Faithfully Thinking: When you don’t follow your own advice

So this week I had a breakdown.

Like a full-on “I-Can’t-Take-It-Any-More!” breakdown. It wasn’t a very long breakdown. Only about five minutes, but it was embarrassing because I blew up on people I don’t even know and made a donkey out of myself (censoring my language there with the use of donkey. wink). I’m used to making a donkey out of myself, but I’ve been better in the last couple of years. Not perfect, but better.


My tongue and fingers have gotten me into more trouble than I like to admit. I know I’m not alone in this, especially in my family. Members of our family have a history of blowing up, feeling horribly guilty, and apologizing for it later, even if the other person deserved it.


One reason we blow is that we shove our stress and anger down inside for too long and then it spills out later and takes everyone in its path with it. Remember how a couple of weeks ago I was writing all about trusting God when we feel anxious? Yeah, so I often don’t follow my own advice, and this week I didn’t, at least part of the week.


I listened to a podcast/sermon this weekend that seemed to come up just when I needed it most. It was about how to channel our anger so it can work for us, instead of against us. The idea was to talk out our anger when we feel it, instead of seething and holding it in, and then exploding later.

We don’t have to scream our anger as soon as we feel it, but we need to be honest with ourselves that we are feeling it, think about why we are feeling it, and then gently share with the other person that we feel agitated, even though we probably shouldn’t.


For many who battle anxiety, like me, their anger isn’t rooted in actual anger, but in anxiety and worry. Depression can also make people lash out.
I don’t like pointing to anxiety as a reason for my anger because it feels like I’m trying to make an excuse for being a jerk. However, I know that anxiety is definitely one reason I lashed out this past week. It doesn’t excuse me at all, but it helps me understand it so in the future I can redirect that anger by stepping away from the situation and praying about the fear I feel.

When I say that I have been dealing with anxiety, I don’t mean I’ve been in a corner rocking back and forth. I’m not having massive panic attacks. I’m not popping Xanex and don’t feel the need to do so. The anxiety is simply a constant hum or buzz just below the surface of my subconscious. It seems to be there no matter what and flares when someone talks about viruses or politics or the end times or anything else that creates the “what-if” questions in my mind.

You know the “what-if” questions. The ones that go like this: “What if my parents get COVID and I can’t help them and …. “; “What if they start mandating vaccines but I feel the vaccines are rushed and would prefer to have some more testing and –“; “What if I get the virus and I end up in the hospital and die and leave my kids behind and –.”


Once those questions start, they usually just keep going, swirling around and around in our brain until we are drowning in them. We can fill our heads with so many “what-ifs” that we end up making ourselves sick with worry, which can eventually lead to us actually being physically sick. Worry lowers our immunity and, as the Bible says, doesn’t add one more hour to our life. I would say that instead off adding anything, worry subtracts from our life.

I can say that worry is unhealthy. My brain can know it is unhealthy. I can hear and read the verse that says “be anxious about nothing”, but being anxious isn’t a sin. God knew we would be anxious. There are something like 300 or more mentions of anxiety, fear, or worry in the Bible, with the majority of them included in verses aimed at comforting us and reminding us that God is with us.

God knew we would have to be reminded – again and again, and again. I don’t know why he didn’t make our earthly bodies free of worry and anxiety. Maybe he left anxiety within us because he knew it would lead us to him, bring us to him when otherwise we would lean on our own understanding and solutions.

Our God wants to commune with us. He created us because he loves us. He wants to talk to us and be there for us. He can use the uneasy feelings, the trials, the outright anxiety to show us he is with us even when he doesn’t remove us from the situations causing our anxiety.

I haven’t apologized to the person I blew up on yet. I don’t know them personally, or really at all, and sometimes apologies can sound so insincere in writing. Plus, I’m horribly embarrassed by my behavior — even though I didn’t curse them out or tell them to go to hell (thankfully, I’ve never told anyone that!).

I will decide this week how to handle the apology part, but I have already decided I will learn from it and will be grateful it is being used to show me the anxiety is building and that I need to talk it out with others and with God before it explodes on people who don’t deserve it.

Sunday Bookends: Really don’t have much in me anymore

Sunday Bookends is my week in review, so to speak. It’s where I share what I’ve been up to, what I’ve been reading, what I’ve been watching, what I’ve been listening to, and what I’ve been writing. Feel free to share a link or comment about your week in the comments.

What I’m Reading

Whose Waves These Are

While I am reall enjoying the book, it is full of metaphors and people who talk dramatically with hidden meaning in every word. It’s, well, dramatic, in other words. And that’s nice but it’s also a little mind numbing because there are so many — words in the book. I know that sounds stupid, but I don’t know how else to explain it. The author doesn’t just write “she walked to the pier.” She adds extra meaning behind each step of how and why and where and when she walked to the pier. This all sounds like a complaint but it isn’t. Not at all. The book is beautifully written. In fact, it just won a Christy Award for best general fiction novel. (The Christy Awards are Christian fiction awards.)

So, the book is lovely and I recommend it highly.

Somedays, though, a book with so much hidden meaning is a bit much for my brain and that makes me feel guilty because I should want to read deep things, right? But there are days I don’t want to read anything deep.

After the year we’ve all had, plus my years in newspapers, my brain can’t go deep anymore. It’s bottomed out in many ways.’

There are days I think I should read and write deep.

“My stories would be better if I wrote deep,” I tell myself but then I remind myself that there is a time for deep and a time for simple and light. When someone needs deep and thoughtful they can pick up Amanda Dykes or someone like her (and I hope they do!) but when they need light they can find authors who write light books.

One author who writes books full of humor and laughter is Peggy Rowe. I hadn’t finished her latest About Your Father And Other Celebrities I Have Known for some reason so this week I picked that up again. It’s more of a collection of short stories and that’s perfect for my brain capacity these days.

I’m also reading Christmas in Absaroka County, a Walt Longmire Mystery by Craig Johnson. This is a collection of short stories about Sheriff Longmire. I’m enjoying it so far but it is much different than much of what I read.

At nights my daughter and I read Paddington until she falls asleep.

What I’m Watching

For some reason I’m distracting myself with an old Australian soap opera of sorts called The Man From Snowy River. I guess it is based on the movie, which I’ve never seen, which was based on a book that I’ve never read. There are a lot of actors on the show who later became movie stars including Hugh Jackman, Guy Pearce, Josh Lucas (who I always just called “That guy from Sweet Home Alabama”), Olivia Newton John, Tracy Nelson, Dean Stockwell, and Chad Lowe (yeah, I know….I don’t really remember him as much as his older brother Rob either).

