We're Talkin Dirty Here

Have you ever noticed how it becomes more and more difficult to slide your hangers along your closet rod. It's like dragging metal along a chalk board. Yikes!

I learned this little secret working at a clothing store. I was amazed when I came home and tried it out on my own closet rods.

Now some of you are probably thinking who in the world has time to clean their closet rods, right? Just try this - indulge me. When it's time to clean your closet out, take a couple of extra minutes at the end of the whole process and shine the rods with your wax paper. You'll be amazed.

Take a square piece of wax paper, bunch it up, and rub it back and forth along your rod several times, kind of like you were shinning your favorite pair of Sunday shoes. Now slide those hangers along the rod and see how easy they glide. I must be deranged because I get a real high out of this. Love it!

Landslide & It's Meaning

The other day I was listening to my favorite song "Landslide" by Stevie Knicks. I never grow tired of this song. I was on the way to Bear Lake and I love to turn up the volume as I drive. I was belting out the tune when my cute daughter Des, ask me about the meaning behind the words we were singing.

I told her what I'd read and heard, how the song is basically about Stevie Nicks growing up and learning to make her own decisions in life, it's about her relationship with her father.

Stevie wrote "Landslide" back in 1975, two months before she joined Fleetwood Mac. At that time she was living with Lindsey Buckingham (who would become the guitarist in Fleetwood Mac) they were trying to make it in the music business, but they were very, very poor and were being reluctantly supported by Stevie's parents.

Finally, her father gave her an ultimatum - he said he'd support them for six more months, and if they hadn't made it by then, Stevie would have to get a real job and learn the hard way. Some tough love advice, I guess.

So, at the time Stevie wrote Landslide, she was about a month into that six-month window, and she didn't know what to do. Part of her was afraid to strike out in the world without her father's help, part of her knew she had to let him go and become independent, and part of her was afraid of what would happen in the unknown.

So, I guess you can say the song is partly about her father, but it's mainly about herself and coming to understand herself better as she grew older.

As for the images of her reflection in the snow and the landslide, the snow, the mountains - that all comes from being in Aspen, Colorado, when she wrote the song. She was surrounded by those images. In the song, they represent the precariousness of her situation in life. As she puts it, "I realized everything could tumble." In other words, she knew if she didn't make the right decisions, she could lose everything.

After explaining all of this to my daughter, I told her the meaning behind the song for me. When I listen to the words "I've built my life around you." I think of my children and how hard it is on me when they take wings of their own, when they take flight, when they move on with lives of their very own. It has forced me to think about what I will do with my own life when they are all gone. What will I work on personally when my time is not completely focused on them, because like the song says, I have built my whole life around all eight of them!

I hear the words "Take my love and take it down. I climbed a mountain and I turned around. And I saw my reflection in a snow covered hill, and a landslide brought me down." Relationships with people we love are at times difficult and intense. Learning to love ourselves is no easy feat either. We spend so much time and energy coming to new places in these relationships, only to have things spin out of our control. Things happen in life; painful things that sweep us away, like a landslide.

And when she sings, "Oh mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child in my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tide? Can I handle the season's of my life?" For me, these questions strike deep at the heart. I learned a dysfunctional way of thinking as a child and I have fought that thinking pattern my whole life. And like that out of control feeling of being swept away by the very earth beneath one's feet, so often I have struggled to get my thoughts planted firmly on any kind of solid ground.

The image God holds of me is not the image I often times hold of myself. How I long to look up to my Father in Heaven and see my true countenance reflected in Him. So often I have wished I could see myself in His mirror. Can my heart rise above all of the pain I sometimes feel in the battle to overcome myself? No one really has any comprehension of the inward wars I have fought or how painful those struggles have been. Those battles have been different in each season of my life and it always takes an enormous amount of efforting to work through the major obstacles dysfunctional thinking brings.

