Author: geriraedean

More later.

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

geriraedean
In the wee small hours of the morning, when the whole wide world is fast asleep, you lie awake and think about the girl ( and the boy, and the husband and the bank account and all the tasks you have to do, and the state of affairs in your life and the world at large ) and never, ever think of counting sheep.
I am our night time security. Why get an alarm system? Between my son, Andrew and I there is usually someone up all night anyway.
I’ve become a patron of the night.   It’s not really the wisest choice healthwise. I know this. But I keep staying up anyway. Is it because I have adult kids at home that are always up late? Perhaps. Sometimes this is the only time I get to talk to them. Is it because very often they are not home and I am waiting up for them?  Sure.   Is it because I am busy doing things that should have been done in daylight hours? Sometimes. Often I am getting ready for some event and I am up making pies or cookies or cakes and cupcakes. Sometimes I’m making cards and banners.  Often I’m waiting for laundry.  Or maybe, its just because I can.  I don’t have to go to bed early and feel FOMO because I don’t have to get up at 5:30 anymore.  Mostly I am holding a book in my hand or my iPad (opened to Pinterest) and dozing in my favorite chair in the living room as I pretend to listen to Ella, Frank or Louis serenade with their smooth musical stylings.
When I finally do crawl into my soft, warm, comfy bed next to my snoring husband, I am SO grateful for the privilege of being able to do so.  Why don’t I do it earlier?   Very often its been a great day and I don’t want it to end.  Sometimes I wonder if I think I’m stopping time by stalling the next days arrival.  If I’m not dozing then I actually am reading, which I cherish and I just don’t seem to find time during my hectic unemployed days to read.  I’m too busy squandering time doing other OCD tasks.
I think my subconscious is telling me this is ‘my’ time.  This is the only time that really belongs to me and no other.  I’ve grown accustomed to the night sounds or lack thereof.   If I’m doing laundry, buying groceries, cleaning, organizing, out with my mother, running errands, out with friends (I will always drop everything to go for coffee (and I don’t even drink coffee))or even creating and working – by day, it feels like that is all done for someone else and I certainly don’t mind it at all.  But the night…the quiet, peaceful, restful, dark night draws me into its arms and there I snuggle up and rest in its reverie.
The darkness is easier on the eyes.  I also find that I can’t get into too much trouble in the night.  I so enjoy the warmth of lamplight and the fireplace which are much more conducive to night.  Its like sitting around the campfire without the smell of smoke permeating your hair and clothes and without the off-key campfire sing songs.  Of course,  I only love this whole nighttime thing when I am inside my blessed, warm, safe, cozy home, sitting in my favorite chair, dressed in my jammies and a cozy sweater (in the winter) with a cup of soothing, steaming beverage in my favorite mug, in hand.
But finally, I succumb to the call of my mattress (missing box springs and all) and crawl in and feel a sense of euphoria as my body is so glad to get rid of the weight of itself.  I hear my husbands breathing.  I listen to the sway of the aspens in the wind outside my window. And I count my blessings before I fall into a deep, other worldly sleep and all the muscles of my body breath a sigh of relief as does my weary heart. And the nighttime finally begins its healing.

Field of Dreams

geriraedean

Its taken me a very long time to get to this place but I’m finally here.  It rather reminds me of our trip to Sun Peaks on the August long weekend.  First a 3.5 hour wait on the highway due to an accident and then a tire blowout and spending the night in the car in a parking lot at Rogers Pass and creeping along from town to town in the morning looking for the just right size tire for our vehicle.  We eventually found the tires we needed, three towns down and finally made it to my aunts lake lodge and had a wonderful four days on the water. But who knew it would take so long to get there?

