By Small Means Great Things Are Brought to Pass

* This is a rewrite of a post from a couple of years ago.
You see, computers don't work well for me but alas I must use them.  If I had a good, old No. 2 pencil and a yellow legal pad there wouldn't be so many errors.




By small means great things are brought to pass.

That's what the scriptures say isn't it?
Well, not long ago we were asked to do a small thing by a couple of the Lord's apostles.
Since I figured that they might know a little something about how the Lord works, I paid attention.
I mean I want "great things to come to pass" just as much as the next sister. And even I might be able to do something right if it's small enough.

Well, you know what it was? According to them, apostles of the Lord no less, it's important to eat meals regularly with our families. Especially dinner.
 
Really?
That does seem like a small thing doesn't it?
And considering the realities of modern life....highly impractical.
When I first heard this I wondered in my "raggedy convert" way how that could possibly be of eternal importance anyway.
I mean we're talking burgers and meatloaf here.
   
I was still wondering the next day when I asked my 3rd period high school class what their favorite family dinner was.
 (Hey, it was only five minutes till the bell rang and 4th period was lunch!)
There were about 12 kids, mostly seniors, all hanging in there to graduate despite their various disabilities.
    
One piped up right away with a mouth-watering description of his Nana's tamales and his mom's enchiladas that made us all hungry. He said they have these for every birthday, anniversary, graduation etc. when all the family gets together. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins etc.
 I said, "How often does that happen and can I get invited to the next one?
   
He replied, "Sure Mz Dub, two or three times a month at least. I'll ask my mom." He also gave us a glowing description of his mom's spagetti, which he says they have at his house every Tuesday when it's just his family.
I heard teenaged stomachs growling and somebody threw a pencil at him.
   
"What about the rest of you?" I asked the class, "What's your favorite family dinner on a weeknight?"
     
I was very surprised that every single one of my other students said they never ate with their families during the week.
Not just seldom mind you. Never.
There were lots of reasons for this....parents worked, everybody got home at different times.... it just wasn't convenient. Most didn't eat with their family on weekends either, except on rare special occasions.
   
"So, what do you do for dinner?" I asked.
 Cereal, sandwich or microwave was the answer for most of them.
A heated discussion on the virtues of "hot pockets vs ramen noodles" ensued. One girl gave her recipe for grilled cheese sandwiches. (Toast two pieces of bread. Unwrap a slice of cheese. Put it between the toasts and nuke it for 30 seconds.) Those with cars said they relied heavily on the dollar menu at the fast food places. That started an argument about Jack vs Mac.
The bell rang before it was decided.
     
The class left and it was finally lunch.
So I unwrapped my peanut butter sandwich and thought that it was a little sad about their dinner situations.
What could you do, though? That's modern life.
I began to think about those modern lives as I chewed.

Several of my kids had family members in prison..... fathers, mothers, brothers, or cousins.
( Not the "Every Tuesday was spagetti" kid though).

In fact, a few of my kids had really close, working relationships with the juvenile justice system themselves. Complete with probation officers that I met with on a regular basis.
(Not the "spagetti" kid though)

I recalled that one boy had recently spent his entire Thanksgiving break in the Durango county jail.
He was highly incensed, not because he'd missed his family Thanksgiving, but because he'd planned to spend all four days getting wasted at parties.

None of my students lived with both parents.

Except for the Mom's spagetti on Tuesdays and Nana's tamales kid.

One lived with his father and five brothers, each of them with different mothers. One sweet girl was pregnant but would graduate at the end of the semester before the baby was due. She lived in the projects with her mom, who worked two jobs to support them.
 
I began to think harder about the young man who ate spagetti every Tuesday with his family.
His life was very different from the others.
I knew this student's parents well and had even met his grandparents at one of the school games. They all were involved in this boy's life.

I knew, too, that the culture in their family had included regular dinners together for more than one generation. It was just the way they did things.
Could "small means" have made a big difference over the years?  Is there something going on at dinner that I missed?
Are we talking about more than meatloaf here?
 
This was still on my mind the next Sunday during Relief Society meeting.
So I asked the sisters if they'd heard this "dinner together" counsel we'd been given.
I also pointed out that I was a raggedy old convert who worked outside the home. There was no possible way I had time to cook a fancy meal every night after the day I usually had! I believe I may have said, "Get real!"
   
The response was immediate and amazing. Some of it outraged, even. And boy, did I learn a lot!
   
