needs are the same. We need food, shelter, to raise our young. We need clean water to drink, air to breathe. We will all exist for a time, and then leave this life.

All I need to have a good life is provided by the land around me. I have within me the skills I need to raise my Sprouts well. Everything else is complication. Everything else is clutter. Everything else, though some of it is fun, is unnecessary.

It was a relief to be reminded that life is about the LIVING. Too often I get caught up in thinking about what I can do, what I should do, what I can get away with doing (that maybe I shouldn't be), what I would do if things were different, what others want me to do.... I forget that all that thinking isn't what life is all about. It's about the experience. It's about being.

Change is in the Air

They came together, the garage sale signs and the moving trucks. This weekend has already been full of both in my little town. For Sale signs are springing up, sometimes 4-5 to a block. Folks are opening their doors and saying "make an offer, everything has got to go".

It is unsettling, really.

I usually do a lot of shopping at thrift stores or garage sales...it just seems to make sense that if you can get something 'pre-owned' for so much cheaper than paying retail that you would. I guess I just don't have a lot of pride that way. I was so happy when I started seeing so many garage sales, with so much great stuff. Folks are selling really nice furniture, toys, books and movies....at first it seemed like an amazing stroke of luck. I was carefull, since the economy has affected us here at the Barefoot Manor right along with everyone else. I had in my head certain things I was looking for, sizes for the Sprout's clothes, prices I was willing to pay for certain things.

And then I started noticing that a lot of the houses with garage sale signs also had 'house for sale' signs. I started hearing mothers talking to their husbands about how it was sad to see Grandma's hutch go, but where would they put it when they moved? I started seeing that a lot of the things that were on sale were things that had been in use by these particular families not so very long ago.

Suddenly, it wasn't such a bonanza after all.

Our neighbors, who have only lived in their house for 2 weeks longer than our own residence at Barefoot Manor of 10 months, are having a huge garage sale. Both the Mom and Dad are out of work, and they are selling everything not nailed down. Noone has said as much, but the feeling I get is that they are trying to get enough money together to keep them going until one of them can find work. Every day I see the Wife out, clucking her tongue at a garden that is not doing well. She comes over and looks at my bed of onions doing so well and mentions that she will have to try my raised bed system next season. Unspoken is the thought 'if we're here next season'.

Down the street is a family that has had a garage sale every weekend for the last month. Every weekend there is new stuff out in the yard to replace the items already sold. There is a little girl still playing with her toys that are spread on blankets with little round price tags on them. The mother sits in her lawn chair in the shade by the house every day, all weekend long. Only when a car stops does she get up from her perch in hopes of making a sale.

I almost feel guilty that we are doing so well. Mr. Barefoot and I are both still working, with no rumors of either of us losing our jobs. We are still being carefull, making sure to fill the garden to capacity and working on food stores. We are still making sure to focus on getting our debt paid off and making sure that there will be heat for the family this winter. But we are doing well. When I go to these garage sales and hear the families talk of not knowing where they will end up, or see that they are selling beloved items that they would rather keep, it breaks my heart. A part of me feels it's wrong to even think about buying the items that they love, and a part of me wants to buy something - anything - in an effort to help them out, if only in a small way.

Change is in the air, for sure. I think some good will come from it all - eventually. Folks will start to value the little things again. Family will regain it's importance in our society. Folks will learn that we can survive, and even be happy, with so much less than what we think.

But getting there is going to be a strange road....

Small Town Living

I have lived in or around the same small town almost all my life. I hated it when I was a teen, thinking that there was nothing to do and nowhere to go, but I really love my town.

It isn't really anything special, just a few shops and a post office. There is one grocery store, a Subway, and a McDonald's. Of course, neither Subway nor McD's were there when I was growing up. It's home, though.

On Friday, I went to pick up Little Sprout from my folks' place and we all decided to walk up to the bank to get our weekly banking done. It is only a quarter mile from my folks' place to the bank, so Little Sprout walked and we just took the stroller as 'insurance' in case she got tired or cold and wanted to ride.

We got to the bank, and Little Sprout giggled madly as she pushed the 'handicapped access' button to make the doors open automatically. We all hurried through the doors in an attempt to let as little cold wind in the building as possible, and were immediately greeted by the 'Bank Ladies' laughing at Little Sprout's antics. They asked how Big Sprout was doing, and how Dad and I were handling our strange work schedules.

Little Sprout ran to the corner where the toys are (yes, they have a toy corner at the BANK. How cool is that?!) and made herself comfortable while Dad and I took care of our business. As I was finishing my transaction with the teller, she sifted through the stickers she keeps in her drawer and picked out a special sticker for Little Sprout. Then she sifted through again, and sent one home for Big Sprout - "so she won't feel left out".

The teller at the next window shared stories of her grandson getting his hair cut, and gave me some pointers on how to get Little Sprout to hold still. We all chatted back and forth, and the whole bank seemed to get involved in our visit. It was good. It felt right.