Its been the same with me and my creativity.  I can’t believe how long its taken me to realize that creating is my life now.  Its something I have dreamed of for many years as I sat at my personally decorated desk in a corporate office, sending emails, filling out expense reports, updating spreadsheets, making travel arrangements, organizing meetings,  photocopying and scanning, covering off for reception etc. Because I am a person that makes the best of every situation, I loved my job.  Notice I didn’t call it a career. But I was always grateful for the opportunity to work for a living. I felt it was a blessing.   Always well aware of the fact that it is HE that gives us the ability to produce wealth.  I truly believe that God led me to each and every corporate office job I had – for such a time as that.  But now He is leading in a different direction.
I’ll tell you a little story.  Revelation is a better name for it.  I had spent the past fall and winter trying to replace my corporate job.  Mainly, because it was safe and predictable and paid the bills so to speak.  Although, as those words come out of my mouth I realize that really it was none of those things – based on the fact that it was taken away just as fast as it was given.  My livelihood was at someone else’s mercy.
I was getting very frustrated and discouraged as door after door slammed in my face.  Some people didn’t even open the door.  I just stood there knocking anyway.  I am ashamed to admit how thick my skull must be.  However, one Sunday in March, at our weekly morning service, a missionary was speaking.  My first reaction was….BORING.  I’ve been listening to missionaries since I attended and graduated from a 3 year Theology program  in my early 20’s.  I’ve heard it all.  I know missionary work is important work and people are called to the field and its a divine appointment.  But that doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t interested in hearing this fellow’s story.  I wanted something I could apply to my very stagnant and confusing life.  So I began to make a TODO list for the coming week.
Next, he asked us to turn to II Kings 4 – Old Testament.  This is going to be dryer than I thought.  (Inspite of the fact that our regular pastor had made the Old Testament come alive for me in a way I never thought possible).  But this wasn’t our regular pastor.  He started reading the story of a Shunamite women whose husband had died (leaving a heap of debt) and the authorities coming to take her two sons into slavery to pay off the debt. She asked Elisha “What should I do?”.   Elisha said “What do you have in your house? What do you have in your possession?”  The Shunamite woman told him she really had nothing at all.   Nothing but a tiny vial of oil.  Elisha told her to send her boys out into the neighborhood and collect as many vessels as possible and then to go into her house and close the door and start pouring oil into the vessels.  She didn’t look at him like he was nuts (as I would have) she just did as he said.  Well she started pouring and every single one of those vessels was filled and she still had some left.  She reported back to Elisha, in amazement and he told her to go and sell all the oil (Obviously a  hot commodity back then) and to pay off her debts and live off the rest.
Well my ears perked at “What do you have in your house?  What do you have in your possession?”  It was as if the missionary (or God himself)  had a megaphone pointed in my direction and was saying  “Geri.  What do you have in your house?  I know you have a basement bulging to the max with creative supplies and you have a desire to create and you’ve been given the skills – what are you waiting for?”   Why are you knocking on doors that are never going to open to you??  Get busy and start creating.  Use whatever you have and just start.  And in between the lines I read ‘and HE will bless my efforts’ and make it all worthwhile’. Pay off my debts and live off the rest.  AND DO WHAT YOU LOVE.  What you are good at. The movie Field of Dreams comes to mind, Build the field and they will come.
There are days when I wonder if anybody could use or even want what I could create or offer. Am I good enough?  Do I have what it takes?   But that’s not my portfolio.  My orders were to just start creating.  I often mentioned to family and friends that if someone locked me in the basement for a year, I would never get bored.  There is so much to do.  So much I want to do.  So much I want to create.  It can be overwhelming at times.  Now the trick is to organize my thoughts, plans and start making.
I’ve started deleting all the corporate job opportunities that land in my email. If anyone, genuinely trying to be helpful, gives me a lead that does not involve using my creative skills, I politely say “No thank you.  I’m good”. I know what I am supposed to be doing.  I must rise above the fear of failure.  I must talk myself out of insignificance and unworthiness.  I must not give into procrastination or become overwhelmed.  Just  create it and they will come.