First I learned that NOBODY has time to cook a fancy meal every day whether they work outside the home or not.
Then I learned that, "It's not about the food, stupid."

Apparently none of the apostles ever said a word about fancy meals.
They just said to eat together as a family.

One sister pointed out that nothing was mentioned against paper plates or "Taco Tuesday" from the local chain either. She says she serves said tacos with bagged carrots, sliced cucumbers, celery sticks and ranch dressing (which she counts as salad and keeps bags of in the fridge), and that her family looks forward to it every week.

Another sister says that any self-respecting LDS woman with half a brain could put a family meal on the table in 15 minutes anyway.
         
A deluge of dinner ideas followed.
I'll share some of them, but the women don't want their identities revealed. None of these meals would be featured, or even admitted to, on the cooking shows.
We're talking day to day, get the gang rounded up around the table, even when you just walked in the door 15 minutes ago, food. There's no arugula anywhere.
Remember there's 365 days in a year and that can be a long road full of potholes. Here's a couple of the things they told me.

RIDICULOUSLY EASY FAMILY DINNERS:

*Sloppy Joes  /Cottage cheese and pineapple/  Plus the no peel, raw veggie, ranch dressing for dip, salad thing.

I learned Joes are quicker and less trouble than burgers. Brown any ground          meat, drain and mix with bottled BBQ sauce.  Onion buns are better here.           Worth the extra money. 15 minutes to make dinner.


*Can Can Chile and Cornbread
(Boxed Crackers if the wolves are nipping at your heels.)

Brown 1-2 lbs of any ground meat.  (Or get 1-2 lbs ground meat out of the          freezer because you forgot to do it this morning when you were rushing out    the door.  Put frozen meat in a pan with a little splash of water, put the lid on and start cooking. Every now and then turn the clunk over and break it up until all is browned. Do this any time you forgot and need browned meat. If you flatten it before freezing it'll thaw faster.)

Now add 1 or 2 cans EACH of diced tomatoes, beans (like pinto or kidney), and Hormel or other canned chile.  Mix it up.  Season with chile and garlic powders. Heat, covered, while you mix a couple of boxes of Jiffy cornbread. 2 boxes fits in a 9x13 pan. My daughter adds 1/2 can of creamed corn to each box of mix, by the way. Ice cream for dessert. 20 minutes to make the whole dinner.  Missionaries like this.
 

*$5 Pizza from the pizza store /  Bagged fancy salad (Alright there might be    some arugula.)  /Peach sundaes (Vanilla ice cream, topped with canned sliced    peaches and a sprinkle of one of the following; brown sugar, granola, crumbled cookies or a squirt of whipped cream. If you put a bottled cherry on top everyone under 16 will be impressed.)
Families with lots of kids really like this dinner apparently.
               
     
*Crock Pot
Put something in it before you leave home. A big piece of meat works. Throw some unpeeled potato clunks in the bottom if there's room. Slice and season as you serve. BBQ sauce will do.
Serve with the instant salad /ranch dressing dip thing and rolls or biscuits you bake from a can.
Get a kid to set the table and it's 3 minutes cooking when you get home plus biscuit baking time.

 Alert!  Big Crockpot Bonus

The crockpot will make the house smell good.
One sister reports her son said that when he comes home from school or practice and smells dinner cooking, "It feels like a hug."  I've noticed that myself come to think of it.

Technology Update!

Several sisters said that their ovens have a "delay start" feature that makes it possible to place even frozen stuff in there and it will magically start cooking later so it will be ready at dinnertime. Comes with that "dinner smell hug" bonus too. (I looked. I think mine has it. Who knew?)

The list went on and on.

The point being that since this "small means" might end up making a big difference it's worth a little thought and planning.

Another thing. More than one woman said that presentation means a lot when serving simple dinners like these.

One smart sister bought a set of those little red  plastic baskets at the $1 store. The ones they use at fast food places.
She uses them on burger, Joe, or hot dog nights. She buys bakery buns with sesame seeds, not the cheap ones, because it doesn't take any more time and makes a big difference. Cottage cheese and pineapple plus chips rounds it all out.
She also uses a special red and white checked tablecloth and everybody gets a root beer on those nights only.
Her six year old calls her the " best cook in the world."

Every woman there said that a well stocked pantry and freezer make ten minute meals way easier.

