Swiss Army Knife in a bottle . . .

       A bottle of Nail Polish should be in every household ‘fix-it-kit’, and not for finger or toe nail decoration, either. And for a complete kit, make certain there is one of Clear polish and another of the fairly new Glow-in-the-dark polish. Dozens of uses.
 
       I find the Clear is great for a fingernail that has a roughness that nothing but growing out will eliminate.   And, it’s the answer, if you happen to have one of those fingernails that ‘layers’, and not only looks bad, but are always ‘catching’ on clothes, and forever forming another loose layer. Keep it covered well with dull, colorless nail polish and let the nail grow out. Might take a month or two, but it’s worth the trouble and what other choice have we?
 
     My husband, was one handy man around the house and before he ever knew or thought of colorless polish, he kept a bottle of polish, on his shop bench, and any color I happened to have would do. He didn’t care.
 
     But when he was installing a screw into something, he would coat that screw liberally with the nail polish and then immediately tighten it into place and the screw would really be tight. And, making doubly sure, he’d also ‘paint’ the head of the screw.
 
       When he became aware of colorless stuff, he would cover the heads of nails and screws on most everything he saw, for it keeps rust, dust, and other kinds of stains away.
 
       I once had a pair of metal salt and pepper shakers at my stove, but they often were left damp, and in a day or two there were stains where they stood. One quick clean up and then with a coat of colorless polish on the bottom of the shakers, any staining was a thing of the past.
 
       If you have a measuring bucket or whatever for measuring liquids, mark off, on the inside, the correct lines so you know when you’ve reached a pint, quart, cup or whatever you need. It works, and the time spent figuring out where the lines should be, saves you hours of time later on.
 
     The Clear polish will fill in the dents on the top of wooden furniture, and if you coat the brass handles and knobs around the house with the clear polish they’ll never tarnish. Mix a bit of vinyl dust with the clear polish to repair any scratches on your vinyl flooring. Nice.
 
      My husband would have grabbed onto the new Glow-in-the-dark polish, for it now spells the end of fumbling through the bed covers in the middle of the night, to find the Remote to turn OFF the tv or music when sleep came and left the programs going on forever. I’ve found that a few daubs on the edges, as well as painting the On and Off buttons are godsends. Betcha more bottles are sold for such purposes than for finger or toe nails.
 
       Touch up the ends of a rope, string, or blind cord to keep them from fraying as well as mending small cuts or tears in window screens.  And the Glow polish is a wonder in helping you find the key hole in your car when it’s dark, too.
 
       When the knobs on your dresser or cabinets become loose, dip the screws into clear polish before tightening them and the tightening will be good for a long time.
 
       Never tried it myself, but was told to use acetone polish remover to repair burns on wooden furniture. I think they were referring to hot ashes accidentally dropped from a burning cigarette, but of course, no one smokes any more, so cancel that one.
 
        All together, I think we’ve found more uses for Clear and Glow nail polish than the makers imagined. Or maybe they did, and left it to us to find out. And we have.

ethelbrad@comcast.net

www.FromOutMyWindow.com

Listen for them.  Thank them.

       People speak of who influenced their lives and so I pondered for myself. and for me it was odd, because it hasn’t been people, but I can name scads of books that have made a difference to me. Those of the last century, many older than that, and some of them downright ancient.
 
       Of course, the New Testament marks all Christians.   Not so much the Old Testament for they were tales told round the evening fire, and kept alive until the written word came into being. All of the Middle East told and revered The Creation and Ten Commandments,  long before Moses went to the mountain for us.

       Then, for me, there was Pearl Buck. Oh, that wise woman. Her books were based mostly in China, for her parents were life-time Missionaries there.  Buck’s characters, however, met and coped with circumstances much the same as all people do, and they marked and taught me. No Therapist could have been better or wiser. At least for me.

       Also high on my list was Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.   Her tales of Florida and its people before Big Money found and bought it, are heart-breakers.  The situations in the Scrub Oak are the same as in Murray, Utah, or any  other  place.  People are people where ever found. 

