Tami's Tales

You Were There

2010-09-29T12:24:00.003-05:00

A gentle mist dampened my hair
while I planted tomatoes
on hands and knees in the garden.
A soft breeze nudged the branches
of the fruit tree,
a slight perceptible nod acknowledging me.
Looking up into the tree canopy
above my head,
I am amazed to see
the thousands of apricots
set on for my summer pleasure.
And I thanked You for the many
thoughts of me in advance.

I saw You in the small bodies
of the five young squirrels cavorting
and romping on the lawn,
chasing up and down the tree trunks,
tagging one another in a flurry of tails,
delighted to be alive,
and I laughed
at such innocent clowns.

From the big bay window,
I saw the turtledove roosting on the ground,
in the soft dirt between the daisies
and the salvia, so close
I could count the speckles
on it's back and wings,
amazed at the bluish-grey aura
on the crown of her head,
a halo of sorts.
She was humming a hymn
she was so happy,
and I knew she knew
You were there.

Big sister Peyton's eyes shown bright
when she showed me
little sister's bed set up
beside her own - the crib
consigned to storage.
They buzzed with excited anticipation
to share a bedroom,
to reach for comfort in each other in the dark,
whispering secrets that only sisters share,
giggling past bedtime:
learning to give love - like You.

When I drove the sick dog to the vet,
You were there,
then, driving home, filling me
with a sweet peace
with the forever still body
in a box beside me,
and later, when I held
my weeping daughter in my arms,
I was able to console her,
as you comforted me
when my dog was forever still.
I was so grateful to that gentle old dog
for her kind presence
with my young grandchildren.
She was the essence of patience - like You.

You are the one constant, unchanging Presence
I've come to trust.
At last, I have become convinced -
I am never alone.
And I am grateful.

2010-02-24T09:50:00.002-06:00

God, you are my God, and I will ever praise you!

You are my refuge, my rock, my hiding place when I need one from the world. You restore my soul with encouragement, and I am helped.

You are my strength, when I have none. Empty, I come to you, and you fill me anew.

When I am tempted, I call out to you, and you deliver me. You strengthen me by your Holy Spirit, and I have power to endure, to not be moved from your will for me. You encourage me to keep my eyes focused only upon you. You are my Deliverer, for you are the lifter of my head.

You comfort me; you soothe my soul. You are my joy, for the joy of the Lord is my strength.

You are the Constant One, the one who never changes. You promised in your word, you would never leave me or forsake me. You stick to me closer than a brother. You are FOR me, not against me. You never condemn me or reject me, for you love me, and I am become whole, complete. You love me with a tender, everlasting love. I whisper in reply, "I love you, too, Jesus."

You cause me to climb higher, to look up instead of sitting in my blues; you fill me with purpose and peace, that I cannot explain in human terms. Joy runs over and spills out of my heart.

I am never alone, for you are always with me. How could I be lonely? for you are always with me. My heart skips a beat because I know you are near, and I am helped.

I lift my hands to you, my God. I thank you for keeping me on the path you set out for me. I thank you for your peace, my helmet of salvation, my sword of the spirit. I praise you that you gird me with righteousness and strength, my shoes of peace. Your angels shield me, so that I may live and keep on serving you. You teach my hands to war, and my mouth to confess my victory, for in You, I am more than a conqueror. Without you, I am weak, trampled into the dust. You are the lifter of my head.

You give me the neck of the enemy of my soul, for you have proclaimed that I am the head, not the tail. Halleluia! I can do all things THROUGH Christ, who strengthens me. You sing victory songs over me, and I am helped.

You cause me to stand and not be moved. My heart is full of thanks, because you cause me to succeed, to persist, when I call out to you. I put my trust in you, for you never forget me, your child. You never let me down, you are trustworthy, and worthy of my praise. You pull me up, out of the dust, and set my feet upon a rock, the Rock, Jesus.

You supply all of my needs. God, you are my God, and I will ever praise you!

Depression, I'm Leaving You!

2010-02-06T08:55:00.003-06:00

Today, I am going to lighten up,
throw the drapes open wide at the windows,
allow the light to dissolve the gloom in the room.
Darkness has suffocated
the rooms of my heart long enough.
And, when I audition
a trembling smile in the mirror,
I'll ignore the sweat bees of guilt
that circle and sting me into submission -
then I'll do it again for practice.
I'm awake now -
unnecessary guilt is the Great Betrayer,
not the other way around.
Today, I will trust the Joy.

Forget the obligation to grief
with it's sackcloth and ashes,
push back the heavy coat of somber
in that closet of sad,
remove the grey garments,
and kick them to the curb.
I'm taking my yellow shirt
out of mothballs,
trashing that bottle
of Bitter-Pill-to-be-Swallowed,
that one-a-day I ingested
so voluntarily in former days.

I want to gather dandelions
rather than roses,
to bury my face
in those soft ruffled heads.
I want the warmth
from those tiny suns
to be my fuel.
I am weary of thorns,
of regret pricking my heart
and making it hemorrhage
the sweet things of life.
I want to eat
a dripping ice cream cone
for breakfast, to let
that sweet goodness
get on my hands, to get on me.
I want to eat dessert first.
I want Duty to stand in the corner.

Depression, I'm leaving you!
I'm picking myself up
and dusting myself off.
I'm acting as if
I'm carefree,
until I believe it,
in this yellow shirt
I'm wearing,
as I set out -
to save my own life.

Winter Poem

2010-01-04T07:50:00.002-06:00

Winter Poem

It's winter in Nebraska

and the gentle breezes blow

seventy miles an hour

at thirty-five below.

Oh, how I love Nebraska

when the snow's up to your butt

you take a breath of winter

and your nose gets frozen shut.

Yes, the weather here is wonderful

so I guess I'll hang around

I could never leave Nebraska

Cuz I'm frozen to the ground!

Author unknown. Happy Winter!

A Thousand Slivers of Glass

2009-12-15T15:37:00.003-06:00

Yesterday's crust of snow
crunched under my boots
after the 2 am call yanked
me from my warm bed.
I picked my way slowly
through the sidewalk ice jams,
while my mind raced on ahead.
I groaned blizzards of the
only foxhole prayer that
my numb lips could form,
Dear God! Blue baby. Oh God!
The few blocks seemed so far,
but not far enough
to avoid standing on the street curb,
watching the ambulance pull away.

I couldn't help it,
my eyes were automatically
pulled up into a desperate search
for a sign in that night sky
that looked like blue velvet
studded with diamonds.
And then, I saw
a holy trinity of stars
swipe a luminous arc
in an indigo sky, and the
cloud-veil parted slightly,
long enough to glimpse
celestial fireworks - blinking
quasars and flashing nebulae
to light your way as you
skipped gleefully over
The-Cow-Jumps-Over-The-Moon
and ricocheted past Twinkle Little Star;
you mocked gravity
with your angel escort;
and without looking back,
you quietly departed.

One question pulsated
in my mind. How can you
live when your heart is shattered
into a thousand slivers of glass?
And in the reverberating silence,
a hideous knowing took shape:
I'm in exile here,
earthbound,
shivering,
and jealous of God.

Take It For Granted

2009-08-18T15:48:00.007-05:00

I don't know why we do it, but it seems to be human nature to take the people we love for granted. We take for granted that they know how much we care about them, how much they mean to us or that they are important in our life -and so we run faster and further and don't take the time to really, really LOOK at them and see how they are doing. We get so busy, so preoccupied, that we don't take the time to show those we love that we appreciate them. Often we wake up one day and there is such a distance between us, that we don't know how to bridge that huge gulf of neglect.

Much of this is because we don't pay attention; we are engrossed in our own drama and life; we assume they know without effort on our part that we love them more than anything else in the world. Many times, the important people in our life don't feel special to us because we take them for granted.

Last week, I was feeling very taken for granted and pushed aside. I did not feel special at all. I felt very hurt. And as I've thought about this, and we have tried to deal with this together, I had to tell someone who professed to love me that I did not feel loved, or special, much less valued, esteemed or treasured. At all.

Who doesn't want to be cherished and adored and esteemed to be the greatest treasure in the person you love's life? I could be wrong, but I think this is one of the greatest needs in people today. They want to not only to be told they are important to their special someone, but to have that demonstrated by their actions. We all want to be adored.

So, as I was praying about this today, and I was pouring my heart out to God, and I had this thought come to me, that he understood how I felt, because He is taken for granted by His loved ones, too....all the time. All He wants is for us to love Him, and want to have a relationship with Him. There was no condemnation in this, just that He knew how I felt, because He feels it, too.

I am guilty of that. I have taken my relationship with the Lord for grated. Oh, He will always be there, I'll talk to Him, later, instead of treating Him as a valued friend who walks by my side every minute of the day. And like the wonderful friend Jesus is, He did not condemn me, He just shared so I would understand His feelings, too.

I went for a bike ride, and when I returned home and parked my bike, I realized that the fountain was not running and needed cleaned. So, I unplugged it and tipped the water out and then after I had laid the parts on the lawn, I walked to get the garden hose and turn on the water hydrant. There in the grass, there were long feathers, short feathers, fluffy feathers and bi-colored ones, too. I found 10 in all in the short walk to get the hose. I set the fountain up again, and turned on the water, and looked at the fistful of feathers I had in my hands. My heart felt lighter - light as a feather.