One smart lady says she cooks large amounts of pasta, brown rice, and dry beans on Saturdays, puts them in zip locks and keeps them in the fridge or freezer for almost instant stir frys or spagetti.
She buys big bags of frozen stir fry veggies at the big box store to avoid peeling, and lots of on sale boneless chicken to slice before freezing. She starts cooking the chicken after just a few minutes on nuke defrost.
She says you'll need those cans of fruit and cottage cheese too.

In any case, the general consensus was........ don't get caught with your pantry down.

But then I mentioned the seemingly insurmountable problem of people getting home at different times.
What about that, huh?
There's no dinner bell that we can clang and have everybody run in from chores anymore.
Almost all of my students had mentioned this as a reason why they didn't have meals as a family.
Work, school and crazy schedules can wreck suppertime.

Someone piped up with something like, "The Lord gives no commandment save there is a way to accomplish it."
Another said, "Just do it!"

Then one sister said she too was frustrated by conflicting family schedules until she took the revolutionary advice of the BYU cooking show lady. Here it is.
   
                HAVE DINNER AT THE SAME TIME EACH NIGHT
                         NO MATTER WHO'S AT HOME.

Forget coordinating schedules, because chances are you can't.
Sometimes everybody will be there, sometimes not.

But WHOEVER is there "connects."

And, no matter where they may be, the whole family knows its dinnertime and that people who love them are gathered.
That's just the way things are done at their house.
   
One lady said that her family always prayed for any missing persons when asking the blessing on the food.
Her teenaged son once told her that whenever he looked at the gym clock at 6 PM during practice, he knew that his family was having dinner together and that they'd just prayed for him.

That might be an important thing for a 16 year old to know don't you think?

Someone pointed out that dinner is no time for discipline either. The only question anybody should be asked is, "What's going on in your life?"

Small means. Sure.
But just burgers and meatloaf going on here? I don't think so.
Maybe it's the connections that make such a big difference.
Maybe it's the encouragement and comfort we give each other as we pass the potatoes.
Maybe it's about laughter, love, belonging and family, and about being able to count on it regularly.

I'm not sure what it is, but the brethren have me convinced that great things could come to pass when we have dinner with the people we love.
How about you?

                         
             
                         

Many Sheep Cross the Sky

*Note
      Two of the Lord's finest souls were called home this week. This post is                   dedicated to them.  
      Frank Greer, my boss and principal of the school where I taught for 12 years, known fondly as "Sarge" to me.  I can't think of him and not smile.
      And Chester Crandell, who taught my own children, and who's dear wife Alice       worked alongside me in my classroom. He later became a state senator and flags fly at half mast in his honor this week.
      
      May Father bless you both and keep those you love in his tender care.




“To gladden the eye and delight the heart of man.” That’s what the scriptures say. That’s why Heavenly Father’s creations are so beautiful. He made them that way on purpose just for us. How grateful I am for that love. The love that created beauty.

 Well, may we never pass by God’s creations without noticing how lovely they are.  And I hope He’s pleased to see the joy in our eyes.

Years ago, when our family first moved to the mountains from the city, we were suddenly surrounded by awesome natural scenery every day and night. It was impossible to ignore and often stopped us in our tracks. 

One day at lunch recess I remember standing on the grassy school playground where I was supposed to be watching kids. Instead I was turning in circles as I looked up into that impossibly bluest of blue skies.  Enormous, puffy, white clouds raced on the high winds. Clouds never looked like that or moved that fast in the city. I was fascinated by them.  
One of my students was standing nearby, a Navajo boy. He looked up intently at my face with a puzzled expression and said kindly,  “Many sheep cross the sky. It will rain soon.” I guess he thought I was looking for an explanation. 

Truly, living on the mountain, each day, each season, brought beauties….some that took your breath away.

Well, all good things must end, they say, and that dreaded day came after more than 12 years. Our nest emptied and our selfish children refused to give us any of the grandkids to keep in our little house in the big woods. They were all down in the nasty old city, our posterity were. We couldn’t talk them into letting us keep even one sticky little grandbaby or annoying teenager even though they had plenty. They were all lowlanders again, as the mountain folks called them. If we wanted to be near kids and grandkids we had to move.  A wrench in so many ways, it wasn't only the beauty around us but the mountain people we'd miss. Some of the finest folks on earth lived in this high country. 

Sadly we both found jobs and moved back.

We had grown so close to nature up here that I was sure that trading Ponderosa forests and mountain lakes for traffic jams and dust storms would be really hard. It was, but I was surprised at a lesson I learned.