However, it's true,"Time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I'm getting older too." So here I am in this pattern of learning and growing and finding out who I am and what I'm really made of. Some days I feel bold in my thoughts and abilities. Then there are those times I feel quite weak, and so often overcoming that feeling of weakness feels like climbing a mountain. And like the song expresses, when my doubts come creeping back in, often overtaking me, when things in life fly at me, and I react poorly, surely it feels like I'm tumbling down again in a land slide.

As Des and I rode along, I hit replay on the Ipod one more time. Every time I sing this song I feel like I'm getting stronger. Together Des and I sang loud. I cherish these times in the car when it's just me and my kids, driving and singing all the way to a place where I feel peace. I love driving up that mountain on the way to my place in Bear Lake. It's a reflective drive. I've driven it in every kind of weather. It's symbolic to me. I'm 52 now and I'm definitely getting bolder in life. Each day the longer I live the more I see what's really important and I have learned if I hold on to the fundamental principles my Father in Heaven has given me, I can ride out any slide.

Canning Anyone?

To the left are the nasty dark old brown peaches I had to throw out.















































Canning

Now here’s a good story for you. Twas the year two thousand and two, and my daughters and I decided to put up peaches. I want to say right up front; I’ve never been a great fan of canning. It’s a love, slash, hate relationship, I love the finished product ---hate the work. That year we did 70 quarts, an impressive amount doncha' think? After the entire project was finished, they looked so nice sitting on the shelf in my pantry.

Lets discuss canning for a moment. Canning could be compared to a religion; maybe a cult, or possibly maybe even akin to joining a political party. I know I'm a cynical person, but have you ever stood with a group of women in their seventies and listened to them talk about canning. It sounds like a fierce electoral debate two weeks before a national election.

Take for instance just the type of jar one chooses to can with. Should you pick Kerr or Ball? I listened to my mother in the beginning and started buying Kerr jars. Then my friend who cans everything from fruit to meat said I was making an enormous mistake and Ball jars were far superior to Kerr.

My friend's suggestions sent me to the store to have a look. I decided to buy some. Not because I thought they were any better, but because they had the prettiest fruit pattern on the outside. It was beveled right into the glass. Wow, if I’m going to have to can, then I would at least like my jars to look decorative sitting there on a shelf in my cold, uninviting, dark, cob-webby fruit room. LOL!

My mother found out I was buying Ball jars and had a catastrophic fit. It was as if I had crossed party lines. I didn’t think she was going to ever speak to me again. To this day I still have to sit out a few Kerr lids on my kitchen counter when I’m canning, just in case she drops by.

My friend, the canning queen, she might buy Ball jars but she uses Kerr lids. What is that all about? After detecting this, I decided to ask her how come she had abandoned her alliance to Ball. She said, “Oh, I just hate to confess this, but Kerr lids seal better. The look on her face was as if the Republican in her had discovered something good about a Democrat----- it was the most depressed look I had ever seen.

In the canning world, I have decided to align myself with the non-partisan group; at this point I really don’t care about the debate between Kerr and Ball anymore. I just want to get the fruit in the bottle and on the shelf so I can get the h@** out of the kitchen!

This was my frame of mind when I decided to can 70 quarts of peaches with my daughters back in 2002, “Let’s just hurry up and be done with it!” I kept saying to my girls.

Just before we began the whole canning ordeal that day, I distinctly remember calling my mother for my usual run down on how to accomplish the mundane feet. The phone rang and rang but no one answered. I nearly died. She wasn’t home. Now what was I to do? It was a deeply embedded religious cardinal rule not to begin canning without first consulting the Pope (my mother). I was stricken with panic! Sheesh, I've never canned anything before first speaking with my mother about it. I've been canning for years and still I have to call my mother for instructions!

Well, I figured out the sugar amount, two thirds cup. I at least remembered that much. Now, I just needed to know how long to process them. Here is where I made my fatal mistake ---- I called the extension service, thirty minutes they told me. Wow, I thought that sounded like a really long time to process peaches. Who am I however to argue with the Utah State Extension Service?

