Category: Creativity

Creativity, Faith, Writing

Getting Back in the Groove

Lisa Burbank

I’ve heard it said that it takes 21 days to make a new habit. That makes sense, actually, because it takes time for that habit to become ingrained. And, for some of us, simply remembering this new habit can be the challenge. However, I don’t know as if I’ve ever seen data about how quickly a habit can be broken. It seems like a much shorter process. It only took me 2, maybe 3, days to break the early-morning yoga/blogging routine. And, I’m thinking, much more than those 21 days to get back into it.

I have MISSED blogging. Every day that I spent knitting, looming, painting, my fingers were itching to get back at the keyboard. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy all of these activities. But, there is a fine line between enjoying that whole creative process–whatever the medium or creation–and having your home look like a warehouse or assembly line. Due to that ol’ bugger Procrastination, I kept putting off making my Christmas gifts until that final moment. And then I crammed.

That happens a lot. I tend to motivate under pressure…and panic. As, I blogged earlier this week, I am determined to break this habit. But, in this case, it means developing a better habit to replace it. It means becoming that self-starter. Again…

Years ago, Thanksgiving would arrive and I would have already finished my Christmas shopping/creating (depending on which) before this holiday, have it all wrapped and would spend Black Friday filling out and mailing Christmas cards early. I would put up the Christmas tree and have it decorated so it could be enjoyed throughout the whole yuletide season. This year I didn’t even put up a Christmas tree. I got lost with Overwhelm, the buddy of Procrastination. How on earth did I fall off this bandwagon??? I can’t even remember the point where it all fell apart. But I am determined to rekindle that fire, that Something, inside of me that had me pumped so early in the season. I enjoyed it more.

And it is not exclusive to the holiday season.

Life seems to have gotten away from me. Maybe because I keep trying to take control instead of letting the One who is truly in control take charge. Maybe it is because I keep looking at the calendar, seeing that time running out, but, for some strange reason, think it will slow down for me long enough to catch up. Maybe I simply overcrowd my life with too much “busy” work. Or I simply have abandoned the discipline I used to have to put down that book, that magazine, that game or puzzle that has captured more of my attention than things more important. Maybe it’s a little of all of these things.

But this year, I am waging a war on it. I’ve been in this ‘blah’ sort of slump for too long. And it shows. I’m still searching for that accountability partner though…

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Creativity, Faith, Gratitude, Prayer, Spirituality, Writing

Reflections

Lisa Burbank

As the last 28 minutes of 2016 wind down to the first seconds of 2017, nostalgia for what has been, both the good and the not-so-good things, of this year kindles.

I am liable to start blubbering. I lost a lot of fur- and feather-babies this year and I feel those losses keenly. I keep looking for Alice and Ariel, Trooper and Jillian, Blessing, Patience, Squire and Charity. It doesn’t help that Ariel, Trooper and Jillian were all geriatrics. No matter how much time you have with someone you love–human or humane–it is never enough. Trooper was my problem “child”, always into mischief and squabbling with the other cats–especially Pearl. And every day we shared was a gift that I wouldn’t trade for all the tea in China. Nor would I have wanted him any other way. Ariel…she and I go way back. I was blessed with 16+ years with her; I couldn’t have asked for much more but, again, there is never enough time. That was especially true for Alice, who died too young and unexpectedly, but who graced my life with so much love and hope while he was here. (Yes, he. Alice was named for Alice Cooper.) Jillian Bunny was probably the least skittish out of all of my bunnies and patiently put up with regular groomings and haircuts. Though the latter was always a little stressful due to the constant worry about nicking her, it was also a bonding time with us, a time where she was the focus of all of my attention. And my chickens all greeted me with their songs each morning–except for Squire. I confess, though it saddens me that he also died fairly young, Squire was the meanest rooster I have ever known. I did everything the “experts” suggested to tame him but he was a nasty boy. I’m saddened over any loss but was more relieved than anything else when I found him in the barnyard last summer…suspiciously so after he challenged Sargent Feathers earlier in the day. Just saying…

That’s true for humans, too. There is never enough time and I am more grateful than any words can express that friends and family are all hale and hearty this year.