       I read “Lives of a Bengal Lancer”, during an early spiritually critical time of my life. Matching what was happening to me, with the wisdom Francis Yeats Brown found in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in India was a wonder to me. It was a Library Book, so not mine to keep. But much of its wisdom stayed with me, and a month ago I recalled the part it had played in my thinking, bought a copy, and knew again how it had helped me through difficult times. Oh, the wisdom of the printed page. And I mean a well-chosen printed page.
 
       Socrates never wrote a book, but his students did and so his words come to  us. Not a bad teacher, either, for Plato was one of his students. ‘Google’ his name on your computor and read a few of his words. Bless him.
 
       The Murray Library was my teacher, and I still recall the wonderful freedom to prowl and take what books I wanted. I read much that I didn’t understand, but years later when I was older and wiser, (wiser?) I remembered what I’d read and remembering, could say, “Oh, now I know what that long ago book meant”.
 
       Marvelous. Unseen Helpers give us aid long before we know they even exist.  When I began writing seriously, first for the Murray Eagle and Green Sheets, I found that my long years of reading had taught me how to put words together, choosing how to make them flow and tell my thoughts. Reading is the best teacher (influence) there is.

       My Dad had no school training beyond elementery  classes in Sweden, but he was reading a huge book on the History of China when he died.   I wish I’d been smart enough to talk to Dad, but due to his late-in-life marriage, and as I was one of the last children, he was like a grandfather to me, I didn’t know we had the same kind of mind until he was gone. What a waste for both of us. I wonder if he ever prowled the books I brought home? He never commented, if he did.

       What and who influenced your life? Send a silent Thank You to them, even though they’re probably in The Next Room by now, but just maybe they can feel our Thanks and smile back at us. Hope so.

       The word ‘love’, is not primarily a Noun, but a Verb.   A verb is a word of action, and action, once put into motion, continues in motion. Recognized as such, the more Love we use and send along to others, the more love comes back to continue being used.

      The supply is endless, and the wise ones tell us that first, we must learn to love ourselves. To make it our own inner joy, and then silently send it along to others making us more joyous. Some of the easy rules follow.

Love yourself and therefore;

     Take loving care of your body, feeding it nourishing foods and beverages. Groom and dress it with love, and watch our body respond by giving us health and energy.

 Love yourself and therefore:

     Our home will comfortably fill our every need and be a joy to live within. The rooms will be filled with love’s vibration so that all who enter, ourselves included, will feel and be nourished by it.

Love yourself and therefore:

     We will enjoy our work for, no matter what it is, it will use our creative talents and abilities, and allow us to know and communicate lovingly with those who become part of our life.

Love yourself and therefore;

       Our every need is met and often will come into our life before we are aware such a need was approaching. The Source is all-knowing and, if we but allow, the way is prepared before us.   .

Love yourself and therefore:

     Think in a loving way toward all people, for we know that whatever we give, (love or its opposite), returns to us multiplied over and over, filling our world, and mirroring exactly what we sent out.

Love yourself and therefore:

     Forgive and totally release all past experiences which, at the time, we worried about, resented, yet clung to. Only with utter, loving, forgiveness, can we be free.

Love yourself and therefore:

     Live in the Now. Experience each moment as good, and know that our future is joyous and secure. Everyone is a child of the Source and that Source lovingly cares for us, now and forever, the same way we, as loving parents, care for our children.

Love yourself and therefore:

     We will discover we can love all others. Including the many in this world whose deeds we cannot love, because The Source teaches us to love the do-er, not the deed.

     True Agape love is the only way to end the violent and dangerous actions that we see or read about in the media news each day. Love is the only answer to wars, street crimes, home disagreements, violence, greedy political debates, and arguments of all kinds.

Love yourself and therefore;

       Silently send love to all people, no matter of what creed or color, and if right next door or the other side of the world. Silent love is the only action that will someday change the world, but the action must begin, and continue to live, within each of us.

      Learn to respect, accept and love our own worth. Then, no matter where we are or who we are with, don’t wait or say a word, but silently start sending love. Right then. We are the only one, from the special spot where we abide, who can set in motion Love’s eternal action.

(I found these words several years ago in some book or magazine. Liked them, saved them, altered or added here or there, and now pass them along to you.)

No author’s name was given.

But the victims are long forgotten by the system . . .

       A few weeks ago I wrote of prisons and prisoners, and quite a number of you ‘clicked’ in and it didn’t surprise me, for more of our tax money goes there than we might think.