We bought a tiny little “spec” house right at first. It was just a place for temporary shelter while we settled back after years of mountain life. School had already started and we'd look for something permanent later. The house was built for someone else who decided against it, but was ready for move-in right away. Both of us were adjusting to new jobs and the house had its good points…..the kids and grandkids were nearby, stores were right around the corner, (Not a 50 mile drive over sometimes snow covered, winding, mountain roads), and best of all every kind of restaurant my husband could think of could be found somewhere in the city. (That didn’t stop him from driving us 400 miles to another state for a burrito as big as your head because Sunset magazine had an article about one though.) Despite its good points there was a downside. The house was one of those “ticky, tacky boxes all in a row,” with the red tile roofs that sprawl all over the southwest. You have to count your way down the block to find where you live because every one’s the same, sort of thing. In this suburban neighborhood I certainly didn’t see any hope of finding any connection with the land or animals that had become such a big part of our lives in the woods. This was the city…… albeit the outskirts….. there’s no nature here, I thought.

Well, I was wrong. There is nature here….though a different, smaller kind. Sometimes you have to be very still to experience it, but it calms the soul, nevertheless.

For instance, a small yellow bird with green feathers shading its head comes every day to the palo verde tree just off the back patio. It hops among the green branches, lime colored leaves, and yellow flowers. A vine hangs down from the arbor that I had Guillermo build for me, dangling a purple flower right in the open doorway to the little library we made from the spare bedroom. We knocked out the windows and put a French door that opens onto a tiny courtyard we built there between the house and block wall. Hummingbirds never fail to stop to drink nectar from the blossoms while I sit next to the little fountain that Larry hung on the wall for me. The honeysuckle we planted just months ago now almost covers the whole thing. The tiny courtyard’s only 10 feet wide but is filled with old pots of bright fuscia bouganvillia and hearts and flowers spilling onto the brick pavers. The doors to the little library are usually wide open if the AC's not running.  One hummer even ventured inside once, standing still in mid-air…… pausing….. I think, to listen to the music we had playing while we sat on the loveseat next to the shelves filled with my books. Bees and butterflies flit to the potted Mexican lime tree that always has some blossoms no matter the season. Its little limes are the most flavorful I’ve ever tasted……the fresh, limey smell fills the kitchen whenever you slice one to put in your ice water. Two lizards visit daily, doing pushups on the wall…their blue bellies showing bright under their tan scales. I see them so often I’ve named them Lucky and Lucy though I’ve no idea of their gender. 

On restless nights when sleep doesn’t come easily I go and sit on the bench outside our bedroom, a soft breeze moving the leaves on the trees now as tall as the house after only a few months. In March that breeze brings the heady scent of orange and lemon blossoms which perfumes the air across the entire desert Valley. I look up to see a few familiar stars visible above. Even in the light of the city I can find the dippers and the North star. Orion is often there, too, guarding those below with his sword at the ready. Certainly not the clouds of stars we could see in the white swath of the Milky Way on moonless nights on the mountain, but somehow comforting, nevertheless. It turns out that we made a trade of sorts when we moved back to the desert……stars for sunsets it was. Sunsets are often spectacular here, of course. Reds, oranges, and purples paint the darkening western sky almost every night. We had to drive to the Rim overlook to see sunsets on the mountain. Too many huge ponderosa pines blocked the view. But whenever we returned home after being out after dark it was always someone’s job to run and turn off the porch light. Then we could all stand and stare up at the millions of stars so dense that they made a dusty white path across the black night sky. The Milky Way for sunsets…that was the trade.

There are other small pleasures here, too…….soft night breezes and the sounds and smells of freshly cut grass even in winter ….that sort of thing. 

So we stayed in the little “spec” house…… longer than we intended.....husband now saying, “It’s big enough for just us two and I don’t want to move furniture.” Now years have passed in this temporary, just until we get settled again place.

Even though we miss the spectacular beauties of the mountains I now believe it’s true what the old hymn says….“there is beauty all around.”

Wherever you are, look for it and be gladdened and delighted. I think it will make Heavenly Father happy.

The Alarm Clock of Youth

Why, oh why, must children remember the very things about their childhood that you wish them to forget? And why, oh why, don't they recall the many wonderful things, (I'm sure there must have been many), that are worth remembering?

My kids are all grown. One day, I was feeling uncharacteristically wistful about those long, lost days when they were newer.  I asked one who turned out well to tell me about a childhood memory.  I was looking for validation that I'd been a good mother, that I'd been a light in little childish lives.

