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I went to a city council meeting last night to protest a conditionary use permit being issued to a builder of an arena across the road from Corgi Hollows.

My attempt to sway the opinion failed. The permit passed. There will be a massive arena built across from Corgi Hollows.

I had sixty years of tranquil views. That will change.

The rumor is that it is for a rodeo facility. The council saw the plans for a “private use” arena that is huge. It’s on 35 acres, so the council approved it.

The guy on the council smiled to the builder—after the vote—-and said, “You can get out your checkbook…”

And my heart died.

My father-in-law recommended a book to me several years ago, “Little Pink House.”

It was the story of a woman up against a big company. She won the dispute, but it took up her life and energy, all for her little pink house.

I don’t have that kind of energy. I’m just grieving my losses.

Again, grieving.

Yes, it’s just a view, it’s just wetland pollution, it’s just change. Two scummy holding ponds and a manure pit are planned in the architectural plans, all set to drain into the wetlands belonging to Corgi Hollows—-the places where the sandhill cranes nest, and countless migratory birds rest.

I grieve. I may be selfishly wanting my environment to remain the same, but that’s that. I grieve. I love Corgi Hollows.

To look out at a massive arena instead of grain fields is just hard for me.

*crying*

What is most sad is that the structure isn’t even in the code—-it had to be granted special permission. And it was.

So goes the neighborhood.

Grieve with me today, friends. I know we are supposed to live our lives quietly. (Micah) The book of Micah also reminds us that GOD DOES NOT CHANGE. (Micah 3:6)

So even if we suffer stuff here; changes, attacks, slander, abuse, dysfunctional family relationships—-GOD STILL PROMISES HE WON’T CHANGE.

Are you waiting for the RAPTURE OF THE CHURCH?

I am.

MARANATHA!

Come Lord Jesus! I cannot wait!

What a hard week for Corgi Hollows. I didn’t mean to write a “down” post, but this morning I was thinking rather objectively as I prepare for a gathering this weekend.

My mom lost two siblings in the past two/three weeks. Good-bye.

I think back to a June 13 anniversary—the diagnosis of leukemia in Ed—nine years ago. He went to the clinic this past week for a follow-up. He’s well, but the clinic isn’t the same place. It’s been nine years. He did see one NP that he loved deeply since that day, but no one else.

Good-bye.

This Sunday, Father’s Day, is the death anniversary of my husband. It’s been three years. The good-bye just continues.

When I think of all the loss around me the good-byes seem to multiply exponentially. Such is life getting old. Age is a blessing, but one must face the good-byes.

I’ve thought about the best way to face a good-bye.

Is it firmly shaking a hand, turning, walking away with a brief wave back?

Was the atmosphere fuzzy-warm?

Was there regret?

Even a small regret can color and shape a good-bye.

I have had three “shocking” moments in my life. The early morning on June 13, 2014, when an oncologist informed me that my son had leukemia. I was floored. I clung to my God in desperation.

I was working at my hotel October, 2019, the day that my daughter finished hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. My mom came in, stood at the counter, and told me that my brother and his wife had been killed by a drunk driver. The shock hit like a brick.

I was eating breakfast with Cherie in New Hampshire at an organic vegetable farm where my Margaret had been working. It was June 18, 2020. My cell phone rang. “Is this Corgi—? I regret to tell you that your husband passed away….”

I’m no longer a stranger to shock. I know exactly what it feels like.

Thankfully I have the Lord’s help in dealing with it. I can’t imagine facing shock on my own. As a believer I always have hope. Hope helps shock. It also alleviates regret and loss.

Still, there are regrets, loss, and shock. Those are all real.

Life will bring people into your circle. Experiences will also snatch them away. We can cling to someone only so much. Good-byes happen, often forever. It is such a precious gift to have minimal regrets when that loss happens.

But there is hope. There is hope in the One Who provides an answer to The Fall.

Increasingly I place my trust in that One who gives Hope.

It may not look like it as I flounder here on earth, but inside my spirit there is still a flame of hope.

MARANATHA!