After all 70 jars of peaches were done cooking and all lined up on my counter top, my mother decided to drop in ( oh sure now she shows up.) She started in with the regular compliments of how nice the peaches looked and then she began her party interrogation. Thankfully I was able to answer each question correctly until she popped out with the last one. I knew I was in for it when I saw her furrowed brow take shape along with her piercing gaze.

Suddenly sweat formed in the palm of my hands and I knew the last question was going to be brutal. Then she hit me with it. Quietly she spoke, “How long did you process them?”

When she ask me this question I carefully thought about what the extension service had told me. Surely it was a safe answer, so I replied, “thirty minutes.” I was feeling pretty smug on having gotten such viable information from what I considered to be a top-notch professional source without even consulting my mother. Wow, wasn’t’ she going to be impressed –--wouldn't I look smart!

“Thirty minutes” she gasped, I thought she was going to pass out. I should have seen it coming. After all, she is my mother. It didn't take her two seconds to vehemently launch into her platform speech about what in the world was I thinking, and how no one who knows anything about canning cooks peaches that long.

 “Well they look nice don’t you think?” I ask this question hoping she would see how annoying it was to get a lecture after all the work I had gone to. It was no use, she just went on and on about how my peaches were going to taste like mush and turn brown in a week.

Today is September 24, 2008. Today I emptied 64 quarts of peaches down the disposal. Today I cried! I hate it when I have to tell my mother she is right. What is it about admitting to my mother she has any knowledge superior to my own? Part of me would rather cut off my left leg and feed it to a shark than to have to tell my mother she was right, but she was right. Half of them turned brown and the other half that still looked somewhat decent were so mushy I couldn’t stand to eat them.

The only thing worse than canning peaches is dumping all of your hard work down the drain. Besides I didn’t have the heart to tell her the peaches weren’t “Early Alberta’s”. That would have meant another lecture and me admitting they didn’t taste that good to begin with.

My mother was born and bred in North Ogden, Utah. When it comes to peaches, any woman born around the 1920’s in North Ogden Utah was taught to bottle “Early Alberta’s” and they were also taught to process them absolutely no longer than 20 minutes. And if you didn’t use two thirds cup of sugar you were a buffoon! This has been the political canning agenda of these women for years. I was at least glad I got the sugar amount right. Did I tell you my mother comes from a family of ten? She is related to half of North Ogden. So if you check this information out and find it incorrect then you are talking to the wrong half!

I learned my lesson absolutely the hardest way possible and tomorrow I’m going to the fruit stand to see if there is even a remote possibility that “Early Alberta’s” are still in existence. Before I begin the whole process I’ll phone my mother for bits and pieces of her ancient wisdom. When I get in the kitchen and begin the methods of making beautiful fruit, I’m going to take my sweet time. I am going to put on my plaid apron and look domestic. I think I’ll even play a little “Connie Francis” music, maybe listen to the song “Where The Boys Are.” And I’ll roll my hair gently around my face, I want look the part, I want to look like I just stepped out of the fifty’s. I want to look just like my mother did when she was young and oh so domestic.

It’s funny but I remember as a little girl sitting on a stool in my mother’s kitchen watching her fill jar after jar with brightly colored golden peaches. Every once in a while she’d slip a sliver into my mouth. To this day there is not a jar of peaches opened that could possibly taste better than my mother’s.

I learned today canning is an art and my mother was a master of it. Come December I’m going to reap the rewards of my labor. In December I’ll pull a bottle of those yummy peaches off the shelf and make myself a mid-winter pie. It’s my mother’s recipe – it’s to die for. Come December I’ll share it with you. Maybe canning is not so bad. Maybe it's like anything else in life - it's your attitude when you're doing it. I say cheers to canning! For some good tips click here.