As midnight creeps ever closer, I’m looking back not only at the losses but also the triumphs of this year. I had a lot of good classes, wrote some good pieces for those classes and kept the 4.0 grade point average in tact. Yes, I am boasting a bit but I’m proud of what I have accomplished. I also worked with a wonderful woman named Farnoosh Brock this year, taking her Smart Exit Blueprint course–it helped me to focus on what matters the most in my life, my passions, hopes, dreams, and gave me the courage to step out of the comfort zone and follow my heart’s desires. I’m not changing careers so much as simply giving myself permission to pursue the one I have always wanted. That has been writing, of course. And this blog is another triumph. It’s no longer collecting dust and I have been blessed with new acquaintances along the way. Lastly, through the SEB program, and a fundraiser at church, I discovered a love for painting. I use acrylics for the moment; hoping to branch out with watercolors and oils, too.

New Year’s Resolutions? I blogged this morning about overcoming my tendency for procrastination. And that’s a big one, one I can’t ignore. I think I’m also going the more traditional route and add “losing weight” to my list. Forget the 20 lbs. by November 20th. The goal is to lose 30 lbs. this year, to get into better shape, improve my circulation and eat better, healthier. That will do for starters.

And, as it is now 12:05 a.m., I say ‘goodbye’ to 2016 and welcome a new year filled with hope and prayer and faith. It will be a good year.

Happy 2017!

May God bless you & keep you!

Creativity, Faith, Gratitude, Religion, Spirituality

Phew!

Lisa Burbank

That about sums it up. The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of, well, stress. I did exactly what I told myself I wasn’t going to do–got too caught up in the busyness of the season rather than actually enjoying it. The week before Christmas was spent in very late nights, early mornings, trying to finish everything I was making to give to those I love and cherish.

I remember one night, in particular, being up until 2 a.m. with my office looking like an assembly line with more than a dozen paintings laid out on the floor, or propped up against a wall, in various stages of completion: Okay. We need blue sky on this one, and this one, and this one. And I would mix a healthy dollop of white into the blue to get a good sky blue and slather it over the upper halves of each painting. Then, for those with ocean scenes, that same blue mixed with a drop of black to get that deep-sea blue, then lightened a bit with some contrasting color and a few lines of white to form the crest of waves and the foam in the wake of a sailboat or ship. I need to work on my ships. And my mesas. And almost all of the animals I painted in were either asleep or had their backs to the viewer. Or were silhouetted. I’m not confident enough yet in my painting abilities to tackle contours and facial expressions. We’ll get there. This term with SNHU is “Intro to Drawing”. And, later this year, an illustration class. I may see what Michael’s crafts has to offer on art classes, too.

But that’s neither here nor there.

I’m angry with myself for procrastinating all season long. I told myself this time last year that I would give myself a good, early start with my painting, knitting, or whatever else I was planning to make as gifts, and not give myself this sleep-deprived, stress-laden holiday effect. So much for remembering why we actually celebrate this season. Although I did attend Mass last Sunday, I vaguely remember fighting sleep the first half of the Mass. However, a bit of humor to slip in. It was my week to serve communion. The big Christmas celebration at church had been the evening before so, sadly, the early-morning Mass was nearly empty. Father Elson filled the goblets half-full and sent us to either side of the altar to give it to those parishioners who wanted to drink the blood of the Lamb. Well, because the numbers were so small, I still had half of a goblet full of wine at the end of communion. As Eucharistic ministers, we have to finish whatever is left as it cannot be wasted. That little half glass of wine, coupled with only 4 hours of sleep and an empty stomach came close to laying me out flat in the pew for the second half of the Mass. Sad, but true.

That’ll teach me…

But I’m not complaining. Not really. Dinner at Uncle Ernie’s the week before was a beautiful sharing with family–albeit, due to the recent family rifts, shy some well-loved members–and dinner Christmas Day at my Auntie Debbie’s was also a beautiful sharing of good food, a lot of laughter and love…and everyone seemed to like the sophomore attempts at artistry so those late nights weren’t a total wash. And the holiday season has not been without a good remembrance of why we really celebrate it, even if that remembrance came through a haze of fatigue.

My New Year’s resolution this year? To keep fighting against that eternal procrastinator so that I can enjoy those precious moments a little more. And a few more hours of sleep next holiday season. It may help to find that accountability partner to keep me on track. Any takers?

May God bless you & keep you!

Creativity, Faith, Frugality, History, Minimalism, Religion

Can’t Call It a Holiday

Lisa Burbank

Black Friday, that is. And many do refer to it as a holiday, of sorts. Somehow, camping outside of Walmart in frigid temps, snow, rain, or whatever else the elements are throwing at us this time of year, doesn’t seem like much of a holiday to me. Neither does fighting the hordes of humanity, swearing and cursing in an attempt to find a parking space, being flicked the bird when I do find it ahead of some other shopper, simply to find that “perfect” gift is “out of stock” and the store isn’t issuing rain checks…the “perfect” gift that will likely be returned the day after Christmas. But to each their own.

