Tag Archives: simplicity

Outside

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Our baby girl loves it outside.

No matter the mercury reading, she hasn’t learned to complain about the heat yet.

 

We haven’t cut her hair to look like a mohawk on it’s way to growing out, it’s just the way her hair, well is growing out.  Possibly one of the reasons she’s mistaken for a boy frequently.

The chickens are as curious about her as she is of them.  But everyone’s on their best behavior so far.  No pecking or feather pulling have occurred.

I just love everything about her.  The birth mark on her forehead that reminds me of Australia, those lovely long eyelashes framing her deep brown eyes, the way she smells like “outside” after only a few minutes.  But heck, so do I.  Even the little skinned place beside her nose where her fingernails got her.

Oh, and I mustn’t forget  her two brand spanking new pearly whites.

In Memory of My Dad #36–relatives

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I’m so glad to have discovered a story from my dad to share with you today.  Months ago, my sister sent via her husband, a large canvas box filled with Tahlequah Times Journal newspapers from the years my dad worked there.  I thought I had shared all the ”stories” and was left with sports articles of how the Tulsa Hurricane Little Leaguers won the Championship or Arnold Palmer’s hole-in-one.  But today, I uncovered some more commentaries.  This one was written on Sept. 14, 1996 by my dad Bob Briggs.  I miss him dearly.  I wish he were here with me this morning, stoking the fire, listening to some classic rock, drinking coffee on this frosty December morning as we look forward to little Miss Emma Kate to arrive in  six short weeks (give or take a day or two).  He would’ve liked this day.

She was always a heroine of mine.  I admired her from day one when we were attending a small country school there at Briggs, Oklahoma.  We walked the long miles to school together and talked of many things, of the many dreams that two country kids knew the outside world held for them.

She, being a couple of years older than me, always took my part when I got into a skirmish with the older boys.  You know how kids on kids are?  That’s the roughest kind of play there is and the girl was also a pretty good rough and tumble fighter herself.

She never had much time or even the chance to be a child herself.  Her mom worked at many menial jobs trying to hold her small family together after the girl’s father left.  She was regulated to the task of caring for her younger sisters and brothers—so there went her childhood.

Then, one day, the girl was gone from the small house on the south side of town where she had lived with her siblings and hard-working mother.

She had married a young man and moved out of state.  She was 16—so there went her teenage years.

When she could have been readying herself for the prom and having fun with her friends, she was busy having children of her own and keeping house for the man she chose to be her lifelong mate.

I don’t recall seeing the girl smile much as a child.  There weren’t many occasions for her to smile in later years either.  The man she married, though a boy himself, drank to excess and was generous to a fault.  But I’ll say this for him, he never missed a day’s work.

The three children she and her husband produced, grew into teenagers and faced the typical teen problems of today, but she went the extra mile to see the kids were raised up with Christian values.

I guess I was always proud of the girl that became a woman more out of necessity than the process of growing.  She went back to school and earned her diploma and learned to drive a car after she was married.  She worked for a newspaper in west Texas and stuck with her husband until he quit the whiskey.  And mightily fought the drug demons along with her son.

Now she and her husband have a house full of grandchildren and three well-adjusted children.  And when she should be kicking back and enjoying the fruits of their labor, she is girding her loins for a battle the doctors have no name for.  She’s been religious most of her life and I hope it carries her through these trying times.

I’m writing this on her birthday so she’ll know that my love and prayers go with her.  Happy Birthday, sis.  May you have many more years of happiness.

****************************

Speaking of relatives, my brother surprised me a couple of weeks ago by inviting me to his place for a T-bone dinner.

Being the type that haunts fast food places and convenience stores I readily accepted.

He put the potatoes on to slow bake and the corn-on-the-cob went into a large pot on the stove.  Then he peeled the lid from a bottle of Jim Beam and we retreated to the patio where the coals were just beginning to turn a nice shade of grey and plopped two inch-high steaks on the grill.

The hour we waited for the steaks turned into three and we talked of new cars and old friends.  Relatives make good fodder for conversation when you’re in the process of getting into the cups and non of ours (except unknown grandfathers and our three sisters, who are saints) escaped unscathed.

