My youngest grandson has had a long-distance relationship with a girl from Colombia for more than 4 years. With the help of FaceTime and occasional visits to/from Switzerland, they have kept love alive.
Now she’s visiting him in the flesh. Ain’t love grand? God bless ‘em!
When Bob & I were dating and when we were engaged (back in the early 1960’s), he was in the army, stationed in Germany. We went two weeks between communication – one letter at a time.
Ain’t technology grand? Now we have instant communication!
What was your dating experience with your loved one? Was it also way back when? I’d love to hear about your “Grand Love” experience!
Today’s Prompt was: What positive emotion do you feel most often?
My Response: Gratitude
I’m grateful for the neighbors who came immediately last night when I called them. I was frantic! Kenny, our pup, was crying. We could hear his barks and his whining, but we couldn’t find him. It sounded like it was coming from under the house. Maybe he went under the deck and got stuck on something. Maybe a rattlesnake bit him (years ago we had that happen to our Boston named Angela). We searched high and low for Kenny. No luck!
We were frantic! So we called our friends. They came. Four of them! We all searched. Still no luck.
So, we went into the house (we’d already searched there thoroughly).
When we walked in through the back door, there was a black and white nose sticking out from under Bob’s chair!! Kenny had squeezed under to fetch a toy – and he got stuck!! Whew!!!😥 We lifted the chair to release him. Gratitude? Ah yes!! 👏🏽
Thank You, Jesus!
Thank You, God, Thank You, Jesus! Thank You for neighbors, for answered prayers, for the safety of our pup! Whew!!
Remember that first picture up there of Kenny lying on a quilt? I’m grateful for it, too. Do you have a memory quilt?
I love mine! And no, Kenny doesn’t usually get to lie on it! It was a retirement gift from my teaching colleagues when I retired back in 1999. The sentiments on it and the remembrances are so precious!
Marta Garcia did the stitching and each of my colleagues at school added a piece with their name and sometimes a sentiment. “Stitched with dreams of traveling forever,” Marta wrote.
If you live in Ennis, Montana with the Madison River running through it and the spectacular Rocky Mountains as your backdrop, and people from all over the world coming here to fish and to just relax and enjoy the peace, the open spaces, the wild animals, and the proximity to Yellowstone, then you live daily with an attitude of gratitude, and guess what? Traveling forever is not a daily prayer. We are grateful that you come to us! Keep doing it!
God bless all those who sacrificed their lives that we might live in freedom. I never take that for granted. Have a blessed Memorial Day🥰, my fellow Americans.
When my dad retired, we threw a big party for him. I wrote a poem in tribute to him and read it at the gathering. He lived a difficult decade after that retirement with one health issue after another slowing him down. But, his hearty hugs and sweet nature were always alive and well… and remembered with love and gratitude.
Here’s that retirement poem. It tells you a lot about my hard-working, loveable dad.
A Tribute to Dad on His Retirement
Tonight we’ve come together To celebrate the start Of the Third Phase in my dad’s life. In the Second, most of you played a part.
The First Phase was in Newman Where Salvador came-a fraum-a. His childhood was filled with girls, Five sisters and his mawm-a.
“My Salvador can-a marry anybod; So all you girls look out-a!” He picked and chose an outta-state blond. “No Catholic? No Italian?” they shout-a.
They bought a house in Newman. Dad delivered milk and bread. But then he went to Frank’s garage And worked on cars instead.
My sister, “Saleen”, came along, And then before you knew it, “Gaetano” was expected next, But “Janet” came and blew it!
So, what-a you think? My Salvador Izza back where first he start-a… Heeza surrounded by girls-a, a wife and kids. Mama Mia! Life, sheeza hard-a!!
To make things worse, the war began. Mom worked at the Bomb Plant And Dad got into this Plant here. Now life took a new slant.
The Second Phase had just begun: Joe, Leo, Melio, and Gene Had pooled resources with Dad To sweep the valley clean.
The Tallow Works was something new. They chose the name Pacific. We moved out to a barren field And a smell that was less than terrific.
Our home said, “Office;” the phone rang From early morn ’til night. Business boomed while Dad drove truck. He treated the farmers right.
I used to go with Dad in summer To Stockton’s butcher shops. We had a blast together then. With me, Dad was always tops!
The plant-a, she grew-a; the family, too. We needed a change. You believed us. So we moved to Turlock, into a new home. And Merle came and relieved us.
Through all the years Dad drove the truck, The wheel and road were part of him. And then Pacific sold to Petersen. Don’t you think that was smart of him?
