Fear Mongering…

This afternoon, hubby and I had a conversation about fear.   I had mentioned that everywhere I looked and everything I read had an element of fear.   There is no one area of life that is not covered in fear.

Fear of health situations.   Fear of wearing masks for fear of catching disease, fear of not wearing masks for fear of catching a virus.

Fear to state your opinions because they do not line up with what others are saying.  Fear of not saying what’s on your mind for fear you are not living according to your beliefs.

Fear that the wrong person will win the election, fear that the right person will win.  Fear that our country is going to hell in a hand basket.   Fear that freedoms are being stripped away.  Fear that our way of life will disappear.   Fear that we can’t do anything about it.

Fear of kids going back to school.  Fear that they won’t go back to school.   Fear that if they go back to school awful things are going to affect their health.

Fear.   A four letter word.   Another ‘F’ word  that should not be used as much as it is.

This evening I went to the store.   As I pulled out of my driveway I realized it was the first time in months and months that I actually was driving in the evening.  Also a first in a while was driving in the rain.   I had a momentary and fleeting feeling of fear.   What if it started to rain so hard I didn’t see a deer?  The what ifs were short lived and I had a pleasant drive to the store.

On the way home, I looked in the sky, it was still just twilight.  Part of the heavens were black and filled with stormy clouds, another part was bright blue with white thunderheads.  Streaming down through the clouds was a rainbow.  A bright one that filtered through the white clouds behind it.

I looked at the rainbow and smiled.  I actually said out loud, “You do great work, God.”  I went on to tell Him how much I loved His artistry.   And then I started to remember verses from the Bible and quotes I have often heard.  It was a wonderful drive home.

Genesis 9:13 in the New Living Translation says: ” I have placed my rainbow in the clouds. It is the sign of my covenant with you and with all the earth.  God promised never to destroy all life with a flood.  I think of this each time I see a rainbow. ” 

In 1933 FDR said in his inaugural address, “We have nothing to fear, but fear itself”.

2 Timothy 1:7 in the New King James Version says,  For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” 

John 14:27 in the New Living Translation says, I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.

All of these echoed what hubby and I talked about today.   We can look at circumstances and situations and world events and live in fear or I can choose to look to God, and live in peace.    Today I have chosen to live in peace, knowing that nothing is going to change if I live in fear.   Fear will cripple me, harm me, cause me to withdraw and not see the beauty around me.  Fear will hold me prisoner and there I will not have the freedom to live, to be me.  So, while the world and our media blares fear in deafening tones, I will strive to quiet myself and see that even in storm clouds a rainbow can be seen.

Thanks for stopping by.   Cathi (DAF)

 

 

 

 

 

Wedding Cake Topper…

Growing up, my Mother’s bottom drawer of her dresser held a treasure trove of mementos for my sisters and I to explore.   Inside that drawer were photos, her wedding shoes (satin shoes), and her wedding cake topper.   She had these sugar bells that had once graced her wedding cake.   I loved those.  So, when I married, to honor her, I had bells at the top of my wedding cake.

I love my cake topper.  There are satin and sugar bells with some tulle at the top.   Glued to the main bell are two little hearts.   Perfect for me.   This cake topper has always held a place on my dresser as a reminder of that day.   Unfortunately, I never got anything to place this topper in and so it has been standing in the air, collecting dust  through these almost 46 years.

During this quarantine time, hubby and I have been redoing our master bedroom. It has been an extended project, taking much longer than either of us expected and truth be told, we wanted.   We moved everything out of our room, and since then, we have furniture and usual dresser top things strewn throughout our house.   We have taken up residence in our guest room and that looks like the most disrespectful guests have been there, with our normal bedroom things cramped into a smaller room.   Our master bedroom gets put back together this week and for that I am doing a major happy dance.

This morning as I was walking through our dining room, I glanced down at our dresser items placed in neat piles at one end of our dining room table.  Sitting there, in a place of prominence, is our cake topper.  It was like the first time I actually looked at it in a very long time.  wp-1595081206044.jpg

I almost did not share a picture of it, it looks so beaten up, but in order to make my point, you had to see this photo.