The show is actually ridiculous in a lot of ways, but again, that is what I need right now. I’m only in season one. I’m hoping Hugh Jackman shows up soon since he’s the one pictured on the thumbnail.

What I’m Writing

I worked on The Farmer’s Daughter this week and posted two chapters.

What’s Been Occurring

Honestly, life has me down, cranky, and acting quite miserable to others at times so I prefer not to talk much about what’s been “occurring.” The bottom line is that I’m exploding on people because I’m stressed about other things and that isn’t fair to those other people (strangers mind you. My family has been fairly safe — thus far.)

I deleted my Facebook account last week (deleted. Not deactivated.), took Instagram off my phone, and am considering walking away from blogging as well, since not even that is an escape for me anymore. I’m pretty much sick of online life and life in general both right now.

I’m actively avoiding so much of what I used to enjoy simply because there is no enjoyment left in those things. It seems there is always someone out to ruin everything and slowly I am even becoming one of those people in certain circumstances.

Getting rid of social media is one step in many I need to take to deal with the issues I’ve developed from smiling and doing my best not to share what I really think (which I’ve failed at a number of times in the last couple of days.).

Photos the Week

If you read the previous paragraphs, you’ll understand why I don’t have photos from this week. My heart just wasn’t in it.

Special Fiction Saturday: The Farmer’s Daughter Chapter 32

I posted Chapter 31 yesterday, if you are interested. To catch up with the other chapters click HERE or the top of the page. Also, if the chapter shows up twice here somehow, I apologize. WordPress was giving me a fit last night when I scheduled it.


Chapter 32

They’d been on the road for 90 minutes.

She was restless.

He could tell by how she kept shifting to try to find a more comfortable position and the way her face kept scrunching up like she was thinking deeply.

He knew what she was thinking about, worrying about.

Her father.

The farm.

Hopefully not him.

He pulled off the exit onto the highway. “What’s keeping you awake?”

“Your driving.”

He laughed. “Thanks a lot. I thought I was doing pretty good.”

A tractor trailer roared by them, followed closely by a red convertible with the top down. A man about 50 and a young girl were in the front seat, the wind whipping their hair back.

Molly shuddered and hugged her arms to her. “It is way too cold to have the top down.”

Alex leaned back and propped his wrists on the steering wheel. “So, are you going to keep changing the subject or are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you? Is it your dad? Have you heard anything?”

Molly wrapped her coat around the front of her like it was a blanket and slid down in the seat. “That’s part of it, yes. She called while you were getting dressed. He’s in surgery and the doctor said it could take a few hours. She’s going to call when she knows more.”

He changed lanes, passing a small sedan. He rubbed his unshaven jawline with his chin, trying to keep his thoughts from jumping to the worst when it came to Robert. He probably shouldn’t bring it up, but he was starting to wonder if their conversation in the barn before the accident was bothering her too.

 “Listen, maybe this isn’t the time, but about Jessie —”

She waved at him dismissively. “Jason and I talked. He said you told him about Jessie.”

He glanced at her. “And?”

“And what?”

“And do you believe me?”

She looked at him, catching his eye as he glanced at her then back at the road.

“Yeah. I do.”

“I meant what I said, Molly. All of it. About how long I loved you, how you were the only person I could think of that night.”

He reached over and took her hand in his and she smiled but then nodded toward the steering wheel. “Two hands on the wheel, Stone. This family has enough going on without us driving into another car.”

She reached for her bag as he grinned and put his hand back on the wheel.

“Hey,” she said, sliding his phone out of her purse. “I almost forgot. Jason grabbed your phone when he went to get your clothes. He said you had a couple of missed calls and might want to check them.” She laid it on the seat, but he kept driving, ignoring the phone.

“You don’t want to check your messages?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Doubt it’s anyone I want to talk to.”

“What if it’s your mom or dad? Maybe you’d —”

“I’ll check it later. I’ve got enough on my mind right now. I just want to check on Robert.”

His tone, while not hard, indicated he didn’t want to discuss it further.

Molly shrugged. “Okay, but maybe you should tell your mom you were in the hospital at least?”

He shook his head. “Mom’s not maternal. You know that.” He smirked at her. “I’ve told you a few of those stories.”

She tipped her head forward to capture her hair into her hands and pull it into a ponytail. “Yeah, you have. If you don’t want to call her right now, I understand.” She sighed and sat back against the seat. “I guess all this means we won’t hit that deadline to pay that loan off. We’re not even going to hit the extended one that Bill was able to get for us.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he told her, shifting lanes again. “That farm has been in your family for how many years again?”

She tipped her head, her eyebrows furrowed as she thought about it. “Wow. Good question. I’m not sure really. I mean, the main farm was founded by my great-great grandfather. His brother ran it for a while with my great-grandfather. Then Grandpa’s dad passed it on to him. Grandpa expanded it in the ‘60s and again about 15 years ago.”

Alex whistled. “So, it’s been in your family like 200 years or something.”

Molly nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

 “That’s amazing. Do you guys know how amazing that is? I mean, I don’t know anything about my family. We don’t have anything in our family that’s been passed down from generation to generation like that. I don’t even know much about my family beyond my maternal grandfather.”

“Honestly, it’s something I’ve taken for granted all these years,” Molly said softly. “Lately, I’ve been wondering if I’ll ever find a life beyond the farm. I keep wondering if this is all I’m meant to do — milking cows and shoveling their poop. It’s weird, before I learned we could lose it, I wanted to walk away from it all.”

Alex shifted gears as he passed a slower moving car. “Do you still want to?”

She slid her hand along the inside edge of the door. “Sometimes.” She looked out the window at farmland fading into more towns with large buildings and housing developments. “But I can’t leave my family, especially now when they need my help the most.”

She pushed her hand back through her hair and propped her arm against the window.

“What about you? I can’t imagine that you ever thought you’d still be working on a farm. Have you ever thought about leaving?”

Alex winced. “Ouch. That’s a loaded question.”