A little later, I went to the post office to pick up my folks' mail on the way to run a few other errands. I made small talk with the folks working there, chatting about Big Sprout (they all remember her fondly) and laughing over Little Sprout's morning routine of 'getting Gunka's MAIL!". I ran into a woman that I worked with 10 years ago, and we got caught up on her family and how things are going at the old company. It took a lot longer to get the mail than it would have if I didn't know the folks there, but it was good.

The thing about small towns is that everything takes a little longer. Everyone waves as they drive past you walking up the street. You chit-chat with the cashier at the grocery store, and find out that her kid is having trouble in math. You mention that your friends' kid is involved in the math tutoring program, so phone numbers are exchanged to set up some tutoring sessions. You hear that your elderly neighbor has been struggling with health problems, so when you are mowing your lawn you just hop over the property line and mow theirs as well. In turn, when they are canning up their famous salsa they send over a couple of jars because they know that nothing makes you happier in a January blizzard than tortilla chips and spicy-hot salsa.

Small town living is good. Of course, there are the times when you would rather that everyone NOT know everything about your life, but all in all it is wonderful to feel like you have a place. It is so comforting to know that when you walk into the local cafe they know what your drink order will be, and don't raise their eyebrows over your desire to have mashed potatoes with your eggs in the morning. It's nice to know that the waitress will automatically take the ranch from Dad's order and put it on my plate, even though I forgot to order it, knowing that Dad never touches his.

I like my town. I like the people there. I like knowing that I am a part of something, even with all my little oddities...

How Life Happens

He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: it's springs were at every doorstep and every path was it's tributary. "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no telling where you might be swept off to."
The Lord of the Rings
Frodo about his uncle Bilbo Baggins, Chapter 'Three is Company'.

While listening to Big Sprout tell me of her plans for life, I noticed how her eyes sparkled; how her face flushed with excitement. I remembered how it felt to be young, with all of life spread out in front of me and no restrictions on where I could end up except those I put on myself.

I found myself wondering how I ended up here, in this time and place. I found myself comparing this small town life of domesticity with the dream life I had created for myself as a child. I thought about the choices I have made, and I realised that I didn't keep my feet when I stepped out my door. I let the current of life take me where it would, and found myself entering the domain on my personal life map that had (up until now) read "Here There Be Dragons".

The journey has been full of surprises and unexpected detours. I have battled demons and witnessed great wonders, some of which I never would have done or seen if I hadn't strayed from the path I so carefully set for myself in my youth. I find that I am unable to regret leaving that well-ordered path, for it has brought me some of the greatest joys in my life. My children, my husband, my work....none of these things factored into the life I had set out to lead. Yet my life is richer for them.

So I smiled at my little dreamer, and I told her how wonderful her plans sounded. I kept to myself the knowledge that at some point Life would put a roadblock up and that it would be up to her to decide if she would go over, around, or choose another path entirely. I enjoyed her enthusiasm, and wished her the best of luck in accomplishing her greatest hopes. I just hope that she never forgets to enjoy the journey as much as she anticipates the destination.

Poetry in the Soul

I think we are all born with poetry in our souls and a sense of wonder and magic. As we grow, our life experiences change us, give us new things to focus on, and gradually steal that romance and awe from us.

I, of course, live in MN. A land of folks proud of their pragmatic and stoic way of life. A land of gossipy old Church Ladies, leathery farmers, resourceful farm-wives, and Grumpy Old Men. A land where the only appropriate comment when the weather is -30 degrees is "So, is it cold enough fer ya?"

We are obscenely proud of the fact that we will go ice fishing in temps that keep Polar Bears under wraps, and no snowstorm on earth is enough to keep us all from getting up at o-dark-hundred to take our little selves off to work. We are private people, unwilling to air our arguments in public and terribly embarrassed when others do.

Sometimes, especially in small towns, it seems that the cold has frozen the hands of time. It seems that everything is the same as it has always been; the same as it always will be.

But it is not a land of poets or dreamers. It is a world where often those who are a little bit different receive sidelong looks. Those inclined to take long flights of fancy are thought of by all as "just a little off, if you know what I mean".

And so the poetry we are all born with is slowly suffocated, fading away to nothing as we grow older and leave behind childish things. Daydreams are left behind in favor of "good, solid plans". The pristine beauty of snow-topped pines fades as we focus on shoveling our drives. The orchestra of evening birdsong is lost as we strain to hear the first tell-tale buzz of the dreaded mosquito. The thrill of sledding down a great hill at break-neck speed is eclipsed by the terror of slipping and sliding your way down poorly plowed town roads.

And it is sad.

The poetry in my soul has not died quite yet, and I am trying to revive it the best I can. I don't want to lose that vital part of me that sees the romance in life and the dreams in every waking moment. I am trying to breathe; to remember the joy of finding magic in the smallest flower, the wonder in the change of seasons, the peace of really hearing the world around me. I am focusing on the small things, and remembering that the journey is more important than the destination.

Sometimes I Just Want To Kick Myself In The Head

After I wrote the last post about Big Sprout's paternal Grandparents, I got a call from them to work out a time when they could come see her. She was overjoyed. They will be coming on Tuesday, and then letting her spend the night with them in a hotel (with a pool).