       Ten or so years ago, I read that the Government was building several huge prisons and long-time inmates, from all 50 States, would be sent there.

       And, unsaid, but taken for granted, that you and I would continue to ‘foot the bills’. And cost of the new prisons, too.

       The prisons were to be the Final Cells for  ‘Lifers’, who had developed Alzheimer’s and Dementia and had needs far beyond what could be given by regular prison staff. They needed and each year more ot them need, Care Center.

       What bothers me, is that there are thousands of men and women who need the attention only Care Centers can give, and yet cannot afford it. They may have done nothing more illegal than Run a Red Light, or caught Speeding, and yet prisoners, guilty of violent crimes, are now getting such Care, with absolutely no charge to them. We pay the price, not only for that care, but the new prisons, medical staff, medications and procedures..

       If you didn’t read my words of a week or so ago, titled Finding a Home,  In Prison, go back and bring it up. In it I told that at least 75 % of the men over 45, bluntly stated they had never had it so good as they did in Prison.

       First time they’d ever had three meals a day, a place to sleep, rest rooms, clean clothes, and often the first time ever getting Doctor, Dental or Eye care. They repeatedly stated, if ever ‘put out’ (never ever using the word Released) they would commit some crime the very next day so they could get back in.

       Recidivism???   Yes, and according to those men of 45, 50 or older of age, much of it is coldly planned. No accidents.

       Adding to the utter unfairness of this plan, is knowing that many of the people they robbed, or relatives of those they killed, cannot afford the kind of medical care that the culprits who did the deeds, are getting, and Free of Charge. Yeah, they were right. They never had it so good.

       It’s true that prisons, the same as private homes, were not built to provide hospital care, and the average ‘outside’ person, who has good Insurance, is lucky. But remember, the ‘ outside’ person, worked and paid for it, while prisoners get it for free.  At least to them.

       We put them there for Life and it’s taken for granted that their needs are taken care of.   And with the good care they get, their life span is long.

       It’s now a fact that the aged criminals are better cared for than many ‘on the Outside’.  Who can say what the answer is, but it’s unfair that the person who killed and raped anyone who ever got in their way, is living a life of ease, so to speak, while their ‘victims’ would appreciate a fraction of that ‘free’ care.

       The prisoners, culprit, murderer, killer. raper, call them what you will, all stated the truth, when they would say, we’ve never had it so good.. Perhaps in a civilized world there is no civilized answer, but to me, there’s something wrong with the way it now is.

To sleep:   perchance to dream:  ay, there’s the rub *

       Today I have a simple question and I bet that someone reading this knows the answer. But it isn’t me. Or anyone I’ve asked so far, either.

       It’s like this.   When we go to sleep, what part of us is it that “goes to sleep”? Every one I’ve asked, looks at me with unbelieving eyes and replies, “Well, for heaven’s sake, Ethel, it’s your body that sleeps. to get needed rest”.

       But take a short moment and think. Your body does not go to sleep.   The heart goes on beating, day in and day out, sending blood to every tiny part of our body.

       And our lungs remain awake, also. We breath air in and out, in and out, and,  pooling resources with the heart,  feeds every cell of our bodies. And if there is an infection in the lungs, the body coughs until whatever was ‘asleep’ wakens for some medication.

       Our digestive system works like an assembly line, and is so ‘awake’ that it often rouses us to make a short trip to the bathroom.  Yeah, our digestive system doesn’t sleep. No matter what ‘our sleep master’ does, the digestion system goes placidly along its own way, and the food we ate or drank in the evening is so far along its way that by morning we find our stomach is ready for more.

       Our hair grows.  And so do our finger and toe nails.  And one fellow, when he realized that his body did not sleep, amusedly added, that he thinks his body is doubly active and makes him fatter when he sleeps.

       Our muscles are awake, for we unconsciously turn over or reach and scratch an itchy spot. Don’t believe me?   Well, test it out. Wave a feather, or soft tissue or such over the face of some sleeper and see how quickly a hand reaches out to get rid of whatever is tickling their face.

       What part of us sleeps?   When we are under an anesthetic, some doctor monitors our heart beat carefully to make certain that it, the heart, does not “go to sleep”.

