One Year Ago

Outside today in temperatures that were above 60 degrees F, I thought of the many changes in our lives since last New Years' Eve.  During 2009, living in Wyoming, we talked of 'retirement', discussed the options we felt made sense economically.  We researched properties online. In the end, the offer on our house in Wyoming, the quick wrap up of the sale, took us a bit by surprise.
The process of packing, of finding our new home in Kentucky, the move, settling in, still seem to have happened in an exhausting whirlwind of activity.
We miss family and friends in Wyoming--we likely always will.
Yet, we are where we need to be and feeling at home on this rural acreage.
It has been hard work to renovate a house [while living in it] to start the process of fertilizing and seeding fields which had been a bit neglected.  Our first huge garden in this climate was nearly too much for us during the long spell of hot and humid weather.  The harvest and the shelves of stored fruit and vegetables are the reward for our perseverance.
The little house has a new kitchen, new flooring. Fresh paint has brought color into the rooms. There is a cozy, warm, and clean space in the basement that wasn't there before J.'s skills created it.
Even as we cherish old friends, new ones have been added to enrich our lives.
God willing, we will have the energy to create, to work, to take joy in another year.
I wish the same blessings for my readers.

The foothills of Lander, WY, December, 2009

Dooryard looking toward the mountains, 12-22-09

Snow mobiling in Wyoming!

Guest cabin in the snow, December, 2009

The home in Kentucky, March, 2010

The old hay barn with the new garden in the foreground, May, 2010.

Peony in bloom, May 11, 2010.

The first cut of hay, May 2010.

May 22, Pebbles and J.

July 11, 2010; produce from the garden.

August 15, 2010

Home in Kentucky.

Christmas Day in Kentucky, 2010.

Kentucky Home

New Years' Eve, 2010.



Going to Earth

J. and Raisin sharing breakfast on our last morning in the motor home. We were parked near Ft. Laramie, WY and will later have photos and impressions of that national park to share.

Our old gate-legged table with my Bible, favorite nature books and oddments, framed copies of vintage maps above.

My shabby wing chair and a tumble of books.

Walking into our house last evening after a two week absence I felt stunned momentarily with the reality of being "home." We were greeted by our grandson and his parents and by the 7 cats who didn't make the journey with us. Raisin resisted being removed from the motor home and was very scratchy while being carried in and deposited on the entry floor.

As I looked blearily about, my eyes fell first on the old gate-legged table with the cover which I pieced two years ago, then I came into this room which serves as mine for reading, writing, sewing. All here, anchors in the midst of fatigue, offering familiar comforts to ease the tumbled thoughts and impressions of the past fortnight.

We didn't attempt much in the few hours before bedtime. We brought in food from the motor home fridge, petted cats, sorted some mail, showered and fell into bed.

I was out of bed at the usual time this morning--the cats saw to that! I made a mental list of "things to do" but find that my energies are not up to the tasks, either physically or mentally. Laundry is done, clothing from the motor home closets put away, armloads of my books and such merely dumped here on the daybed. J. set up the sprinklers on the very brown and crispy lawn.

I've read a few e-mails and letters, peeked at my favorite blogs where I need to catch up with everyone's "doings", but for now what seems right is a mug of tea and a sitting spell in that shabby armchair with whatever assortment of felines wishes to keep me company.

The many kind thoughts sent our way are very warmly appreciated. Thank you, my friends!

A Generous Welcome

Teasel watches me unpack



Maisie keeps me company

Please, don't leave us again!

For me, there is sometimes a moment of awkwardness when I welcome a guest to my home. It is in no way connected to the degree of attachment I may feel for them. There has been the happy anticipation of a visit, special food prepared and waiting, a guest room made up, clean and inviting with a favorite quilt on the bed, a little basket of treats on the bedside stand. Yet, as I wait, poised for an arriving car, or a knock at the door, something in me frays a bit. Perhaps the problem is a lack of spontaneity, a sense that in those first few moments of reconnecting, I need a script, stage directions to guide me until former familiarity is established and I am again at ease.

Our cats have no such reservations. Their rituals of greeting are something we enjoy when returning to the house after work or errands. It has become almost a game. We turn off the car and approach the entry door quietly, stopping to look through the upper glass before turning the knob. It is a rare time that keen feline ears have missed our coming and we usually enter to a gathering of happy cats. Teasel waits for me to bend toward her with my hand outstretched. She rises on her hind legs pushing her stripy head into my palm. Charlie bustles around our ankles, Raisin begins a plaintive litany of neglect, the others chime in, boldly or shyly according to their various natures.

Arriving home yesterday after a five day absence, we found the cats all gathered and alert for greeting duty. We spoke their names and said, "Oh, poor things, did you think we would never return?"

While I changed litter boxes [ phew!] Jimmy lined up dishes and served their "treat"--canned cat food. I opened windows, cleaned up a collection of hawked up hairballs, checked the planters on the porch. The cats followed us from room to room, chatting, a bit anxious.

There are times when we have been away overnight or for a weekend when we return to find that after the initial welcoming ceremony we are treated for a few hours with disdain. The cats hunch furry shoulders and stroll away as if to say, "Think you can leave and come back at your leisure and expect us to fall all over you?" There will be acts of deliberate naughtiness, noisy uproar, wild chasings through the house before they can settle down.

There was none of that last evening. We put things away, righted a begonia which had been knocked from the kitchen windowsill, made an early supper. My husband, tired from days of driving, went for a nap. At last I could sit down in here, read e-mail, open a package, begin to cautiously feel at home again. Sweet-natured Maisie hopped onto my lap and sat, kneading gently for a few minutes. Teasel perched briefly on the edge of the desk. Furry tails flicked past my ankles. Absorbed for awhile in reading and typing it took a bit for the unusual stillness to register. Looking about, I saw that my friends were keeping me company: two sprawled on the windowsill, Teasel curled but alert in my sewing chair; Mrs. Beasely observed me, cross-eyed, from the wing chair. Hearing the soft pad of paws, I watched as Eggnog and Raisin headed for the bedroom to join Jimmy in his nap.

How lovely to be welcomed, to slip into that familiar companionship which needs few words, sharing space in a comfortable and easy sense of simply being home.