Take my advice.  Don't do this. You may be sorry.

Dear daughter cheerfully replied that one of her most vivid memories as a young girl was being awakened every morning by the ringing sounds of pots and pans clanging together. This was coming from the kitchen. Then every so often,  after a particularly loud crash,  the shrill voice of her lovely mother would cry out in exasperation,  "Damnation!"

She doesn't recall that I was all alone out there, in the dawn's early light,  making breakfast and packing lunches for the rest of the still sleeping members of the family.  No, of course not.   All this before I had to get ready for work too.  Never mind that I wasn't cussing AT anybody for Pete's sake!  Plus, I didn't think anyone was listening, but that doesn't matter either.  She just remembers what she calls, "The alarm clock of my youth."  5:00 AM she said.  It never failed.  For years she awoke to the sound of pots and pans crashing loudly and "Damnation!" ringing out from the kitchen of our "little house in the big woods."  Now whenever she hears anybody shout, "Damnation!" she thinks of me.   Great.   Happy mother's day.

After this distressing little tale I asked her to tell about something nice.  A beautiful memory.  Something precious that we'd shared as mother and daughter.

She thought hard and said with a bright smile, "Nothing comes to mind off the top of my head."

If you still have kids at home think about this.  Let it be a lesson to you.  Children have very selective memories and good hearing.  And regret has a bitter taste in old age.

Watch yourself.

A New Bedspread

There's an old Spanish proverb I posted in my classroom once.

"First we shape our houses. Then they shape us."

And because I remembered that saying I’ve been shopping for a new bedspread. 
And that reminded me of how troublesome men can be. 
And that got me to thinking of how troublesome it is to do the right thing in general. 
So now I need to vent.

I was shopping because our bedspread has issues. It's years old and looking dated to say the least. Even, I hate to admit, a little shabby. 
Because it came in a set and I used one of the smaller pieces to cover a window valance, replacing it means replacing the valance. It's going to be a lot of trouble and work. 
Well, the price of beauty is labor, as they say, and we've been counseled that our homes should be places of beauty, haven't we? 
So.

That inspired counsel given about our homes was certainly not that they be costly, or large, or of any particular style. But that they shouldn't be neglected. No matter where or what, they should be places that reflect intelligence and beauty. In fact, we’re supposed to create homes of such charm and grace that “angels will want to visit and rest there.” I read that somewhere important.

I know that several early Prophets have talked about the subject of our homes and surroundings. I think it was Brigham Young that said when people look at the home of a Saint they should say to themselves, “What a lovely little cottage.” 
So, this must matter to Father.

And if it matters to Father then it should matter to me.

I’d like to do the right thing here but it would be a lot easier for me to accomplish this if my circumstances were different.
There are obstacles, I can tell you. 
Sometimes money for one.
The man I live with definitely for two.

So, here I am. In the middle of the blazing Sonoran desert, in a tiny little house, (tiny by choice but nevertheless) with a shabby bedspread and a troublesome man. 
I’ve been told to create beauty. 
I’m thinking.

While thinking my mind wanders back to a fall day in the center of a Glendale, Arizona barrio. 
I was teaching at the oldest school in the city, one that, sixty or so years ago, I was shocked and dismayed to learn, had been reserved solely for kids who did not qualify as “White Only”. I hadn’t realized there’d been segregated schools in this state. Sadly, I found out, there were.

I was going out to visit the mother of one of my students. I needed her to sign some papers. She had several little ones and couldn’t come in to school herself. This happened a lot. So I drove along the street, passing small houses that were surely built at the same time as the school, looking for the address. I stopped at a house that couldn’t have been more than one room wide.

There was a short chain link fence with a gate in front. It enclosed a tiny yard with a patch of grass that was green and neatly trimmed. All along the fence, vines and flowers were growing in a narrow bed. As I came to the door I saw cleverly disguised tin cans and food containers also filled with growing flowers.You had to look closely to see what the containers were. A large and lovely vine which I recognized as a sweet potato plant, hung from a twine carrier and spilled down gracefully next to the front window. 
I knocked. 
The woman who answered was dressed in a colorful skirt and a clean white blouse. She was carrying a baby on one hip and had a little one grasping her skirts from behind.The small girl clinging to her knees had big dark eyes and pink bows in her braided hair. The woman asked me in.