(Sorry, inner-cynic coming out…LOL!)

Of course, I used to pride myself in having all of my Christmas gifts purchased by Black Friday and to spend this day actually wrapping them and filling out Christmas cards. I’m not quite as efficient these days. And, as I tend to make most of my gifts now, instead of purchasing, and I tend to procrastinate, I’m still working on those gifts right up until the last possible moment. This year may be different though. While I don’t have any gifts completed to wrap today, having found a new passion in the form of painting, I may not be procrastinating quite so much this season. Rather, I plan to use the day to simply make out my Christmas list.

But I can’t help wondering how such a tradition got started. Yes, from my years of working/volunteering in living history museums, I know that the Christmas tree became popularized in 1848 by an engraving that was published of the Royal Family–Queen Victoria and Prince Albert–admiring a Christmas tree in their home. Prince Albert was German and the yew tree was already a tradition in his homeland. This started the trend of trimming a tree. And, shortly thereafter, as the world figuratively shrunk due to what were then modern methods of travel, and cultures blended, the tradition of gift giving became a regular thing during the Yuletide season. But, back in the 1840’s and 50’s, gift giving involved a few sweets, or small tokens, hung on those evergreen boughs. I can remember, too, reading the “Little House” series of books where Laura Ingalls Wilder writes about the gifts she and her sisters received in their stockings but, again, they were modest by today’s standards: a shiny tin cup, a penny, an orange. This was the 1870’s and 80’s. Santa was ho-ho-ho-ing across the skies on Christmas Eve by now. And has been doing so ever since. But why has this day, the Friday after Thanksgiving, become marked in red on every modern calendar as the quintessential day to bowl our fellow man over in an attempt to get the best deals? I know it’s a marketing ploy for retailers but it just seems like such a waste, such a vulgar display of materialism, greed and pride.

But, then, I tend to be a minimalist.

And, as a Christian, I would rather remember the real reason we celebrate this day. While there is no mention of a date for Christ’s birth in the Holy Bible, remembering that a Savior was born to save the world fills me with far more satisfaction and peace than snagging that marked-up 50″ plasma screen TV, at 20% off, before every other shopper does.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Creativity, Gratitude, Healing, Writing

The Grateful Journal

Lisa Burbank

“I will praise the Lord no matter what happens. I will constantly speak of His glories and grace. I will boast of all his kindness to me. Let all who are discouraged take heart. Let us praise the Lord together, and exalt His name.” Psalms 34:1-3

I’m not sure when I actually started keeping a grateful journal. Or where I learned about it in the first place. I do remember sharing with my therapist years’ ago that I had started one and she was enthused about it. But, while I would like to give credit where it is due, and use this moment to give thanks to that source, the best I can do is give thanks to the Source who led me to it. It has truly been a blessing in my life.

What is a grateful journal? Or thankful journal, as some may refer to it? It is a journal where you make a conscious effort everyday to write down a certain number of things that you are grateful for. Mine is a simple notebook of college-ruled paper; it doesn’t have to be fancy, just a place to record your entries. I typically keep mine on the nightstand by my bed and write down 5 things that I am grateful for from that day before I go to sleep. I remember when I started, I only wrote 3 things each night. Then one Lenten season, I upped it to 10; I’ve since settled on 5. The benefits of this exercise is that you start to look at your life a lot differently. Instead of your cup being half-empty, it is now half-full. I never realized how much I complained or entertained negative thoughts until I started this journal. And, if you battle depression as I often do, making an effort to count 5 blessings each day (or whatever the number), is a great way to lift yourself out of that depressed feeling. And talk about giving yourself a boost of confidence!

Don’t think you have enough for which to be grateful? I started listing family members, then friends, and pets. I even included those who have departed this earth, expressing gratitude for the time I did have with them. Once started, I began to see the times we shared, the lessons taught/learned, and even some of the myriad quirks they each possess, and suddenly, I had a treasure trove to account. And it doesn’t have to be a litany of every epiphany or Wow! moment. The mundane is just as good. I have several entries where I have expressed gratitude for popcorn. Sound silly? But I have popcorn to enjoy. That’s something to be grateful for. I have even expressed gratitude for some of the not-so-happy times in my life–like illnesses, injuries, heartaches. All of these have the potential to become opportunities for growth and understanding. It is all about perspective. And that slowly changes when you search daily for things to be thankful for.