Jesus does not take it for granted that I know He loves me....he gives me reminders everyday, in addition to sticking as close as a brother. He never leaves me, he never rejects me. He loves me as no other - unconditionally. I was so blind to take that love for granted. And to top that off, He even gives me the wisdom and power to make those changes.

I am more conscious, now, and determined to not take those I love for granted, again. I want them to know what a treasure they are to me. I want them to know I cherish our times together and value their love as the best thing that has happened to me in my life. And I especially want Jesus to know that, too.

Hymn to a Summer Day

2009-07-17T13:10:00.002-05:00

The park is quiet; the swings hang vacant,
the slide deserted. Walking to a bench
in the shade, the turtledove sings softly
of the ways of the Lord. The happy grass
eavesdrops on the gossiping crickets,
the dew winks to the traveling clouds,
the hackberry branches sway in time
to the rapping woodpecker in a hollow
tree, and the hands of the honey locust
flutter in conversation with the elms. Wind
nudges the glossy leaves on the cottonwoods,
creating ripples of greetings to the sky.

A jay, in his soldier blue jacket, jeers to the
acres of green grass, "Nothing under the sun
can tie me down!" The pulsing lawn sprinklers
hiss their defensive warning to the jay, then
continues oscillating in half-moon circles.

The gentle dove croons "Grace. Grace. Grace,"
into the silence, a silence in which another
voice may speak, before the onslaught of children
later to come; and the humble grass stands
attentive, as if to say: Let the children be
children, and hinder them not. Let them come.

~Tami Vrbas
2009

Remind Me

2009-07-14T12:33:00.004-05:00

One of my friends finds reminders of God's love in a beautiful rainbow. He says they always appear when he is down and depressed. Then he'll be going along, and there will be a rainbow to remind him that God loves him. Another friend finds the same thing when he finds dimes on the ground. One day he found 6 of them, each at different times of the day. As it happened, he was having a very discouraging day, and each time he found a dime, he felt warmed by this reminder that he was loved. His day got better each time. At least, he didn't feel he was all alone trying to handle it, from then on.

I noticed when both friends talked about it, they got quite excited, and it got me to thinking that these were small gifts that might seem quite ordinary to other people, but my friend really loves rainbows and the other money, and each found inspiration when these ordinary things appeared. The result was they felt they had been kissed by God.

I have my own "kiss from God." I find bird feathers tucked in the grass, or in the garden. This morning, I planned to spread the red mulch in my flower bed, and as I walked up to the flower bed, I had to smile. There was a light grey bird feather on the ground, where I planned to start working. I found one yesterday in my garden, between the tomato cages and the sunflowers. I had walked through there 5 or 6 times and had not seen it until my eyes were stinging from the sweat running down my face and into my eyes. It wasn't laying there until I was really needing it. Then, voila! Last year, I found 3 feathers. I had goosebumps, for it was the day after we had to have our beloved dog put to sleep.

I guess this could sound a little lame to some, or coincidental at best, but these things get me through the day, and never fail to help me to focus on something bigger than me and my petty little things that could discourage or pull me down. I am reminded He is always with me. Each time, I feel warm with thanks to the Lord, for inhabiting my life. My heart feels full, and every morning when I get up, I wonder where I will find my little gifts from God's heart today.

At the Carwash ?

2009-07-13T21:14:00.004-05:00

Yesterday we had a family cookout, with our kids, grandkids and my mother here for Sunday lunch. Later, after everyone left, I walked past the fountain I have set up on the south side of our new porch. I did a double-take, for I think the little boys couldn't resist all the sawdust laying nearby on the ground. When I went to dump it, so the sawdust wouldn't clog up the pump on the fountain, there were more surprises! Out came 3 matchbox cars, too! I really had to laugh, at the surprise the grandsons left for me! They were just washing their cars the best way they knew how! Too cute! That was my giggle for the day!

Bambi and Red

2009-07-13T16:17:00.004-05:00

In the Frenchman Valley, where I live, the land is a bit flat, especially in comparison to the canyons and hills north of town. Driving on Route 25, threading my car over the curves and turns through the deep canyons and steep hills in Hayes County, you can usually see wildlife of some kind or another,
something other than fresh roadkill, that is. Last Tuesday, I spotted two big bucks wading through the ripening wheat beside the highway. The wheat was chest high, nearly combine ready.

The week before I had seen a small fawn jump out of the brome grass beside the road, and scamper across to be swallowed up, in the tall grass on the other side. It happened so quickly, I just happened to be in the right place to witness this scene. I breathed a big sigh of relief when he was safe.

But, I think my favorite creature to look for is the red-tailed hawk that hangs out at the top of the hill near a ravine a few miles from town. Several times, it has flown across the road, just in front of me, and I have held my breath, hoping it did not fly into my vehicle, for both our sakes. I don't want the repair bill, and he doesn't need to take that kind of suicide flight. Sometimes, I spot him perched on a fencepost, his eyes peeled for a moving violation by a rodent of some sorts. Other times, he is soaring in the wind over the sunflowers, that just began to bloom late in June.

Talk to you, later

2009-03-22T10:08:00.002-05:00

This blogger is going on hiatus. Thank you to all readers. You are appreciated. God bless.

Tami

Pay Attention!

2009-03-03T09:01:00.004-06:00

It was such a small piece, about the size of a round BB, but it killed my microwave oven! Sad to say, my finger was on the trigger. I pushed the button, the wrong button on Sunday night.

I just wanted some popcorn! So, laying the bag on the glass tray, I shut the door, like I have done a hundred and one times, and pushed the popcorn button. Zap! Usually, in about 60 seconds, you can hear the pop-pop-pop and then it beeps and voila! supper on Sunday night is ready! Quick. Easy. Painless. Unless you talk on the phone, then get on the internet and your roommate says,"PEE YEW! Something is burning!"

I ran back downstairs and into a fog, NO, dense smoke in the kitchen, and before I can open that microwave, my eyes water and I am doubled over coughing, to discover a black bag of charred popcorn and the glass turntable cracked in two. The microwave was toast. Toast would have smelled better!

I had lots of time to run this through my mind as I washed the walls, cabinets, and counters, and scrubbing off the stuck-on, gooey, smelly gunk where the microwave used to preside in my kitchen. I just couldn't figure it out, why this time one bag of popcorn blew up and didn't just pop. And finally, the truth pushed through the thick denial in my mind.

Want to know what went wrong, why the microwave is dead? Okay, this is soooooooooo embarassing. I pushed the potato button, and those little kernels of popcorn popped so long, they became like burnt bullets and fatally shot the microwave. What a "blonde" moment that was. It's true. I pushed the wrong button, then walked away, blithely unaware I killed it.

I miss my microwave! I can't heat a quick cup of tea, or defrost meat for supper, because "somebody" forgot to get the meat out of the freezer earlier in the day. If I want to soften butter to mix-up a quick batch of cookies, or reheat the lasagna for a fast meal, I'm out of luck, and all of this on account of not paying attention.

Wow. What cold humble pie this is. I can't even heat it in the microwave for a minute thirty seconds!

My Favorite Things

2009-02-11T17:32:00.004-06:00

Lately, I've been thinking about things that make me feel rich, that are my favorite things. You know, the little things that mean a lot, and you would miss if they would no longer be there.

Things that feed my soul are laughter, especially a young child's belly laugh, bird song, a walk in nature, the warm sun on my skin, a good book, bear hugs, a cup of hot steaming coffee in the mornings with my hubby, sewing, digging in the dirt in my garden, hearing the hoot owls calling back and forth in the still of the night, seeing my kids happy and doing what they are best at, a hot shower, when my grandkids squeal with excitement when I walk in the door and I get hugs and kisses, cookies hot from the oven, making soup that makes your mouth water, roses in the summer, butterflies fluttering back and forth from flower to flower, watching a red-tailed hawk soar on an updraft of a breeze, cardinals on the snow, watching squirrels chasing each other's tails around and around the trees in my yard, looking for the first tulip in late winter, reading good poetry that makes me say to myself, "I wish I'd written that!", when my hubby reaches for my hand when we go for a walk, driving in the country, wildflowers, lilacs, windmills, black cattle grazing in green pastures as I drive Highway 6 or 25, round bales of hay that dot the hay fields, rain on the roof, singing Amazing Grace when no ones around, and fireworks in the night sky on the 4th of July.

What makes you happy? Make a list and leave me a comment. I think it would be fun to read your lists.

Mr. Sassy Pants

2009-02-11T15:23:00.003-06:00

Monday night Jack came to eat dinner with us, since his Mom needed to catch an appointment in one direction and his Daddy in the other direction for work, he got to come play with Jerry and me. Before he came, I put our dogs, Maggie and Sam, out back, because they get pretty excited when the grandkids come, and in their enthusiasm, they sometimes knock Jack down, which isn't a good way to be greeted at Grandma's door, when you are just 2 years old.

Jack was feeling pretty comfortable eating chicken and noodles with Tori when Jerry let the dogs back in the house. The schnauzer, Sam, has this interesting habit of barking indignantly, especially if we haven't let them in the minute they want. On Monday night, Sam proceeded to bark in disgust inside the back door, and carried on quite awhile scolding us in his way. I looked at Jack and commented, "Well, there is Mr. Sassy Pants!"

A few minutes later, Jack was running around singing, "Sassy pants. Sassy pants," in a little song he was making up. It was so cute! I hope Dave and Amy get a kick out of his new phrase he picked up. And I was so relieved it wasn't an expletive he learned at Grandma's house!