Golf & The Game Of Life

I had a great experience this morning at the lake and I wanted to make it my Sabbath day post. This morning I woke with the light. It was streaming into my bedroom as if it were noonday but when I looked at the clock it was barely 6:20 am. Since it had rained the day before leaving a serious chill in the atmosphere I was exuberant to sense the clouds were gone and some warmth had crept in with the light.

As I lay there I hadn't even caught a glimpse out the window when something assured me it was going to be a gorgeous day. I snuck out of bed as not to wake Man With A Drill.  I dressed, choked down my Claritn, inhaled my Rinecort (it's allergy season which requires me to be a druggy), grabbed Goliath and his leash and headed for the green.

It is here I must declare my love for Bear Lake! I come here every chance I get because of how it makes me feel on the inside once I arrive. You could say I eat, drink, sleep, and breath Bear Lake. When I come to this place, it feels like life sustaining air to my soul! It is a strange phenomenon; I get in my car and begin the drive here and once I cross over the last mountain, it is as if every problem I own just stays on the other side. I think it's a magic place with a magic line and once I cross over it, I'm not allowed to be anything but happy. Bear Lake is the one place on earth where my entire being feels at home. Just being here creates a sense of peace in me I cannot describe. The minute I arrive my entire existence becomes drenched with it.

I love it when I'm here and I can step out my front door and go for a walk on the golf course. I love having a lawn in front of my cabin that I don’t have to mow and water! Goliath and I quickly made our way to the edge of hole #2 and I entered into my state of bliss. I stopped and scanned the horizon looking for golfers. I didn’t want to get smacked in the head with a ball. All my hopes of finding no humans on the course rested now on the fact that it was early and it was Sunday. People were sleeping in still weren't they? Spring doesn't seem to bring out the earliest golfers, maybe because it's still a little cold. I only saw one cart off in the distance so I was thrilled that basically I had the whole place to myself.

I looked up to get a glimpse of the sun barely peaking over the horizon now. I hung to the side of the fairway as I made my way down over the hill. I think a lot when I walk and my feet felt damp now. I noticed the dew on the tall grass was still icy. The tall blades drooped and bent with the weight of it. Sometimes that's how my thoughts feel in me when I'm walking.... heavy.

I could see the flag on the green now. That’s when I got thinking how this hole, is a five par. “So the idiot that designed this course thinks I can get to this hole in five shots” I conjured. "Ya, maybe in my next life!" That was when I got to thinking about my golf game and how I’d like to get to any hole in five shots!

Hole #2 on this course is long, it curves dramatically and you can't see the flag until well after you've hit your ball off the tee. When you stand at the tee box, you just have to imagine where you think the flag is and line up the best you can. We won't discuss the myriad of directions your ball can go in even if you lined up perfectly. You know all of those directions my ball usually takes! Whether or not your ball goes straight is an entirely different frustrating subject of golf that I could spend pages and pages on. I’ll spare the reader.

Besides the large hill that slopes downward, hole #2 has a water obstacle. It has a nice wide ditch that belts across its middle with large willow trees on both sides and a thin narrow crossing you can walk or ride your cart over. After that little precarious obstacle you have a sand trap to navigate. So as you can see it's not an easy hole to par.

As I walked I thought about how my son and his wife and I had golfed this hole yesterday for fun and even though my son said we weren't counting, serious golfers always count and besides how would I know if my game was improving if I didn't count? I knew I got a lousy ten on this hole the day prior and yes I counted every crummy stroke.

My game started out poorly with my ball getting absolutely no air off the tee. It ran along the ground like a snake in the grass, slowing with every blade it rolled over. I got very little distance and my next hit did the same.

Then my unskilled hands drove my ball into the ditch filled with water and I had to fish it out. My daughter-in-law said it was a good thing my ball was pink (her favorite color) because it was easy to spot in the muddy silt. I thought that the reason I was probably playing so miserably was because what serious golfer uses a pink ball? Well, I don't know, but it was a thought.