This poor cake topper has been everywhere with us.  It was not put into anything that would protect it.  It has been through each move with us.   Wrapped countless times and countless ways, shoved into boxes and shipped all over the world.  When it has reached its destination, it is unpacked, unwrapped and mindlessly placed back on top of my dresser.

45 and one half years ago today this cake topper was new and white and lovely as it sat upon our cake.  We had just said the words, “For better, for worse, for richer for poorer, to love, honor and obey, in sickness and in health, til death do us part.”   At the time those were just words to make it official.   We didn’t have a clue.  We, too, were new and white and lovely.

Since that time, we too, have been exposed to the elements.  We have been wrapped and unwrapped and moved around the world.   We have seen colds and flu and viruses, and cancer, broken bones, broken hearts, fears and doubts and everything in between.  We have experienced life.

Today as I looked at my poor little cake topper, I realized that my initial thought to finally get rid of it was wrong. This ugly thing still needs a place of honor because it truly does reflect what our life together has been like.  Chipped, broken, a bit worn and some residue along the edges, but, if you look close enough, you still see the two hearts glued together in the very center of it.

Thanks for stopping by today,  Cathi (DAF)

 

Fear and the Written Word…

Yesterday I commented on a blog that if the writer had found my writing mojo, please send it back to me.  I said it half in jest, half in truth.   Some may say I have had writer’s block, but, I think in truth I have just not written much out of fear.

The beginning of the month saw me take a huge step in submitting a couple of pieces of work for consideration for an online magazine.  Years ago, I would submit pieces without a second’s thought.  It was part of who I was and what I did.   Somewhere along the way, I stopped.  It wasn’t out of discouragement, as I thought with each rejection at least someone had read my words.   That in itself was a plus for me.   I think it was a healthy attitude, and I still do think it’s a great response for rejection of submissions.

There are many reasons I can rattle off for ceasing to submit pieces,  life got in the way, I started something else, I didn’t think it was worth the time, I got lazy, I rethought my priorities.    All of these could neatly fit into the reason I stopped.

But, personally, and if I am honest, fear is the reason I stopped.  Fear of inadequacy of saying what my heart is feeling and fear that it won’t resonate.   I do this with my blog and with my book.

Each Sunday, I silently pray during church services for strength and courage to write.   I pray about it daily, but somehow it’s those quiet prayers during service that speak to me.   Each Sunday I feel the prompting to just do it.   I leave confident and raring to go.  I get home and look at my laptop and freeze.

I was proud of myself for being obedient  and stepping out and submitting my works.   Yesterday I was supposed to hear if they were accepted.   I anxiously checked my email several times, hoping, but not expecting to hear anything.   I did not.  Am I discouraged?  Should I be?   That answer comes quickly, NO.   I know I did what I felt I needed to.

But, in thinking of this, I realized that my lack of writing mojo is fear of my written word.  It defines me, as what is written comes from deep within me.   So, yes, I have a fear of the written word, it is a reflection of me.  I have many wonderful people who read my words and encourage me, more than I could mention here.  I could not write without their encouragement and love.   This is a personal threat to me.  I put the phrase on my blog, “Ramblings from a would be writer”.     I think that needs to change.   I need to reflect what I write with how I see myself.  I need to see that brick wall of fear and either scale it or blow it to pieces, but, most of all I need it to be gone and get on with it.   Right?   So, once more, thanks for going through this with me.  Do you have a brick wall of fear in front of you?  How are you going to make it disappear?   I’d like to hear your thoughts.  And yes, I will change that little sentence to read, “Ramblings from a writer.” I will also remember that words on a laptop can easily disappear thanks to that little backspace key… so much easier than white out from the old days!

Thanks for stopping by today.   Cathi (DAF)

Leaving a Trace…

When we moved into this upstate area five years ago, hubby and I noticed quickly the old farmhouses dotting the landscape.  One caught my eye almost immediately.  It looked like it had been a well loved home and I often mentioned that I wish I could hear the stories the walls could tell.

