Blue Grass in Columbia and Hunny History.

 I'm feeling behind in my posts. Did I ever tell you about the Bluegrass festival?

 Or about how much fun we had with these folks?

 OR how good some of the musicians were? This base player just rocked!

This is Maggie Mae and she is one heck of a fun performer.

 These sweet ladies were marketing their wares, very inexpensively too.

 Old fashioned hand work.

 Can you see the price tags? Amazing handwork. I asked if they would do mail order but you have to go to a bluegrass festival to find these women. I wish I would have had money to buy it all up.

 The singers liked these jackets. If your on stage they looked alright, pretty fancy and a "Grand Ole Opery" mood.

 I bought an apron from her.

 These guys were really good.

 This was a cool wall hanging for a cabin somewhere.

 This man made me think of Wud Works. He makes mandolins and guitars by hand. These are Do Bros
and I am probably misspelling them. They are played like a slide guitar and they sound great. This man makes these. Beautiful aren't they?

 This guy was selling tupperware of all things and swinging his Maggie Mae towel. These old timers have the "hoe down" party spirit in them. Sittin down and boogie.

 My man needed a ride to the car after all that sitting excitement.

 This place is cool. My husband used to board in this house in 1957. It is now an official historical house.

 The woman who ran it used a bunk house out back for boarders. She fed them from a large round table with a lazy susan on the top.  It was called "Mrs. Rawl's Boarding House" back then.

 Nice house.

 This is the original dining room and table. Lots of pies...

 This was Hunny's first time back since 1957 when he lived here. He was still quite adept at taking a dish off the susan and dishing up what he wanted and then setting it back on. Your not supposed to stop the spin.

 He and his cousin enjoyed themselves immensely. These guys have great chemistry, they crack each other up. You know how with some people you just connect? These two are cousins but they are also friends and they make each other belly laugh. It was awesome.

 Still crazy after all these years....

 Home canning anyone?

 I liked this plate.

 This is the bunk house out back. It isn't used for anything. It's in pretty bad shape.

 But Hunny braved the stairs for a picture.

He had a room in back.  There were several old couples who lived there too. I wish it was still operational. It would be right up my ally. I used to run a little old folks home before I married.

 Back then it cost my Hunny $14.00 a week for a furnished room and meals.

This used to be Southland oil gas station and my Hunny ran this station. It didn't look anything like it does now. We took a picture any way.

 and then back for more of this little cowgirl....

 who charmed our men big time!!! She liked my Hunny, he does have his charm.

I'm surprised these old guys didn't have a coronary. That's a lot of fun for old fellas. She was a doll and she could sing too.  For one of my prizes to Trudy I bought her a CD and enclosed the towel that people swung around when she was yodeling. This girl can yodel- the real deal. Now I don't live to hear yodeling but I can sure appreciate the skill that it takes to do it. As young as she looks she told us she has a daughter in Iraq serving in the military and she has been decorated with a purple heart. Who would have thought? Surprised Maggie Mae too. Her daughter received a commendation for good behavior. Like any mother she wanted to know who her commanding officer was--and how did he do that?

Inspiration

A friend sent me this. WOW. Talk about overcoming obstacles.

I couldn't sleep much last night. Maybe it's because I have been feeling good for about two weeks. My pain is really manageable.  Which has me wondering what is next in my life? If I was done then God would take me out of this world. He obviously has not chosen to do that, so what am I here for?

I have always been a nurse. Even as a child I was one of those little girls who helped other people.
But that door is closed. In fact working a "job" is closed. Some type of entrepreneurial spirit is required, along with a whole lot of grace. I don't like sales. I'd rather give than collect. I think this whole lesson has to do with being self reliant versus trusting. I prefer self-reliance. That is impossible. Not only can I not work and make my very comfortable salary; I'm embarrassed to confess that I stupidly lost my retirement. It is trust God or nothing.

I am StRuGgLiNg with that. Really. HARD!

Compassion International sent me an e mail to work a table at a Mercy Me concert here in April.
It's for 4 hours. I said yes. It will be good to see how I do with a 4 hour commitment and also help some children find sponsors. It amazes me that everyone in this country doesn't sponsor one child. We could stop the plight of starvation and despair, WORLDWIDE, for about one trip to a local inexpensive restaurant.