He looked over at her, at her questioning expression, and cleared his throat. “Honestly, yes, I have thought about it. I thought about it after I was here for two years. I thought about it again after I was here for three. Then one day I realized I was in love with the farm. I realized I loved waking up in the morning and smelling freshly cut hay and watching the sun rise while we milked the cows. I even loved milking the cows, despite the fact they totally freaked me out when I first started. I loved knowing we were growing food for the world to eat and for the first time in my life I loved hard work.”

She watched him with a smile as he pulled the truck off the highway, parking at a rest stop. He shifted the truck into park, laid his arm across the back of the seat, and looked at her for a few moments before he spoke again. He trailed the back of his index finger along her jawline.

 “I also looked over one day and saw how beautiful you’d become. Soon, the love of farming wasn’t the only thing keeping me here.”

He tucked a strand of hair that fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. “I didn’t know if I’d ever get the courage to tell you how I felt, but just being around you was enough.” He slid closer. “For a while anyhow.”

He kissed her mouth briefly, then jerked his head toward the driver’s side. “It’s your turn to drive and my turn to rest. I’m not sure but I think that painkiller messed me up.” He made a face. “I’m rambling way too much about my feelings.”

She tipped her head back and laughed.

“Not as much as last night,” she whispered after he’d climbed out on his way to the passenger side.

***

Alex scrolled through the missed calls on his phone. Three from Sam, two from his mom, a voicemail from his mom, and two voicemails from Sam.

He listened to Sam’s first. “Alex. Where are you? I need to talk to you. Call me when you get a chance.”

His Mom: “So, you’re ignoring your mother now, are you? Well, that’s not very nice Alex. I’ve been trying to reach you all week. It would be nice if you’d return a call.”

Sam again.

“Alex. Seriously. Pick up. Don’t ignore me. I need you to call me. It’s about Dad. Call me when you get this.”

Alex slid his finger over the delete button. How many times in the last five years had he received similar messages? And when he’d called his brother had told Alex his dad had moved another woman in, or was selling company stocks, or wanted Alex to come work for him. It was never an emergency but somehow Sam always seemed to think it was.

As for his Mom, she craved attention she’d never earned.

He tossed the phone on the seat of the truck and yawned. He and Molly had spent the day waiting for Robert to come out of surgery. They’d hoped for good news, but had receive a mix of bad and good news. The good news was that Robert’s pelvis had a handful of screws in it, but doctor’s expected him to be able to walk again, hopefully within the next six months. The bad news was that Robert had had a small stroke during surgery and hadn’t woken up yet.

Alex had left Molly, Jason and Annie to have some private time with Robert. He’d told them he planned to take a nap in the truck and he had, for about two hours. Now he was awake, watching the sun set between two tall buildings in the distance. There was a time when being in the city had invigorated him and sent a chill of anticipation shivering through him. There was always something happening in a city.

Now, though, after living five years in almost completely wide-open spaces, the buildings, parking lots, and loud noises made him feeling like the world was closing in on him. He stretched the full length of his body across the front seat and closed his eyes, wishing sleep would come again. If he slept, he didn’t have to think about Robert hooked up to all those wires and tubes in that hospital room. If he slept, he didn’t have to think about the possibility of losing the only man besides his grandfather who had shown him what a real man should be. He laid his arm across his eyes and let out a long breath.

He remembered that one morning he’d stumbled into the barn after a night of drinking. His eyes had been blood shot and his head felt like a bowling ball. Despite trying his best to hide it, he was – completing tasks slower than molasses. Robert had seen right through him. Unlike most employers who might have lectured him and told him to get his act together, Robert had asked him first if he was okay.

Alex had nodded but then clutched at his head when pain seared through it.

“Looks like you have a hangover,” Robert said, wrapping a rope around his hand to hang up in the barn.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not good to anyone in this shape. You were supposed to be on the tractor today and I can’t have you out there without a clear head.”

Robert had jerked his head back toward Alex’s truck, the rope wrapped up tight around his hand now. “Head back to the house and sleep it off. If you feel better this afternoon come back. If not, I’ll see you in the morning.”

More than anger, Alex heard disappointment in Robert’s voice. He’d left without argument, too embarrassed to even try to defend himself. After a few hours of sleep and some food he’d wandered back to the barn and found Robert underneath one of the farm’s trucks, changing the oil.

He stood next to the struck, shifting his feet, his hands in his front jean pockets.

“Feeling better?” Robert had asked.

“Yeah.”

Sliding out from under the truck and standing, Robert wiped his hands on a rag, looking at Alex, appearing to be thinking about what to say next.

“You’re a good, kid, Alex,” he’d finally said. “Polite. Hard worker. I think you’ve got a really bright future doing pretty much whatever you want to do. I know I’m not your dad and maybe I shouldn’t be saying anything, but I hate to see you throw it all away because of alcohol.”

Alex kicked at the dirt with his shoe, looking at the ground. “Yes, sir.”

“I hope you know that I don’t mean to be lecturing you, or telling you what to do,” Robert had continued. “It’s just that I’ve come to care about you and don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The softness in Robert’s voice had startled Alex. His own dad had never talked to him that way. Michael Stone’s idea of a pep talk was to tell Alex to “grow up” or “be a man.” Rather than being concerned about Alex, he was normally concerned about his own reputation or the reputation of his business.

Robert hadn’t only shown Alex what it meant to be good father by how he treated him but also in how he treated his own children. His example of how to be a good husband also fascinated Alex. How he treated Annie was worlds apart from how Alex’s father had treated his Alex’s mother, or any of the women in his life actually.

Alex had walked into the farmhouse one day to tell Robert he’d figured out an issue with the feeder and wished a few moments later he had knocked. He had interrupted a tender moment between Annie and Robert. Thankfully it wasn’t too racy, but it had been enough to make him try to back out slowly so he wouldn’t be seen.

Robert had been standing behind Annie while she cooked lunch, kissing her neck.

“Marrying you was the best thing I ever did, Annie Tanner,” Robert had said softly.

She had laughed and looked over her shoulder at Robert. “Are you saying this because I’m making you homemade chocolate pudding for dinner tonight?”

“No, ma’am. I think that even when you don’t feed me my favorite dessert.”

Alex had started to back away, trying to escape before they saw him, but he ran into the table by the couch and almost knocked over a lamp. The sound of the lamp rattling back into place as Alex caught it and placed it upright gave Alex away and he smiled sheepishly as the couple turned to look at him. Even though he hadn’t seen anything he shouldn’t have, he felt like he had been spying on an intimate moment.