The house screamed that it had been filled with many family moments.   The porch looked like it was a lovely place to sit, rock and talk away the hours.   The back yard looked like a haven for children to run, play, scream and cause parents concern at their antics.   I often thought of how the inside looked, and could imagine family meals, holiday celebrations, birthday celebrations full of laughter and noise and chaos.   The exterior looked worn, and tired.

Each time driving past the house I would think the same thoughts.  That is, until the one morning I drove past the house and it was gone.    It wasn’t being torn down, it hadn’t caught fire, it was gone.  Not a stick of it remained.   There was no trace of a basement or foundation.  There was the driveway and the mailbox and nothing else.   At first, I thought I was looking in the wrong place, but no, I wasn’t.

It still remains a mystery to me as whatever happened to that house.  I figured it was moved, but it must have been a quick move since the house was a large farmhouse.  The house disappeared a couple years ago and I still think of it.  I am hoping it is in a wonderful new place with a fresh coat of paint and filled again with a loving family.

Today, as I headed into town, I noticed a farm truck  pulled off by where the house once stood.  I glanced over and noticed the area is now almost fully covered by farm.  The driveway looks like a foot path that is hardly used.  If I hadn’t known a house had been there, I would think it was just part of the farm land.

As I drove on, thinking how there was almost no trace of the house, the thought occurred to me, what kind of trace will be visible after I am no longer here.  Yes, I know that is sort of morbid, but I found it interesting and also challenging for me.   In order to leave a trace when I am gone means I must make a difference now.  I came to no real conclusions, but, something has been provoked in me to think of the trace I desire to leave.

That’s it for today…  thanks for stopping by, Cathi (DAF)

A Reminder…

After my last post, I truly thought about closing my blog.  I did some soul searching and left several groups that I was a part of, but didn’t participate in.   I looked at my friends list and did a serious look at them.   I basically did a mid year mind search and seriously looked at where I was, how I was feeling and what I was doing.   Sort of a personal spring cleaning. 

During a conversation with another blogger it occurred to me that although writing and blogging is cathartic, it does not always fully express the whole situation.  

As I wrote about growing up, I thought of my sisters, and their point of view.  Although the three of us grew up in the same house, with the same parent and the same circumstances, their view is different from mine. 

The book reports we were forced to do while in school?  Everyone reading the same book, answering the same questions?  I always thought that it would be so boring for that poor English teacher to read the same thing over and over.   Although the basic principle of the book is there, how it is interpreted is different in each individual.   

The same is true with social media.  We all read the written word.  We each draw our own conclusion of what we read.  But, is it accurate of what is written?  Not necessarily. We each read with a different tone in our mind and that depends on our mood at that time.   I could write, That child is a mess.    What do I mean by that?  That the child is in need of a bath?   That the child is in need of medical intervention?  That the child is in need of psychiatric help?  Or, that child is so much fun they make me laugh and smile?   

Yes, taking things in context  is very important and it would depend on what was written before and after the statement, but the point I am trying to make is that an opinion can be made very easily upon interpretation of the reader.  That interpretation may not be how the writer is thinking, but because writers are limited by their ability, the full emotion and history of a thought is not translated to the written word. 

This past week I have read several comments and thoughts and it truly has worn me out.  I am surprised and grieved at the amount of angst in the words.   Some of these words may have been written without the angst, and yet they have been interpreted far from how the writer was feeling. 

Words on a page are one dimensional. They are not three dimensional.  Because of that, we do not see the sides or the back of the words.  We just see them.  The same is true of how we see the writers.  We see them like we see the words, one dimensional.  No life.  We then make a judgement on the person as a whole, and to me, that is wrong.  I know I have been guilty of this.  I fail to see the person as a whole. We do not know what prompted the person to write.  We do not see the struggle they may have just gone through.  We do not know what is going on behind the screen, so to speak.  

I guess what I am saying is that we need to see people as a whole person.  The words they wrote may not have the tone to them that we are placing on them.  I challenged myself this week to read, think, and reread before I play judge and jury.  I write this for me, if it speaks positively to you, then I will feel like I have successfully written what I had intended.  I truly dread if it is misinterpreted as many saw my last post. 