In the “Anne of Green Gables” series there is a book “Anne’s House of Dreams.” It is, perhaps surprisingly, my favorite book of the series. I love the characters introduced in that book, the story is a bit unreal and even sappy, but the figures are memorable: Miss Cornelia, Captain Jim, and Leslie.

Leslie is a tragic person. I won’t spoil the story, but she is an interesting character, and I imagined her vividly. LM Montgomery wrote that Leslie always had a touch of red on her otherwise drab outfits, a red geranium, for instance.

As a lover of geraniums I could relate to her choice.

I love geraniums.

I am finding that a touch of red really does have a psychological effect on one’s environment.

It’s such a cheerful color, but one must not overdo it. As I’ve integrated strawberries into my home decor I’ve found that these splashes of bright red can “give joy” a.l.a. Marie Kondo.

Since the overarching theme of my decor is whimsy I have been able to integrate strawberries here and there around the house. There is a fragrance and a boost to the spirit when I see them.

Since the effect is noticeable I thought I’d share.

I need a boost to the spirit every single day. God gives these natural energizers in His creation. He is a good God.

MARANATHA!

Actually today is the last day of school, but I’m visiting the dentist in an hour, so I’ll be brief.

It’s achingly beautiful at Corgi Hollows right now. We have a zillion mosquitoes, but the weather is gentle, perfect for sitting on the porch for morning coffee.

The yard is green, the fresh hay is all around. Wildflowers are in full bloom.

Bird activity has quieted.

Did I tell about the crows who have come to live at Corgi Hollows? Their tree, with a new nest, is on my neighbor’s land, but it is directly west of my kitchen windows. It’s in a tall pine tree, near the top.

I’ve been watching them all care for the new babies–an entire family affair. They must have fledged, because the activity has disappeared. The crow family is training the youngsters on a broader scale.

Still, while it lasted I was constantly seeing these intelligent, massive birds swooping in and out around the house.

I realize that they will change the complexion of birdlife at Corgi Hollows, but I can’t be entirely disappointed—I really find Corvids fascinating.

I just HOPE that the blue jay population isn’t affected too much. I love my blue jays. I need chickadees, too. Robins are nesting at Corgi Hollows North, sweetly, in their favorite spot. Orioles are back. I’ve seen hummingbirds, and I put out syrup.

The phoebes visit an old nesting spot occasionally, and I saw house finches swoop in to a place on top of a light—–a no-no as it is a fire hazzard.

Cherie has been trying her hand at making bread lately. Delicious. Ed has been mowing, mowing, mowing after work. He reeks of mosquito spray, and we can tell when he’s coming from the scent he projects.

He’s wearing a natural repellent, so that’s good. It’s powerful.

Business is humming around here, and I need to rally my own spirits. I’m fighting emotional pain lately. Like I said, it’s achingly beautiful. June. It’s been three years of Lonesome.

Are you Rapture Ready?

I cannot say how much I look forward to the reunion with Christ.

Maranatha!

May has been full of work and activity. It’s my last chance to get a paycheck for three months—subbing hiatus is upon us.

I do like the freedom and flexibility of being a substitute teacher, especially in my old age.

I will not deny that it can be super stressful, but most days are okay. I love the kids. They fill up my need for human interaction, love, and affirmation—most days!

Sometimes having a connection with the most troubled souls is sweetness itself. My heart burns for these young ones. They have challenges most people never dream of. I know, because they share things with me, details sometimes, of their difficult lives.

Yesterday was a strange experience, as the documentary I was supposed to show each hour involved witchcraft and star gazing. It was quite the experience to see some demonic activity manifest in two of the six hours.

I announced at the beginning of the hour that this documentary was religious in nature and that the students should treat it as such. One can study religions and all sorts of things as subject matter—I follow the plan. I add my two cents whenever possible, and yesterday I did. Of course.

Still I had to deal with spiritual stuff, and that happens from time to time. It’s weird.

Remember, this is a public school. Building trust with the students is my goal. I have no contract to appease the system. I step in and add my influence as a believer in Jesus whenever I can.

Another topic of the week was vulgarity and profanity. I take the opportunity to educate kids on the difference, and it usually makes a difference in the atmosphere when I do. I don’t hear either after that. Unfortunately I hear it too much to begin with. Salt and Light—that is what I’m trying to be.