It's just a matter of priorities. The other day as I was putting Ponds cream on my face and shaving with one dollar razors from the dollar store.  I was missing my more luxurious purchases of the past. My daughter had told me that one of our favorite skin care lines only cost $34 a month.

The first thought I had was that is the price to save a child. Nice cream? Save child? No brainer.
Besides every old lady I ever met with great skin used Ponds. It's not so bad. It could be worse. I could have no cream at all. I could be a survivor of a horrible disaster, homeless, in fear of being nuked. Thankful now for Ponds.
That is how I have to talk to myself. My ugly self is a spoiled princess that wants the best of everything and gets pouty and nasty to be on this strict cheap budget. I hate it. I want a job. I could get really angry to have all these physical issues. Then I see this beautiful undefeated woman.  If she can have this beautiful spirit of undefeat and gratitude I can too. Even if I have to fight for it, because it doesn't come naturally to me.  Even if I have to wait awhile for God to speak. Somewhere at sometime I prayed for patience...be careful what you wish for.

I finished reading my book, "One Thousand Gifts." It is phenomenal, life changing, beautiful and it includes the grit and pain of real life. I loved it. I wanted to flip right back to the beginning and start over again. I'm keeping a list of my own now. I want to be transformed by being thankful. Being specific has power where being general does not.  I am thankful to sit in the warm sun and pet the pooch. I am thankful for improvement in my arm. The smile of my granddaughter. The feel of soft well worn sheets that smell good. Warm water from the shower. Good coffee in my favorite mug. A wealth of good people and inspiration at my fingertips....God is grace.

I love this woman's story. I love how the Lord revealed to her that she would use her hands. Her spirit is pure Texas. You just can't keep a Texan down, I know my Mama was one. I want this spirit to flow through me. My prayer is Lord, what do you have for me to do? Please don't make me wait a long time.
I love to work.  There is that patience challenge again. It's going to be a long day.

Giving Thanks

You might not believe this but I am a very negative person. I have to work at having a positive attitude.
I have been accused of waking up like Atilla the Hun. When my sweet daughter approaches me with an idea I have a million reasons to poo-poo it. She has a tough job dealing with me. I feel sorry for her. I want to be different. I want to change. I know that when I offer God a willing spirit to be changed that He will do it.

I have been blogging for a long time and have never used any routine. I am about to make a change on that. I have been talking to you about this book that I'm reading. if you can call it reading I'm sucking that book up.  I'm inhaling it rapidly and will go back for a second read nice and slow to savor it.

I'm more thirsty than I knew.

I needed a message of HOPE.

Hope that has the power to change when the circumstances may or may not.

The power of gratitude.

The PRACTICE of gratitude.

And what the very simple act of making a list can do.
Today, take the dare. Regardless of your beliefs, religion, or no religion. This will work for everyone.

Begin to make a list in a journal of what you are thankful for. You can make your words pretty. They can be phrases, complete sentences, or not. For me they can be run-on sentences because I am always guilty of those or not. Just begin.

1. good deep sleep last night.
2. family all here safe.
3. my home is not in splinters.
4. God's arm is not too short to save.
5. I can pray for Japan-for those suffering and I know first hand the horror of earthquakes.
6. I MOPPED my own floor myself.
7. my dog loves me.
8. there is HoPe.
9. my daughter forgives
10. spring is just outside the open window.

ok. Your turn copy the button and give thanks.

If you are able, give to the organization of your choice to help the people of Japan. An earthquake of this magnitude is catastrophic. These people are suffering beyond our ability to comprehend. My earthquake experience was a 6.2 and the aftershocks were as bad as the quake. My nerves were in shambles but my house was still standing. The inside was a mess of broken glass and furniture tossed about like pillows, but the house was intact. My daughter and her firstborn baby were safe. None of us had been washed away by a tsunami. A quake of 9 is beyond anything I can even imagine. The earth must have bolted straight up.
We watched our streets roll like waves of water crumbling. Buildings falling down and turning to dust. The Richter scale increases by logarithmic intensity. It's not counting it's multiplication.

When the Earth itself forces her crusts and waves to move, the people and all their doings become like little ants. Little anthills destroyed. We become aware of how small we are. How vulnerable we are and we are humbled. We who are not in destruction must reach out with what we can to help those who have been humbled, with hope.