Kitchen Therapy

geriraedean
I was lingering in my studio scribbling thoughts into my journal, updating my written daytimer, looking for ideas I had saved on Pinterest, listening to Spotify and feeling restless.  My extended vacation had come to an end. Somehow my sister and I had turned two weeks together into what was really like 6 weeks together. Me at her place for two weeks…two weeks each of us at home doing our thing but keeping in touch regularly due to our renewed connection, followed by almost two weeks of her coming here.  During her time out west we spent 5 days at my aunts lovely cottage at Sun Peaks.  Its been a full summer up until now.  Not that I don’t have work to do.  I do.  I am keeping busy working on other peoples furniture, baking for their life events and decorating and sewing etc. The odd day at an engineering firm.   But I was restless.  I felt like I had to do something to calm my spirit.  So I decided to make my way to my kitchen and see what I could cook and/or bake for my people.  It felt like I hadn’t  done anything for them for a long time. Well….because I haven’t. So often they smell wonderful aromas in the kitchen and get all excited and I have to tell them “this isn’t for you”.  It was their turn.
I pretended I was a farm wife for the rest of the day.  Donned my red plaid apron.  Clipped my hair back.  Washed my hands.  Fixed myself a cool drink, turned on Ella, browsed my collection of cookbooks and began to make the biggest mess you have ever seen.  I believe I dirtied every pot, pan, utensil and kitchen appliance I have.
I wanted to make some bread.  There is just something about homemade bread. So I decided to whip up a loaf or four.   Well one doesn’t really whip up bread. It’s actually a caring, nurturing task with many stages but the results are well worth the effort. Just to present a fresh, homemade loaf of bread to my peeps. It’s right up there with being a surgeon-almost.
During one of the breads rising stages I began to make chicken pot pie.  I wanted to make good use of some frozen pie pastry. While the pastry was thawing I cooked up all the elements of the filling. Using ingredients like chicken (naturally), potatoes (I’d never put potatoes in this before), carrots, sauteing onions and celery and herbs.  Making a creamy, chicken broth roux.  I could have eaten the filling in a bowl and ditched the pastry but I’m a pastry gal at heart and usually devour anything wrapped in this flaky, buttery shell.   I had enough filling and pastry to make three pot pies. One for tonite, one for later and one to give away.  Sorry, it’s already spoken for. I’m taking a meal to a friend recuperating from surgery so….however, my own family came down to see what smelled so good and we’re delighted there was one for them.
The bread was coming along nicely and I couldn’t wait to pop those loaves in the oven and fill the house with the aroma of homemade heaven. I turned a couple of loaves into cinnamon raisin.  Next time I’m going to try sugar bread.  That’s where you actually put sugar cubes into the dough and bake them in, says the girl that’s supposed to be weening herself off the addictive substance.  I still like to call myself a girl. Is that OK if your 61?  Women are people I see at airports and at church and at law firms and reading the news on TV at night, running entire countries. Not girls baking bread in their modest kitchens and enjoying it.
Since I was already surrounded by mess, I figured I would make some fresh pie pastry and make a few fruit pies to freeze, giving me the opportunity to work on my pie art.  It needed to chill so I found a spot for it in the fridge and went back to my bread.  And my oatmeal jar cookies.  I was making jars of oatmeal cookies by measuring all the dry ingredients into a quart jars and layering them.  When the whim hits us for fresh baked cookies we just add butter, eggs and vanila and voila.  By the time the Pot Pie and the bread was done and cooling and I managed to wash all the dishes, I was too tired to work on pie art so I guess that will be a project for another day.
This is another day and I think I’ll go bake a batch of those delectable little cookies. I’ll post the recipe soon.
PS  Just had another piece of  that chicken pot pie.  Scrumptious.  I am smitten with my new pastry recipe that I was given last fall to bake 70  pies and 30 dozen butter tarts.  (Its a secret.)  Is it wrong to love your own cooking???

 

Because Life is a Celebration

geriraedean

The other night we (and by we, I mean my sister from Mississauga and I) decided to have a lovely evening ‘just for us’.  Why not?  Life itself is a celebration.  Just the fact that we got up that morning.  The fact that my sister was visiting. The fact that my mom was flying in from Sun Peaks at suppertime. The fact that my daughter was exhausted and needed a reprieve.  Because it wasn’t pouring rain.  Because there were no bombs dropping around us. Because we didn’t need to visit someone in a hospice.  Because there were no fires burning in our neighborhood.  We decided to make it special and accidentally went all out.  I purposely  go all out for other people all the time.  I host bridal showers and baby showers and teas and dinner parties and anniversaries and Christmas and farewell parties.  Let’s not forget Valentines, a perfect excuse to make beautiful. Its my thing.  It all started back when mom used to get me to decorate for my dad’s company Christmas parties that were usually held at our house. I made decor out of whatever I could find in the house.  I also used to put on plays for my parents complete with sets, backdrops, costumes and songs I had written.  I bribed all my siblings into being the actors. So, you see,  this has been going on for quite some time.