People who write blogs do so because they feel a need to.  Often times it is a release of thoughts.  Sometimes it is for therapy and a single way to liberate the parade of feelings trapped inside.   For others, it is merely a stepping stone to hone skills to write a manuscript.  Personally, I fit all of the above, and the fact that I find I am more articulate while writing than I am in talking.  I once received a card from a friend that said, I am so much more interesting on my blog.   It was one of my favorite all time cards. 

I know this week has been an interesting one for so many reasons.  I realize emotions are hot and close to the surface, let’s take time to take a deep breath,  read and reread before posting a comment just to make a comment.  I know I am approaching my social media timidly and infrequently.  

A scripture that has both encouraged me and challenged me this week is Proverbs 15:1, NLT  A gentle answer deflects anger, but harsh words make tempers flare”     Unfortunately this is not the first time that I have been challenged by this verse, hopefully it will be one of the last times it will present one.  

Cathi (DAF)

 

 

 

ALL Lives Matter…

It is early in the morning hours on June 3rd.   Yesterday all social media was flooded by black.   I really had no idea of it, I may be sheltered, or I may just hadn’t seen anything about it.   In any case, I did not participate.   Why?   Because, to me every life on this planet matters.  

I was blessed to be born in a country where all men are created equal.  This country was founded on those principals.   Do we follow them?  No.   SHOULD we follow them?  Yes.  The Declaration of Independence says, ” We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. ”   This is for all people.  This country was born of struggle and the pursuit of freedom.  

Yesterday, after seeing post after post after post of people pontificating, I wrote three words that are the title to this post.   I knew as I wrote them that I could be crossing that imaginary line that has somehow become very blatant in this country.  But, to me, what I said mattered.  How I felt mattered.  I had read things being said about our country during this time.  I read about our leadership being rallied against, both domestically and abroad.  I finally decided enough was enough.  I posted my choice for the upcoming election and told everyone that they were free to unfriend me because of that choice.   I did this for a few reasons, but, mainly because I needed to take a stand and draw a line for me. 

I caught flak for the statement I made on someone’s black post.  I was told my comprehension skills were lacking.  I couldn’t possibly understand.   That I was living in white privilege.  That in this case, I was wrong.   To the people who know me, you know that I love people.  I do not see color when looking at anyone.  Most of the time I cannot even tell you what color of eyes people have.  I notice people’s demeanor, their smile, their attitude.  Those are what I notice in people. That is just me.  

Do I agree with what has gone on in my country the past week?  Absolutely not.  It was a horrendous crime that needs to be punished.  Do I agree with protest?  Yes.  Do I agree with violence and looting and aggressive behavior?  That, to me, is the same as the original crime, it needs to be punished. 

Now, to the young woman who chastised me online for saying three words…  All lives matter, let me please defend myself, after having time to think this through.   Yes, I am white.   Very white since I have Irish and Scottish blood running through my veins, I don’t ever tan, but that is besides the point.   I grew up in a not so wealthy family,  some may say poor,  no, we didn’t have a lot of money.  My sisters and I had just enough clothes to be presentable.  We lived in a house that should have been condemned years before it actually was.  My mother died when I was 11.  My father, wasn’t always conscious of how to raise three girls, but, he did the best he was able.     So,  young woman, no, I did not have white privilege growing up.  

Continuing, young woman, I did not go to college, not for not wanting it, but, it was not encouraged and I was too intimidated to try.  Fortunately, I met the love of my life and we married young and moved away from your mother’s hometown.   We moved because he was in the Navy.  So, I did not have the ease of being able to be with family like you have the ability.  