It was the smallest living room I’d ever seen. It couldn’t have been more than 6 feet wide. 
The room was spotless and filled with light spilling in from the window. The floor was shining cement, the walls were adorned with lovely pictures, landscapes and religious subjects as far as I could tell. Some were in frames, some appeared to be cut from magazines and placed on colorful, lacy paper mats. All were carefully hung in groups to the glowing white walls. The only window sparkled in the sun and that lovely vine could be seen gently moving in the breeze outside. There was a little shelf holding a colorful scarf and a porceline figure on the wall. 
The only furniture was a small loveseat and chair covered with matching throws. A little painted chest stood against the opposite wall. On top of the chest was a television and a vase of the flowers I’d seen outside. Delicious smells came wafting out of the next room which reminded me that it was getting on toward suppertime. 
Without asking she immediately brought me a cold drink. We talked pleasantly, she signed the papers and I left to head back to school.

Well, it’s been many years since I sat in that little home but I’ll never forget the feeling I had when I was there. You could almost touch the peace, the beauty, the creativity and intelligence that dwelt there. The woman who created that home was magnifying her sacred calling. If I were an angel I would love to stop by to visit and rest awhile.

This got me to thinking about another one of my student’s homes.

It was during our mountain years. I was teaching in a wonderful little school in a tiny town with marvelous, down to earth people. It was lunch time. My kids were out in the hall getting ready to go to the cafeteria. A new student had joined our class that morning, a boy from a family just moving from the city. We were all standing in line talking together, waiting for the 4th graders ahead of us to get going. 
My kids, who were always friendly, were talking to the new boy, trying to make him feel at home. I was chatting with some of the girls with half an eye on keeping the line in order. I heard one of my guys ask the new boy where he lived. He told them. 
Someone else said, “Oh, I know where that is. Down at the other end of the street from the “junk house,” right? “Yeah,” some of the other kids chimed in, “That’s where it is. At the other end of the street from the junk house.”

The line started to move. The kids stopped their conversations

My boys didn’t even know that their classmate who lived in the “junkhouse” had heard them. They didn't mean to be cruel.

But I saw the boy's face. What I saw there broke my heart. 
There was shame and embarrassment. Feelings hard for a child to bear. 
But, I prayed silently, not, "I come from the junkhouse so I must be junk." 
Please Father, don't let him think that.

So, creating homes of grace despite our circumstances is important to Father. Order, cleanliness, and beauty might really be next to godliness. Maybe there's something to that old saying, "First we shape our houses, then they shape us

Back to the bedspread.

Gratefully, I have the means to buy a new bedspread. And I even have the grandkids who can climb a ladder and get the old valance down. 
What I don’t have is a husband whose grizzled gray and bearded face looks good under any sort of elegant covering. Every time I think I’ve found a new one (bedspread that is), I imagine his sleeping, snoring face peeking out from under the covers. 
I’ve tried, really tried people, but he just doesn’t match with any type of charming decor!
Some of you may be married to elegant or adorably cute men but mine is the rugged type. He now looks like a mountain man fresh from the hunt. An old one to boot. Burlap or buffalo hides are the only fabrics that come to mind when you gaze at his sleeping face. 
Back when he was younger he used to look like Sean Connery. Then a cross between Sean and Santa Claus. Then just Santa Claus. Now, it’s the mountain man phase. 
I’m not the only one who sees these evolving resemblances either. Once a few years back, in an emergency, I called Sears where he’d gone to buy some shoes. 
I asked for the tool department. I told the girl who answered that I needed to find my husband quick because our son had just called with last minute tickets to the ASU / UofA football game, and they needed to leave in 20 minutes. 
She asked what he looked like. I told her a cross between Sean Connery, Santa Claus and a buffalo. She said she didn’t see him. 
I said “He’s a good kisser.” She replied brightly, “Oh sure, there he is now!”

Yes, men can be troublesome indeed.

Even so, you’ll be happy to know, I am not deterred. 
Thinking about all this has strengthened me. 
I’m off on my quest for a new bedspread. 
And I’m going to try to create beauty by replanting my patio pots with hardy perenials that can perhaps survive in this blast furnace portion of the Lord’s vineyard. 
And I even won’t murmur against those people in San Diego or Flagstaff who have such an easy time creating beauty all around, and don’t appreciate it. 
On the coast I once saw tomato plants and flowers growing wild and tall as your head around the dumpsters behind a McDonalds! Tomatoes were everywhere and desperately needed to be picked. 
I almost had to cuss but “Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s tomato plants” is a rule, I think.

Anyway life is full of obstacles meant to be overcome. I’ll let you know how this one turns out for me.