 I’ve even been known to host praise parties.  I decorate for other people’s life events and I bake cakes, pies and other all manner of savories and sweets …for other people.  I garland the balloons and tissue the flowers and paper-flower the backdrops.  I project the movies appropriate to the theme when necessary.  I ask the guests to dress up to enhance the mood of the party. Sometimes I send out invites and sometimes its by word of mouth.  But no matter the occasion or the theme, I usually go-all-out. (Some prefer to call it ‘over-the-top).  Whatever.  I love to recreate a scenario (like the time I turned a friends lovely home into a cruise ship for my husbands birthday) or do something completely new and unexpected. Often I enlist the help of friends to get the job done.  Their response is usually “you want me to do what?  Why?  How?  Where?  When? ” I have a vision that no one else sees, I guess.  I’m pretty sure I’m thought of as crazy or at least eccentric.
This past Friday I was laying in bed contemplating how I could make a fabric tent in the backyard. I got up and  started  just looking for a long enough rope to tie from one end of the fence to the fence across so I could drape a piece of sheer fabric over it.   A shabby chic tent of sorts.  Something I could string mini lights in and around, over and under. Can one ever have too many mini lights? We really didn’t have any intention of making this into a big thing.  It just happened. One glance at my patio table umbrella and the thought occurred to me that it had a big enough footprint that if I just draped fabric over it we would have a makeshift tent for our little soiree.  The piece of fabric I had in mind wasn’t quite large enough to cover the umbrella and drape to the ground so I brought out all manner of sheer fabric and my sister and I began to craft at tent fit for a bride.  No backdrop like this is complete without twinkle lights (we planned to sit out there until well after dark).  Then I remembered I had three chandeliers downstairs that we could easily hang from the inner workings of the umbrella. And of course a low table came out with a chenille bedspread, given me by one of my ancestors.  A pink rug with sculpted roses was brought out for sitting on and several flocked cushions for propping ourselves up on.  And why not an urn of silk flowers?  I actually had stopped by the floral shop where my daughter works and picked out an absolutely perfect bouquet of fresh flowers for our table.  A few candles to burn in the darkness. A few pink Adirondacks.  A water mister just far enough away so as not to soak us but close enough so we could feel its subtle mist when we needed it. So it got a little out of hand.  But who cared?  It was just us.  And we are kindred spirits when it comes to making life beautiful.
We were calling it a White Wine and Waffle night.  My sister and I had purchased sparking rose wine and strawberry/grapefruit mimosas.  We had crackers and cheese and dips to start.  The remains of the watermelon came out as well since this happened to be the hottest night of the year for us.  My car had registered 39 metric whatevers.  Oh right, Celius. (What? I learned the Imperial system in school).  Once we’d had our fill of precursor food, I brought out the waffle cake I had made.  Waffle cake is essentially just a  huge stack of waffles doused in whip creme, fruit and syrup.  So we took a deep breath and savored every bite of the breakfast food we were having for supper.  It was decadent.  Who has time for waffles in the morning anyway?
We just relaxed and nibbled at our waffles at our leisure.  We had no where to go.  In fact, there was no where else I would have rather spent the evening. We were living in the moment, Sitting on our rug. My mom, my sister, my daughter and I.  I knew a memory was being forged.   Ella crooned over the bluetooth speaker. Followed by Billy Holiday.  I may even had heard Harry Connick Jr. at one point.  Claire de lune also had its chance to be part of the evening. We reclined like Jesus and the 12 disciples at the last supper. Because of the heat of the day, all was very still.  We talked of many things…of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings….nothing life changing. Another glass of wine please.  More syrup please. What kind of cheese is this?  The neighborhood was exceedingly quiet. Thank you. And the air was thick with heat and humidity. The hottest night on record I believe. It was good to just live in that moment and enjoy the grass between our toes. lay on the rug and look at the stars. Close our eyes and doze for a bit. It was peaceful and our bellies and heart were full. Life was definitely worth celebrating.