We moved to the south, young lady,  a big change from northwestern Pennsylvania.  I attempted to find a job since young Navy families do not get paid well.  I had been trained working at the hospital, the one you were probably born in.  A wonderful facility that was well known in the area.  I was good at my job and proud of the work I did.  When I moved south I could not find a job.  I believe it is called discrimination.   A term you thought I wasn’t familiar with.  I saw many, many applications unceremoniously placed into the ’round file cabinet’,   the trash.    When I finally did get a job I was referred to by my boss and the management as ‘that damn yankee mick’.  I did not hear my name spoken the entire time I worked at that job.   Oh, by the way, they also fired me because I called in sick with a doctor’s excuse.   But, no, I don’t understand discrimination. 

Next, young woman, we lived overseas.  It truly was a wonderful time in my life, one that I will cherish.  We were there because my husband, took an oath to defend and serve this country, because all lives matter and freedom of speech and freedom to think for one’s self is paramount in our lives.  We lived in houses without hot running water, we had to literally heat the water each time we used it in our first place.  We had neighbors who spoke english, but because we were Americans and we were in Japan, they refused to speak to us.  But, I understood, as I understand where you are coming from.    We lived with rats that would chew the plaster in our walls at night, we lived with roaches that truly were atomic mutants that would fill our homes.  I used to brush the roaches away from my baby as she slept because there was no killing them, there were so many. 

Yes, young woman, you may see me as not comprehending, being privileged, living a lofty life,   but, you are not correct.  I see you and your families beautiful photos on your mother’s page.  You are lovely, as is your family.   When I say all lives matter, they do.  No one escapes this world without some pain and suffering.  Prejudice is not only for the color of skin.   Prejudice is for the little girl whose clothes are different from the rest of her classmates.  Prejudice is for the child who is smarter than anyone else, or slower than anyone else.  You are young.  I had strong beliefs when I was your age, but the sand paper of life and experience has worn off the sharp edges and what remains in me is the firm belief that all lives matter.  My husband gave 21 years of his life to serve this country so that you can have those beliefs.  He did it willingly and without expecting anything in return.   He served so that you can tell a total stranger, someone you do not know that she doesn’t comprehend, and she is privileged.    I hope this has given you a glimpse into a life that does and has mattered, maybe not to you, but to those who know me.   Cathi (DAF)

 

What happened to a sense of humor?

Sometimes I have a need to vent.  I know we all do.   Today is one of those days.   I am going to write things just to get it out.  I don’t feel like a heavy discussion, I don’t feel like wading through personal beliefs, I just want to vent and since this is my blog, I think I am going to do it.

Yesterday hubby and I did errands, and it felt so great to do them.  I mentioned it on Facebook, trying to make light of the fact that although we did normal things we still had to be in masks.  I was trying to make light of it, but, the conversation went quickly to the use of masks.  Nothing major, just comments.

Later last night I read about how serious this virus is to seniors.  I also read where people are no longer taking this as seriously as they should. I am tired of being serious.  I truly am.   Personally, I think this virus, has destroyed not only humans who have contracted it, I think this virus has destroyed personal freedoms and people’s sense of humor.  Very little is funny these days.  It is almost like since we cannot gather, we cannot hug, we cannot touch anyone, we cannot laugh.  This is a travesty.

Again, I am venting.   I don’t want to hear statistics.  I am in the old group.  I am in the group that this virus does horrible things to.  I am in that group that does not survive this well.  News flash:  Old people don’t survive much well.   We’re old.   We hit a number and bam!  WE are old.  Funny thing, I don’t feel old.  Yes, my hands don’t work well.  I over do a day of cleaning or working around the house and my back hurts, my knees hurt, I don’t sleep well.  But, I accomplished something.

We are susceptible to many things that we don’t survive. Pneumonia, stroke, flu, cancer, getting hit by a semi because we didn’t hear it and we didn’t watch crossing a street.  It happens.

Yes, at a certain age we become cautious.    We are not as steady as we once were.  We are not as reckless as we once were (some may say that’s wisdom).   But, we have things to laugh about.  Growing up people who wore masks into stores were about to rob them.  Now we wear them to buy eggs.  Does anyone see the humor in this?  We are supposed to be six feet apart.  I am getting my hair cut next week,  I love the girl who cuts my hair.  I love her family, and the last time I saw her her arms were not six feet long.  I cannot wait to see her again.