Whew! That was a close one.

Prize Winner

2009-01-27T14:27:00.004-06:00

I submitted this poem to a Journal Contest in Pennsylvania in 2006. I had never done that before and figured it was a waste of time. But what the heck, I went ahead and sent three of my works to them. A couple months later, I received an email from the Editor, informing me I had won First Prize and publication in the Inspirit Summer 2007 Edition, along with a $500 check. I was so surprised! Then they asked for permission to publish a second one in their Autumn 2007 volumn. Wow!

Inspirit is The Literary Journal of Baughman Methodist United Methodist Church of New Cumberland, Pennsylvania, and publishes poetry and essays that examine and explore the issues of faith, in it's many paths, variations and facets.

This is the poem I wrote. I have waited these many months to post it here, because it represents the saddest and longest day of my life. And while I am proud of the work I did on this and all, it is still difficult.

The Sorority No One Wishes To Join

They arrived one at a time,
bearing a casserole dish
or cake in their hands;
these women who have lost a child
came to console a new member.
The dormant debt of compassion
from their own past needed
fulfillment; and so,
with tear-stained cheeks,
those dignified,
Christic women enfolded
her in their arms - knowing -
all that could be done was
to come and to hold and to weep,
to shed their tears together
in compassionate relief.

When she's ready, she too
will make initiation calls,
holding cake or casserole at
the door in her outstretched hands,
discovering the aching pain
for her child assuaged when she
graces another's world of grief
with the inherent hope
her presence may bring;
then her pain will subside.
Giving freely what was freely
given, she pays her dues.
Once given the consolation
of shared grief, these survivors
go as God's hands and feet.

~Tami Vrbas~
c. 2006

Walking the Dogs

2009-01-12T08:37:00.004-06:00

I have found it is difficult to stay motivated, to get out there everyday and walk for my health this winter, so last week when I took the dogs to be groomed, I learned our cocker spaniel, Maggie, had gained 4 and 1/2 pounds since summer! Sampson, our min-schnauzer had gained 1 pound. Yikes! The dogs are becoming like their owner!

Thursday morning I took each out for a 15 minute walk, or strut! Whew! I had trouble keeping up; they really like to stretch it out and make it burn! And even though it was 24 degrees outside, I was sweating profusely.

There wasn't time on Friday, but I took them out again for a longer walk on Saturday afternoon. It was glorious to walk in the sunshine with my happy dogs. Somehow, this has motivated me to get out there for them, too, which is additional motivation that I was really needing.

I am also celebrating the fact that last week I bought 3 new jeans in a smaller size. Hey, I beat myself up in the past everytime I gained an ounce, so the turnaround new habit I'm keeping, is that I am celebrating and savoring each new success. Hurray!

But, I have one question. How do you get a dog to workout on the treadmill when the weather is too nasty, when I have problems making myself "just do it?" They love to lay on the floor and watch me walk in place on that strange contraption. I have my fans!!

And so, I am quite grateful for this added motivation that has come to me. It is a gift, disguised as a problem, but as I unwrap it, it has become a bit of a prod to my reluctance (big word for laziness). And so I keep on trucking...er walking with the dogs, now.

And why not?!!

I'm a Little Slow

2009-01-10T12:34:00.004-06:00

This is a birthday post for my grandson, Jacob, who turned a year-old, on December 29th. I finally had time to download the pictures, then I'm having issues with Blogger not posting in the order I wanted.

Happy Birthday, Jacob!

Cousin Addie and Jacob on Christmas Day.

Jacob and me at the county fair in August.

Jacob and Tori.
I just loved his spikey hair when he was little.

Birthday boy.

Birthday Wishes To Heidi

2009-01-07T17:03:00.003-06:00

She was the first born, our little "pineapple" born when we lived on Oahu, Hawaii. We were half-way around the world, and thousands of miles from her Grandmas and Grandpas and Aunts and Uncles, from family; but she was a beautiful baby, our first baby. I wanted to name her Leilani, which is a form of the word lei, which is the flower wreaths the Hawaiians place around visitors necks to welcome them to the islands. I couldn't believe how gorgeous those flowers were. I wanted to name her after them, but her father had other ideas, and so she was named Heidi Marie Vrbas. The Marie is for Jerry's mom, sister and grandmother, who were all Marys, of one sort or another. He was probably right, the name would have seemed weird when we were back on the mainland. (Shh! Don't tell him I admitted that!) Now that you know where she was born, is it any wonder she and I can eat a whole pineapple ourselves?!

Happy Birthday, Heidi!

This LIfts Me Up

2009-01-06T20:58:00.004-06:00

I found this months ago in something I read. I keep it in my desk, and I get it out often and read it. The love and acceptance of my Heavenly Father really speaks to me in my heart. It gives me hope that as I lean on God, He is taking all the pieces of my heart and life and making something really special of it. I hope it speaks to you, too.

I know you. I created you. I have loved you from your mother's womb. You have fled - as you now know from my love, but I love you nevertheless and not-the-less however far you flee. It is I who sustains your very power of fleeing, and I will never finally let you go. I accept you as you are. You are forgiven. I know all your sufferings. I have always known them. Far beyond your understanding, when you suffer, I suffer. I also know all your tricks by which you try to hide the ugliness you have made of your life from yourself and others. But you are beautiful. You are beautiful more deeply within than you can see. You are beautiful because you yourself, in the unique person that only you are, reflect already something of the beautiful also because I, and I alone, see the beauty you shall become. Through the transforming power of my love which is made perfect in weakness you shall become perfectly beautiful. You shall become perfectly beautiful. You shall become perfectly beautiful in a uniquely irreplaceable way, which neither you nor I will work out alone, for we shall work it out together.

Author Unknown

Pep Talk

2009-01-05T10:04:00.003-06:00

Today I feel discouraged, a little down. So, I am giving myself the pep talk I would give to my best friend, if she needed it. Here goes:

This is a journey, and not a finish line event. You are letting go bad habits, while establishing good habits, with much prayer, thought and meditation. In the past, you have committed to this weight loss journey, and at the beginning, felt excited, expectant, full of faith. Now comes the drudgery, the middle that seems to stretch on forever, and yet, it is only perception of such. Just do the next right thing, and don't stress about tomorrow or next month.

Break the time down to manageable units that your mind can handle easily and not get so discouraged. If a day seems insurmountable, break it into small segments. Just think about getting through this morning, this next hour, this minute. Stay in the present moment and listen for that still voice within that has guided you so wisely to this point in time, to continue to gently guide you to the next right thing to do. Seek help from those who have your back, and remember, this too will pass. The discouragement will pass, if you do not hold onto it and clutch it to your chest like it is the truth. The truth is that you CAN do it. You have been doing it, you just need a shot of optimism.

I believe the truth that will set me free from the middle blues is this: God will never leave me or forsake me. He is as close as the very air I breath. So, breathe in air and imagine, that life giving oxygen is, in fact, God fanning the sparks of my faith into a motivating fire deep in the very heart of me and renewing my spirit to transform my drooping spirit into a firm commitment to not give up. Never give up. Never give up. Never give up.

Proverbs 16:3 guides me today. Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed.

I'm going to work now, with my preplanned and measured lunch of 3 oz. chicken breast, 1/2 c. brown rice and 1 c. green beans ready to nuke in the microwave. My temptation buster is an apple that I can quickly grab and eat when I need a pickmeup during the day. I have the evening meal defrosted. Pork loin, a large salad and asparagus is on the menu. I plan to take a walk later, too, to walk off calories and the days cares.

I commit this to the Lord, and now I will do my footwork and give the results to God.

I don't feel so stuck now. I feel hopeful. I am so glad I did not talk myself into giving up. I am learning to treat myself well, and to nurture myself, which is another good habit I've been working on, for I believe that as I let go bad habits and keep good habits, that all that good self care will start to melt the fat off my body. I won't need it anymore to feel bad about myself. One day at a time, I can do this.

So help me, God, I will not give up.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-04T11:26:00.002-06:00

Happy New Year to everyone!

Now that the holidays are over and done with, I can finally come up for air and update this blog. The last two weeks of December was full of Christmas concerts at church and school, holiday feasting and we also had three family birthdays the last week or so of December. Whew! And that was before New Year's hit and all the bowl games, too!

Things have been quiet at our house, since I took my husband to the Dr. on Friday. He has gastro-enteritus, and the medicine that was prescribed makes him drowsy. He has been catching up on his sleep the past 3 days, which is probably just what he needed, anyway. He has really burnt the candle at both ends for the past two months, and even though he had the stomach virus twice during that period of time, he kept on working. There really wasn't much choice, since his boss is not in good health, so keeping things running falls heavily on him.

I am looking forward to the new year, and to getting back to a normal routine. I like the holidays, but, this past one felt stressful, to say the least. Life is busy enough, without adding all that extra stuff to do at Christmas. I really sound like a Scrooge, don't I? Is it possible to be just a half-Scrooge, I wonder? ;=)

We Are Family

2008-12-15T08:35:00.004-06:00

Our family had a lot to celebrate together this weekend. On Saturday, the grandchildren saw Santa Claus visit our community and participate in all the festivities surrounding that event.

My son, Dave and his beautiful wife, Amy, became members of the Palisade Methodist Church. I was so proud and honored to be asked to stand up with them, during church services. My nephew, Shane, joined the church, also. We celebrated the occaison with a delicous family dinner afterwards in the church hall.