AUGUST

geriraedean1 Comment

What is it about August? There is something romantic, deep and residing about August. Historically, August days are usually sort of hot and dry and meant for reflection and just lolly gagging in general. A great month for the taking of summer vacations. June and July are usually having an identity crisis…are we summer or are we not? But August knows. August feels like deep inspiration and wisdom. August reminds me of a prophet warning us that autumn is on the cusp and take advantage of these lazy hazy crazy days now. Take time to watch the sunrise. Take time to soak up the heat. Take time to let your toes play in the grass, the breeze, the sand or the water. Let your hair blow in the wind…don’t take yourself or life too seriously in August. Get lost in a great story. Don’t think about September at all. Just live in the moment. Get married. Have a baby. Visit your great aunt and have tea on the porch. Swing. Water the flowers. This is not a time for cleaning the basement or painting the living room or doing a financial audit. It’s a time to have afternoon naps or pick berries and make pies. It’s a time to go fishing. These words come to mind “Summertime and the living is easy, fish are jumping and the cotton is high….” Put away all the trappings of the city and the hustle and bustle and slow down. Slow waaaay down. Listen to the birds and the crickets and the frogs. Listen to the night sounds as you lay on top of your sheets with the windows open and the fans whirring in the background. Better yet…sleep outside on the porch or the deck or the dock. Pick flowers – fill your surroundings with the sweet smell and luscious color of bunches of blooms. Paint…write…quilt on the porch. Wave to passersby. August doesn’t require hosiery, belts, stillettos or ties. Wrap yourself in flowing cool white linen or cotton and hide under a great big brim. Get out the lemonade and sip slowly savoring every drop. August is a time for abiding…abiding with our favorite peeps, abiding with the Lord, abiding with what is. Living in the moment. It’s a time of preserving. Whether its fresh fruit or fresh friendships…..preserve. It’s a time for deep meaningful growth. What you do in August will live with you for the rest of the year. It will sustain you during the hard, cold, busy winter season. August is wisdom and healing and restoration.

Spare and a Prayer

geriraedean

We started the day with hope and promise and a car loaded to the ceiling. We made our usual stop at Starbucks as we firmly believe that every good journey starts with Starbucks. We were clipping along at a good pace, enjoying the scenery and conversation when we eventually caught up to an extremely long line of traffic. As far as the eye could see. Winding through the mountains. After finding the traffic report on the radio we realized that the highway ahead was planning to be closed for another three hours due to a fatal collision on the highway. We weren’t going anywhere. Well…. not fast.

So I dragged out my Belle Amore magazine and began to read inspiration about the beautiful life. It was a wonderful distraction, Of course my husband is getting antsy as he cannot endure standing around doing nothing…with circumstances out of his control. Nobody particularly enjoys waiting. Especially when you’re excited to get to your relaxing vacation spot. But we were forced to wait. People were turning off their engines and getting out of their cars and conversing with each other. But waiting.

We all have to spend time waiting. Waiting at the doctors office. Waiting for kids to come home for Christmas or other holidays. Waiting for the roast to cook. Waiting for our next paycheque. Waiting for God to answer our prayers. What are we going to do with this waiting time? We can use this time productively and enjoy it or we can anxiously get perturbed and impatient. Don’t tell my husband, but I actually quite enjoyed our 3.5 hours inching along the highway, reading inspiration for my life with my hand hanging out the open window. I found it very relaxing and enjoyable and was glad for the time to get off the treadmill and unwind.

Finally, the traffic started to move faster than 1 mph. We were on our way. We passed the leftover half-of-a-car from the car wreck and cringed. I was sort of glad we didn’t get to see more of what occurred. It couldn’t have been pretty. Tragic for somebody’s family. And I was reminded of all the answers to prayer I’ve enjoyed after praying for safety for my own travellers. We picked up speed and were elated to be moving towards our vacation destination. About forty five minutes after we recovered our speed we heard a loud thunk as if we had hit a huge rock or dead body. What was that? Mike pulled over because he felt there was a problem with the tire. Sure enough. The tire had blown. Flatter than a piece of copy paper. Seriously?

We were fully loaded so we proceeded to remove everything from the back of the vehicle so we could get at the spare tire. Luckily my husband is handy with the car jack and and lug nut wrench. We, and by we, I mean Mike, changed the tire and reloaded the car and were on our way. The Infinity manual suggested not driving faster than 80 kph on the spare. Mike thought it felt weirder than it should so he pulled over again and realized the air pressure was only 30 whatever’s and it should have been 60 whatever’s. Once again, we were in luck. Mike had his bike tire pump with us so he pumped up the spare tire to 60 and we began creeping along the highway in the dark. The traffic was horrendous due to the road closure and delay and they were coming up fast and furious so Mike was compelled to constantly pull over to let semis and buses and SUV’s pass. We were getting a little freaked out so we took a vote and decided to pullover where it was safe and spend the night in the car. Things would look better in the light of day we reasoned. We had reason to believe that the other three tires might also be compromised so it was quite stressful.