As we watch our world slide towards the Beast System we can expect decay before our eyes. I see it.

My friend called me last Sunday and announced that she’d been given two free tickets to hear Andrea Bocelli in Minneapolis that evening. It was 5pm when she called, concert was slated for 7:30.

YES! I’m in!!

I have to say that it was more than I anticipated! He really does have an amazing voice, huge repertoire, masterful ability, and the show was heart wrenching, i.e. “Time to Say Good Bye”–

He sang all the famous tenor arias from Italian opera. What a performance!

I’ll never forget it.

Tomorrow I drive my “daughter” from Africa to camp. She’s been here since college dorms closed for the summer, and she is working at a camp there for the summer months.

Tonight I plan to put flowers on Brian’s grave at Fort Snelling. Going on Monday is problematic, since traffic is insane at the National Cemetery.

Our local cemetery has a wonderful service on Memorial Day, and Brian’s name will be read out loud at roll call. I hope to visit my dad’s grave as well. My friend Dean will be the speaker there. My old high school band plays each year too. It’s very meaningful.

I made some major decisions these past few weeks about the future. I’ve been quietly praying and listening for advice and direction. God gave. Nothing is truly peacefully happy about my issues, but there is resolution.

It’s gorgeous outside. Lilacs are in full bloom, honeysuckle, bleeding heart. Daisies are beginning to bloom. Tulips are done.

It’s starting to be hot. Tomatoes and cucumbers, dill and basil are planted. Thyme and parsley, lettuce are all popping up volunteer. It’s fun to have my Kitchen Garden.

I need to go and get an eggplant.

Dolmates, Biber, patlican,,,,—a Turkish song goes through my head each time I think of eggplant.

I brush up on my Turkish. 🙂

My Chinese is coming along nicely. It’s fun to actually understand some conversation, and respond a bit too!

Still learning characters. What a challenge.

School will be out in a couple of weeks. I hope to have more to write about then.

Until then…

Cheri is re-reading the Little House books recently, and I saw “The Long Winter” on the table this morning.

My thought: I hated that book, and I loved it.

It is one of the deepest books of the series, the one with the most impact, memorable, and pedantic.

It comes to mind, especially the sacrificial love that is shown in each of the chapters. Bleeding hands twining straw into logs, just one of the poignant scenes.

It’s been a long winter here in Minnesota. We are all tired out, longing for spring, waiting for the water to subside, the temperatures to warm.

I’ve had water in my basement, and all the work done to repair it from past winters and calamity has been ruined again.

Sad face.

I need to find the core of the problem, a way to keep water from coming in. Floors have been replaced, the roof has been replaced, the gutters have been replaced—but I haven’t figured out the real issue.

I’m no engineer.

I can successfully avoid the issues by keeping super busy at work, but this morning I took the day off to catch up on home stuff. The problems are staring me in the face.

I need to be grateful that I’m not in the flood plain. I crossed the Crow River yesterday on my way home and it is magnificent and ominous. The water around my home is also impressive, as much as it’s been in other years during the spring.

Two events are planned for Corgi Hollows this year: Old-timer Neighborhood Day, and Corgi Hollows History Day.

The Old-Timer day will be in June, and it is for my neighborhood, but if you are a regular reader of Corgi Hollows you are also invited. It’s June 17. I’ll provide the Kosher hotdogs, but everyone can bring a dish to share in typical Minnesota potluck fashion.

My niece and her husband are “Big Sadie,” a folk band, and they have said a tentative “yes” to performing that day.

The Corgi Hollows History day is planned for October 14, Saturday. That will be a Kosher hot dog roast as well, with everyone coming dressed as characters from history. This event has been fun for us in the past. We will keep it simple this year, no shops, just fun activities and music by the fire.

Both events will start at 1:00pm and wrap up around 6:00pm. Come as you can, like an open house. It’s fun to see everyone, though, so expect the main activity to happen around 3:00pm. (Concert, music, etc.)

This is a heads up for planners, of which I must be one.