       I’ve finally come to one point that makes me wonder if I’m getting close to what, and how,  we go to sleep.

       We all have heard of the people whom doctors call Brain Dead. In other words their five senses are completely  ‘dead’, and their bodies must be fed artificially, given water and cared for by others. But their body goes on living and there is a family in the news now, who is fighting to take their daughter from such a ‘life’.

       And once there was a young woman . . . pregnant . . . . and the fetus continued to live and grow. Again there was a difference of wishes between family and doctors and I’ve never heard the results. Did the child reach birth? Was it normal? Or would people, even doctors know if that child were normal until it reached adulthood and it would be obvious if it did or did not develop in all ways, i.e. mentally as well as emotionally. And then did they ‘let’ the body die???

       So, I wonder. Is there some spot in our brain that ‘puts us to sleep’ but lets the rest of our equipment remain aware, and continue calmly functioning? But if some person gets physically injured in that specific, critical, spot in the brain, injured beyond what’s meant to be, and as a result,  can’t come back???  In other words, do we each night, come near being a brain dead person???

       Yeah, I know I think of odd questions, but tell me if you know. It’s such a simple question.   Sleep. We do it daily, often more than once a day. Does someone know the answer?

       What part of me is it that goes to sleep each night??? And wakens again when that need is filled???

*  Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1

El amor todo lo *

       Love. Oh me. Men have died for it. Women have lied for it. Billions sigh for it and countless songs, stories and poems have been written about it. Greece fought a war because of it and it’s behind every marriage, and its lack every divorce.
 
       All for Love? So what is love? It is not food for the hungry, or drink for the thirsty. It will not knit the broken bone or give rest to the overworked. It isn’t a drug for the suffering, and yet, today, right now, there are people giving up their hold on life and slowly dying for the lack of it.
 
       Love is the T.L.C. prescribed for children. So important that every child in any hospital is actually scheduled to be tenderly held, fondled and played with, in addition to the routine times the child is also scheduled to be fed, bathed and otherwise attended.  And is the reason that some ‘qualified’ visitor is asked, if they have time, to hold and caress children whose parents are from out-of-State, or otherwise unable to make frequent visits.  Been there, and done that. T. Y. G.
 
       It is the magic that changes homes for the aged from dull, lifeless places where, so often, men and women sit silently and dully in empty rooms, waiting for their lives to pass. Yes, it changes them into homes (no more affluent) of quiet activity, alert eyes, contentment and days that are lived. Not just endured.
 
       Love, Every civilization, culture, people or tribe from earliest times until now, have recognized its strength and made rules and provisions for it. Oddly enough, too, the more ‘un-modern’ the culture, the better their over all concept of love has been.
 
       Only in modern America has love become synonymous with sex. Other environments recognize and explore the other aspects as well; the mother playing with her children, the grandparent caressing the infant, listening to the child’s woes, or giving cautious monetary aid to the college student who is always short of cash. Are these not also love?

       Yes, and there’s the often forgotten taken-for-granted, love of the parish priest or local bishop for their flock. Only those close-by could know of the countless hours that are cheerfully, thankfully given. Hours whose very numbers make the task seem impossible. And it would be, too, if it weren’t for love.
 
       No, love is not food for the hungry or drink for the thirsty. It cannot be put under a microscope, analyzed and then prescribed for a broken body or diseased mind. But yet . . . 
       It is both food and drink for the Soul. It is rest for the overburdened and new energy to the sorrowing. the bored and the listless. It has given more peace than all the tranquilizers ever made, and brought a shine and glow to tired eyes and faces. It is the magic medicine that every doctor in the world wishes he could patent, bottle and prescribe for his patients.
 
       Love. That most tender of emotions. With it, life and the world is a happy place to be. Without it, life loses its savor, its ability to revitalize itself. and dies. Yes, that’s how vital love is.               
 
       It will soon be Valentine’s day. Give all the love you can, and of all varieties you can find.  See, I’m not knocking Eros one bit, but take time to remember Agape as well.

*  Love conquers all

“Be brave, young lovers, and follow your star…”

       I  turned a hall corner and startled a young couple holding each other closely, sharing a moment of love and tenderness.
 