TA DA TA DA--The WINNERS FoR MY 500th POST Give AwAy ARE!!

Oh goody

The dog is just going crazy he's so happy!

Everybody is excited... and um maybe a bit silly.

(Me grandson shot these pics and also posed the hat)

The Hunny gets to pick, it's a tradition you know!

Heather from Big Dreams In A little House.

First prize a custom tailored give away just for her. 

I have just started visiting her blog but we actually have a lot in common.

She lives in California and likes crafts, sewing and making dolls.

Her dolls are AdOrAbLe!!!

Did I mention how cute her dolls are?

She has actually inspired me to give my hands a try at it. I used to do things like that when my daughter was young.

Heather send me your address in an e-mail

kdmcgivney@gmail.com

SeCoNd pLaCe is!!!!

My SwEeT LiTtLE BlUeBiRd

TRUDY

and second place doesn't mean a dad gum thing.

I just wanted to pick another.

Trudy will get a custom package too.

Now we are off for our weekend to the Blue Grass Festival.

It may take me awhile to get these "CUSTOM" presents figured out!

I'll talk to y'all when we get back home.

Have a happy weekend.

PS.

We are back from the Bluegrass festival and it was pretty fun.

I have to confess a couple of times I just passed out sleeping and SNORED!

I snored in public! 

I asked if I drooled too and they just laughed at me.

I don't know if I drooled.

It's bad enough that I had my mouth hangin open and snored.

GAH!!!!

I took a lot of pictures and talked to people.

It's pretty much a senior citizen event.

I found some good buys from some vendors and I'll do a post about them.

I picked up some goodies for the winners.

And I'll be back soon.

I felt good all weekend considering...

Early Morning Muse.

It's after 2 am and still no sleep. It always seems that after a good sleep the insomnia is worse.  Tonight the arm and shoulder, front and back, down deep behind the scapula and into the muscles of the arm and shooting down the wrist. Tonight there is no escape and nausea twists my gut.  Nights like these I take all the meds I can tolerate. I space them out waiting to see if something will ease it. This endless sea of suffering.  This is when I have those battles in the mind.


My mind travels back into childhood memories of pain. My Daddy took me to a baseball game, it was our little outing. He went to get something to eat. In those days you could leave a child for a few minutes without worry. It seemed like a long time. I saw some other children higher up in the bleachers. I began to crawl up to them smiling, wanting to make friends.....but they did not want me. They pushed me and I fell. Falling from high up and into the gravel. Feeling my face full of grit and blood. Trying to inhale and cannot. Under the bleachers alone in the dark, hurt and scared. I tasted blood, the wind knocked out of me; but my heart and my young mind reeled at this cruel rejection. Why did they push me? I see people waving, screaming at my Dad through the bleacher seats. I see him drop his drink and food and run..... and then I don't remember anything. We went to the hospital. My bottom teeth went through my lip.  My face had swelled so that it was all flat. Everything extra large, I can still remember how it felt to be 5 years old and traumatized. We went home and mother screamed. She screamed and raged at Daddy. It made me cry and get upset. I had calmed down in my Daddy's arms. I wanted Mama's arms and her sweetness. Instead they had a fight and there was no comfort. The other pain, the one of not being wanted rose it's ugly head again. Rejection. it was not my mamas intent to make me feel sick inside. She was shocked and that was her way. When upset scream your head off. Ten more years of Mama's yelling and Daddy would leave. He didn't just move out, he moved away to Chicago.

How do those feelings get processed? Where do we put them when we are young? Do they set the stage for future insecurities? I have always felt like I don't quite measure up. We really don't share things like that either. At least we aren't supposed to. It makes people uncomfortable to take our masks off.
We like to go about our lives enjoying ourselves. Discussing plans, laughing easily, shopping for new trinkets. When someone takes their mask off others don't know what to say. It's that elephant in the room.

Constant unrelenting pain strips me of all that. I cannot partake of the casual world.

I read that people with RSD lose their friends.

Again, I have fallen through the bleachers and the grit is in my teeth.
but this time...
The blood is flowing from the invisible wounds.
The invisible flames.
The invisible ripping of the arm from the socket and the shooting shocks through the bones.
My neck aches, my ears roar and dizziness threatens.
Where do I find my Mama's comfort? She is not here.
She died very young. I was young, 26 and with a little girl.
Breast cancer.