The pair had laughed at him when he stuttered out an apology, assuring him they’d only been chatting. They might have only been chatting, but the fact they did so like a newly married couple, despite being married almost 30 years, made Alex realize not all marriages were like his parents had been — loveless and full of deceit and bitterness.

Rain splattered the windshield in the truck and Alex watched droplets slide down the glass and pool at the bottom.

In the hospital room, Molly, Jason, and Annie had prayed for Robert while he watched uneasily from the other side of the room. At one point Molly had reached for his hand and he’d let her pull him into the circle as they prayed. He closed his eyes, but he didn’t feel comfortable. He didn’t know how to pray or even if he believed there was someone out there or up there to pray to.

Letting out a long breath, he felt emotion catch in his throat. He hadn’t expected that.

“God,” he whispered. “If you’re there, please don’t let Robert die. Don’t take Molly and Jason’s dad from them. Don’t do this to Franny and Annie. They’ve all lost so much already.”

He dragged the back of his hands across his eyes and shook his head.

Well, he’d prayed. He didn’t feel much different, though. It certainly wasn’t like in the movies.

 In fact, he felt a little stupid talking to himself.

He closed his eyes again and let sleep overtake him, hopeful that when he woke up there’d be good news about Robert.

Fiction Friday: The Farmer’s daughter chapter 31

I’m definitely in need of distractions these days and writing and reading is helping some of that. What are you all doing to distract yourself from stress? Let me know in the comments.

Want to catch up on The Farmer’s Daughter? Click HERE or find the link at the top of the page. Also, let me know about typos or your ideas for what you think should happen next in the comments.

***

Chapter 31

In the ambulance Robert had been too weak to talk, but Annie had held his hand and the steady beat of his heartbeat against her palm was reassuring for the duration of the drive to the hospital.

“Where is the blood coming from?” she’d asked Randy Dunham, one of the EMTs and a former classmate of Jason’s.

“Puncture wound to his back,” Randy said. “They’ll be able to see how bad it is when we get to the hospital. We stopped the bleeding as best as we can for now.”

Annie had thanked him, then turned her attention back to Robert, smoothing his hair back off his forehead, praying for him to pull through somehow. The idea of spending the rest of her life without him by her side terrified her.

“Mrs. Tanner?”

Annie was pulled from her thoughts by the voice of the doctor. She stood quickly, her knees weak. She thought she might not be able to stay upright at first. The room shifted slightly around her and she closed her eyes briefly.

“Yes?”

The doctor’s expression was compassionate and that terrified her. She braced her heart for the worst. As if sensing her unsteadiness, he sat on a small couch and patted the seat for her to sit next to him.

“Your husband is stable right now.” The doctor’s voice was soft. “He has a broken leg, a cracked pelvis, a puncture wound to his back that struck his lung and collapsed it. He’s going to need surgery and that leg is going to need more than what we can offer here, so we’re going to life-flight him to Mercy Hospital. Mercy has one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country working there right now.”

Annie nodded. The doctor kept his eyes focused on her. She was impressed by the compassionate, measured way he spoke to her. She was also surprised by how young he looked, and she realized the older she got the younger doctors had started to look to her

“Unfortunately, he is also bleeding internally.” Annie drew in a sharp breath. “We need to try to find the source of that before we fly him. He’ll have exploratory surgery here tonight to find the bleeding and stop it, and then, if he’s stabilized, we’ll fly him to Mercy first thing in the morning.”

Jason stepped into the waiting room with two cups of coffee. His gaze moved between the doctor and his mom and he recognized the gravity of it all before either of them spoke a word. The doctor looked at Jason, nodded, and then turned his attention back to Annie

“Mrs. Tanner, I don’t want to ask this, but we need to know if Mr. Tanner has a DNR on file, in case we would need it.”

“A DNR?”

Jason sat the coffee cups on the little table next to his mom’s chair. He cleared his throat. “A DNR is a Do Not Resuscitate Order, Mom.”

Tears filled Annie’s eyes, she nodded, and her voice trembled when she spoke. “Oh. I don’t kn— I mean. No. He’s never filled one of those out.”

She clutched the arm of the chair, as if to steady her swirling thoughts.

The doctor nodded and covered her hand with his. “Let’s hope we won’t need it, okay? I don’t expect we will, but I needed to ask.”

Tears spilled down Annie’s cheeks. “Can I see him?”

The doctor squeezed her hand as Jason sat on the chair next to her and laid his hand on her back.

“You can,” the doctor said. “I just want you to be prepared. He’s in rough shape. We’re prepping him for surgery, and he’s already being sedated to help with the pain.”

Annie took a deep breath and let it out again slowly. “I understand.”

And she did understand, but when she stood next to Robert and saw how pale he was, and the tubes and IVs hooked up to him, she thought her legs might give way. She wasn’t about to let herself collapse, though. Not when her husband needed her. Jason’s hand on her elbow strengthened her resolve to stay strong. She swallowed the tears and took Robert’s hand.

“You know, Robert, if you wanted a vacation, all you needed to do was ask.”

His eyes were barely open, but he managed a faint smile.

“Cows,” he whispered. “Milking.”

Annie smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Walt and Hannah are taking care of the farm. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Robert swallowed hard and coughed. His voice faded to a whisper. “Annie, you’ve been the best part of my life. You and our kids. I need you to know that.”

Annie kissed his forehead. “Just rest. We’ll be here when you get out of surgery.”

“Alex and Jason, they’ll  . . . take care of you . . .”

“Robert Charles, don’t you talk that way. You’re going to be fine.”

“But, if —”

Her voice broke as she slid her hand behind his head and clutched his hair, still damp with blood. “God can’t have you yet. Do you understand me? He can’t.”

A faint smile tugged at Robert’s mouth as his eyelids closed. “That’s up  . . . to God.”

Annie waited until Robert’s bed had been wheeled out of the room, turned, and let Jason hold her against her as the tears fell. She pulled away a few moments later, stared at her hand stained with Robert’s blood and staggered toward the bathroom across the hall. Jason followed close behind, steadying her with a hand under her elbow again as she scrubbed the blood from her skin, sobs shaking her shoulders.

“You can’t have him, yet, God,” she choked out between sobs. “Not yet.”