We met after that to spend the afternoon at Jared and Missy's, for our family day. We started this three years ago, when their beautiful baby daughter, Maya, passed away in the night, when she was exactly 2 months old. This anniversary on December 14th is difficult, so we face it together. Jared prepared a prime rib roast that was melt in your mouth scrumptious. The kids helped decorate angel sugar cookies and they had a blast doing it.

I felt incredibly blessed as I looked at each member of my family gathered together, playing games, rolling out cookie dough, laughing and talking, holding the babies, Jacob and Sawyer, just being together. I have such an appreciation for each person in our family and how they enrich my life so much, and how much easier it is to face this anniversary every year as a family, to not be alone. In many ways, it proves that sharing joy with your loved ones is multiplied, but the sorrow is divided when we come together. We need each other, especially on this day.

In past years, we have taken a few moments to go to the cemetery to lay some flowers on her grave, and to release balloons in her memory. I've grown to love those small observances, that mark for us, that we remember Maya. The awful blizzard yesterday, made that not only impractical, but dangerous, because of the sub-zero wind chill. I was more than happy to be where it was bright and warm, with family.

I am so thankful for the new good memories for this date, and the joy I saw on Dave and Amy's faces in church yesterday. I am so thankful to belong to church and blood family. I am thankful for each new member of our family this year, Sawyer and Jacob, and new baby B, but I cannot forget Maya.

Early Christmas Present

2008-12-08T08:30:00.002-06:00

We went Christmas shopping on Saturday, and we bought a present that we both can use and enjoy. (Well, I'm not sure about the "enjoy" part.) The treadmill is set up, now, and neither of us have any more excuses to put off walking for our health! It is going to come in handy, since the five-day weather forecast is rain, turning to snow.

I have fulfilled 3 days walking, a bit of progress to be sure; it is that many times more than before. I have to almost trick myself into doing it, by just telling myself to get started. I don't want to stop after the first 5 minutes.

I'm trying to act as if I like it, in the hopes I will change my mind. I am willing to be willing to be convinced, by cracking my mind open a little bit. Truth is, I like the result, and so I keep putting on my walking shoes. I keep moving. For now, I am of the belief that this body I live in needs and deserves a chance to feel better, and so I am not willing to give up. I press on.

Change is hard, but not changing is more painful. Just for today, I am willing to do what I can to keep changing in a good orderly direction toward my goal. I will renew that goal every day to focus on the goal of good health, doing what I can while it is today.

Pride Comes Before the Fall

2008-11-29T15:33:00.003-06:00

I baked two pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving dinner, and they turned out beautifully. They smelled delicious in the oven, even if I say so myself! The first pie was gone, eaten at the first dinner we went to at Jerry's side of our family. Lots of people liked my pie, and since we had another meal to attend later at my daughter's house, I thought this was working out pretty darn good, with one for each. I was basking in the compliments and really looking forward to a piece later, when I had digested some of the meal.

We stopped at home during the afternoon, and as my husband was opening the front door to take the pie to the car, it slid off the container of rolls, and proceeded to fall end over end to the floor, narrowly missing the dog, who scrambled nervously under the table to avoid the pumpkin missile that nearly exploded on her head. It seemed to happen in slow-motion, like a train wreck that can't be avoided, and you stand helplessly watching it.

And then, I began to laugh. It truly is like spilled milk, usually happening unintentionally. But, my husband was pretty upset, as we scooped up the pie from the floor with pancake turners and into the trash basket!

You can't let these things get you down! I can always make more pie. But, next time, I'll carry it. Ok, honey?

Giving Thanks

2008-11-26T14:37:00.003-06:00

I really like the holiday of Thanksgiving, the traditions of family and good food and the chance to celebrate all the good things in life in which we are blessed.

I am thankful for my husband of 35 years, and his positive attitude toward things. I am so glad to wake up with him everyday. I am thankful to now be working with him, now that I am adjusting to being employed once again. I loved being able to work in the yard and and garden with him for most of the summer, doing what I love to do.

I am thankful we have jobs and he is doing what he loves to do. Me. I am still adjusting, but I am, indeed, thankful.

I am thankful I am the luckiest mother and grandmother in the world! I get to see them often and to see them grow up. I get to be a hands-on Grandma! I am thankful for the two new grandchildren this year - Jacob and Sawyer - and the promise of another in the coming year. I am thankful we are all pretty healthy, just the minor stuff like colds and colic.

I am thankful Dave and Amy's new home is in Palisade and they have new jobs, a new beginning for both. We are ecstatic to have Jack around, too!

I am thankful for our friends this year....we have many, old and new.

We lost our old dog this past year, so I am thankful for the 9 years he spent with us, and for the two Pound Hounds we adopted. Maggie and Sampson are our new Fur-Kids.

I am thankful two of my poems were published, totalling four to date. It is a blessing, at this time in my life.

I am thankful for all the problems we faced this year, for the fact that we faced them together, and so the load was divided and the joy was multiplied, as we waited upon God to work in his mysterious and mischievous ways. I am thankful for the chance to work on the lesson of patience and persistence, as it helped my faith to grow and to deepen. I began to learn to give thanks for all things, not just the things I pick and choose that are easy.

I am thankful my health has improved, and the back problems that I had last winter have improved. I still struggle, but I am learning to take it one day at a time.

I've had a lot of things to forgive this year. Betrayals, upheavals, disappointments and hurts. I am willing to be willing to be thankful for these things, as I give them to God and allow Him to transform them as is His will. So many times, all I could pray was for God's good will to be done. It wasn't easy, in fact, it was difficult. Each time, God would bring to mind how Jesus forgave from the cross, "Father, forgive them. They know not what they do." And I pray for the same, when I am the one in need of mercy, too.

I am thankful for second chances, for new beginnings, for each new day. I am thankful to be alive. I pray for the ability to give thanks, no matter the circumstances.

I give thanks for the increased awareness that God never deserts me. It is like a continual awakening that never ceases to give me peace.

If I'd Known Then What I Know Now

2008-11-17T18:28:00.002-06:00

I would count each hair on your head and
memorize each nuance of light
dancing on each gossamer strand.
I would store your fresh baby smell in a
bottle for days of drought without you,
when my memory grows dim; future
faith blinded my present with you.

If I'd known then what I know now, nothing
could distract me from watching you
nestle safe in my arms close to my heart,
sweet visions skipping on your eyelids,
diamonds sparkling in morning dew and
pixie dust reserved just for you.
Order the mundane be silent - no
desire for caution this last day!

If I'd known then what I know now,
I would beg God for just a little
more time, for one last kiss on your velvety
cheek, one more lingering look, one
more breathtaking smile before you go,
long enough for my solemn promise:
this is not good-bye, my love, it is
"See you later, Sweetpea."

`February '06`

Inconceivable

2008-11-17T09:17:00.003-06:00

How, may I ask, could I allow
my child to tread so close to the edge,
without shouting a warning?
If I should tangle
with the stabbing thorns of fear
or landslides of self-doubt --
it is my very own rock-and-a-hard-place.
If the bough should break, the cradle
shall fall, taking my heart with it.
The whir of dark thoughts
clouds my mind. I feel like
a seamstress threading
a needle in the dark.

My mother-heart must allow learning
by consequence or obedience.
How near to the edge do I tread
before the vertigo of indecision
plummets me to my own demise?
Can I save my own flesh and blood
or will I drown in an ocean of guilt,
rescue attempt gone awry?
It is inconceivable to contemplate
this endless dark night of the soul,
or your cruel muttering,
"I told you so."
How do you finally let go?

Are You For or Against?

2008-11-15T10:07:00.004-06:00

In this country, we've had the war on Poverty, the war on drugs, the war on terrorism in the past 40 years. If there is a problem, we declare war on it. Strong feelings elicit strong reactions, which ultimately contribute further to the problem.

But, the poor are still among us, and in this recession, there are more than ever. There are more drugs than ever, and we have clearly not won the war on drugs, nor do we have a ceasefire or peace treaty. Sorry, Nancy Reagan, it was a worthy cause, but, applying more of the problem multiplies the problem.

Now we have a war on terrorism, which is insane when you stop to think about it. Where does it stop? Where does it end? I for one, do not want to increase the problem of terror in our country, or our world. Fear is the problem, and declaring war on fear is to multiply fear and terror. It is not the solution we need.

If you respond with hatred, when hatred is directed your way, you have become a part of the problem of hatred, rather than the solution which is love. Love and forgiveness inspire people to work at what they are "for" rather than what they are against. If you're against violence, you'll fight it with you're own brand of violence. If you're "for" love and peace, you'll bring those energies to the presence of violence and discord, and ultimately dissolve the hate.

Mother Teresa was invited to march against the war in Vietnam. She replied, "No, I won't, but when you have a march for peace, I'll be there."

She also stated, "God does not command that we do great things, only little things with great love."

It's no wonder she is a saint. She spent her life working the solution, not the problem.

The next time you declare war on something, think about it from the solution end of it and work backwards. And think about the Man from Gallilee who advised us to "Love your neighbor. Do good to your enemy." Then on the cross, when the Roman soldiers were killing him slowly, and his best friends had abandoned him, he forgave them with these words, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." He blessed them who murdered him in a torturous, public death, while his mother watched, and the spectators gambled on his clothes. Forgive them. They don't know what they are doing, because they are killing in the name of God, killing God's very son. He blessed them, interceded on their behalf for their very souls, because they had lost their good soul, and he knew their darkness as nobody else on earth.