       They hurriedly stepped apart, blushing, embarrassed, and their reaction was obviously, that I, of another generation, couldn’t possibly understand them or their actions.
 
       We live in a world that is programmed to think that love, and all its glory and fulfillment, is meant only for the young. And that if you are 50, or anywhere beyond, that love is out of the question. That any marriage, at those ages, must be nothing but empty, hollow arrangements and could have nothing to do with that tender emotion.
 
       How wrong they are. Oh, heavens, how wrong they are, and how much they have to learn as they are taking their first startled steps into the world that is the very foundation for every birth, book, opera, song, poem, sculpture, work of art and so much more.
 
       They were so young, so starry eyed and they think the joys and love they are experiencing can never be understood by people their parent’s ages. But they must be excused, for we know that every generation thinks they invented the wonders of love and sex.
 
       The wise (blest? lucky?) ones go through the young infatuations, and though moved, recognize them for what they are. To enjoy, learn, but carefully, oh, most carefully avoid any acts or commitments that could entail a child, marriage and so often a divorce. Or a child to be placed for adoption, or raised by a single mother.
 
       I still re-read Margaret Mead’s 1925 book, Coming of Age in Samoa, after she lived there as an Anthropologist. Among other aspects of their life, Mead wrote of the teen years. In Samoa at that time, love and sex were expected, and accepted with no criticism. She compared sex of those early years, like bolts of lightning, and over just as quickly.
 
       However, if a Samoa pair conceived a child, (and here their rules were adamant and frightenly strict) but with no censoring they were automatically considered ‘married’ and would continue that responsibility until the child reached adulthood. And horrible punishment followed if those rules were ignored. Mead tells that those early Samoans had no jails. Social laws took care of such things quickly and permanently. The book’s an eye-opener.
 
       But then, when those ‘family years’ were completed, they had done their duty to the next generation, they were again free to do as they pleased. And again with no criticism. What did it matter? It was the children who were important and had to be nurtured.
 
       But back from old Samoa to my encounter in that hallway. Teenage love comes, and goes and that young pair I interrupted has so much to learn. How swiftly that first wild love can fling them into a marriage they’re far from ready for. A child? A marriage/divorce? Leaving both disillusioned, bitter and their lives irrevocably changed.
 
       But life does not stand still.  We get older, hopefully wiser and no matter how badly burned or blessed with that first Bolt Of Lightning, time passes. Life heals and then another love happens. Not the same as the first, nor taking the place of any cherished memories but entirely different. And welcome.
 
       Yes, I passed that young couple without seemingly giving them more than a passing glance, but they can never know what thoughts and memories they stirred and at the same time what hopes and fears of where their lives, could/would now go.
 
       I knew they thought I could not understand them, but I understood so well that a smile touched my lips as I recalled the song that tells us, “Love is Wonderful, the Second Time Around,” And whoever penned those words knew exactly what they were talking about.
 
       And while I’m on the subject and not in Samoa or even in that hallway, but as if you don’t already know, I’ll tell you a secret. If you’re lucky, a third time is nothing to be ‘sneezed at’ either. And a fourth??? You’re asking the wrong person, but each one, in its own way is distinct, different, wonderful, and oh me, all this coming from just one moment’s encounter in an out-of- the-way hallway.

 It’s said we play with the cards that were dealt us . . .

       There will be a new Prison in a few years and it matters little to me, except that I once spent 4 or 5 years down there, as a teacher, not inmate. and in a way, a bond remains. Once a week I led a class in ‘Change Your Thinking and You’ll Change Your Life”. I have no idea if they learned anything new, but I did.
 
       One was an idea I learned quickly, for it was  constantly voiced, and came from men in every class I held.  I actually came to expect it and the thought was that if ever they were put out (they didn’t say released) from the prison, they would commit some crime the very next day so they could be back as soon as possible.
 
       The idea startled me, but as I came to see their life in prison, and hear of their lives before prison, I began to understand their thinking and began wondering how our penal system could be altered to meet that need of so many.
 
      Over and over I heard the words,  “This is the first time in my life that I know I’ll have three  meals a day, a place to sleep, clean clothes, rest rooms, and a place to bathe. I had never been to a doctor or a dentist until I came here.”
 