We pulled into a lit parking lot at Rogers Pass and proceeded to try to get a few hours of sleep. Mom happened to have quilts in the car that she was bringing to her brothers so those came in handy as the coolness set in. The plan was to pray our way to Revelstoke at day break on the full size donut and see if anyone happened to have the unusual size tire needed to complete our set. And that’s exactly what we did. I could feel the stress in the front seat as Mike creeped his way along the highway. We arrived in Revelstoke far too early for anything to be open but were relieved we were at least in civilization again. We stopped for a relaxing breakfast and regaled each other with accounts of our aches and pains from sleeping sitting up in the car all night. And I use the term sleeping loosely. When the small town finally came to life we set out to locate tires. No luck.

So we prayed our way to Sicamous. Same story. Nothing. What choice did we have? We prayed our way to Salmon Arm. We were getting more confident and thought we might even venture all the way to Kamloops on the spare. But we found four tires the size we needed in Salmon Arm and made the decision to replace all. What if Kamloops didn’t have any?

Inching along the highway on a spare and a prayer reminded me how we, as believers, move through life. We are forced to trust God at every turn. Or just despair. But we chose to believe and trust God would have his hand upon us. Well, I did anyway and I’m pretty sure I sensed a prayer covering coming from the exact spot where mom sat in the back seat. I, personally, believe HE allows circumstances that will force us to turn to Him, especially when we have no other choice. Then He has has us right where He wants us. Trusting Him. And there is no greater confidence than true trust in God.

Well we hit the highway out of Salmon Arm with renewed confidence and speed knowing we were cruising on four brand new tires with a warranty. Amazing how that knowledge changed everything. I could see the stress leaving Mike’s shoulders and brow. It was not lost on me how we can fly through life with that same confidence when we know that He has us in the palm of His hand.

It it really is about the journey more than the destination, but the destination makes the journey worthwhile,

Gratefulness 101

geriraedean

I sit here under my sister’s spacious gazebo, my outdoor sanctuary, for this mornings installment of my retreat vacation and I have no choice but to listen to the birds. They are a choir, each with their own harmony. I don’t think they have twitter accounts but they’ve been tweeting all morning. Several are feasting on the fresh seeds that were just set out for them. I hear the soothing coos of the neighbors morning dove. City noises fill the air but I’m good with it. It makes me feel that all is as it should be. Landscapers mowing lawns, vent guys cleaning vents, large trees swaying the the breeze (yes, thank you Lord for the refreshing, calming breeze), kids laughing. The GO train zooming by with the click of the tracks and the roar of the engine and once it has passed almost a dead quiet again except for the birds. I may even hear a woodpecker. Did I mention we are under the flight path for the airport? So I hear planes high in the sky. People going places. Going on vacations just like mine. Some going for business. Some going for relationships. Some going on adventures. Some escaping and some coming home again.

It’s not scorchingly hot and humid this morning so it is quite pleasant to relax with a purpose. Purpose being to read. To write. To journal. To watch tutorials I’m always too distracted to watch at home. I have no agenda here. Well none other than my own and I’m not attacking it but rather embracing it and pacing myself. Being spontaneous, which is not natural for me. Every now and then I hear a car leaving its driveway and remind myself that I have no where else to be. I’m already here. No timetable to follow.

I rest here on this beautiful plush beach towel surrounded by my favorite things. Magazines, inspirational reading, journals, an ice cold grapefruit water and some licorice. A pencil case full of pens and highlighters. Tall full, lush trees…a private forest. Ivy climbing up the house and fence. Oodles of cushions to add color and comfort to this outdoor living space. Two swings I’m tempted to spend some time on, giving me a full view of the garden alive with lettuce, tomatoes, zucchini and pumpkins. Since my sister is the queen of mini lights, the garden yard lends itself nicely to twilight.

I’m not starving. Quite the opposite. I have fifty pounds worth of clothes in my suitcase, so, ample. I have a comfortable bed to sleep in, courtesy of my niece whose been relegated to the basement for my stay. We walked to Streetsville for a Starbucks this evening. Walking indicating health. Starbucks indicating wealth. And I’m so grateful for this ‘state of the union’ in my life.

I’m grateful for the people in my life. I’m grateful for the love in my life. I’m grateful for the faith in my life. I’m grateful that He will never leave or forsake us. So He’s with me matter what, no matter why, no matter when. I truly do have everything thing I need. And I’m learning to make this everything I want.