***

Alex was awake but only barely when Molly found him in the ER exam room. His eyes were glassy, and she wasn’t sure if that was from the blood loss or from whatever fluid was being pumped from the IV bag into his arm. His shirt had already been cut away and the wound was covered with blood-stained bandages loosely stuck in place. The bed was slightly reclined.

The nurse had asked her if she was family when she’d first arrived, and when she’d said he didn’t have any family who lived local, the nurse had nodded in understanding and motioned her back.

“The doctor has examined him, stopped the bleeding, and started an IV with painkillers and an antibiotic,” the nurse told her. “Once that kicks in we’ll start cleaning out the wound and stitching him up.” She leaned toward Molly. “Just a heads up, the meds can make some people a little loopy so don’t take anything he says too seriously.”

He flashed her a weak smile as she reached the side of his bed.

“They gave me the good stuff. Said I would need it when they start cleaning this out.”

A nurse loaded supplies onto a tray on the other side of the bed.

Molly decided their usual barn banter style of talking would keep her from feeling too many emotions. “You look like crap.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I feel like crap.”

“You won’t be feeling much of anything when that painkiller kicks in,” the doctor said as he walked into the room. He held his hand out to Molly and she shook it. “Doctor Murphy. Feel free to keep talking. I’ve got some stuff to get ready over here so we can start fixing this guy up.”

He started opening drawers and cabinets, pulling out gauze, medical tape, and antibiotic cream.

Alex fought to keep his eyes open. “Robert. . . how is he?”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t know yet. Jason went to find Mom and I came to find you.”

“Go,” he whispered. “Be with your dad.”

Molly sighed. “I can’t leave you here alone with that hole in your side, you big loser. I’m the only family you’ve got around here.”

Alex laughed softly then winced. “Don’t make me laugh.”

She tried not to look too closely at the bandage, red seeping through it. “What happened anyhow?”

“I tried to get the tractor off your dad. He told me not to. Didn’t listen. The board broke.”

“Hmmm, yes. I’ve also learned my lesson the hard way when I don’t listen to my dad.”

Alex winced again, trying to push himself up on the bed.

“Molly —”

Molly pressed her hands against Alex’s shoulders. “Um, no. Lay back.”

He fell back against the bed, and exhaled a frustrated sigh, his eyelids heavy.

“We need to talk.”

“We’ll talk later. After you’re fixed up.”

He grabbed her wrist gently. “I didn’t sleep with her, Molly.”

The nurse paused in her journey out of the room and looked back over her shoulder with wide eyes. Molly wished the nurse would keep walking and Alex would stop talking.

“Rest Alex.”

She glanced at the nurse, shooting her a glare. The nurse nodded apologetically and stepped out of the room.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” he repeated softly, so softly she barely heard him. His eyes were closing again.

She squeezed his hand. “I know. We’ll talk more when you’re a little more with it. Okay?”

He nodded weakly. “I’m really glad I never did drugs. Getting drunk was bad enough. This stuff is seriously messing with my mind.”

She laughed softly and shook her head. His eyes drifted closed and she breathed a sigh of relief, glad the painkiller had finally kicked in. Her hand was still holding his and his fingers had tightened around it. She smiled and rubbed the top of his hand with her other hand.

There was something so different about seeing him this way, peaceful and vulnerable versus his joking and teasing in the barn. Sitting with him now reminded him more of that day at the overlook when he kissed her, how his obnoxious façade had fallen, and she had seen a seriousness and sincerity in him she’d never seen before.

Suddenly he mumbled something, and she jumped slightly. She leaned closer to try to understand him, her cheek grazing his as she tilted her head.

His breath was warm against her ear, his lips grazing it, as he spoke. “Molly, I’m scared.”

“To get stitches?”

He tried to shake his head. “No. Of you.”

She smiled, amused at how out of it he obviously was.

“I’m a very intimidating person, I know. I think the painkiller is sending you for a loop.”

He tried to open his eyes, but he was clearly losing the battle. They fluttered closed again. “I’ve never seen my future as clearly as I do when I’m with you.”

“Okay, bud. You really need to —”

“I see babies.”

She pulled her head back and looked at him, then laughed, wondering where this conversation was going. “Did you mean, ‘I see dead people?’”

If he’d been more alert, she knew he would have laughed at her reference to a movie they’d watched together a couple of years ago with Jason and Ellie. They joked about it often in the barn, making the line a running joke between them. Instead of laughing, he grew quiet and she thought he was asleep.

“I’m going to marry you someday, Molly Tanner,” he whispered a few seconds later, his eyes still closed. She leaned down again. “I know it. I’ve known if for a long time, even before I kissed you that day on the overlook. I didn’t want to admit it because it scares me. I never thought I’d get married.”

He took a deep breath, and she could tell he was fighting to keep his eyes open again. She wanted to make another joke, but the tone of his voice was serious. Too serious. She swallowed hard as he spoke again, his lips grazing her skin just below her ear.

“When I kissed you that night in the barn, I saw a baby on your hip and one hugging your leg and you were standing on the porch of Ned and Franny’s house. There was a dog in the yard and cats in the barn. I don’t like cats, but they were there. Do you like cats?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer. His voice was starting to slur. “My truck was there, and your mom and dad were in the backyard. Your mom was watching your dad push a kid on a tire swing. The fields were full of corn and Jason was riding a tractor in the distance. And Ellie was there too . . . She was . . . standing in the front yard with an apple pie and . . .” his eyes closed. “A big belly.”

When he didn’t speak again, she let out the breath she realized she’d been holding. His skin was warm against her lips as she kissed his forehead.

She looked up and saw the same nurse who had been eavesdropping earlier watching her with wide eyes. She guessed the nurse to be a few years younger than her. Her name tag read Mackenzie.

“Oh my gosh. That was, seriously, so romantic.” Mackenzie gushed like the schoolgirl she probably was. “I would just die to have a man say something like that to me.”

Molly scoffed even though nervous butterflies were buzzing in her stomach. “He was under the influence of drugs. I doubt he’ll remember any of this later.”

Dr. Murphy pulled a rubber glove on and smirked. “Honestly, I find a lot of people speak the truth when they’re under sedation.”

“Oh really?” Molly’s tone was doubtful.

“Sure. Didn’t you ever hear about spies being drugged so the government can find out the truth? Like a truth serum.”

“Yes, but he’s on painkillers, not a truth serum.”

Dr. Murphy shrugged. “If you say so.”

Molly looked at Alex, then back at the doctor. “Does anyone remember what they said when they wake up?”