As we approach this Thanksgiving season, I am going to share a few of the things I have in my journal:

2/5/2016 “I am grateful for the extra 4 hours of work this week”
3/2/2016 “I am grateful for strawberry banana almond butter smoothies”
3/6/2016 “I am grateful for the story I wrote today”
3/29/2016 “I am grateful for the trip to Maine to look forward to”
4/30/2016 “I am grateful they had the border collies at the CT Sheep & Wool Festival this year”
5/26/2016 “I am grateful for Farnoosh and Smart Exit Blueprint”
5/31/2016 “I am grateful Mom has this holiday with Shaun, Stefanie and the girls”
6/18/2016 “I am grateful for books”
6/19/2016 “I am grateful for healthy food”
7/2/2016 “I am grateful for the blueberry bush, rhubarb and cucumber plants I purchased yesterday”
7/4/2016 “I am grateful the blackberries are ripening”
8/28/2016 “I am grateful for the relaxing place that painting takes me to”
8/31/2016 “I am grateful for Smart Exit Blueprint”
9/3/2016 “I am grateful for the day spent at Uncle Ernie’s house”
9/3/2016 “I am grateful for the ride on the pontoon boat”
9/4/2016, 9/6/2016, 9/8/2016 “I am grateful for cool breezes” (must’ve been hot the week before…LOL!)
9/14/2016 “I am grateful for help trimming goat hooves”
10/8/2016 “I am grateful for the safe trip to and from Salem”
11/9/2016 “I am grateful for all future blessings”

Yes, you can do that. You can give thanks for the future and what it may bring. You can give thanks for anything. And, as you keep a grateful journal, you will give thanks for everything. And that puts a whole new spin on life.

May God bless you & keep you!

Creativity, Healing, Herbs, Homesteading, Minimalism, Nature

A “Tiny” Drool

Lisa Burbank

I don’t remember his name. I do remember he was a professor at a college in Massachusetts and that he was looking for a slightly larger tiny house closer to his work. His current tiny house was approximately 124 square feet. That’s a bit too small for me; if I were to build a tiny house, it would be closer to 300 square feet. And the loft would be tall enough I could sit up straight without bumping my head. He couldn’t in his loft. I wasn’t drooling over his tiny house. I was drooling over what he’d built around it and the lifestyle he was leading with this first tiny house.

Nestled in the New Hampshire woods, this permaculture farm provided for all of his needs. He grew fruits and vegetables, raised chickens for eggs, and there were even a couple of pigs running around. Albeit, as a pescetarian, I would likely omit the pigs for anything other than pets but to each their own. I may not have a need to fill my freezer with ham or bacon but I can appreciate this low-impact lifestyle, this more sustainable and healthier way of living. As he was growing and raising his food, he knew exactly what was in it, how it was fed. That was worth the drool. He was entirely off the grid. That, too, was worth a drool. And what made me chuckle was the bowl bath he took outside each day. Now I have no aspirations to dance around sky-clad under a full moon or anything but, that he could get away with such, without being hauled into court somewhere for indecent exposure, is a measure of the freedom this man enjoyed. For someone who feels so totally oppressed living on a major interstate with the fish bowl effect, this was definitely something to drool over. I like my privacy. And this man had it in abundance.

Yeah. I am a bit of the hermit in the woods. Don’t get me wrong. I love people. But I also love my solitude. Quiet time for me is how I rejuvenate. Granted, my idea of “quiet” time typically involves the CD player cranking out some Within Temptation or Blackmore’s Night while I paint or draw–and I do plenty of that right here on Route 6. But I’m not surrounded by woods. I’m not walking out my door and hearing nothing but crickets chirping and bird song. I’ve got the perpetual hiss and rumble of traffic zooming by, the growl of a semi down-shifting as it passes through this little strip of residential properties. And, as I type this, I am realizing how much I’m growing to hate the noise most of all.

Yeah. I think that decision I lamented about a few posts’ back is already made. Yes, I can start with what I have right here. There’s land enough to grow fruits, vegetables and herbs, and I have done so in the past. This summer, we grew very little as I concentrated on building and outlining more raised beds. But it comes in fits and starts as I consider the filtering of carbon monoxide which undoubtedly contaminates everything I grow here. There’s also the continuous development of commercial land in this area. This strip of Route 6 is rapidly becoming a big box nightmare. So I procrastinate. I do so, too, because life here is still in financial limbo. I’ve been on mortgage assistance since 2013. While I am grateful that it saved my home and put me right-side up again on the mortgage payments, this is a loan. And it is a bit counter-intuitive in my quest for getting out of debt. But, without it, I’d likely lose even this noisy, little patch of land. So I take a step forward, then a couple backwards. A friend of mine called it projectoral thinking. It’s anticipation of the worst-case scenario. And, in doing so, I trigger the law of attraction and welcome in my worst nightmares–maybe. I’m also a cock-eyed optimist. But I can’t help wondering from time to time, if I throw all of my efforts into developing this property into the homestead of my dreams, that some hotshot developer is going to suddenly want to buy it for a strip mall. At this point in time, I’d likely let him. But, at present, I need to focus in on that decision and concentrate all of my energies on whatever path I eventually choose.