It is not normal for people to be socially distant.  We were not made that way.  It’s like stranger danger has gone crazy.  Don’t touch, don’t bump into people, don’t smile.  Of course with a mask on no one can tell if you are smiling.  Add sunglasses and a ball cap and no one can tell who or what you are since no one has had a hair cut in months.

Yes, I am venting.  This weekend is Memorial Day weekend.  The beginning of summer unofficially.  In reality, a day to remember those who have given their lives for their country.  Given their lives for our freedom.  Given their lives so we can live and be free and yes, even laugh.

Our state is opening up.  I am thrilled.   I just cannot wait until the day that laughter comes back into play.  The day when people don’t take everything so seriously.   We need to remember that none of us is going to get out of here alive.   Yes, that sounds glib.  Maybe it is.  All I know is I still have errands to do today, so I will go grab my mask and head out.

Thanks for listening.  Cathi (DAF)

 

Mothers….

It’s that time of year, pictures of mothers are appearing everywhere on social media.   Odes to mothers, memes of mothers, personal snippets of memories of mothers, ads for things to buy for mothers.   Mothers are everywhere, like always.

A day devoted to mothers is a great idea.  Personally, I don’t do much for it.   But, somehow it always draws me in.  That old song that says, ‘Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,’ comes to mind each May.  I don’t know why, yes, there’s the fact that yes, I was a motherless child, but, to me, it was my life.  No different than anyone else’s life.   I had all the laughter and joy that everyone else has had.  I had tears and frustrations and heart break, just like anyone would.   My life was no different.

So, each year during this week, I return to this feeling.  It’s not pity.  It’s not sadness.  I am not sorrowful.  It is this wondering I have in my mind.  I wonder if I would have gotten along with my mother as I grew up.  I wonder what pictures would have been like and what memories would be associated with the pictures of graduations, weddings, family gatherings.  You know, those thoughts you have when you see a picture of something.  I look at the pictures surrounding me in my living room as I write this.  A senior picture of my niece, being thrilled that she had a senior picture as a brain cancer survivor.   A small picture of my grandchildren talking to each other over a meal at our table.  I can remember looking at them and enjoying seeing them interact with one another.  My daughter’s senior pictures, remembering driving them to their photography session and remembering all the times and trials that got them to that point.  Today I looked for pictures of my mom to copy so I could put one as a facebook photo.  They were all old and I knew they would just show up as fuzzy.  Just another reminder of what might have been or could have been.

I have been blessed, though, in having women in my life as mother figures.  Those mothers of friends who filled in the gaps when I needed it.  Those who would gently point me in a direction from the way I was going.  The ones who would hug me and I knew it was a mother’s hug.

My older sister stepped in and stepped up when she didn’t need to.  I resisted her influence the way water and oil repel one another.  We were like opposite ends of a magnet.  At times attracting, but, in others, repelling each other.  The older I get, the more respect and admiration I have for her.

I think there are many mother figures in our lives.  Women placed during a particular season of our lives, giving us comfort, admonishment, encouragement and sometimes just a cup of tea.  These women are so valuable to me.

Mothers are everywhere this month.  Just like we always are.   Being a mother is one of the greatest joys of my life.  My daughters are different in many ways, and yet, when it is distilled, they are very similar. I see some of the magnet reaction in them as I experienced with my older sister, and although it is something I never desired for them, I know there is a reason and a season for this.

My daughters are mothers.   That is best thing in the whole world.  Seeing them function as moms.  Seeing them tired and stressed and so very happy all at the same time.  Watching them with their children is a gift to me.  Watching their children with them is a pure blessing.  Mothers are everywhere, in stores (when you can get into one), online, in advertisements.   Just like we always are.

One day to celebrate mothers is absurd.  Yes, it’s a day to send cards, send flowers, call, text, make it facebook official, all of that.   But, in reality, mothers are honored everyday.  It may not be with presents or flowers or cards.  It may not be with nice meals or dessert, but a mother is honored each time she hears, “Mom!”   That three letter word calls to a mother’s heart.  It may call worry, stress, dread, laughter, sarcasm, but it comes with an emotion attached to it.   A simple day that reminds us that mothers are everywhere,  just like we always are.