We got things all settled and planned, and then I started thinking about how strange it was that they called so shortly after I had put it out here for the whole world to see that I was feeling a little like they were pulling back from her. I started wondering....did I ever tell them about this blog? Did I ever send them a link?

I wonder if I did and then forgot about it.

Oh, horrors.

Now I feel like a total heel. It is so easy to wrap myself in the anonymity of the 'net and forget that there ARE folks out there who read this and know me in the real world. And I wonder if I have written things that inadvertently have hurt them.

So, Grandma and Grandpa....if you read this and I have ever hurt your feelings or made you uncomfortable, I am truly sorry. I truly appreciate the way you have accepted and loved Big Sprout, and feel very blessed that she has been able to know and love you. Sometimes things just pop up here on my blog that haven't made the trip through my brain yet, and I need to remember to THINK a little bit more before I type things.

If you don't read this blog...well, then. I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I haven't made anyone uncomfortable.

It's Starting to Make Me Mad!

I may live with my head in the sand most of the time, but even I have to admit that the rising prices of gas, flour, and other necessities are rising at an alarming rate. I even admit that I am nowhere near ready to deal with an economy going down the toilet and all the changes that the "experts" are predicting.

Still, I have made (and am still making) changes in my day to day life to attempt to deal with things. I have planned a bigger garden, I drive less, I am paying closer attention to where our "money leaks" are, I am trying harder than ever to get us out of debt (the coming mortgage doesn't count).

Yet I look around and see people continuing to live their lives as if nothing is happening. Folks are going for pleasure jaunts in their gas guzzling SUVs, filling their carts at Wally-World with plastic junk and worthless doo-dads. Dumpsters are overflowing with items that either are in fine condition, should have been recycled, or never should have been made (much less purchased).

Quite frankly, it is making me a little mad. You and I both know that these same people doing this will be the first to raise their voices when things start getting really bad. They will be screaming at the tops of their lungs that the "gov'ment" should have done something, that they have rights, that someone needs to come save them.

The reality is that everyone needs to make changes and be responsible for their own actions. The reality is that what we are looking at now is (at the very least) the beginning of a recession. The reality is that folks need to check their priorities. Is it more important to protect yourself, your family, and the planet? or is it more important to have that newfangled whatsit? Take your pick, because the time has come where you can't have both....

Living The Barefoot Life

Being barefoot in the garden is so much more than just taking your shoes off and jumping in. It's about being aware of life, your affect on your surroundings, and the effect they have on you. It's about living in the Now and appreciating the quieter pleasures in life. Too often, as we get older, we get caught up in society's race for "Bigger, Better, Faster, More, More, More!!!" and we forget all about the joy of playing in the mud, of building something with our own two hands. We have become disconnected from our families, our world, and ourselves. We run faster and faster, trying to keep up with what the media and that nebulous but ever-present "they" say we need to have, feel, and be. Well, I have taken off my running shoes, and choose to slow down a little. Take a deep breath. Look around me. Relax a little. Enjoy my family before they grow up and away. Listen to the voice inside me that already knows what is right for me.

We interrupt this program with an update on real life....

I set my alarm for 5 am so I could weed my little veggie patch this morning before the heat hit. Being prego has really made a difference for me physically, and the unusually high temps and humidity we have been having around my area are kicking my butt. My veggie patch (too small to really call a garden) is not located at my home. Due to answering the Siren's Call of "buy now, pay later", I live in a small apt with my DH, 2 SD's, and DD while trying to get out of debt and buy my own piece of paradise (paradise = anywhere with green growing things). I tried to grow tomatoes on the balcony last year, but no luck.....It's just too hot up here overlooking the parking lot. Luckily, my parents live a block away and have a (comparatively) huge yard. So Dad and I worked a deal. I can have a garden over there and he gets a cut of the produce. I figure it's cheap rent on the land, and if I didn't have SOME dirt to dig in I would probably go stark raving mad.
So back to 5 am....It was amazing! I almost didn't make it, as I am not a morning person, but the reward was well worth it. Cool breezes, birds chirping and warbling, the rhythmic motion of the hoe, thinking happy thoughts of fresh cukes and all the stir-fry I could do with the peppers and onions.....It was magic. Meditation in motion. Who needs Tai Chi classes and all that? Just get your behind outside at dawn (don't forget the bug-spray) and do a little weeding! I was almost sorry when the task was complete. But I consoled myself with the idea that every garden I have ever had grew weeds just as easily as anything else, and so I would have many more chances to be out at dawn and repeat the experience. I spent a few minutes looking at the flower beds around the yard (also my responsibility) and took note of where I needed to do some weeding. Mostly I just enjoyed the sight of the irises in bloom and marvelled that the hostas I fought and hacked at to divide have filled out so nicely. I know that these gardens are only a baby-step in my Grand Master Plan to live a more self-sufficient country life, but they give me hope. They are small successes that keep me motivated to stick to the Plan and fight to get where I want to ultimately be in life.