The forsythia is in full bloom. Cherie brought in a bouquet to grace the counter. I’ve enjoyed yellow tulips from Trader Joe’s in my Ukrainian yellow coffee pot. So cheery and sunshiny. I got some pink carnations there, too, as these lengthy cold and sort of dreary days needed some more color. Flowers are really God’s gifts to our spirits.

Ed and I have been talking about feelings a lot lately.

Does how we feel really matter? Why in the world did God create emotions? Should our feelings impact our decisions?

I’m trying to decide something big lately, and I know my feelings are having an impact. I’m unsure if they should.

When your mind is affected by a disorder, or chemistry, should you take any emotion into the factors of deciding?

Depression is real, sometimes chemical, sometimes spiritual. It has a big impact. Grief is also an emotion that colors and changes everything.

Dealing with seemingly endless grief is a factor.

I put a quote up on my bathroom mirror. You can debate the truth of it, the ramifications of it, but here it is: “I will not be responsible for your bad decisions, nor let them ruin my life.”

Bad decisions always have an effect, but perhaps the impact can be softened by a steadfast attitude in the response to them.

Avoidance is also an option.

As a believer I can trust God to sort things out, I can trust His timing, I can trust His guidance. I am a believer.

He never promised clear sailing, in fact HE PROMISED TROUBLE.

Who am I to argue with the Creator?

Though I don’t feel loved these days, I can know He does.

Perhaps not in the touchy feely huggy ways that people want to believe, but in the eternal consequences way.

That’s knowledge, not emotion.

That is where I stand.

Waiting for Jesus, here. We will see each other in glory, in the millennium, with Him.

MARANATHA!

After Brian passed away in June of 2020 I felt bereft on many levels.

The first months of shock and initial acceptance were simply the act of survival—learning the life skills that he had fully implemented for 30 years, and I’d gratefully let: bills, passwords, household projects, all the nit-picky stuff that engineers occupy themselves with. He was so smart and capable that I lived life on easy street married to him.

Easy Street disappeared when he left.

Because I am musical (very, really) I let music express my emotions. For some strange reason I could not listen to classical music easily after he died. It troubled my spirit in grief.

As a believer I am influenced by worship music, and I was given a children’s lullaby CD of worship songs which helped me.

I started a new direction from everything that pained my sorrowful heart.

With that new direction I began to discover, for me, an entirely new world: East Asia.

Along with all the new (or re-learned) life skills I was dealing with I started learning Chinese, immersing myself in East Asian popular culture, and finding new friends who shared this interest.

Out with the old and in with the new. New beginnings, new interests, new people, new directions.

The pain of loss was medicated and numbed with all of this new stuff.

I came across a kpop group whose music touched me, helped my spirit, and helped to heal me; ASTRO.

As a part of this whole new experience, with something that I had no clue about before, I started to make contact with them and with others who “stan” them. (That is colloquial for being a fan in this kpop world.)

I was learning about Asian popular culture in a big way, just by following this group of six kids. They’re all my children’s ages, six young men.

I knew that at least a couple of these boys were believers, but I put all six on my “Snatch List,” my Jude 23 prayer list that I pray for daily.

I learned about each of their lives, especially “Rocky,” who I felt I understood better than the others. He’s really Park Min Hyuk, a composer/artist. I’ve enjoyed getting to “know” him.

These ASTRO boys provided a sweet sound track to my grief processing, along with a few other East Asian (Chinese speaking) musical artists. Upbeat and sweet, they helped my sadness on days when I just couldn’t….

There are many ways to connect with these kpop people: Vlive, Twitter, Instagram, Weverse, Facebook, among others. It was fun to make contact. I had a moment with Moonbin one night when my phone dinged that he was “live.”

Sleepless nights could be sort of exciting when you chat with someone on the other side of the world.

On Tuesday Moonbin passed away, 25 years old. He may have been just a name in the news to most people, but I felt it hard. His funeral is tomorrow. Millions of people who cope with life without Jesus are really grieving right now. I’m sad!

Since I’ve prayed daily for him to be snatched for the last two years I have hope that he made peace with God. God answers prayer, ya know.

This is the second person on my snatch list that has passed away—also someone whom I know that God knows the whole story about. I can only hope and cope with trusting God for these two precious people.