Cousins, uncles, aunts and brothers-in-law all were praised or caught hell with equal zeal and fervor as the levels dropped steadily on the bottle.

About mid-night, I was treated to one of the finest charcoaled steaks I’ve ever laid into.  My brother rummaged through his lower cabinets until he found a long forgotten six-pack of Busch and we talked on and on till the early morning.

My brother became so adament on one point of the conversation, he said, “That’s the truth, brother, and if it ain’t, I hope that moon up there comes flying through the air and crashes into the earth.”

Later on we slept.

I was awakened by the pattering of rain of a passing storm.   My brother slept peacefully in his chair as Sissy, his chowdog, slept at his feet.  I looked through the branches of the huge evergreen that graces his bakyard and saw the low flying rainclouds as they made their way toward Adair County.  The clouds broke a little and there was that moon—-that sucker hadn’t moved a bit.

 

 

The Whisperings of God

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Each morning I take a 30 minute walk.  Except when it’s raining; which is never.  During that time of awakening my bones and joints, I lift my eyes up and talk to God and He oftentimes awakens my spirit.  Some mornings, it’s just me talking to the wind and the sky, but once in a blue moon, I hear him whisper back to me.  It might  just be in the sunrise or the birds singing, but I hear it just the same and a deep calm covers me.  It’s the only way I make it through this world somedays.

On Tuesday during our visit, I was a bit whiney.  I was focused on the dry conditions and asking for rain.  And in my desperate spirit I told him I felt like he’d forgotten about us.  Was he listening?  Did he care? 

He didn’t respond.

Yet.

But afterwards during my morning facebook ritual, I read a post by my friend Chantelle.  And although it was her typing the words, and although the words came from Restoration Place Ministries Word, it was HIM speaking to me.  And this is what he said.

I Am restoring the things that were assigned to your hands by Me. I call forth destiny over you. The things that seemed to be delayed are now ready to be released. There have been moments when you felt downcast, you thought that I had passed you by. Look up into My eyes today & be refreshed. Look & see the provisions. Look & see the outcome; I will triumph in you. You will see great victory for this battle belongs to Me. I own it; it is Mine.

Reading that, it could apply to a million different scenarios that you might be facing.  But to me, it spoke RAIN.  It spoke showers of blessings.  I said “Thank You Lord.  You haven’t forgotten about us.” 

That evening, JDub and I drove over to a neighboring town for some business and supper.  During supper, my mom called to tell me that it was pouring rain.  The power was out.  The rain was coming down in sheets.  The wind was howling.  Sure enough, facebook was exploding with pictures from the townfolk of the rain, the winds, rushing water down the streets, and children playing in the gutters afterwards.  It was awesome. 

Although we missed the storm, we certainly saw its aftermath.  It was a storm, I tell you.  Out here at our place, a tree had fallen over into the barbed wire fence, my lawn furniture was a tangled mess blown across the yard, and  my niece’s little playhouse was in about 20 pieces strewn across the pasture.  When we moved here, there was a little structure left that appeared to be built for a child’s fort.  My nieces took to it, hammering it, painting, it, decorating it.  But it is no longer.  Ash doesn’t seem to be too upset about it, which is good.  She is the optimistic one who says maybe we can build a new one.

We received 8 tenths of an inch according to our raingauge, but other places reported an inch to an inch and a half.  And now this morning, as I sit in my dark living room typing, I hear the thunder rolling, I see lightening flashing, and raindrops are hitting the rooftops and windows.  The things that seemed to be delayed are now ready to be released.  Praise be to the Restorer!  God’s promises remain.  And I’m standing on them.

Have a beautiful day wherever you are.  Look for your blessings and you’ll find them.

Love,

Angel

Update on life

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I know. I know. I know.  I’ve been bad about blogging.  It’s just that I’ve felt quiet lately.  I wonder if you can relate.  Sometimes you just don’t have much to say, until you don’t say much for too long, then you have way too much to say.  This originally short post  turned into a novel.  Sorry and thanks for bearing through. 

I dearly appreciate all of you who click over here to see what is going on in my boring little world and tell me what is going on in yours.  And the truth is I miss you. 