The doctor smiled. “Sometimes.” He pulled antiseptic from the drawer under the tray next to the bed to clean the wound. “Even if he doesn’t, he seems to be a man who knows what he wants. Or at least his subconscious knows.”

He nodded toward the curtain. “Unless you’ve got a strong stomach, you might want to sit in that chair over there while I do this.”

Molly lifted a shoulder in a quick shrug. “I’m a farm girl. I can handle it.”

But when the bandages came off and she saw the deep gash in Alex’s side, she couldn’t handle it.

She took three steps back and steadied herself against the wall, sliding her hand along it slowly until she found the chair. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes and willed the room to stop spinning. Watching someone she loved being sewn back together was a lot different than watching the vet sew the belly of a mama pig closed after they’d delivered a litter of over-sized piglets.

If she couldn’t handle seeing Alex injured without becoming woozy, she knew she’d be a mess when she saw her dad.

Randomly thinking: What makes people tell me their life stories?

I have no idea what it is about me that makes people tell me their dark secrets or life stories.
Last week I was at the local dollar store and made some comment to the cashier about needing to be more careful about what I spend since Christmas is coming up.
“I know,” she said. “I’m overdoing it this year because my daughters’ father died this year and I just want Christmas to be special for them.”
Not only was I sad to hear about the passing of their dad, but it struck me how we never know what people are going through in their lives. It also struck me that I had no idea why she was sharing this with me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m guessing you two weren’t together anymore?”
“No, but it’s still hard. Actually, it was harder than I thought it would be.”
“Well, just because people divorce or split up, there can still be good memories attached to that person,” I told her.
She agreed, I paid for my things and told her I’d be praying for her and her daughters this Christmas.



Three or four days later I’m at the local, tiny playground with my daughter. It has been unseasonably warm and on this day it was about 70 out. We’ve lived here for about eight months and have visited the playground several Jim times but I’ve never seen this many children there. There are only a small playground set, teeter-totters and a two-person swing set, and a basketball court (there is also a Little League field that isn’t being used). There were 15 children at this place and I was wigging out a little bit, grabbing for the hand sanitizer. Anyhow, there were two girls there about 10-years old and one of them kept watching us. I had a feeling she wanted to talk and I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk. She wasn’t wearing shoes and her face and clothes were somewhat dirty.
She leaned against the swing set and watched me push my daughter.
“Hello,” I said. “How are you?”
“Good. I’ve been down here since 11 (It was 5). My dad doesn’t care what I do. All he does is talk to his girlfriend on the phone and tell me to ‘shut up’.”
Well. Alright.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you live with him?”
“Yep. I didn’t used to, but I do now.”
“Oh. You don’t live with your mom?”
“No. My mom’s dead.”
When she said her mom was dead, she flinched a little. Maybe the part about her mom was a lie or maybe it was something her dad had told her to keep the truth from her. I don’t know.
Before I knew it, I was learning that she used to live with her aunt, her dad was around my age, and she had half-siblings and another one on the way with the new girlfriend.
I have no idea why she felt the need to tell me all about her life, but there I was with all kinds of anxiety inside me about this girl’s safety and future when all I’d wanted to do was get my daughter some fresh air on an unseasonably warm day.
I watched the two girls walk home, drove past where they said they lived, hoping they got there okay, and then prayed for them on the way home.

Edited to add: I don’t live far from this girl’s apartment house so I will drive by to check on her. I do think she was probably okay but for some reason wanted to share with me and may have been talked some things up a bit, so to speak. I’m not sure.

***

The next week Little Miss and I were down the street talking to our neighbor and her granddaughters. The one neighbor on the street we haven’t met came out and I said ‘hello.’ We struck up a conversation as we walked up the street (a little less than six feet apart but not much less) and by the time we reached his house, a few yards away, I had learned where he was originally from, he had a daughter who lived three hours away, his wife is a photographer and an accountant, who used to live in his house, who used to live in each house up the street, that a compressor is in the big white building behind his house, that he used to have six cats, but now he only has four and he used to own two Akita dogs. Oh, and I learned about the new owner of one of the houses on the street and what that man does for a living.
I texted this all to my husband who asked, “What did you do? Get his whole life story?”
“I don’t get it,” I said to my husband later that night. “Why do people tell me everything about themselves? I mean I don’t mind, but it’s weird. What about me says ‘Tell her all my secrets and life story.’?”
“You have a motherly feeling about you,” my husband said.
I think that might translate to “You’re plump and harmless looking and they know you couldn’t chase them down like some crazy person because you’d run out of air in six steps.”

Photos of the Week

As I said yesterday, we had very nice and warm weather here last week. Little Miss enjoyed chasing the dog around the house or more aptly being dragged by Zooma as they played with Zooma’s favorite toy most of the days. We also took our homeschooling lesson outside outside to practice sounding out words by writing them on the sidewalk with a rock.
Saturday was our son’s 14th birthday and he and his dad traveled about 90 minutes away to find a Chick-fil-A because my son has always wanted to go to one for some reason. They wandered the college campus it was on and also went to a mall. On Sunday we continued celebrating by my parents coming to our house and bringing a homemade apple pie and steaks. My dad and mom were a little disappointed because the pie crust got overcooked but it was actually still very good, even if Little Miss said: “I think I’ll just eat the inside. I don’t want to lose another tooth.”
Our neighbors on both sides decided to take advantage of the nice weather and start hanging their Christmas lights. My husband said he isn’t hanging ours up until closer to Christmas like he does every year but we don’t mind because the lights from our neighbors are already cheering us up. This is the first year we will see them, of course, since this is our first Christmas in this house, but our one neighbor down the street has already told us that the neighbors to the right of us go all out each year. They started hanging the lights – gorgeous blue icicles — yesterday.
Not to be outdone, the neighbors on the left seem to be going all out this year too, and already have beautiful white icicles hanging from their roof.
Here is some interesting trivia about our neighbors. They both have the same last name but are not related and the husband’s name is Chris at the neighbors on the right, but the wife is named Chris with the neighbors on the left. So, maybe that’s not very interesting to you but we find it entertaining.

Sunday Bookends: Warmer weather, comfort reading, and the boy turns 14

Sunday Bookends is my week in review, so to speak. It’s where I share what I’ve been up to, what I’ve been reading, what I’ve been watching, what I’ve been listening to, and what I’ve been writing. Feel free to share a link or comment about your week in the comments.

