I’ve been known for fantastical, out of this world, nonsensical and truly weird dreams.  Last night I dreamt I went in for some kind of surgery and came out with tattoos all over my body.  Mind you, I have never been nor will I ever be tattooed, but for some reason this thought invaded my dreams last night.  Imagine, if you will, a tattooed 75 year old woman.  It did wonders for my wrinkles.  You couldn’t see one of them.

Do you ever wonder where your dreams come from?  Many of mine have turned into plays or short stories.  I even revised the White Queen of Narnia to be a three headed queen because I saw it in a dream and it really solved a problem for us.  We had just held auditions and there were three girls that fit the part and it was a way of including all of them.  We designed a costume that resembled a very large cape and all three of them went into it.

Once I dreamt we adopted a buffalo and brought him home to take the place of our dog.  We bought a truck full of Buffalo Chow, made a bed for him in the laundry room and taught him to catch a Frisbee.  This turned into a story about just that thing, called “A Home Where the Buffalo Roams.”

I have no idea where these thoughts come from.  I certainly am not a visionary nor a prophet, but it would be fun to be able to interpret some of them.

From now on, I better lay low on the after dinner snacks.  It might not be a bad idea to get some of these dreams down on paper.

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When I started blogging three years ago, I never dreamed it would become such a time consuming endeavor.  I’ve always felt strongly about certain issues, yet never felt comfortable confronting them face to face with others.  Writing has allowed me to express some of those thoughts without having to confront.

My intention was to share my belief in God with others – to let them know there was a way out of depression, anxiety and hopelessness – to show, by example, some of the miraculous ways God has affected my life – to share God’s love for me and the entire world.  Selfishly, I love to write.  I love making people laugh sometimes and cry others.  I enjoy getting a reaction, but I don’t enjoy stirring up controversy.

Occasionally I will receive a negative comment on my beliefs and it naturally makes the hair on the back of my neck bristle.  I go into defensive mode and my claws often come out, but it isn’t what I want to do.  I’d much rather express my opinion on this forum and hope that someone might have a positive reaction to it.

However, life isn’t that easy.  There will always be the skeptics, those who think you’re foolish, those who can’t wrap their minds around your concepts.  I know it isn’t within my power to change minds – only God can do that.  I know that my example for life hasn’t been perfect, so if I try to set myself up as such, I’m also setting myself up for failure.

So why do I blog?  Why does anyone write?  Why do we put ourselves out there, on display, for all the world to see?  There are days I ask myself those questions.  Maybe it’s addictive.  Maybe I can’t control myself.  Maybe, like my husband who needs to paint every day, I need to share my love for God through my words.  Whatever the reason, I hope that my original intent of sharing God’s Word with others will give even just one person peace.


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You were there when the mountains were carved, when life exploded,

When rivers were formed and when man was created from the dust.

You fill men with courage, honor, conscience, love, peace, endurance, faith,

You danced upon the heads of the apostles as they became filled with you.

You hold the hearts of those who die defending your name,

You lift us when we feel defeated.  You energize us when we grow weary.

You inspire us, enlighten, fill us with hope through all trials,

When we wonder where God has gone – when we lose confidence in humanity –

When we  have no where else to turn – You are there.

You’re unseen, but we know you are in our midst.

Your voice comes in the stirring of the wind,

Your touch can be felt when that same wind embraces us.

Your breath inspired men of God to write down your plan for our lives.

Each word penned points to our redemption, salvation and forgiveness.

You hear our prayers.  When we open our hearts and minds to speak to you, you listen.

God of heaven, three in One – Father, Spirit and the Son,

Live within us every day – give us courage as we pray,

Though our minds don’t comprehend, still you help us understand,

The mystery of your trinity, in faith we learn to trust in thee.



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Last night I happened to see a piece on the news regarding abortion rights and protesting.  I try to tune the news out as much as I can, but I thought it was interesting that a group of women were protesting for the right to abortion and most of them were my age or older.  It made me wonder why grandmas would be out there calling for the death of the unborn.  Are they getting sick of babysitting their children’s children?  I can’t imagine what their motive is.

I did a little research and discovered that an organization called GRR to denote Grandmas for Reproductive Rights, was founded by an 82 year old woman named Judy Kahrl.  Her father, Dr. Clarence Gamble, was a crusader for reproductive rights before that term was ever used.  He was also involved in the eugenics movement.  He set up birth control clinics which eventually became Planned Parenthood.  I suppose Judy grew up with this all her life and never thought there was an option.

I don’t wish to judge anyone in their opinions, because I am definitely not one to preach or sound holier than thou, but I simply don’t understand why there is a need to kill the unborn rather than making them available for adoption. It seems more “convenient” to get rid of it before it happens.

It appears that Judy’s group is growing by leaps and bounds and grandmas across the country are using their spare time to hold up signs and try to convince young women to abort their unborn and use contraception.  Maybe they should turn that around, with the contraception coming first.

Maybe young women need to be told by older women that sex isn’t a casual thing that you do on a whim.  Sex before marriage has become the norm and whose fault is that?  Maybe many of us grannys didn’t bother to tell their daughters to wait until marriage – to respect the act enough not to give it away to anyone and everyone.  All of this leads to STDs, emotional problems, guilt and so much more.

May I suggest a group of Grandmothers willing to stand for adoption and better sex education from a religious standpoint.  We’ve all become afraid to speak out on this very acceptable way of life for our young women.  It doesn’t have to be this way.  Life is precious on both ends of the spectrum.  To end it before it begins or before it ends is against everything that God holds dear.




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I am part of the “Silent Generation” or more commonly known as a Traditionalist. We all have our pluses and minuses, but many of us old timers seem to think that the Newbies are on the road to destruction. I have to admit I’m one of those old Fuddy Duddys myself at times.