       I served in the Men’s Medium Security, no women, and their ages were from as young as allowed, and on up. The attitudes differed with their ages.
 
       Under about 40, I heard anger and resentment that they knew ‘dozens’ who had done worse than they had who never were sent ‘up’. ‘So-and-so’  was in on the same arrest where I was taken, and he got off Scott free.
 
       It was never their fault, but depended upon which Judge they got, and, no fooling, ‘if the judge had a fight with his wife that morning he took his anger out on us’.  Their basic feeling (it seemed to me) was, when they became free, they’d ‘get even’  with someone.
 
       But over age 45, there was none of that. For the older men, it seemed to me, they had finally found a ‘home’.  A warm bed at night.  Clean clothing.  A rest room, place to bathe, even a place just to sit, read or rest. Oh, and haircuts, yeah, a real haircut.
 
       One man told that for years he had searched through garbage cans behind Restaurants or Cafes for food. Begging at back doors of bakeries, fast food places, or any place that handled food. Just to ease   his constant hunger. And there were agreeing nods from heads all around the room.
 
       And I felt their anger to hear that some restaurants, became tired of people going through their garbage, and would pour or sprinkle something in the ‘cans’ to make the food inedible.
 
       For almost all of the older ones, prison gave them, for  the first in their whole life, medical, eye and dentist care, and when some long-time physical problem was finally made right. Clean clothing was mentioned often. A luxury.
 
       They mentioned books, freely loaned from the prison library. magazines, and very important, also, was the athletic programs where they could play soccer, football, basket ball, outside or inside where or when they wanted.
 
       In plain, simple, but truthful words, they said, “They had never in their whole life had it so good.” Sounded horrible to me, but I often drove home thanking The Source for the life that was mine, and wondering just what might have been my life if I had been born into the same circumstances they had been. 

       It’s said we play with the Cards that were dealt us, and a lot of them had really been dealt losing hands.
 

My tardy yet heartfelt requiem

        I mourned the restrictions on use of Fireplaces this Season, and realized they were ‘driving the last nails into the coffin’ of this lovely part of many homes.

        No, they didn’t say Fireplaces, but only specified ‘wood burning’, but where else do we burn wood, except in our Fireplaces? They made their point.

        I was shocked. A fire has been the comforting heart of a home since Cave Man days. And since written history began, all books, paintings, stories, and poetry about homes, have spoken or pictured the Fireplace.

        Kid’s books are filled with pictures of Santa standing at the side of the burning logs while filling the stocking, or, in adulthood, all literature of home, from Charles Dickens before and after, centered as a matter of course at that spot.

        But it’s over.   I hadn’t noticed the change, but now I am aware of what’s happened, I realize that homes, for almost 60 years. have not been built with Fireplaces. And, finding that almost all of those who do have Fireplaces, have, in some way, ‘closed them off’ .

        Those lovely songs of “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire”, “Throw another log on the fire”, “Stocking hung by the fire, with care”, are now, sadly, only  shadows of another lifetime. Relics of the past. No longer necessary. Bad for our environment and lungs. and nearing the point of being put in the same category as the “One Horse Open Sleighs”.

        It also surprised me to know that it’s been several years since I had the inner walls of my garage lined with cut logs ready to ‘bring in’ for a fire. where I burned them constantly and not just for Christmas.                            

        Not too long ago, it was impossible to ever, ever, ever, find a story or picture of Christmas without that friendly fire being shown. No story, movie, book, of home, could be without the Fireplace.

        In searching for the reason for not needing the Fireplace, it was another surprise to find that the idea of HOME is far different than it was a generation ago. Home until WW2 was where we spent most of our time. Now, the longest stretch of time spent at home is when we sleep

        We eat breakfast at home, but not all at the same times, or the same food and whatever we eat, it is usually a ‘prepared’ meal of some sort. Lunch is eaten where ever we happen to be, and seldom at home.

        During the day the family is scattered. Children dropped off at Day Care. others in School, at Jobs and the evenings and week ends, spent . . . . get ready for a surprise . . . but the favorite hobby for our free hours is shopping and prowling the malls. Movies are favorites for weekends, and only when we’re tired and ‘worn out’. do we go home.  And for what reason?  Only to sleep.