What I’m Reading

I read through a sappy romance last week, which I enjoyed, and for a change of pace I’m reading another Longmire book by Craig Johnson. I’m also reading A Cat Who book, and I haven’t forgot Maggie by Charles Martin. I’m reading whichever one that fits the particular mood I’m in on whatever day.

What I’m Watching

I needed to go back to the basics this week so I watched a couple of sappy Signed, Sealed, Delivered movies from Hallmark and several episodes of The Andy Griffith Show.

What’s Been Occurring

Warmer weather hit our area again this week, which was a welcome surprise since I wasn’t really paying attention to what the weather was supposed to be. We used the warm days to run around our yard with the dog and take my daughter’s school outside to have some fun learning a few sight words.

Other than getting outside a few times, we didn’t do a lot this week except for celebrate my son’s 14th birthday on Saturday. He and his dad went to an actual mall and a Chick-Fil-A, my son’s first trip to one. For some reason he’s been obsessed with going to a Chick-fil-A for a few years and we finally found one about an hour and a half from us. I tried not to sit and reflect how fast the last 14 years have gone this week but it hit me a little hard one night and I cried for about 15 minutes. My son hugged me and promptly ruined the moment by farting. I could say that he only developed this inappropriate farting only when he became a teenager, but that’s not true. He’s always farted away sweet moments, even as a newborn. Of course, when he was a newborn his farts were cute. Not so much anymore.

Notice: The next paragraphs were written early in the week before any announcements about the election so this is not a reflection of who was chosen and is related to my frustration with all politics. I am truly at peace about outcomes, which I mention below. Also this is not so much about politics as it is an opinion on how it makes people act!

Later in the week, I had to stop looking at the news because of the absolute vitrol coming from a variety of different people on all sides of the political spectrum — all of them claiming to be kinder and nicer than the others. Newsflash: if you are telling people you hope they die and their children are raped and murdered, you’re not a kind person, I don’t care what party you are a part of. You’re a mentally ill person. Period.

After a couple of days of reading these comments go back and forth and even watching so-called journalists (from a variety of “news” outlets) use the same language (FYI: there are no longer journalists left. Only commentators.), I had to back away because I had sunk into a very deep depression.

This is the world my children are being brought up in. The world that says it’s normal to spit in the face of people and call that normal, threaten the lives of those you don’t agree with, and childishly scream at each other when you are in your 70s. I say if you want to disagree or peacefully assemble, that’s fine, but keep your spit and your threats to yourself — no matter what party you allign yourself with. And I have seen it coming from people who allign with both this past week. It’s so bad I’m about to declare myself an independent. I don’t want to be associated with either of the major parties.

It’s like the whole world has gone mad.

I’m not sure how to explain that world to my children so I don’t allow the news to be on around them or near them these days.

If it hadn’t been for the warmer and sunnier weather, plus reminding myself of the post I wrote last week (and having other Christians remind me online of similiar sentiments) I probably would have slipped even deeper into depression.

What I’m Writing

I’m gutting The Farmer’s Daughter right now and didn’t share any chapters this past week. It’s not like people are clammoring to find out what happens (haha!) so I’m sure missing a week or two isn’t a big deal. Who is going to notice, right? Not really anyone.

I renamed Quarantined on Kindle because the book isn’t about quarantine really. It’s about relationships rekindling so I went back to what I had originally called it on here “Rekindle” and re-posted it on Amazon with a new cover as well. Republishing it removed the lovely review that had been written for it and that annoys me, but I had to rebrand it because I figure there are a lot of people who are like me and are sick of hearing about quarantines and lock downs and all of that jazz.

Photos of the Week has been moved to Monday for this week.

How was your week? Reading or watching anything interesting? Let me know in the comments.

Faithfully Thinking: Who Are You Putting Your Trust In?

After scrolling through news and social media sites (for much less time than I once did) this week I felt nervous butterflies and a sick feeling. I wondered how next week’s election would change the lives of my family and myself.

Or would it? Very possibly no, no matter who won.

So I wondered to myself, ‘Why are you even worrying?’

And then as I felt the panic starting to rise and a thought struck me: Who are you trusting, Lisa? Are you trusting in politicians to make your life better?

I realized that yes, to a point, I was.

Let’s get honest with ourselves.

Really think about it.

Who is your trust in?

Are you trusting in men (as the term mankind) to sustain you?

Are you trusting in men to protect you?

Are you trusting in men to provide your security?

Are you trusting in men to provide your happiness?

Are you trusting in men to give you peace?

Because if you are, you are going to be very disappointed.

Mankind will always disappoint us.

They will always disappoint because they are not God.

Only God can provide us peace of mind.

Only God can provide us security and protection and joy.

It doesn’t matter who wins the election tomorrow.

It doesn’t matter if the candidate you voted for isn’t victorious because our victory is not in earthly situations but in heavenly proclamations.

I read a opinion piece this week that reminded Christians in this country that our hope is in Christ, not in presidential candidates.  

“No matter what happens, God is sovereign,” Erick Erickson wrote. “The God who gave us Barack Obama and Donald Trump could choose Biden or Trump. God’s will be done. The God who brought bread from Heaven and water from rocks and raised you from the dust of the Earth and stitched you together in your mother’s womb is going to still be on His throne ruling the universe the day after the election. Too many of you are convinced the country is going to hell in a handbasket if your guy does not win. Well, I have read the end of the book, and I don’t mean this to be a spoiler alert, but everybody is going to hell without a handbasket, except for those who put their faith in Jesus Christ, not a politician or a political party. So, calm down.”

Like Erick says: “Calm down”

All of us need to calm down and look to the one who is in control. If the candidate you voted for does not win, trust that God already knew what was going to happen and he ordained it.

Tough times could face our nation, but God is there in the tough times the same as he is in the good times.

 John 13:7 Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

Sunday Bookends: Enjoying Christmas movies (yes, already); Charles Martin is a master writer; and cold weather hits our area

Sunday Bookends is my week in review, so to speak. It’s where I share what I’ve been up to, what I’ve been reading, what I’ve been watching, what I’ve been listening to, and what I’ve been writing. Feel free to share a link or comment about your week in the comments.


Cold and rainy weather hit our area this week so we barely left the house. On Friday we even had snow. Yuck.