It is so wonderful when there is no doubt about where a person is for the eternal realm. Those who know Jesus are going to be with Him. It’s nice when those who love them have assurance of someone’s faith. It helps.

I know where Brian is. I know because I believe in the Bible’s promises. I can cope.

I can trust that God answers prayer, too, and I hope to meet Bin in heaven.

In times of grief for those you care for there is an extra need for prayers of comfort. Perhaps this passing of someone seemingly remote and untouchable will open the door to spiritual awakening to Jesus in someone, perhaps in one of my new friends.

That is also my prayer.

I look forward to heaven. I always have.

MARANATHA!

So, I just finished another full week of being a substitute teacher. I’m very weary, but I feel a sense of hope and satisfaction compared to the despair of the previous weeks.

Perhaps students still listen to a plea for mutual respect.

I plead.

They were pretty good—-well behaved—this week.

That is some victory.

This is my weekend to work at the hotel, so I am running thin today.

Winter appears gone.

It’s raining.

A good friend sent be a photo of Brian and me this week. I’ve always been camera shy, and you can tell that from this picture, but it is a good picture, and yes, Nancy, it made me cry. She warned me.

It’s really good of my handsome husband.

These past three years are a blur with snapshots of clarity in my reactions and responses to trauma.

I simply cannot recall some things at all—others I can remember moment by moment.

Trauma is something I am gradually accepting and dealing with. It isn’t over yet.

I found an entrepreneurial high school student to help me clean up the yard. He is very reasonable to pay, but the catch is his school commitments and baseball. I’m still really glad I found him. He will come as his schedule allows. I’m grateful.

Ed is on the mend. Grateful.

We are breathing the fresh air of Corgi Hollows again, listening to frog song at night, and relishing the coming burst of green.

Expectations. They are dangerous!

Yet God promised us these seasons.

Do you know how I take comfort in that?

He keeps His promises.

We can live with that truth.

MARANATHA!

This might be an ode post.

I need to vent a bit after this week of subbing a couple of 8th grade days. I’ll admit it: it was rough.

I’ve been subbing at the same district for seven years now. March and April are usually booked solid for me, so I am worn thin.

All the anecdotes and stories, tidbits of info, trivia that I usually have at the front of my brain are buried deep under weariness and the present behavioral encounters of the days.

I’m dealing.

Big sigh.

It’s Good Friday, so I have a day to breathe in.

But I am tired. Kids these days…

I wonder if you have experienced the disrespect that I have. Being laughed at—not with—for having issues with being able to hear, for what I’m wearing (no matter how blah) and for any slip of the tongue or old-fashioned idea.

Yesterday I used the word “endure” and a girl loudly (disrespectfully) called out “What does endooooor mean?”

They insult our intelligence.

I know that the covid experience changed and affected our worlds. I get it. Kids are affected by the culture, global culture, internet, communication trends like never before. Many parents have thrown in the towel in dealing with their children’s behavior.

The parents send the kids off to school so teachers can occupy them for a few hours.

Teachers develop relationships with the students and deal accordingly. A sub comes in and it is fresh meat. A feast ensues.

I’ve know these 8th graders for seven years. They may remember days I’ve cried. I’ve been through a lot these past seven years.

Still, they show little compassion, for the “office” of a substitute teacher, nor for me personally.

There are always a handful of sympathetic sweethearts who may apologize for their classmates’ bad acts at the end of the period. It is a balm, yet the problem persists.

The bad taste of failure as a teacher to connect and inspire stays.

One kid asked me why I became a teacher. Clearly I was beleaguered.

My answer: “I became a teacher 40 years ago. I’m sixty now. It was a different world then.”

He nodded in response.

Subbing is not for the faint of heart.

I’m planning to be back in the classroom next week.

I have one poem published in a book 🙂

It was a high school thing. It was contemplative, about my cat, about quiet thinking.

It was about making a latch hook rug.

I learned to knit in Germany, the European way. It looks backwards to most American knitters, but it really is fast.

I didn’t knit for two years after Brian died, but this year I began again. I’ve been stitching thoughts again.

Actually it can be a prayer now. As I knit for my new grand-baby about to be born, for my other three blessings—grandchildren— I knit and pray.

I’m knitting prayers.