Now he could reap the Union checks, And get a feel for the other side. He left the headaches, but kept the friends And the route; so he’d have to ride.
But now the ride will go new routes. The Third Phase has begun. Dad’s ready for a well-earned rest, ‘Cuz his Second Phase was WELL DONE!
Do you think he can rest? Has he learned how? I’ve never seen Dad sit and shirk. I’ve never seen Dad happy doing not a thing. I’ve always seen Dad at his work.
Of course there were times when he had to slow down: God tapped on his shoulder and said, “Here’s a wrist break, intestines, something one wrong. Now rest for a while in your bed!”
The message came through that thick head of his, And he slept for a moment or few. But (praise be to God) he enjoyed Bocci Ball And had time for a play day or two.
So Phase Three will have to be free To play at some things old and new. Free to learn how to just come and sit And simply admire the view.
He’ll still need his friends (you folks sitting here), And he’ll still work and get behind the wheel, But he’ll have time to do and go where he wants, He and Mom … in their new automobile.
I hope that you here will join me now: Stand! Let’s toast to my Dad; he’s our friend: “May retirement bring health, laughter and joy, May you live to a-hundred and ten!”
God Bless You, Dad! Thanks for being YOU!
Rest in Peace Salvador DeAngeles May 14, 1911 – April 8, 1995
Happy Father’s Day! Have a Lovely Sunday… And I hope you remember your daddy with love and kindness and fond memories. If he is still with you, treasure his hugs… and give him an extra hug from me.
Where are you looking? Let’s forget the former things – Don’t dwell on the past.
Remember the good, Learn from all of your troubles, And focus on the now.
Strength and Grace, a daily devotional from Guideposts, is one of my morning rituals. My last post, “Whatever is Lovely,” also was inspired by this publication.
Today I am exploring the subjects of love and memory, and asking myself, “Where ya lookin’?”
I am remembering the time I was lookin’ to the right when I shoulda been lookin’ straight ahead. I walked into our car’s hatchback. It was comin’ down – and obviously I didn’t realize it!!
I am remembering the time I was dashing out of the car to go into a local restaurant to meet my granddaughter and her children. I was looking ahead when I should have been looking down … at my feet … at the curb. I tripped over it. Broke my pinky finger big time!
Ouch! I am remembering the time I was stepping up into the house from the garage and I didn’t step up far enough. I fell backward and hit my head on the metal hitch of the trailer. Eight stitches later I shoulda been lookin’ where I was steppin’!!
There’s a time to look up. There’s a time to look back. There’s a time to look ahead. But ALL THE TIME we should Look out! Look at the NOW. Live in the present – And look to live longer, healthier, happier, safer.
Father, in Your mercy, rescue me from myself, from my carelessness. Help me look to You for guidance and help me slow down, live in the now, and watch where I’m goin’! Amen
National poetry month is wrapping up. Where did April go? I am so glad I was able to hear our state’s poet laureate, Chris La Tray, this month. He certainly inspired me. Have you tried your hand at writing some poetry this month?
Our Advent study in poetry certainly enhanced that ADVENTure this year for me!
Proverbs 16:9
“In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.”
My morning devotionals in Dec. 2023 have guided my steps in 2024. The Advent team challenged us to “…hold space for our weariness and our joy… seek a thrill of hope in our hurting world… cry out for comfort… and find many ways to rejoice.”
This is the poem Rev. Sarah wrote to kick off the theme that has inspired my 2024 thus far:
So, unzip the weight you carry around, and let God inspire you also to rejoice in this weary world!
My response to that poem was to let Rev. Sarah Speed inspire me to write my own “The Last Time I Saw God”
The last time I saw God face to face I opened the bedroom shades. God was every color of orange. I was merely a mortal in awe of it all.
The sun was just rising over the Madison Range. God was in the sunrise. I climbed my sanctuary stairs. God was waiting there for me; He was the brightest yellow.
The time before that, A three-year-old was explaining her understanding of love. God was the brightest red in her precocious explanation. Love is helping others – being kind.
And in between these small gifts were glimpses of God in the warm morning hug, the gathering of church friends, the joy of guitar accompaniment, and the sound of congregational singing.
Why yes, we are blessed. We are more than blessed for the moments when God appears and speaks through the purple haze in a voice sweet as morning dewdrops, “Listen, my beloved, I am with you. See me, my beloved, I am here in your every breath.”
That was not the first nor will it be the last time I will see and hear God.
When is the last time you saw God face to face? Write about it! God bless you!
