A blank check could take one back to Nicaragua…
The title which begs to be used is: Blank checks are a girl’s best friend.
However, that would be totally misleading.
(Not that I’ve hesitated misleading you before…big grin…)
I have two stories to tell you this deliciously melting 42 degree (5.5 C) February afternoon. Heavens, we haven’t seen 42 degrees since autumn, I swear it. We’re now experiencing three blessed mid-winter days of slippery slidey icicle-melting delight before the weather turns ugly at week’s end. At least that’s what those blizzard-forecasters are mumbling beneath their radar breath.
Heck, you should have seen us attempting to shovel four feet of snow off our woodpile this weekend! You should have witnessed us buried in snow attempting to load the wood room. It wasn’t pretty.
So, instead, I’ll tell you a funny happening.
Posted in February 2014
Tagged best friend, blank check, blogging, embezzlement, Friend Stories, humor, life, Nicaragua, story, tax collector, thoughts
At my place of work
This morning, awake at 5:45 a.m., after stoking the wood stove, igniting the gas beneath the tea kettle, pouring a pink glass of grapefruit juice, I turned on the Kindle Fire to check email.
There, sitting so innocently in the in-box, appeared a note from John. He misses me in the Internet world, he says. You and your prose are missed. I sigh from my heart and would have wiped away a stray tear–except it’s still too early. I’m missed.
The part of self that always longs for acknowledgment wants to jump up and down beside a snowbank in delight. Someone misses my writing. Someone loves me. Hallelujah!
The part of self that doesn’t care about acknowledgment raises its eyebrows at the inner child but doesn’t chastise her. I’ve been learning so much in the last five to six years about honoring all parts of the self. Until then, it’s hard to honor all parts of the other person.
But, jeeezsh, John, it’s only been a week since I wrote here at Lake Superior Spirit. That’s not long, is it?
Circle of life
I shouldn’t be here today.
I should be listening to testimony from a jury box, attempting to determine the guilt or innocence of a fellow man. Said man is presumed innocent until proven guilty, sayeth the law.
Fortunately or unfortunately–I shall not be determining this. Along with a dozen or so others yours truly was ousted, sent packing, shown the courtroom door. After intense questioning and 2 1/2 hours of jury panel seating yesterday morning, I’m a free woman once again.
I agonize over the thought of declaring someone guilty or innocent. Too many cases exist of wrong decisions. However (before anyone gets started with the opposite viewpoint) I am also glad to live in a society where–hopefully, sometimes–a panel of ordinary folks can assist in coming to a fair verdict.
As for tossing someone in prison without attempting to heal a dark heart, well, that’s a topic for another day.
Since I have to go to work today–no “fun” in the jury box permitted–I am going to issue a judgment.
Against this winter.
Guilty of being too hard, too long (OK, that’s biased, since it’s only January), too cold, too snowy.
Creative Story #1. This week my to-do list lassoed me around the neck, hog-tied me, and threw me in the closet. The to-do list looked like a demon, you know, wearing red Christmas long underwear and sarcastically humming, “God rest ye Merry Gentleman” whilst brandishing a silver key and bottle of brandy. While I wept on the closet floor, the to-do list partied around our Little House in the Big Woods, tossing Christmas lights asunder and making snow angels on the deck.
I wouldn’t have escaped from the locked closet at all until after Christmas, except Barry found me. He didn’t seem to believe my story about a demonic capture by a to-do list, though. Do you believe it?
My friend, Suzi Banks Baum–you know who she is–the one with Lake Superior flowing in her veins and heart–even though she lives somewhere out East, maybe in the Berkshires or some place near that Atlantic Sea–posted a blog yesterday which ignited my beating heart big time.
‘Twas a gratitude post, Santa, you know, the kind where you state for what you’re thankful, instead of what you want.
We humans are such wanters.
We want this, and this, and how ’bout that too?
They say that gratitude balances our wanting.
When wanting tips the scales in our lives, we might turn to a little gratitude and realize what we already heave.
When gratitude blisses us out, OK, maybe it’s OK to express a little wanting.
Santa, with Suzi’s example, I am making a list and checking it twice.
Telling you what I’m grateful for today, what blessings abound.
There’s a star in the woods on Christmas morn’…
Never mind the outside temperature.
It brags 12 degrees (-11 C), shame on that thermometer at 4 p.m., Sunday afternoon.
It’s shivered below zero for nights. Winter appears early in the north this year.
Barry just departed the house. “Feels like a heat wave!” he announced (perhaps sarcastically) as he shut the door.
It’s so. Darn. Cold.
We keep feeding the hungry wood stove. One log, two logs. Three logs, four logs. Aren’t you satisfied yet, you greedy creature? Must you munch more and more and MORE?
Must we feed you every hour? Hey, don’t you know it’s only December?
Baby, it’s cold Inside.
Santas and Snowmen playing in the snow
Every year the Santas and Snowmen sleep in the basement until the first week in December. Then they march up our spiral stairway, one by one, preparing to help us celebrate the Christmas holidays in style.
Many long years ago I won the five-inch high little fellas in a local raffle at the Aura Hall. Nine of them winked at me from a red, white and black tic-tac-toe board and how I delighted to bring them home.
Little did we suspect that the Santas and Snowmen were clever little tricksters! They would tiptoe off their staid and respectable tic-tac-toe board and perform amazing acts of silliness which resulted in grins on any Scrooge faces.
Lately I’ve been enjoying rising in the dark, listening to the whistling teakettle and the humming wood stove, and writing stories. Did you know the Native Americans reserved many stories to share only in wintertime, when wind whipped outside wigwams and snow froze tiptoeing foootsteps?
Grandmother Moon’s tears turned white last night and an inch or two of new snow covers our cars. We’re both off to work early today, and tonight Grandfather Snow’s threatening an all-out November fit with several inches of his wrath. Why are the heavens fighting? A Native American elder might keep the kids entertaining for hours explaining the god’s drama.
My drama? Thank you for asking.
We’ve now reached Week 3 of this Gratitude series.
This week something happened.
I hesitate to tell you what. It might offend your sensibilities. Literally, this might stink. It is a very sh*tty blog.
But let us persevere!
Only continue to read–if you dare.