Thanks for stopping by today.   Cathi (DAF)

Self Revelation…

During this time of quarantine when we have all the time we thought we never had, how much are we actually accomplishing?

I know I am one who says, if we weren’t so busy I would….  and then fill in the blanks.  Some of those blanks are, I would really get a good start on my book.   I would be more consistent blogging.  I would paint my bedroom.   I would work on my screen porch.  The list is endless.

So, here we are, towards a month of staying in.  I have done things in fits.   Yes, there was that week where I posted on my blog daily.   That was two weeks ago.   I have done maybe whole day of researching for my book.  I have thought about painting my bedroom.  I have looked at my screen porch.  But, I haven’t accomplished anything, really. 

Today in my devotion time I read where God can give you a tap on the shoulder or hit you with a two by four to get my attention.   I have always said He has a two by four with my name on it that is right beside His throne of Grace.  Also during my devotion time I was lamenting not accomplishing anything.  This time it was a tap on the shoulder and I realized something about myself.  I am a fits and starts person.  I just looked it up, as I am apt to do when writing, so that I am correct in my phraseology.   According to Dictionary.com this adjective is defined as:  (of similar things or occurrences) appearing or happening at irregular intervals in time; occasional: sporadic renewals of enthusiasm.  appearing in scattered or isolated instances, as a disease.  isolated, as a single instance of something; being or occurring apart from others.  occurring singly or widely apart in locality.    Synonyms for fits and starts are choppy, jerky, sporadic, spastic, just to name a few.

So, today’s lesson for me is that no amount of time and lack of schedule truly changes who I am.  I will put off what I don’t feel like doing.  My thoughts of how noble I would be if I had all the time in the world have been burst.  I will now go and eat my humble pie and think of how I can change some of these behaviors. 

Thank you for listening to my confession.  I hope you will absolve me while I am trying to figure out how to change 65 years of behavior!   Stay safe, stay healthy and wash those hands!   Cathi (DAF)

science IS interesting…

While I was in elementary school I was never a fan of science class.  Especially studying weather in science.   Clouds,  what’s up with studying them?   I never could understand that.  White clouds are in the sky.   If they turn dark, then expect rain or snow.  If the clouds come down to the earth and you can’t see three feet in front of you, it’s foggy.  If there are no clouds, it’s a clear sunny day.   That’s how I have always viewed that.  I still cannot tell a nimbus cloud from a stratus cloud.  It just doesn’t resonate with me.

Early in the day yesterday I checked my normal weather sites as I always do.  I do like knowing what the temperature is.   I saw that there was a band of storms heading our way.  The bands had tornadoes in them.   I grew up in an area that had frequent tornadoes during the summer months.  I can remember hearing the siren go off and then there would be an incredible thunder storm and I would hear about the tornadoes.  I really gave them no thought.

About mid-day yesterday I watched a local forecast and this meteorologist was probably one of the best I have ever seen.  He was thorough and explained things in my language… simple.   This band of storms was going to hit during the night.

As I have mentioned, we usually do not give tornado warnings a second thought, but, for some reason, last night, we paid attention.   We got prepared, we got organized, and we set up an area in the basement, just in case.   The  weather man suggested someone staying up to watch the storm’s progress.   Hubby stayed up until 3 a.m.,  and headed to bed.  No sooner  did he go to bed then the weather was on non stop.   It was then that I decided had this technology been available when I was in elementary school, I would have loved science!

It was such a fascinating night to see the storm being tracked, and the time that it would hit areas.  It was amazing to me that they could tell when a tornado struck, and the speed of the wind with the tornado.

Our local area did not have a tornado touch down, but the wind gusts and the rain did damage to trees and power lines.   Several people did not fare as well and sustained severe damage, and my heart and prayers are with them.

I learned a lot last night, and found a new appreciation for science, but, I really still do not have a clue what clouds are what.

Thanks for stopping by today, stay safe, stay healthy and wash your hands.   Cathi (DAF)