Here’s a recap of my life:

VACATION!!
J-Dub and I just returned from a relaxing few days in the Rocky Mountains.  The Texas Panhandle Drought of 2011 had just about beaten both of us down to a nub and we desperately needed a break. 

When we got married, we agreed that each summer we would take a vacation to a new place.  Because of money issues, we’ve tried to take a more expensive vacation every other year, and take a quick, less expensive vacation on the opposite years.  Recently, our summers have just been quick, less expensive get-aways and we almost let this summer slip past us altogether.  But we scrimped and searched, and dug under couch cushions for a few nickels and dimes and were able to have one of the most enjoyable vacations yet. 

We drove up to a place called Winter Park, Colorado.  It’s a big ski resort town in the winter, but we were looking for a cool (weather-wise) hide out and it delivered.  The drive was beautiful.  We avoided the Interstate and took the back roads.  If you’re not in a hurry, it makes the drive so much more pleasant.  We stopped for lunch and homemade pie up around Castle Rock, and I got goose bumps in the restaurant, the first of several during the weekend.  The higher we ascended in altitude, the higher our spirits seemed to lift.  The mountains were majestic, the air was fresh, the temps were comfortable, the views were breathtaking, the flowers and the colors were astonishing, the rushing streams and rivers were exhilarating.  

We ate delicious food, we hiked mountain trails, we dipped our hands in ice-cold streams, we communed with nature, and we even caught a free rock concert with Warrant and Skid Row, which  left me convinced that I don’t wish to watch another rock concert as long as I live.  J-Dub and I got more entertainment from the aged crowds reveling in their youth than we did the aged band members.  Some hoisted their small children on their shoulders and taught them how to fist pump to the beat.  But hey, to each his own.  Although it was a free concert, J-Dub and I scored V.I.P. tickets, which basically gave us two free drinks and special seating.  I owe it all to the Bob Ross  t-shirt I was wearing.  While everyone else was sporting leather and black, and skimpy t-shirts tied under their bosoms, I accidentally threw on my happy accidents that my buddy Erin gave me. 

 

When people see Bob, they know we come in peace, which in turn opens doors and happy things occur, like V.I.P. tickets at an already free concert :)

Our time away was much too short, but I am feeling so re-energized now.  I even turned on the water sprinkler this morning in a feeble attempt to add some color to my world here on this dry, dusty pasture.  Although J-Dub and I originally wanted to visit a new place each summer, we may just make Colorado an annual event.  What a beautiful place God spoke into existence. 

EGGS!!
While we were away on vacation, I left the chickens in charge.  They managed everything quite nicely.  I did receive a phone call from my sweet niece Ash, informing me that they were passing through so they decided to stop and check on things.  They also found three eggs. For awhile, the dear chick that had first laid her eggs, took a little hiatus after I covered up the feeder and she couldn’t nest in there any more to lay her eggs.  But then, some little niece got a bright idea to put a different bucket of feed in the henhouse, and so she began to lay again in the new bucket of feed.  This morning when I checked there were two more eggs, one in the feeder, and one in a nesting box.  Imagine my surprise to find an egg actually in a nesting box.  Then as I was moving my water sprinkler, I found 2 more eggs in a flower-pot outside!  Soon I hope to have eggs running out of my ears.  Well, not literally, but you understand I hope.  There’s no telling where I might stumble upon eggs.  It’s a good thing I learned to walk gingerly back when the snakes were causing me to pee down both legs.

PREGNANCY!!
For those who may have missed my previous post, I am really and truly, positively, absolutely, undeniably pregnant.  And doing just fine considering.  Each morning, I thank God for my health and ask Him for a healthy baby.  My biggest complaint would be exhaustion, but that is subsiding some and I may even be confusing a little bit of it for just sheer laziness.  Thank you all for the well wishes, the prayers, and the congratulations.   My sister has already bought me a package of newborn diapers.  I turned the package over and over, wondering if I should open them.  Because, as much as I know that everything is going to be just fine, there is still a deep seeded fear of the “what if’s”.  But I succumbed and I tore open the dashed perforation, and I pulled out a little diaper.  I sat amazed at the tiny size of it, and I imagined a itty bitty little baby butt fitting inside.  Whether it has boy parts or girl parts is yet to be determined.  And then I did what most moms would do.  I put that diaper to my nose, shut my eyes, and breathed in the sweet smell of a baby.  It was a sweet moment.  And a rare one I’m sure.  Soon enough, the smell of diapers will permeate this home in a most unpleasant way.  The diaper is on my bedside table still, but the powdery fresh baby smell has all but disappeared.  I know because I checked this morning.  