How do I fight* hard* for *joy?
Wrestling at 3 am in the morning.

My baby girl has crawled into bed with me. They are always our babies. My grown woman child with children of her own. But when she comes to bed with her mama she is my girl. She is sound asleep. I softly say, "I love you my baby." and in her sleep she says, "ah ha".  How sweet. My baby hears me love her in her dreams. I love them. I love them all. I have been missing Heather a lot. I miss her goofy grin and silly humor. I miss her little tiny body snuggling in close wanting her love tank filled up with my arms.
Ever since she was little we would say when we were loving each other that we had the "poppin feelin." When your tank was full, it would pop with overflowing joy.

That is a good memory in the middle of the night.

Where is Kayla tonight? Homeless or sheltered? Dead or alive? The one who never knew danger and still doesn't. Mercy of God cover her.
Memories of love and little girls. Memories of little girls picking my roses and trying to put them back on. Little girls.

 I never had a son.

How did I only get to have one child? I wanted to be a farmer's wife but I never lived near farmers. Your kind of out of luck to have a country life in the city. As a young girl I wrote long lists of names. Writing and practicing the sounds of them. I wanted lots and lots of children., maybe 6 of each, boys and girls.
I remember some of my choices, Benjamin, Samuel, Rebecka, Susannah, and Claire. They had long names both the first and the middle. I kept a pile of dolls going. Dressing them, washing their hair and combing it out neatly. I'd cut it too. I loved my dolls. I'd empty out bookshelves and make triple decker dolly bunk beds. I'm going to make doll clothes for something to do....

I didn't think much about husbands while young, just children. Men were big and somewhat scary. My imagination went for a traditional big white house with a picket fence and flowers in the yard. My mother taught me very young to care for babies and help her in the house. When my brothers were born it was the day when bottles were boiled and formula was home made. Diapers were washed and folded. I folded lots of diapers. I learned to sharpen pins by rubbing them on my scalp (or was it oiling them?). I knew how to change, feed and burp, make a baby coo, smile and laugh. I thought that in this world there was no greater joy than to love and hold a baby.

I still love babies. I don't know why God only gave me one. I never tried to prevent them. The funny thing was when I actually had her, we couldn't chose a name! Mama suggested it and her Dad agreed. So it was done. My daughter was named after a coffee cake. Jenny Lynn.

 I wanted to accept all the children God would give.
Was it the coffee cake that held Him back? Nah.

My life has not been anything like I dreamed but it has been a  good life. Even now it is a good life. How can I complain with my baby girl in her mama's bed. My big pony of a puppy snuggled at my feet, and a place to sit and write at 3:30 am when sleep won't come.

Gifts. Soft warm puppy instead of slippers. A pooda.

A warm house, a home, a hearth. Tomorrow morning the kids will tumble sleepily out of bed and down the stairs to catch the early bus. They'll haul their heavy backpacks and go to school to learn. Life goes on, like a rhythm of changing seasons or tides. We all do what we are expected to do.

I have been taking pleasure in washing dishes. It is an improvement to be able to hold pots. To enjoy the warm water and aromatherapy of soap suds. The smell of Mrs Myers geranium soup is lovely. Wiping the counters as much as I can with the right hand, it exercises me, stretches the tightness that wants to stay confined, wants to snap back like a tight rubber band. How I would love to stretch my arm above my head. It will not. But the kitchen work is a pleasant chore and I feel like part of the rhythm as I wash things clean. I miss mopping. I love the back and forth, the wringing out of the mop the dance of cleaning the floors. I love the way they feel after they are dry under my bare feet, all slick and smooth and smelling fresh. Sheets on the line. Windows open with fresh air blowing in. All these simple pleasures that make my house my home. These are gifts, things I treasure in my heart.

Somehow on this sleepless night when old pains surfaced, with my gut in a knot and nausea threatened. These thoughts of simple tasks, and the knowledge that I can do some of them, comforted.
My retreat away from those who would push me from the heights, from the rejection of not being wanted.

 My home is soothing enough. My little cottage in the circle with the huge yard and it's ten years of perenial beds, this place is solace enough.

 I found the gift.

The Man The Dog and His Sister.

Hands tell.

This dog.

 Is that intelligence in his eyes?

Maybe not. 

His sister gets jealous of him at times. I can't imagine why.