I think the point I am trying to make is that Jesus did not retaliate, or curse them, he forgave. He cut the cord of revenge because he knew, "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord." He did not even complain about his murderers, his fair weather followers, he prayed for the others, for their peace and forgiveness! He prayed for the solution, even while completely embroiled in their problem, as they crucified him to death.

Think about it the next time you are against something. I want to be a part of the solution. I want to be a peacemaker. But, I have to begin small....I have to begin with me, and as I am peaceful, I will send waves of peace where I am. I am "for" peace, and I know it must begin within me.

Are you "for" or against?

You Were Early and I am Late

2008-11-14T07:39:00.002-06:00

You missed shinnying up the apple tree,
cowboys and Indians, skinned up knees,
"come out now, ollie, ollie, oxen free,"
because you were early, and I am late.

No tattling and catching big fish,
summer star gazing and making a wish,
grownup plans to accomplish;
see, you were early and I am late.

Melancholy regrets float on thin air -
tossing baseballs and pulling my hair.
I wonder if your hair was also fair?
Bro, you were early and I am late.

My reluctant brother, if you're able,
save me a seat at the Lamb's table;
but Fate spoke first and wrote this fable,
for you were early and I am late.

I dedicate this to my older brother, Kent Eugene,
born Sept. 11, 1952 - Sept. 12, 1952.

Daily Rx

2008-11-14T07:27:00.001-06:00

Each morning I gaze into
my cup with the chip on the rim,
and begin my morning ritual,
filling it with fragrant liquid
and imbibing it's warming elixir.
Marred by accident,
my lacerated heart resembles
this chipped cup, functional,
but with piece missing.

Imperfect, lacking strength,
I turn to God to fill me
with what I need this day.
I am willing to be useful.
I am willing to tap God's grace.
And so it goes, I become
whole only when I offer
my emptiness to God.

Cup cradled in warm hands,
I open to quiet hope
intertwined with it's rising steam.
I am ready to accept this healing potion.
I am ready to meet the day.

~Tami Vrbas~ 2006
published in Summer '07 Inspirit Journal

More Birthdays!

2008-11-12T14:11:00.002-06:00

Happy Birthday Greetings to my daughter, Missy and to my granddaughter, Peyton. May you have many, many more and all the love you can hold.

Happy Birthday!

2008-11-06T07:37:00.002-06:00

Happy Birthday Tori and Sarah! Tori spent her birthday, on Monday, playing in Ogallala in a sub-district volleyball tournament. They won on Monday, and played again on Tuesday evening and defeated the #1 team to move into the semi-finals Thursday night against Hitchock County. Happy 17th birthday, Tori!

Happy Birthday to Sarah, who was home, sick with a stomach virus, on her birthday on Tuesday, November 4th. I really hope you are feeling better and feel recovered to celebrate on the weekend. I don't give out the age of adult birthdays.

I wish you both many, many more happy birthdays. We love you!

My apology for the late greetings. Jerry and I have worked long, hard hours because a co-worker needed some vacation-time.

On Voting Booths

2008-11-04T06:56:00.003-06:00

Voting booths remind me of the sanctity of the confessional booth for several reasons. The first is physical, in that there is a small closet like area, with a curtain, in which a person can slip into; there is room for just one person. The curtain obscures the person and the ballot from the prying eyes of the public. It is not always quiet, but it is quiet enough to do what a person's conscience guides him/her to do.

What goes on in the voting booth is between the voter and the ballot, which is collected and collated anonymously. When the voter leaves that booth, and the voting precinct, it is a personal choice whether to reveal or to not reveal to another living soul what business took place in that booth. I like that the sanctity of voting in our democracy is protected, as the sanctity of the confessional booth is protected in our society.

I like that I have the chance to vote someone into office, or to vote a deadbeat incumbent out of office, whether locally, statewide and nationally, or all three. And the best part is that I can do that in the voting booth, without fear of reprisal from friend or government.

And as much as I appreciate my privilege to vote in this country, I abhor the political process, the down and dirty, just plain lying that is done, the slant in the news, the manure slinging, name calling, put down the opponent to win, and never discuss the issues, and good manners are for the other guy to watch, not me, attitude the news media, the political parties and pundits exhibit. I also resent the self appointed prophets who try to call the results of the election before the election has actually taken place. If I had the power, I'd call a moratorium on all that, but then I think somebody named Hitler did that, and that's a whole other story in the history of mankind.

That's why, despite the downside of the process, the upside is exactly my point. When I finally get inside that voting booth today, and I close the durtain behind me, I can cast my vote for the candidate of my choice without anybody breathing down my neck. I need never tell another soul how I voted, but I am old enough to be fully cognizant of one thing. My vote counts and there are consequences one way or another that we shall all have to live with.

And there will be a percentage of the population who will be happy with the outcome, and a group of people who will think the world is coming to an end if their party does not get voted into office.

And we shall all need to pull together the day after to become a nation of people who cannot become divisible by forces outside the US of A. We shall all need to reach across the aisle and work on uniting this country again, and to work toward resolving the problems that will not go away. It just may be that outside forces will not destroy this country, but our own tendency to see portions of our population as them against us, the haves and the have-nots, the rich against the poor and middle-class, the educated against the blue collar worker, the immigrant against the natural born citizen, or the Democats versus the Republicans. We are all Americans, we just disagree. Diversity is not a dirty word, and it is not a threat to patriotism. It is a sign that, in fact, democracy at it's best is at full play in this country, and that all peoples have a voice, no matter how much I disagree or agree with the message.

And my fondest dream is that those running for office will do so to be public servants, instead of dipping into the pork barrel for their own personal gain. I can dream.

Grappling With Ghosts

2008-10-22T12:42:00.005-05:00

I can still see him clearly in my mind today, six years later. There was nothing spectacular about him, nothing outstanding, but I have not been able to get this stranger out of my mind. For awhile, I wished I'd quietly taken a photo of him, as he watched the concert that summer evening.

Let me go back to July of 2003, to a place in Nebraska called Comstock, where weekend music festivals are held during the summertime. The weekend lineup of rock groups were from the '70's and 80's, and Jerry and I were excited to have a weekend getaway to see these acts perform. Rock giants like Steppanwolf, Blue Oyster Cult, Grand Funk Railroad, George Thorogood and the Destroyers, Creedence Clearwater Revisited, Little River Band, Foghat, the lead singer of Foreigner, and the headliners Def Leppard, among others were on the schedule from Friday night till Sunday night.

Friday night we were all sitting in lawn chairs or on blankets on the ground, far up the hill from the mosh pit. People were in groups of two to twenty, waiting for Creedence Clearwater Revisited to come up next. The first two acts had just finished up and the heat of the day was starting to dissipate a little. The high for the day was 105.

He wore a white t-shirt and a pair of denim overalls, with farm boots and clean white socks. The cap on his head was printed with a"Vietnam Vet" VFW gold insignia. I figured he was a farmboy from Nebraska who had been called up by the draft in the 60's. Throughout the first two acts, he had laid all chilled out on a lawn chair with a footrest. During intermission, it appeared he might have dozed off for awhile.

But I digress. He was totally relaxed and chilling on that lawn chair, with the pup tent shielding him and his wife from the hot sun, until the announcer introduced Creedence Clearwater Revisited and they launched into the guitar introduction to "Run Through the Jungle." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that reclining, middle-aged, gray haired man, jump up and leap into the air and let loose a whoop to join the rest of the audience that was on their feet, too.

He whooped and leaped once more, and then he fell back on that rickety lawn chair, which unceremoniously dumped him onto the ground, as it fell to the side. And I watched spellbound as he sat up and just sat there on the brown grass, totally dejected and physically spent. His body was in Nebraska, but his mind had broke through the time barrier and leaped over 3 decades of time. I had the sense that he was back to 1968, sitting in the jungle cover, in the mountains of Vietnam, with his M-16 in his hands and the ghosts of his buddies calling to him over the span of time.

I tried hard not to stare, but something about this man's nostalgic journey back in time grabbed at my heart and I could not take my eyes off him. I had never seen somebody of his age become so animated and enthusiastically react to the music of his generation and then slump into what I thought may have been a post traumatic stress episode so instantly. I had never seen somebody jump so high physically and then emotionally crash, just as suddenly.

After several minutes of "Running Through the Jungle", they went through the other songs in their repertoire: Suzy Q, Proud Mary, Green River and many others. The crowd was appreciative and rowdy, but that veteran was totally still and unresponsive. Each time I glanced his way, I felt like I was intruding into his space, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. There was something about him that really yanked on my heart. He was there, but he really wasn't "there."

I have no idea who he was, or where he lived, but I have found myself thinking about him every now and then, and I find myself saying a prayer for him to find peace for his memories and the past, and to find a way to weave all those experiences into the means to live as a whole person today. I pray for all of those who grapple with the gray ghosts in their past, which are triggered by a few familiar chords of a favorite chart climber from that era; just a few notes are strummed and the past may be resurrected.

As Creedence Clearwater finished up their set, he and his wife folded up the pup tent, lawn chairs, and their "baggage" and slipped quietly into the shadows of that Nebraska night. When I glanced over a few minutes later, another group of concert goers was spreading out their things and claiming the spot.

I'm thankful, now, that I didn't take a photo of him. It would have been a sacrilege. I'm glad I didn't intrude into his personal space and add to his grief; but, I will never forget that vet.