I’ve decided it’s all going to be okay.  I’m slowly growing into this whole motherhood thing.  In more ways than one.

I hope life is treating you kind.  Leave me a comment and tell me about it.  I’ve missed you!

Summertime and the Living is Easy

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School’s out for summer!

Sing it Alice, sing it.

Just in case you’re wondering, that’s not me on the last day of school.  That’s Alice Cooper, but even I admit the resemblance is uncanny.

Today I woke up and literally jumped for joy.  My beloved husband said, “Does this mean you’re going to be in a good mood every day this summer?” 

“Yes, Yes it does.”

(looking towards the heavens)  “Thank you Jesus.”

My moods have been less than good lately.  And summertime is just what the doctor ordered.   I enjoy my job.  I enjoy my students.  I also enjoy my time off. 
Plans for my summer consist of a whole lot of nothing.  My dad used to say in reference to his retired life, “Everyday’s a Saturday.”  Agreed, that is what my summer should be.  I’m not a vacationer.  I don’t care to travel.  I hate to fly, and that big old world out there holds no intrigue for me.  I’m a homebody, happy to sit in the yard and listen to the chickens cluck.  They’re beginning to cluck now.  They no longer peep.  Their sounds are lovely, lovely to my ears.

During Summer two thousand eleven:

I’m going to work on my writing and my figure.
I’m going to start and complete household projects.
I’m going to cook supper at least four times a week.
I’m going to spend time with my niece.
I’m going to buy a pool.
I’m going to pray and draw closer to God.
I’m going to relish each day.

I leave you with a favorite quote of mine. I’ve posted it before but it’s double post worthy.
“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of water or watching the clouds float across the sky is by no means a waste of time.” Unknown

Happy summer friends.

Wide Load

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Easter Sunday when I posted this on my blog I was trying to be funny.

 Today, there is nothing funny about it. 

My butt hurts.  It’s the truth. 

Ashy and I decided to go for a bike ride yesterday.  A pleasant country bike ride on dirt roads next to green pastures. 

We headed south atop our cheap Walmart bikes, rode to the first county road that runs east and west, and took a left turn. 

Being married to J-Dub, he has taught me a couple of things.  One of which being,  there is a mile between each county road.  I hadn’t been out more than a mile down the road my house sits on and we were up for an adventure to see what lay beyond the mile marker.

So we pedaled east on an extremely rocky road for about a mile, took a right, and began pedaling down a tiny dirt road with nothing but cows on the left and oil equipment on the right.  I turned on my IPod and we sang Sugarland and Rod Stewart at the top of our lungs.  We saw a fearful coyote running from our melodies, cows curiously eyeballing us, quail skittering across the road, the green of wheat fields gently blowing.  Life was good.  But the road was long.  My sitting bones began to ache.  I hadn’t ridden a bike in, hmmm, let’s say, 3 years.  After riding the lengths of a couple of county roads, I cursed sitting on that tiny little pointy bicycle seat when what I really needed was a tractor seat. Plus a yellow banner across my backside screaming WIDE LOAD in black lettering. 

But what do you do when you’re a long way from your home and your house is no longer a speck on the horizon?  Do you turn around or continue on in hopes of a road soon?  We continued on, enjoying our afternoon and ignoring the pain.

Finally high wires and electrical poles came into view and I knew we were nearing another road running perpendicular.  Sure enough, the next road appeared.  We took a right turn to head back west.  Then Ashlynn needed to pee.  After a pit stop in the bar ditch, we walked our bikes a while on wobbly legs and sore keisters, gathering a couple of pretty rocks on the way.   Time was crawling by and we decided it would be faster to get back on and ride, to push through the pain like real athletes.  Then Ashy began developing a blister on her thumb from holding the handlebar and being jostled through dirt roads.  The  sun burned down on our necks, the wind gave us a bit of resistance, but the IPod was on shuffle, so we kept singing and kept on riding.