        Our home-life changes began in WW 2 when women were needed in the factories, but whatever caused the change, the family and home of years prior to WW 2, are no more.

        Some retired people choose to still live in their home, but, many often prefer Group Housing where they are with other retirees and their days filled with planned activities. The majority of our lives, no matter what age, are no longer spent at home.

        Today’s homes, and becoming more so, are either apartments or condos, with no lawns, gardens, and, all ideas of former life styles are swiftly disappearing. Fireplaces???? Not even mentioned.

        And I wonder if I’m the only one missing the glowing fire, logs close by, ready to add to the flames, and the home bathed in a warmth that the finest furnace in the world cannot rival. But the truth is; they are no longer needed, and no longer ever planned to be part of a home. The automatic furnace began edging them out, and now regular furnaces are being eliminated by Solar Heat, with other changes right on the horizon.

        But it was like a blow to the body, to actually read, and hear on the news that wood burning (i.e. the use of Fireplaces) is now actually illegal.

       I feel like my words today are a tardy requiem, belatedly written long, long, after the ‘death’ took place. It crept up so slowly and silently that I can but ask: “Where was I? How did I miss what was happening?” But just the same, the use of Fireplaces has become,  truly and now lawfully, a thing of the past.  And I, for one, am sorry.

Take a moment and see it . . .

        Winter isn’t my favorite season, but new snow can keep me at a window for hours.

        At no other time can we see God’s earth so untouched. It is an artist’s canvas, or a writer’s paper, waiting for someone to make it theirs.

        My view crosses a Golf Course and nothing marks that white space except the black limbs of leafless trees, silhouetted against the white snow. And if the scene comes at a moonlit night, the allure of a warm bed easily falls into second place.

        With daylight I watch to see who or what, man, bird or beast,  will put the first mark on that empty ‘canvas’, and usually it’s a stray cat, leaping to my back door where I keep food for such homeless creatures.   And at my front door, if I’m lucky, there will be footprints of Paper delivery and snow plows, but that’s another world.

        It is in the back where life reveals itself. I watch as other life comes, and no one can tell me that animals have no brains, for time after time, I’ve seen that no matter what comes  first, every other prowler will follow its ‘pathway’.  In other seasons, each cat has its own route between homes, but after fresh snow, all animal life, even the raccoons, follows the steps of the first explorer.

        The next mark on God’s pristine scene are His Geese, or wild Ducks, and they land on the snow where, most of the year, they found grass, and they begin to peck. They must get down deep enough to find, dig, and eat the thick juicy grass roots which are year-round good eating. They stay and peck for at least an hour.

        There have been no deer for several years, and I understand they were taken to the mountains.  I wish they were still here, for they did no harm, and blessed us with their beauty.   No one begrudged them the few garden goodies they ate in the summer, and their disappearance has left  us the losers.

        Where electrical lines come into the house, snow will pile upon them, until the weight becomes too much and the snow will drop right beneath the wires, making a line as straight as if a draftsman, with his ruler had placed it there.

        Morning time reveals the marks of night visitors. There once were many dog tracks, but now the law says all dogs must be leashed at home and, in a way that is good, but I miss the neighborly ones that I came to know, and who visited to see if we had left a Soup bone or such, for them to gnaw on.   Tempus fugit.

        Within but a day or two, that first pathway becomes wider and deeper, telling me that there is much going on that I never see.  The cat’s dish also tells a story, and if some leftover soup or such that I’ve put out gets frozen solid, I finally see that some animal has fought its crispness and made it a meal. Raccoons?  They are tough little creatures.

        Once upon a time, when I was a child, men and boys were busy before dawn, digging pathways from the home to the barn, chicken coop, pig pen, coal shed and so forth. Now, people pathways are only to mail box and sidewalks.  I must also take a few steps to my garage, but most garages are now attached to the home, and  paths unnecessary.

        By the end of just one day it no longer a pristine world.

        No, I don’t care for winter, but I do love the clean canvas that a snow storm brings and I make it an occasion to sit at my window reveling in God’s untouched world. But I also live in a world of humans, and no matter how wonderful the night and dawn was, when Ron comes with his snow equipment and digs my son’s  and my paths, it is good. And I know that the sound of him putting the snow off to one side, is also a blessing straight from God. And I accept them both.