Volleyball Game Shots

2008-10-21T09:05:00.002-05:00

At the Lady Broncos game against Medicine Valley, on Oct. 14th, I snapped these shots of my awesome granddaughter, Tori Adams, as she played varsity volleyball in Wauneta. I can't tell you what a thrill it is to watch her play. She gains confidence and skill as time goes on. She is #9.

Bethany setting to Tori.
Tori serving.
Waiting for the serve.

Good job, Tori! From your button busting Grandma.

Two Peas in a Pod, Two Gifts from God

2008-10-14T17:36:00.004-05:00

Today is Matthew's birthday. It is Maya's birthday, too. I spent the morning with Matthew, Nathan and Jacob, while their Mom went to a meeting. We had such a grand time playing together. When she got home, we had lunch together, for which I am so grateful. We also talked about our little girl. And though it brings tears, to not talk about her hurts even worse.

Some say you never get over the loss of a loved one, that you will continue to grieve that person's absence from your life until you die. I believe that to be true by experience. As long as you can talk about them, remember them, a part of them continues to exist, at least in their loved one's memory.

If love forms a circle, then that circle of love, that seems broken to the human eye, continues to exist in the heart that remembers. May the circle of love in our family be unbroken. The love we had for you, is still in our hearts. I want to say life is unfair, that you were taken too soon, but frankly, there are no promises of a long life for any of us. If there is anything to learn from you leaving us "too soon," it is that each of us may be a little more aware that we will not be here forever, and that our days on earth are numbered. Let us love each other today, while there is the opportunity.

Happy Birthday, Maya. And tell Jesus thank you for taking care of you, Sweetpea! I am so grateful. Amen.

Meeting Sawyer the First Time

2008-10-14T08:11:00.002-05:00

What a joy to meet Sawyer and to hold her! Can you tell by the grin on my face, that this is exactly what I've waited all day to do?! And for those of you who think this gets to be ho-hum after the first few -- look at the joy on my face, it never gets old, and it is always a thrill to meet one of your grandchildren for the first time. Each time is the first time with that special child and the joyful thrill just gets better and better!

My tenth grandchild. I am so blessed!
Grandma Mary Lou holding Sawyer.
Great Grandmother Mary Lou and Sawyer Jane Vrbas.
Grandpa Jerry and Sawyer. She looks pretty cozy in Papa Jerry's arms, doesn't she?!

She's Arrived!

2008-10-13T06:20:00.004-05:00

I am so happy to announce that Sawyer Jane Vrbas was born at 9:59 pm, CT in McCook Community Hospital, to Joe and Sarah Vrbas. Her Daddy reports she has strawberry blonde hair and is chubby. Since he called before she was weighed and measured, I don't have the details, just talked to a very happy daddy. We are very thrilled and relieved mom and baby are doing fine.

We are not going to be able to see her until after work today. Hope she and her Mommy get lots of rest, for we will be there tonight to meet the newest member of our family. It's going to be very hard to keep the mind on work today! My heart is in that hospital! It also means I won't have pictures until then, either.

Congratulations to Joe, Sarah and Peyton. Welcome to the world, Sawyer Jane.

Any Day Now....

2008-10-12T13:07:00.003-05:00

For nine months we have awaited the arrival of a new child to our family. In the past week, I have not been far from the phone, just in case, the call came to let us know, our son Joe, and his beautiful wife, Sarah, have left for the hospital to have this very much anticipated birth of their daughter.

Peyton has her wheels to go to the hospital to meet

her new little sister. She is ready!

All of the cousins are ready to make room for one more!
Luke, Matthew, Jacob, Tori, Jack, Peyton, and Nathan
Stay tuned. It should be any day now. I'll keep you informed!

Our Welcoming Committee..

2008-10-08T21:36:00.003-05:00

This is what you will see, if you drive by our house

when we are at work.

Where are our people?
Is it 6:00, yet?

Old Country Cemetery

2008-10-08T10:19:00.003-05:00

On a corner of a quarter section of land, adjacent to the county road, sits an old cemetery, that has long ago been abandoned. This is located just a half mile from the old run down farm house in the previous post. One headstone has been fenced around, probably to keep cattle from stomping on the grave. You wonder how many unmarked graves there are in the areas between the standing, and surviving headstones. It's really a peaceful spot.

There are many clumps of iris growing in and around this burial area. I hope to go back in the spring, in May, to witness their bloom.
My Great Grandparents Lewis and Hattie Johnson are buried here. He passed on December 13, 1894, the year before his grandson, my grandfather, Van Austin Peterson, was born to Jacob and (their daughter) Amanda Peterson. He emigrated from Sweden, she was born in Illinois, of Swedish parents. She lived until 1913. The inscription on the bottom reads, "To dwell with the happy and blest."
This old implement sits by the side of the road, in the weeds, just 1/2 mile from the old homestead, on other property. I just couldn't resist snapping a photo of the rusted and weathered piece of farm equipment. It's kind of sad that it was abandoned in the weeds, and not in a museum. Do you think people were so glad to have the new and improved tractors and other farm implements, that made their jobs so much easier and the work faster, that they were none to glad to leave it, forgotten in the weeds, to rust and rot, for industrial progress?

Visiting the South Divide

2008-10-08T08:35:00.002-05:00

An old hand pump, sitting on a knoll in wheat stubble, is all that is left at the location where my Dad grew up south of Palisade. The camera is pointing north, and just to the left of the camera,

this oil well storage tank sits.
Don't you think the sky is a beautiful blue in these photos?
This field to the south of the county road is what my Uncle Frank hoped to come home to farm, after WWII. I'm not sure how the family no longer owned it, perhaps, other opportunities off the farm beckoned, and it was sold. Uncle Al was of the opinion the lawyer who handled the deal misrepresented it's worth, especially when he saw present day oil wells in the area. There is a working oil well pumper in the center of this photo, if you look closely.
This dilapidated old farm house sits a mile north of the old home location and is characteristic of farm houses of that period. When I try to imagine the old farm, I like to think it resembled this, with kids playing in the yard, a dog or two, and some farm equipment sitting near a windmill, a chicken house and of course, a barn. In many cases, the settlers planted fruit trees, too, to insure their long term survival, and to provide much needed shade. It was a beautiful Indian Summer day, and thankfully, I did not encounter any rattlesnakes or ghosts.

Searching for the Old Home Place

2008-10-06T07:41:00.003-05:00

It was a gorgeous fall day, last Wednesday, driving home from Trenton to get our new vehicle licensed; so, I turned off Highway 25, to do a little road trip past the general area where my Dad lived when he was a little boy. It is between Palisade and Trenton, about a mile west of Baker's Acres. The last time I had been there was the summer of 2005, when my Uncle Al Peterson was here for his class reunion.

That summer, Uncle Al drove out to the old home place, with his son, and my cousin, David, to show us where he grew up with my Dad. It was really exciting for me to have his input of memories to add to what little I could remember of what my Dad had told me. Many times, I had wished I had kept a written record of what my Dad related through the years. Many times, I wished I had listened closer. Many times since then, I wished I had asked more questions.

As we made the turn to go east, and slowly drove the mile, Uncle Al told us that the field to the southwest was a piece of land that his older brother, Frank, had hoped to farm after he returned from the European theater of WWII. He got quite agitated as he remembered family history. He recalled some doings with a lawyer, in which the result was the family lost that piece of ground. As he gazed upon the oil wells that dotted the land on both sides of the county road we traveled, he showed a mixture of anger and sadness. He remembered they had been poor as church mice. Dirt poor.

As we came over a slight hill, he stopped in the middle of the road and though, there was nothing there, he expressed great disbelief. "It's gone!" he exclaimed. "There's nothing left!" he choked out. David and I were very quiet, for all we could see was plowed fields and nothing but horizon. Behind us was a large oil storage tank that probably sat where the old barn or chicken house formerly stood with the animals that kept the wolf from the door and starvation at bay, from day to day, for a family of 7 people.

"I can't believe there is nothing left!" he said, again. Then he pointed where there once had stood the windmill, the barn, the house they lived in, and the fields that my Grandfather would have plowed with the most primitive of tools and work horses.

"Mom used to cover the windows with quilts, at night, during the winter, to keep the snow from drifting on us while we slept."

"We used to take turns climbing the windmill to see how far we could see. On a clear day, you could see for miles and miles."

"In this direction," he pointed, "was the garden Mom planted every year. During the dirty thirties, when I was little, the grasshoppers literally ate the onions out of the ground, after they had eaten everything else. One of us kids made the claim that at least, we would have potatoes, if they ate everything else. Those damn grasshoppers ate the stems clear down to the ground, then ate the taters, too!"

He sat there for a long minute or two, and then he said it again, with sad disbelief, "I can't believe it is all gone." I couldn't believe it either, but I was so glad to be a witness to what he could remember from our emotional road trip.

Back to the present, as I slowly drove the same hallowed ground, and stopped and searched for anything that could be a sign, I discovered there was an old hand pump that may have been a part of an old windmill in that spot.

Is it where my grandparents once lived and where my dad grew up? I can't say, but, I have an idea that it very well may be. There is nothing else in that area to ever indicate a family once worked the land, and scraped out a living as they worked the land, and weathered the years together in this place on the prairie.

My next step is to try to locate land records that might support this claim. I am also hoping to find documentation of some sort to support the family history that my Grandfather Van A. Peterson was born in a sod house south of Palisade, about 1895.