An eternity later we came to our road, made a right turn heading back to the south, completing a four mile square.  But before we made it home, first Ashy had to stop and pick some cotton from another barditch. 

With bulging pocket of rocks and cotton, our little trailer house on the prairie greeted 2 tired, sore, hot and thirsty wanderers as we crept up the lane.

It took us way over an hour and a half to ride 4 miles.  On a good day, if I book it, I  can walk faster than that.  It just didn’t make any sense to me.  Even with dirt roads, and stopping for walking, peeing, and picking rocks and cotton, it shouldn’t have taken us that long to ride a bike four miles.   So I hopped in my car today to measure the distance.  J-Dub hopped in with me.  Come to find out, on two of the roads, they didn’t have intersecting roads every mile, instead it was every two miles.  So our 4 mile ride that I thought we’d taken ended up really being close to 7 miles.  And boy let me tell you, my tail bones can account for  every inch of it today. 

But even with the soreness, yesterday held one of the most enjoyable afternoons I had spent in a very long time. 

The simplicity of sunshine, songs, and sweat does a body good. 

And a soul.

Good Friday? Yes, yes it was.

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1:  day off

14:  chickens that run to meet me

12:   Blue Spruce’s to plant in honor of Earth Day

50:  pages read in a book

35:  minutes spent napping

15:  dollars spent on barbecue take-out

4:  laps taken around a pasture on a bicycle

5:  big spoonfuls of Blue Bell’s Great Divide Ice Cream

7:  houseplants watered

1: set of sheets laundered and fresh on the bed waiting

13: pictures finally hung on the walls

2:  days until Easter

Eternity:  to spend with a Savior who died for me.

Tuesday Night

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The evening is breezy and mild. I’m sitting in my front yard in one of those vintage iron chairs as I type this. The birds are perched in the tree and on the high wires singing me a melody.  The cows are grazing in the next pasture.  The horses are munching alfalfa, and chickens are pecking in their pen.  Occasionally the hawk soars overhead, keeping me on my toes.  Dang that chicken hawk.  The dogs lay at my feet.  Occasionally they tussle.  When Drew Miller’s adrenaline rises, I catch a hint of skunk smell waft my direction.  I guess he did get sprayed after all.  The sky is clouding up, teasing us with rain.  Makes me feel like a teenage boy sitting next to a girl in a low-cut blouse.  Life is good.  The only thing missing is a creaky wooden screen door banging closed and a wide porch.  Maybe even a glass of sweet tea.

I’ve taken to wearing an aunt Jemima scarf on my head out here.  Or as the cool kids would say,  a do-rag.  The wind does blow and whips my hair about.

I sit here and contemplate my garden.  Today I took full advantage of 2nd grade science curriculum and had my second graders help me start my indoor seeds.  It might be considered child labor.  I call it learning the life cycle and parts of plants.  We planted tomatoes, peppers, green beans, okra, squash, and radishes.  I don’t even like radishes that much, but they’re easy to grow.  I got some seeds planted and children had a good time learning.  Can’t beat it.  I want my garden in my front yard.  J-Dub says, “who puts a garden in the front yard?”  I do, that’s who.  I’m going to attempt a companion garden with vegetables and flowers.  I’m going to walk up my path and pop a cherry tomato in my mouth as I pick a bouquet on the way to the front door.  My no dig garden didn’t get finished.  I started with such gusto, only to find the cardboard blown up against the fences in a couple of days.  Oh the toil I wasted. 

I long for care-free summer days, fresh garden veggies, and tan legs.

I glance up to see dust billowing on the road.  The dogs’ ears perk up at the bellowing diesel of my husband’s truck. They run to the gate to meet him.  Dogs are such great friends.  Always glad to see you.

Nothing’s ready for supper.  Do you think he’ll be mad? 

First thing I notice when he steps out of his truck are his boots are red.  Initially, I think he’s gotten new boots, but no.  It’s his old boots, they are covered with red dirt from Oklahoma where he was working today.

I’ve got a hard-working husband, a little home, a lot of love, and wonderful people in my life.