I no more got out of the ditch when I lobbed it right into the sand. At this point I was dying to use my favorite "H" word but this was just for fun right? My son could see my frustration. “We're just practicing Mom,” he said. I tried to lighten up. It took me two more strokes to get out of the stinking sand and up onto the green only to find my ball a few miles away from the flag. I was sighing now, breathing heavy and muttering under my breath. So like I said, I finished up the hole with three putts and a lousy ten.

Now as I was walking past the hole I was thinking over my game and my spectacular score I had gotten the day prior. I thought about how much I love the game of golf; really I do, even though it might not sound like it.

I was walking a little faster now as Goliath tugged at the leash. I quickened my pace as I headed up the hill to hole #3. I just kept thinking how much golf is really symbolic to the game of life. In golf I am possessed with an OCD type of intense determination to "get it right" and I just rarely feel like I do. Much of the time I feel the same in the game of life. My thinking is sometimes a curse. Most of the time in fact whether it’s golf or life, it just feels so d@#* difficult to be consistent with everything it takes to get a par in either one. Sometimes I get so frustrated with both!

I continued on my walk down the side of the course making my comparisons with life and golf all along the way. It is said that one of the most difficult things to teach a golfer is to slow down their swing. Golfers have this false idea that if they swing faster the ball will go farther. Not so! I thought about that and the speed at which we travel through life. We get so caught up in a frenzy of rushing, hurrying to get more, have more, and do more, thinking somehow it’s going to make us happier, and like golf it just isn't so!

My surroundings felt peaceful now as I walked and settled into my pace around the course passing each hole. My pace slowed and I stopped at the crest of the hill on hole #7. Everything was up hill from here to the end, just like life I thought. Oh they say you are on the down hill side of the mountain after you turn fifty but in caring for my mom who is 87 I have seen that her life is anything but down hill. She is alone, she is growing feebler each day, and any task she has to do is anything but easy. Every day she fights to maintain the ability to do the most trivial chore. No, her life is anything but downhill and I would say she is on the steepest part of the climb right now as she nears the end. I think life is peaks and valleys. You might get a rest now and then from the intense climb but a good percentage of the time life just feels like it's up hill!

I stopped to reflect on my ideas. It was then that I started to drink in the beauty of the morning. Everything around me was dressed in a new fresh deep green. Spring is a spectacular time of the year in the Bear Lake valley and today it felt almost as good as shoe shopping. Any woman understands the rush of buying a brand new pair of shoes. Walking around the course and enjoying the morning made me feel like I had just bought a brand new pair and seeing the sun on everything felt like I'd just cracked them out of the box. The morning felt new and exhilarating as well as comfortable.

The beauty of everything deepened my thinking about the game of golf and the game of life. I thought about life with all of its demands and pondering over it all really made me stop and take stock of everything around me.

The intense blue in the sky now seriously complimented the deep green on every plant and tree. I looked out over the lake it was a vibrant blue. The sight was intense and it was then that my senses all kicked in at once. I could hear the birds, the magpies and the chickadees; I could smell the morning on everything and I turned my head just in time to see two fat ground hogs scrambling to get away from Goliath. They stopped and perched on their two hind legs to get a better look at us right before ducking into their hole. "Awe," I said to myself, “This morning ... I’m slowing down my swing in life.” It felt good.

Goliath and I continued past the big ponds and up the steep incline. Goliath was breathing heavy now and I was panting too. I wasn’t packing any clubs and I was so glad. I thought about the things I pack around in life that feel heavy, like grudges and negative thoughts and all those stupid things I hold onto that do nothing but pull me down. I made a conscious vow to leave them all behind now and let go of them as I walked.