Today I received an invitation to attend: Chris La Tray, Montana Poet Laureate AT THE ELLING HOUSE, VIRGINIA CITY, MT
APRIL 27, 7-9PM
Chris La Tray, Poet, Storyteller
My friend, Ann White, sent me this description of our state’s poet laureate along with an invitation to attend. I am excited about going. Reading this blurb about LaTray inspired the poet in me… read on:
La Tray is a Métis storyteller and an enrolled member of the Little Shell Tribe of Chippewa Indians. He is the author of One-Sentence Journal: Short Poems and Essays from the World at Large. His next book, Becoming Little Shell will be published by Milkweed Editions in 2024.
Chris La Tray approaches the practice of poetry the same as he does the spiritual life of an Anishinaabe person: which is to say, if one lives an Anishinaabe life, with particular attention to the seven guiding principles of the Seven Grandfather teachings – Humility, Courage, Honesty, Wisdom, Truth, Respect, and Love – then every footstep becomes a prayer. Similarly, if one approaches poetry in a similar fashion, recognizing that everything that happens may be viewed as a poem, and that every moment in life is an experience best paid constant and careful attention to, then every footstep becomes a poem. Whether as words on a page or shared orally, poetry becomes another means for telling and sharing stories; La Tray’s programs exist to remind people that their stories matter, that they are the only ones who can properly tell them, and that poetry, however it is defined, is a beautiful means for doing so.
I was so inspired by “… every footstep becomes a poem…” that I contemplated those feet that created those footsteps and remembered my small feet and their paths when I was a child. I decided to try my hand at a poem before going tonight to be inspired by Chris La Tray. What do you think?
Visiting Life’s Back Corners
I see vividly our home White with green trim A raised tulip bed All tucked at the end of Fig Lane in Newman, California.
Clear in my rear view mirror Are my walks to kindergarten With my older sister, Sally And my afternoons With “Aunt Artie” in town.
I hear her animated voice Reading to me – and then Walking me to the library To select a few books Of my own to read to her.
I see our move from town To the house next to Grandma’s And feel my spine prickle As I run through the yard Chased by a riotous TomTurkey.
I taste the delicious fennel A treat we called “sweet anise” And feel the warm sun on my back As Sally and I sit on the porch Waiting for Mom to come.
In the back corner of my mind I remember Billy coming. A troublesome cousin whose parents Were getting a divorce. And I cringe at his destruction.
Laden with my meager belongings I sense the distress of another move Far out in God-forsaken smelly country Away from Grandma and first grade friends A long walk and an hour’s bus ride to a new school.
I see vividly Crows Landing Elementary School And remember the important lessons learned Mrs. Yetter, Ms. Horwedle, Mr & Mrs Marlow Excellent teachers who validated and inspired me Living still in the back corners of my mind.
Visiting life’s back corners Congers up warm and happy memories Of an idyllic Ozzie & Harriet childhood Any troubles fade into a hazy blur As every footstep becomes a poem.
See ya tomorrow after I experience Chris La Tray.
Sure wish you could join me as our footsteps to Virginia City’s Elling House become a new and vibrant poem. God Bless You, Ann, for inviting me!
Love, JanBeek
Ah, sweet memories Of me with my daddy in that smelly back country home. I’ll write about that another day…
If you could make your family and friends understand one thing, what would it be?
The prompt asked about making a pet understand. Well, we don’t have a pet right now. So, I substituted “family and friends.”
I want you all to know, “It’s never too late.”
“Too late for what?” you ask.
Well, you fill in the blank!
As a life-long Christian, I have often heard the pastor say, “Remember your baptism” on various occasions. I can’t. Or I should say, “I couldn’t!”
Not until yesterday!
My mom & sister often told me,”Yes,” when I asked, “Was I baptized?” But there are no pictures. (Mom was an avid picture taker all the time!) And there is no certificate or other written record. I find that strange.
I tried to contact the little white Methodist/Presbyterian church in California’s Central Valley where it supposedly happened, but it burned to the ground years ago … and all records with it.
So, I decided to”It’s never too late. I want to have a baptism I can remember!” At 84, you think you wanna be dunked? You bet … by my son (who recently was ordained as a minister at his church here in CA, where we are visiting this week before we head home from our month’s reprieve from Montana’s ccccold Arctic blast).
Did it take courage and commitment? Was it a hard decision? You bet! But was it important for my spiritual health!? Definitely. I wanted to be able to “remember my baptism” – feel the obedience to the Christian command, “Go, and be baptized!”
It’s never too late!
Do you remember your baptism?
It’s never too late!
Love, JanBeek
My son, Ty, with me and 2 of my great-grandchildren- See my wet head? Yup, I remember being dunked!!