I did not have my camera with me that day, but I hope to go back soon, and get some photos, particularly of the hand pump, at this place that no one can go home, again.

More Butterflies

2008-10-05T11:43:00.002-05:00

Admiral butterfly on the Autumn Joy Sedum, which also attracts lots of bumblebees and wasps and other moths, too.

Blanket flower and an old plow. Thank goodness for today's roto-tillers that are gas powered and not human powered!
Monarch in the cosmos.
The zinnias have been beautiful this year. Such vibrant colors.

Monarchs in the Sun.

2008-10-05T11:31:00.002-05:00

There have been many butterflies in my garden in the past few weeks. This is some of the photos I've been able to take in the zinnias.

Admiral butterfly.
Two admirals having lunch.
The monarch.
Closeup of an Admiral.
Monarch sunning while there is the chance.

Windmill Closeup

2008-09-22T20:23:00.001-05:00

Country Pics

2008-09-22T19:49:00.007-05:00

Prairie dog posing for the camera.

A pasture pond in the hills north of Palisade.

This wildflower grows in low spots, such as in ditches, where rainwater accumulates.

These wildflowers can be seen in the prairie pastures and are numerous this year.

Windmill

2008-09-22T19:17:00.003-05:00

In memory of my Dad, Van O. Peterson, farmer/rancher 1928-1997.

Watchman of prairie dog and pasture grass,

what do you guard today? Rugged and proud

sentry of wood and steel, watching when

westerly winds waft o'er the plains.

Solitary giant pumping water

to parched land, thirsty cattle and dry

human hearts. Head into the wind, no storm

cellar ot hide your face when tornadoes

pummel the soft earth. Weather-beaten

survivor of sun, wind and blizzarding

snow. Antiquated silhoueete at

setting sun, won't you watch for me?

~Tami Peterson Vrbas, 2005

Rodent Rodeo

2008-09-17T21:37:00.007-05:00

He springs from the chute, like a shot,
gallops like a barrel horse toward the knothole,
canters to the west branch, where he scrambles
into the turn. The bushy tree rat soon emerges,
weaving over, and under, and around,
loping to the straightaway, his feet barely touch.
Oblivious to gravity, he dives fearlessly down
the south slope, and leaps to the ground,
passes the corn cob bait - and with black-oil seeds
beckoning - he makes a final dash to the bird feeder.
He shimmies, undeterred now, up the greased pole,
slathered with Crisco, steps nimbly over the baffle,
installed to prevent such pesky raiders, and glides
to the finish line. The cheeky rodent swishes
his tail, like a victory wave, munches seeds
in tiny paw hands, claims his rodeo prize.
I never saw him break a sweat. Then, cross-my-heart,
hope-to-die - I swear, the little buckaroo winked at me,
as I hung up the dishtowel.

The Gatekeeper

2008-09-15T15:18:00.004-05:00

I tiptoe to my garden gate
in the dim early light,
to escape to my seat
near the sheltering lilacs.
I am the gatekeeper.
I've come to hedge out
the blaring headlines of war,
the matter-of-fact voice
delivering every atrocity.
Here I linger, for the flutter
of tiny wings to the bird feeder,
where the song sparrows hang-glide
to the lawn, like toy parachutes,
and meld into the waves of
brown birds scouring seed
in the thick green turf. A
woodpecker's drumming heralds
the red queen's entrance to breakfast,
closely followed by her genteel king.
When I swat the mosquito
humming in my eardrum,
I startle a complacent toad
sitting in the rock garden,
warming his bones in the sun.

I retreat to that garden gate
in my mind, now and then,
and recall the innocence
of lilacs in tucked-away gardens,
where the common sparrow dines
with royalty, valiant knights
escort lovely ladies, where a
reptile may sunbathe unharmed.
The divine heartbeat resonates
in this quiet inner sanctum;
worry evaporates like morning dew,
as I evict the thieves of serenity.
For I am the gatekeepr,
and in this peaceful respite,
mosquito bite is the only threat
of bloodshed to be found.

Whine Making Season

2008-09-14T20:12:00.003-05:00

I spent the afternoon in the sunshine in my garden. I could hear the soft calling of the turtledoves in the spruce tree that stands by the back gate. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend they were serenading me, as I bent to pick tomatoes, fresh lettuce and a gallon bucket full of strawberries. Then I tried to stand up straight, and my back really protested.

I have to admit that I am weary of tending the garden this year. Thankfully, there is much less to tend, since some of it has been cleaned up. But, I got to thinking, I planted the peas and onions in March, during a warm spell. No wonder I am really tired of it! I am ready for a break.

I'm glad the intensive gardening chores are only for a season. I'm glad I don't have to fight the weeds all year long. And sad to say, I hardly look at the containers full of petunias and geraniums, or the flowerbeds with their last burst of blooms before frost comes in the near future. I did notice a couple pink roses, as I was coming in the back door.

Isn't it ironic, how enthusiastic gardeners are in the spring to get their hands in the dirt, to get the seeds planted into the ground. We can hardly wait for the soil to warm up enough to make things sprout and grow. After a winter of looking at snow and gray landscape, we yearn for green. As Ecclesiastes states it so wisely, there is a time to sow.

Today, I was thinking how much wisdom there is to the seasons, how certain activities are equated with one season, and not with the others. After tending this vegetable garden all spring and summer, and the flower beds, the lawn and everything, I am very relieved that soon the need for this will pass until next year. I am thankful it is the time to harvest and to pick apples, etc.

So, I am determined to stop and smell those two rosebuds by the back door tomorrow morning, to check the last cantalope left to ripen, and to enjoy the butterflies on the zinnias and marigolds.

Oh, did mention that I saved some flower seeds for next spring? When the snow recedes next spring, the air warms and the birds return from the south, I will be ready to create my garden once again; my fingers will itch to plunge into the soil and to place those seeds into the warming ground. And every chance I have, I will walk along the string that marks the rows, and my eyes will seek the first wisp of green piercing the ground, and the connection between the seasons will continue from one year to the next, just as the Master designed it. And after a winter's rest, I will be good to go, again.

Boys Will Be Boys

2008-09-10T21:03:00.002-05:00

The insistent ringing of the telephone brought me out of the bowels of the basement, on a run to stop the phone's dictating demand, "Answer me. Run. Hurry. NOW." I answered on the fourth ring.

"Mrs. Vrbas?" a female voice queried. My heart began to pound with growing anxiety.

"Do you know what your little boys are doing?" the voice continued, slightly accusingly.

"They were playing in the yard when I went to the basement to do laundry," I answered a trifle defensively, still trying to catch my breath.

The zinger came in a polite informative voice. "Were you aware they are relieving themselves on the street?" Sure enough, through the window, I spied my two young sons, standing side by side on the curb, with both hands in front of them, directing their pee toward the passing cars. I sincerely wished I was in the basement and could stay there indefinitely.

"Yes. I see them. I was doing laundry in the basement and they took advantage," I tried to explain through clenched jaws.

"I just thought you would want to know what they are up to," the voice spoke in a most helpful, slightly superior tone. I thanked the voice, and then said good-bye.

I stood at the window, my eyes resting on my male offspring, as they made their private parts private once more. Three and four years old, I couldn't help but smile, as they giggled and joshed with each other for a few minutes. It was cute, but in ten years, it could be an undesirable habit. I did not desire to be the mother of future exhibitionists.

I called to Dave and Joe from the front door, while waving to the concerned citizen from across the street, that I had just spoke to on the phone. The boys came running to the door for milk and cookies. They nodded their heads agreeably while munching cookies and licking at milk mustaches, as I explained they should come inside to use the bathroom. I felt satisfied it had gone well and was no big deal.

I shared this incident with my husband later and how proud of myself I was of how I'd handled the situation with our boys. I couldn't believe my ears later, when he was tucking them into bed. I heard him say to them, "Next time you need to go when you're outside, don't go on the street. Go outback to the lilac bush, where no one will see you."

We laugh about it now, especially since the two kids were crack shots and hit the tractors that would go by, much to the hilarity of the farmers driving them. To the best of my knowledge, they are not exhibitionists today.

My Favorite Prayer

2008-09-10T20:43:00.002-05:00

Dear God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself..and
the fact that I think I am following
Your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so. But, I believe this:

I believe that the desire to please You
does in fact please You. I hope I have
that desire in everything I do. I hope I
never do anything apart from that desire.
And,
I know that if I do this You will lead me
by the right road...though I may know
nothing about it at the time.
Therefore,
I will trust You always for though I may
seem to be lost and in the shadow of death,
I will not be afraid because I know You
will never leave me to face my troubles
all alone.

Amen.
~Thomas Merton~

Summer Visitor

2008-09-08T16:44:00.005-05:00

Early in the summer, I set out a hummingbird feeder, just as I had last year. But, this year, I set the bishop's hook near the large bay window, so we could observe the little suckers close up.

Well, it hung there, full of red sugar water (they call it nectar, to be specific) hoping to entice one or two to come near, and to hang out in our yard this summer, and to join all the other birds that I feed, too. But, it hung there for weeks, untouched. And it seemed to mock me, every time I walked by.

One day, in July, that feeder hanging there with nothing happening nearly got the best of me, and I took it down to put it away in the basement. And as I emptied it into the sink, a little bit of hope nudged me, and I filled it again. One more time, I said to self.