As I neared the top of the last hill I saw two older men enjoying their game of golf. They were coming down the first hole in their golf cart and I was now on the top of the last hole. Suddenly the cart stopped and one man climbed out. He was hunting for his ball. He had no clue where it landed, yet I could see it perfectly, I had the vantage point, I was up higher and could see everything.

I hollered at him but he was oblivious as most men are sometimes – aw ahhahaha! Sorry! After yelling and screaming at him I decided to whistle as loud as I could. He turned to look at me. I’m sure he was thinking "Who is this crazy woman, and what is she doing?"

I pointed to his little white ball as I yelled, “Over there.” He started walking but still had a long way to go to get to it. He kept stopping thinking he was close. I yelled again, “Dead ahead, twenty five feet.” He picked up his pace now. When he got to his ball he looked up at me and belted out, “Thanks, I would have never found it.” “No problem, glad to help,” I clambered back at the top of my lungs.

I turned to pull Goliath out of some hole he was investigating and then the symbolism hit me, you know, God and His vantage point. I thought about His knowledge and how He personally knows each one of us. I thought about how he designed the course, how He knows it better than anyone. I wondered how many times He has wanted to yell at me, throw a golf ball at my head maybe, you know, to get my attention so that He could let me know He can see what I can’t! How disappointed He must feel when I fail to hear him, turn to Him, and trust Him. How lost I get when I don’t look up and listen and my life takes a slice into the rough because I didn’t. And how hard I struggle to hit out when all the time He is right there still hoping to help me if I would actively follow His directions.

I thought about all of the rules in golf, like those stupid white stakes that signify if you are a golfer, you are out of bounds. I thought about the white stakes in my life – God has given me boundaries. Those boundaries consist of living within the principles of the gospel. I thought of the times I disobey, drifting into the out of bounds. I thought of the penalty for doing so - in golf it's stroke plus distance. I really pondered about the symbolism of all that; all those times I've had to pick up my ball and walk clear back to where I first hit it. I thought about how low it makes me feel when I have to take a stroke for going backwards in the game. I thought about having to place my ball in the same stupid spot and hit it all over again. I hate it when I have to cover all the same ground I've already covered and it feels no different in life.

It feels me with fear, placing my ball in the same spot I just hit from; the same gnarly spot I just got out of. It feels me with fear knowing I could make all the same mistakes I made before and possibly end up in the same predicament all over again. It's no different in life, trying to re-learn the same thing over and over again. I have to pick up the same principle and take it back to the beginning, place it down and start again. Oh just thinking about it is exhausting!

I've had so many times in my game of golf and in my game of life when no matter how well I thought I swung - I have veered out of control and ended up in a bad lie. All this thinking though at least led me to think about the sweet spot on any club and whether or not it's forgiving. One thing I know for certain is that when it comes to anything in life God is so much more forgiving than any golf club.

I walked slower now as I made my way down the last dogleg home. I silently prayed my way home from this point on. Gratitude was expressed in every thought. I wanted to hug my Heavenly Father tight, symbolically wrap my thoughts around Him for all the times He’d brought me out of the rough, all the times He’d shown me where to symbolically find my ball. I wanted to thank Him for rescuing me, leading me, guiding me through every obstacle on the course and for gently reminding me to trust Him. Most of all I wanted to thank him for providing me with the ultimate plan that forgives every bad hit and gives room for improvement in any lie.

Golf is really a lot like the game of life. Sometimes I’m so afraid to swing and after I do I just want to scream the “H” word. But today I was reminded ---- just obediently follow through, that is the most important thing I can do in the game of golf and life---- follow through! We must endure to the end of the game! I was also reminded to enjoy it while I'm swinging. Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured. Today I was so happy to be reminded to slow down, just keep swinging, remember the basics of my gospel grip, smile while I keep practicing and above all, always listen for God’s sweet voice, that voice with the vantage point. It was a great walk today!