And yet sometimes, I allow myself to cater to self-pity.  What a shame I should ever feel mistreated.

I’m blessed.

Well, the sun has moved and I’m in the shade now.   The breeze is cool and I must warm some leftovers for supper.

Until tomorrow, friends.

May God Bless you richly.

Things and Stuff

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A few years ago, I went to a training by a lady named Ruby Payne.  She is reportedly an expert in studying the poor class and gives insight to understanding  poverty.  When I first took this class I was a fairly new teacher and I remember being fascinated by what I learned.  I wanted to share it, so I excitedly told my dad I had been to this great training, and had learned this fabulous stuff from an expert in poverty.  His response was, “You’re pretty much an expert in poverty too, ain’t ya?”   He’d lived it himself, and really didn’t care what she had to say.

In Ruby Payne’s book, she has a short test to take.  You check things off that you can do, for example, open a checking account, order from a French menu, bail someone out of jail.  Then you tally up your checkmarks, and you discover which social class you could survive in:  poverty, middle class, or wealthy.   

Among the items I checked that I was able to do was “move in half a day.”

I must confess, I could no longer check that one.  Back when I took the test, I practically owned nothing.   I was a single gal, living in a one bedroom house and had to hang my clothes on a line to dry.  It would’ve been easy with a few friends and a couple truckloads to get all my possessions out of one house and into another in a very short amount of time. 

Not now.

We started the moving process five weeks ago.  A matter of fact, I was in the throes of packing my kitchen cabinets the day I received the phone call telling me my dad had died.  Boxes of plates and dishes sat abandoned for a week while we dealt with the stuff one must deal with to bury a loved one.  When we returned from Oklahoma, I resumed life and work, and the following week we began moving.  There are still boxes to unpack at my new house, boxes to load at my old house, and dumpsters to fill down my alley.

Today I had a garage sale.  I have too much stuff.  Don’t we all?  Aren’t we just a bunch of spoiled rotten Americans? 

Here’s a little trivia to gnaw on.

The average size American home in 1950 was 983 square feet compared to  2,349 square feet in 2006.  Interesting?   Yes, I think so.

My garage sale turned out pretty good for me, but I had some tough decisions to make while preparing for it.  Should it stay or should it go?  After all, we have moved to a smaller home with practically no storage at all.  So I had to say good-bye to some old “friends”.

It seems that I get sentimentally attached to my stuff.  I had a little pink tea set that my oldest brother bought me probably 12 years ago.  I’ve held onto it because it’s one of the few things I’ve received from him.  But as I was sorting through my crap and dealing with the mental banter of keep it, sell it, keep it, sell it, keep it, sell it; these thoughts occurred to me:  1) My brother doesn’t remember giving this to me.  2) He didn’t even purchase it himself  3) He gave my sister or my mom  20 bucks in an airport once and said “Buy Angel something.”  4) It was probably the only thing in the airport gift shop under 20 bucks 5) Look how dusty it is, it’s just something else to clean.

Those thoughts made my decision much easier. I put it in the garage sale,  but I didn’t sell it.  Actually I gave it away to my realtor aunt who dropped by to put a for sale sign in the yard.  She said when she got home she would put my name on the bottom of it so I could have it back someday!!

AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!

I hope she at least dusts it first.

Freedom

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We have a pet chicken.

We call her Freedom.  She wants out of the box in the worst way imaginable.

She’s the only one who discovered how to fly to the edge of the box.  Since then we taped up the sides.  She appears to be a Barred Plymouth Rock with a long stripe down her head.  She is only one of 3 that we can differentiate between.  They all look the same.

Freedom dreams of wide open spaces.  When she lays her little chicken head down and closes her little chicken eyes she dreams of eating grubs in the garden not hanging out in a cardboard box.  The brown cardboard walls are closing in and driving her chicken crazy.

She is not content in this box with these other peeps.  There’s a whole world out there waiting to be discovered and she knows it deep down in her little chicken heart.  She’s destined for greater things. 

When you lay your hand palm up in the box, all the other chicks scatter, but not Freedom.  She hops in ready for a ride out of that place.

She’s curious, friendly and bold.   

But manners?  She has none.  How does she expect to get far in life with antics like this?

She has so much to learn.