The next morning, about 7:30, as I walked by the window, one tiny green hummingbird shot up to the hanging feeder and took a drink. It was there for maybe two seconds, they are so quick. Well, I probably chased the poor thing off when I hooped and hollered for joy, when I saw it! It came back often that day and for three days total. I didn't get too much done, for those three days, because I had my behind firmly planted by that window watching the little green miracle just on the other side of the glass

Then, just as I was getting used to it being around, I didn't see it again, for several weeks. But, I continued to change the red sugar water - er, nectar, faithfully. He might come back, you know. And thankfully, my husband got some photoshots of it.

Later, in August, it was back again, but this time, it seemed quite agitated, continually watching around it, on guard, it seemed. It didn't take long to find out why. There was another one, that kept buzzing around, and when it buzzed past, it took up chase. Sometimes, it even perched on the bishop's hook, and even though it was vigilantly watching for the other hummingbird, too, it would gaze into the window pane, as if it was as curious about us, as we were about him. (Or her?) Then, there were three of them, and one would guard another, while it took sustenance at the nectar feeder, and seemed to be guarding this one from a third one.

I was in heaven, let me tell you. Now, there were three, and they were buzzing around, back and forth from the trees, to the feeder, and around the yard and back again. I think we had a male protecting a female from another male. He was sure territorial! No bird was going to take his girl!

Off and on, we saw them for about 8 days. Then, it was quiet, again, for I guess that they may have had a nest of little ones. This is even better yet, now there will be more of them. I don't think we watched tv for more than a week. We had much better entertainment right out of our window and I had a front row seat.

I see one occaisonally, now, that we are into September, and the nights are a bit cooler. Soon, they will migrate, as many birds do. But, you can be very sure, I will put that red sugar water feeder out again, next year. Same place next year, okay guys?!

Recycling the Shrine

2008-09-06T22:06:00.002-05:00

He needed a place to remove his muck boots
before entering the house, somewhere
to plant his behind, without standing on
his head; so Dad haunted farm auctions
and scoured old country homesteads, waded
in waist-high weeds, and woke the
custodial grasshoppers, always clutching
a spade, in case he'd rustle up a rattler,
scavenging for pieces of old farm implements;
a rusted gear here, the cast iron tractor seats
and old cream separator bases there, muttering
to himself, "Glad we got rid of those milk cows,
back then;" rustling up bits and pieces of the
past with a screw driver and pair of pliers.

Back home in his dusty shop, he'd lay the body
parts out on the floor, like Dr. Frankenstein in
his lab, with a foot here, a seat there, until he'd
welded this odd creation together into a solid,
one-of-a-kind, heavy stool.

They sit on my patio, now, just three rustic
thrones to judiciously tuck the left-right of your
back side; the flange juts up like a saddle horn.
They are irrepressible, like the bib-overall clad
farmer butts that bumped tirelessly, minus
padding or springs, with Massey Harris through
the green seas of corn and wheat, the vast
acres of hay, soybeans and milo with McCormack
Deering across the Great Plains, and honed
Allis Chalmers to an earthy patina; our leisure
forged by Farmall and their blood, sweat and tears.

Window Sill Altar

2008-09-05T23:42:00.002-05:00

Beneath a hushed
cathedral of trees,
I stand near the glass
as sunrise approaches,

the streaks of pink
and periwinkle-tinged
light unfurl like
birthday banners

in a pewter sky.
The gnarled fingers
of brown trees limbs
rise in joyfulness,

lifting the darkness;
auburn light bathes
the sleepy shadows.
My heart rises

like a chalice held high,
an offering of
the warm wine of gladness,
the broken bread of praise.

Today is the pristine page
of second chance,
fresh absolution spread
as a veritable feast.

The Lord of Hospitality
bequeaths this one shining cup,
and mystery brims
in new wineskins.

The Invitation

2008-09-05T17:28:00.002-05:00

Near the crown of the elm, in the yard
across the street,
I see the red bird
seeking a perch to sit,
throw his head back
and sing --

I like to think
he is singing to me --
but, it is springtime
and his trembling body strains
with each prayerful note,
pitching his invitation,

repeatedly,
into the evening --
"Cheer. Cheer. Cheer, cheer-uh;"
his courting song
charges the evening air.
I hold my breath,

for among the basket
of heart-shaped leaves in the redbud tree
behind me, she answers
his intense longing, note for note.
Instantly, he joins her;
then, over my rooftop, they soar,

tails fluttering,
two fiery exclamation points engraved in
a molten gold sunset.
Mirth tumbles from my lips,
and accompanies them, like the
melody of bendiction into summer.

Like Balloons In the Wind

2008-09-02T17:17:00.003-05:00

This really happened, and all I did was record it. Some call that serendipity. Some call it God's will. Maybe serendipity is just God blessing us, while remaining anonymous.

Like Balloons in the Wind

Little One~
The balloon that I signed with felt marker,
I will never forget you. Love, Grandma,
was tied with pink ribbon. Each of your earth
family held one,
as we stood in the snow, that fell last night.
I held tightly to your Grandpa's hand,
as we huddled in the wind, by the red cedar,
remembering two Christmases ago.
Your Aunt Katie said a sweet prayer, before
we released those bobbing balloons,
to the December wind, that whisked them,
out of our hands, high into the sky, then,
soared out of sight. Then, your cousin -
she's just three - cried out,
"I want my balloon back!"as they sailed,
by express, to your forever Home. At her age,
it's hard to let go the things you love.

I tried to be brave for your Mommy.
I tried hard not to cry, but the moaning prairie
wind assured me, tears are just wordless prayers
she transports instantly to God.
But, sometimes, I want to stomp my foot, too,
like a child, and shout to the heavens,
"I want my Sweet Pea back!"
Yes, letting you go is hard, at my age.

One day, when I'm released of my bonds of gravity,
I pray my soul will be lifted,
like a helium balloon in a friendly wind, to
my forever Home, where - God willing -
I will apprehend to the dwelling next to you,
and one day, overhear
the wind consoling another loved one, who cries,
"I will never forget you.
Letting you go is so hard to do."

Love and kisses, Grandma

Burnt

2008-09-02T17:01:00.002-05:00

In June, I received word that two of my poems were to be published in the Fall 2008 Inspirit Journal, edited by the Baughman United Methodist Church of New Cumberland, Pennsylvania. I have been so pleased with their Journals and very happy to have the third and fourth of my poems published. I am doing this a bit backwards, but I am submitting them on this blog, at this time.

Burnt

The floodgates of heaven were closed to us,
every cloud a taunting tease under a bully sun,
ever rushing to kiss the ground of another land.
It was spring by the calendar, not the greening
prairie hills. Along dry creek beds, grass and hope
turned to dust; the thorn and thistle were our reward.
Year after year, we were the poor banished children
of Eve, scorched by the welding torch of the sun.

When the rains came, the bloom was on the ditch
rose, once more. In the shade of tall sunflowers,
the cicada chanted his monotonous buzz-songs
to summer. Black angus peppered luxuriant
pastures, grazed the wild-rye-fringed cow paths
to brimming water tanks, under rasping windmills.
Blue flax sashayed on the shoulders of country roads,
near the tangle of black chokecherry thickets. In the
fencerows of alfalfa-scented fields, the honey bee
dives headlong into the fluted necks of yellow clover.

I walk along the saffron leaves of the cottonwoods,
along the the river. It's October, and the sticky spider
webs of dread sprawl and adhere to my soul. I dread
the end of the green milk and honey of this one,
abundant summer. I want to whine, like the locust
laments 'till the killing frost. I'm afraid, so afraid the
good luck ran out, and homesick, for the flickering
fireflies of hope, at dusk, in the Promised Land.

It's Fun to be a Drama Queen in the Land of Pretend

2008-09-02T14:23:00.000-05:00

I've been hooked on reading ever since my mother put a book in my hand as a toddler. First, there were fairy tales, and nursery rhymes. Then, as I grew older, it was Nancy Drew Mysteries and other stories. I cannot remember a time when I did not read, whether it was cereal boxes, vitamin bottles, road signs and newspapers; anything that had words on them.

Not only did I like to read, but I liked to hear stories, too, and could inhabit another world thorugh my imagination. Later, when I had my own children, we often spent afternoons, just before naptime, reading stories. Each child got to choose a book, and then he or she got to sit beside me while I read it to them. Because there were four of them, when we finished that book, another book was chosen by another child and they rotated positions beside me to see the pictures, too. Those were really good times in my memory.

But, children grow up, and then, leave home, and in due time, they bring young grandchildren to introduce to the world of books and stories, to tickle their imaginations. I've read The Three Little Pigs to my three-year-old granddaughter, Peyton, so many times, she knows exactly where to chime in when the Big Bad Wolf has his part at the door. We say his line in as deep and scarey a voice as we can imagine a Big Bad Wolf could possess. And when we get to The End, she will look up at me, and proclaim, "Read it, again, Grandma!" That is music to my ears. It is so fun to be a Drama Queen with a preschooler, and to rule the Land of Pretend.

A couple months ago, my grandson, Luke, read a book to me! What a thrill to see him figuring out the sounds and shapes and meanings of letters that make words that fuel our language to compose an idea that can ignite the imagination. His brothers, Matthew and Nathan, also love to sit with a book.

Earlier this summer, I listened to my daughter-in-law, Amy, read library books to her son, Jack. Part of their summer routine was to frequent the library. Books are fun, and it thrills me to see our family is continuing to be a family of readers into the next generation, too.

It all starts with a story, some history, and putting words together to write a tale that begs to be recorded.