I grew up in an age of discovery which brought us the first automatic washing machine, the first television set and beautiful gas guzzling cars. Everyone knew all the words to the National Anthem; Coke was something you drank from a bottle; recycling meant taking that bottle back for two cents.

Our entertainment consisted of going to a movie on Saturday and spending the entire day watching the same movie over and over for a quarter. I grew up with Shirley Temple and Judy Garland and experienced some of the most fabulous musicals ever to hit the screen. Of course in those days, movies weren’t rated.  They didn’t have to be.  They were melodramatic, over acted and delightfully unlike reality.  Today everything is about reality.  Who wants to be entertained by things that happen every day.  BORING!

Disposable bottles, diapers and phones were unheard of. Fast food was a sandwich we made ourselves. Our “social media” was getting together at a friend’s house to talk. or actually physically playing outdoors until it was time for lunch and supper.  We also communicated face to face, without the use of technology.  I remember calling each other on a tin can with a string.  Don’t ask.

Now us old fogies struggle with technology and we live much longer than our predecessors. We see the mistakes that are being made in our government, in the raising of children, in education and in society as a whole. Because we’re living longer, we worry that we won’t have enough money to make it through the month.  We skimp on prescriptions so we can eat.  Our minds are still functioning, but our bodies are screaming at us to slow down.  The aged do not get the respect they deserve either.  Whatever happened to the fourth commandment?

In my opinion, we should be like our forefathers and die young. Then we wouldn’t have so much time to sit around and complain about the younger generation.  In the meantime, let’s find the good in our world while there’s still a little left.  The more we focus on the negative thinking of the media, the internet, the world – we become crabby, stodgy, old folks.  As long as we’re living longer, we should make the most of the rest of our lives.

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This painting was created from a photograph from long ago.  We think it may be the farmstead of Paul’s matriarchal family.  A different time when life was much simpler, yet full of hard labor and short span of years.


A cobblestone path, a house made of mortar and brick,

The doors were not locked, its light was a lone candlestick,

With shutters to shade, open windows to cool,

A mile from the farm stood the elementary school,

A fire to cook on and warmth to provide,

When the days grew much colder outside,

Each day brought new challenge, but strong work ethic remained

You came home exhausted, but still you never complained,

The days turned to night in an instant, and morning came sooner than planned,

With the dawn of the sun, a new day has begun and you pray you can rise up and stand

Just a plain, simple building, with acres to till,

A place to call home and a lifetime of memories to fill.

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(This is not actually our basement, but looks sort of like it.)

We moved from the city last fall, into a farm house which was originally built in 1875.  This little treasure was almost completely destroyed during the tornado of 1945, but part of it remained and was rebuilt over the top of the cistern which is our basement.  It’s large enough to house all the mechanicals.  The walls are made of bricks.  It’s remarkably dry and clean.  My husband has even thought about making it into a wine cellar and using it for days when he needs to get away from everything.

I, on the other hand, have not yet been down there.  There is some room for storage, but the thought of having a dungeon below our primary abode is a little disconcerting to me.  The day may come when another tornado spins through this part of the country and I will have to seek refuge in that place, but unless that happens, I will remain on terra firma.

I have visions of bats, spiders, rats and other assorted critters and frankly they all scare the bejeebers out of me.  I imagine weird things going on in that space at some time and it curdles my stomach.  Too much “Criminal Minds” thinking.  The thought of dungeon stirs the imagination to times when criminals were shackled to the walls and left to die – or instruments of torture were set up to execute justice.

Actually, I have too vivid of an imagination, so I will simply avoid that place and enjoy the rest of my “new” old house.  So far the only relics on the property are my husband and me.


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Your life seems to be traveling along normally and then, out of nowhere, another stumbling block – another unexpected surprise – another problem. It’s at those times we need God’s protection the most. I know He has an army of angels at my disposal.  My own particular guardian angel has been through quite a life and has earned her wings a thousand times over.  As my life slows down, I’m certain that she’s ready to retire.

Talk about dangerous encounters – I’ve had several.  Maybe it’s because of my naivety – lack of common sense or just plain stupidity, but you might call me a walking disaster area. When I was a young mother selling Tupperware, I found myself stranded on a bridge with an overheated car. My main concern wasn’t the car, but getting to my destination, so I could peddle my wares.

A kind man stopped and asked how he could help. He offered to take me to where I was going. Little did he realize that I had a ton of stuff with me. I left my vehicle and blindly accepted his offer of help.  He could’ve been a serial killer. On theway, he told me he had some frozen meat in his trunk and asked if I’d like to buy some. I told him, “No, but I have some containers he might like to purchase to put the meat in.” Neither one of us made a sale during that exchange. He dropped me off at my destination.  In retrospect I  wonder what could’ve occurred had not my guardian angel been with me.

Another time I was driving my old Monte Carlo home when the tie rod broke. I continued driving, not knowing the risk. Somehow I managed to steer the car for more than a mile before pulling over.  A friend came to my rescue and couldn’t believe that the car made it as far as it did.

Again, while driving our stick shift car full of kids, the stick came out in my hand as I downshifted.  All I could think to do was push it back in place so I did and it miraculously continued to work.

Some might believe that these were just happenstances, but I truly know God was watching out for me.  Sometimes we have to look for the miracles in our lives, but they’re there in more ways than we can imagine.

Thank you, Lord for defending me from danger even when I take foolish chances. I’ve done some pretty dumb things, but I know I can rely on your love and protection. As I approach the final years of my life, prevent me from making foolish decisions and watch over my guardian angel as well.  Amen!


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