Since it rained all week I managed to delve into some books (finishing one, starting two others), and watch three movies (five or so if you count me watching part of the Harry Potter movies with my son and his friend while they binged watched all the movies). I also wrote quite a bit more of The Farmer’s Daughter.

What I’m Reading

I finished The Dead Don’t Dance by Charles Martin this week and oh, it was so good. I believe it was his debut novel in 2004 or 2005.

He is a masterful writer and it made me wish I could write that well. After reading his book I considered giving up on writing all together, but decided we can’t all be Charles Martin and not everyone wants to read Charles Martin, though they should. To show an example of his writing, here are a couple of my favorite sentences/paragraphs:

  • “Whatever it was, I know that if someday the roles were reversed, I’d want her to do the same for me. I’d want my wife’s hands on me. I’d want to know she was there, thining about me, and her hands could tell me that better than anything else she might do.”
  • “I’m not quite sure where, but from someplace deep within, where the scabs are hidden, where the doubt can’t go and the scars don’t show, I began to cry.”
  • “Professor, you don’t know it, but you introduced me to me. This life needs people who stand in the ditch and argue with God because the rest of us are either too scared or too proud. I don’t really like all I see in the mirrior, but I’m beginning to think that the girl behind the glasses is worth digging into. Maybe I’ll take them off one day.”
  • “Moments before, I lived in a world where wisteria snake across my son’s grave as he rotted beneath a cement slab; where Vietnam Vets inhaled beer to help them forget the day they wiped Vicks salve in their noses so they wouldn’t have to smell the bodies as they zipped up the bags; where a no-good farmer bathed in a cornfield but couldn’t wash the blood clean; where snow fell on iced-over railroad tracks; where used-car salesmen robbed old women with inflated prices and double-digit interest rates; where little boys peed in the baptistry and pastors strutted like roosters; . . .”
  • “Standing there in my new boots and covered in pig smear, I didn’t know who to be until I knew where she was. I needed Maggs to tell me who to be-because that would tell me where she was, and most importantly, who we were.”

There are so many tough topics in this one (infant loss, wife in coma, rape, abortion, self-harm, alcoholism etc.) but it’s dealt with in such tasteful ways that it isn’t full-on in-your-face horror. You are pulled on this journey, sometimes kicking and screaming, with Dylan Styles, a man who has had a lot of heartache in his life and is dealing with more heartache as his infant son has died in childbirth and his wife is in a coma after losing too much blood during delivery. He is a teacher, writer, and a farmer after taking over his grandparents’ farm, where he moved with his wife. He spends much of the book struggling to come to terms with Maggie being a coma, the loss of his infant son, and where God was in all of it. This book is not your typical Christian fiction and it is not preachy at all, even though there are definite Christian undertones and Charles Martin is a Christian, having written non-fiction Christian books as well. I don’t even believe it is listed in Christian fiction (I mean he uses the word crap so that pretty much eliminates him from being allowed to publish a book under the Christian fiction title).

I’m delving into Maggie, the sequeal to The Dead Don’t Dance this week.

I’m also reading A Handful of Hope (Taste of Romance Book 4) by Elizabeth Maddrey. It’s my first book by her and though it’s part of a series, it stands on it’s own, like her other books seem to. It’s a straight up romance with very little side story other than the romance so it’s a nice, light read.

Book description:

She wants to be worth loving.

Repeated heartbreak has convinced Jen Andrews she’s unlovable. When the groomsman she’s paired with at her best friend’s wedding shows interest, she wonders how long it will be before he realizes his mistake.

David Pak is ready to settle down with the right woman. After a disastrous first date with Jen, he’s determined to look elsewhere. But he’s haunted by the wounded look in her eyes.

How will David set aside his hesitations and see past Jen’s barriers to find love? And if he tries, will she let him?

A Handful of Hope is the fourth book in the Taste of Romance series of contemporary Christian romance novels set in the metro Washington, D.C. area. If you like stories of love and hope in the fast-paced modern world with realistic characters and heartwarming romance, then you’ll love Elizabeth Maddrey’s latest journey with this beloved circle of friends.

The third book I hope to start this week is Amanda Dykes’ Whose Waves These Are, which was nominated for a Christy Award for best first novel and best novel. My mom read this in two days and then called me to tell me to read it so I think I’d better read it this week. Plus it’s on Kindle Unlimited and if I don’t hurry up and read it, my mom will return it. She’s a reading beast.

What I’m Watching

I watched Christmas romance movies this week. Yes, I did. I don’t care if I am two months early. They weren’t actually as cheesy as other Hallmark-type movies I’ve watched either. I only had to fast forward part of the one because of the “you lied to me!” trope.

Christmas Contract starred people I don’t know and was about a woman who had gone through a break-up but had to go home for Christmas and knew she would see her ex-boyfriend so her friend decides she should take the friend’s brother home with her to make it look like she has a new boyfriend. Yeah, you can figure out the rest. The acting was actually pretty good and that’s all that saved this horrible plot.

Christmas on the Bayou was with the same actress as Christmas Contract and was another story of a woman going home for Christmas, not because of a break-up but because she knew she needed to spend more time with her son. The subtly between the romantic interests was a breath of fresh air compared to those movies where they are all hot and heavy the whole time and sleep together after their first kiss.

Wild Prairie Rose was the better of the three movies I watched this week. It was a sweet story of a woman who — um, yeah, — goes home. Yes, I know. Very similar plot to the other two. BUT it wasn’t at Christmas this time. This time she went home in the summer because her mother had not been feeling well and she wanted to help her take care of her home and simply to see her during that time. The story takes place in 1952. While there, Rose, the main character meets a man who is both deaf and dumb and forms a friendship with him. Will it develop into more? Won’t it? You’ll have to see but it’s not only a romance and I suggest you pull out some tissues before you watch it.

All three movies were on Amazon but may be available other places as well.

What I’m Writing

I shared two chapters from The Farmer’s Daughter this week and a post with tips about how to combat anxiety and depression during COVID and a toxic political season. I didn’t really have much mental energy to write much else.

Photos of the Week

I do not have a ton of photos this week because, again, it was dreary and miserable out and we didn’t really do anything worthy of photographing. We did attend a Trunk-or-Treat in town on Halloween so I have some photos from that, but that was about the extent of our “excitement” for the week.

How was your week? What have you been reading, watching, doing, writing, listening to and all that jazz? Let me know in the comments.