(While this article was just posted, it was written 5/26/08)

Don't Be Afraid To Fail

It is my understanding that cheetahs, leopard-like animals found in the south-western Asia and Africa, run faster than almost all other animals. They reach running speeds of nearly 70 mph. Cheetahs feed on gazelles, which resemble small antelopes. Gazelles are also known for their swift and agile movements.

When cheetahs are hungry, they will stalk gazelles. The 70 mph chase begins. The gazelles outrun or outmaneuver the cheetahs most of the time. In fact, they do so nine times out of ten. But the cheetah only needs to be successful periodically to survive.

The great irony is that the cheetah never knows which time it will be successful. Therefore, it pursues each gazelle as if that particular time he was going to succeed. Each time the chase begins, the cheetah goes full throttle—70 mph—after each gazelle. And nine times out of ten, the cheetah fails.

Simply succeeding one out of ten times, however, the cheetah survives. And it only does so by full pursuit in all other chases.

Perhaps one of the reasons we do not learn how to succeed in life is because we do not learn how to fail. And the reality is that many of us will sometimes fail far more than we will succeed in our daily endeavors.

Don’t Be Afraid to Fail

You’ve failed many times, although you may not remember.
You fell down the first time you tried to walk.
You almost drowned the first time you tried to swim, didn’t you?
Did you hit the ball the first time you swung a bat?
Heavy hitters, the ones who hit the most home runs, also strike out a lot.
R.H. Macy failed seven times before his store in New York caught on.
English novelist John Creasey got 753 rejection slips before he published 564 books.
Babe Ruth struck out 1,330 times, but he also hit 714 home runs.
Don’t worry about failure.
Worry about the chances you miss when you don’t even try.

(A message as published in the Wall Street Journal by United Technologies Corporation, Harford, Connecticut 06101)

Passive Aggression

Tonight I read something.

It hurt.

I felt like it was meant to hurt.

I felt like writing about it.

little, small, tiny, undersized 

shallow.

A word can describe...

Unspoken meaning between the
lines,

Within the hollow empty spaces.

HUGE, MASSIVE, IMMENSE, ENORMOUS

SUBSTANTIAL.

Impressions arranged and printed neatly,

Insignificant letters forming thought,

Contrained together,

Poised gracefully on paper.

Simply penned innocence.

NO!

An intentional blow.

Pretense cleverly arranged,

Not to be seen or proven,

Only felt --- deep in the heart.

A long overdue reimbursement

For past resentments.

Unforgiven failures besieged by
ink,


Set in type.

A word can modify.

sad, troubled, hurt, sullen,
downcast . . .

broken. 

                                         
F.B. Crowther   

Blogging

Welcome to "All Flappdoodle!"

This is a blog designed for friends, old and new! Hopefully you'll drop by here often, enjoy yourself, and leave with something satisfying.

As you will soon discover I love to blog! Lots of people ask me, how do you have so much time to blog? My response is usually something about how I'm going through menopause and I can't sleep so I blog. I've also given up t.v. and a few other things.

Blogging is the first thing I do in the morning and the last thing I do at night. And like I said, it's also the thing I do in between when I can't sleep. I love to write. I love to put my feelings down on paper. I love to take life deeper than most --- it's a soulful thing and expressing my soul feels good!

In order to be a good writer one must practice. So welcome to rehearsal, the place where I am learning to polish arranging words in a formation that will bring enjoyment and deep thinking to any reader. This is me notifying you, I'm in training.

This blog is for the positive in life. I am hoping those who come here will contribute positively. It's also for the spiritual in heart, because life "is" spiritual, even though some have not discovered this yet.

What will people find here? Everything and anything, after all the title is, "All Flapdoodle." I hope you'll share, send me your good recipes for the kitchen, bettering relationships, and how to get that stubborn stain out of your shirt or your heart.

In closing, I'll leave you with a my favorite poem and hope you come back to this place soon.

How many, many friendships
Life's path has let me see:

I've kept a scrap of each of them
To make the whole of me.

~ June Masters Bacher