It’s time for a change. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my own little woodsy oasis in the middle of nowhere where I can dance around naked under a full moon without scaring any neighbors–but only on Halloween.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animals, Creativity, Faith, Healing, Homesteading

In Limbo

Lisa Burbank

“Yes, the Lord hears the good man when he calls to him for help, and saves him out of all his troubles…the good man does not escape all troubles–he has them, too. But the Lord helps him in each and every one.” Psalm 34: 17, 19

I’m struggling. I just can’t seem to make up my mind whether to stay or to go. I’m talking about my property, of course. Northeastern Connecticut is an expensive place to live. I’ve only part-time work. I’m still on mortgage assistance and I would really like to get off of it, which will take either full-time employment or a break where business is concerned. Going deeper into debt is definitely NOT a good thing. But, while I have this assistance, I am grateful for it, for the help that it is providing until I can get my financial feet under me.

And then I wonder why I care when every third day I think about moving.

In the upper right-hand corner (or maybe it’s the left…) of my brain is this little picture. It is a property in Maine, somewhere along the coast. I’ve been painting it on the mural that is slowly taking shape on my office wall. I don’t know if this property really exists or not. And I do know I would likely have to win the lottery to afford it–or any property at this moment. But, deep down inside, there is a large part of me that wants more land, wants the ability to follow all of my dreams. It’s a part of me that wants to shrug off the advice to start with what I have. Yes, I know I can do great things here; the wheels are already in motion to develop this little just-under-an-acre property into a working micro-homestead. But then I hear another 18 wheeler zooming by, just outside my window, and I long for even a tent pitched in the middle of the Maine woods.

Of course, leaving would mean moving away from family and friends. And that’s nothing to sneeze at. It also means that this property will likely become commercial once I leave. As this house is a fixer-upper, any business purchasing the land will likely bulldoze it down. That doesn’t bother me as much as they might pave over–or worse, dig up–the myriad fur- and feather-babies who have been laid to rest here. As I just laid Ariel to rest a week ago today, that really bothers me. And yet, as this area of Connecticut becomes more and more commercial, the noise, the traffic, and the restrictions that come along with it, will also increase.

I feel like now is the time to be taking some action. And I realize that I’m waiting for a “sign”, a sign that may never come. I’m waiting for “perfect” conditions to point me in the “right” direction. I’m looking for guarantees in life. And there aren’t any…except through Him. The only way out of this “rut” of indecision is to make a choice and then follow through with it. If I keep sitting on the fence, I will still be here 10 years from now wondering if I should stay or go. If I finally make a decision, He will allow everything to fall into place. Perhaps by my indecision, my lack of faith and trust, I am standing in the way of one of His miracles.

“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray, I will listen. You will find me when you seek me, if you look for me in earnest.” Jer. 29:11-13

Hasn’t the good Lord brought me this far? Why do I doubt? Why does that little girl who was abused and molested, called stupid, and suppressed still doubt her worth? How far reaching are the effects of someone like me who has been affected by another’s drinking? After over 20 years of therapy, fear, doubt, mistrust, and self-esteem issues still ripple through with the effect of a tidal wave, keeping me “stuck”. This is where I must step out in faith. After all those years of therapy, I have the “tools”; it is time and past to finally use them.

Wow.

I feel like I’m looking over the edge of a precipice, one toe inching towards that edge but I’m already feeling that aching “drop” in the pit of my stomach. Feel the fear and do it anyway? No, He won’t let me fall–at least not to go “splat”; if I drop at all, it’ll be to learn something important. Right?

“And the day came when the risk to remain in a tight bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” Anais Nin

That’s becoming more true by the minute. I know what I want and where I want to go. The bottom of that precipice is a long way down but, maybe that is the key. If rock bottom is so far below, then, as I stand on this precipice of doubt and insecurity, perhaps I’m closer to the top of the world than I have allowed myself to believe. Perhaps that precipice is really a mirage and what’s under my feet is rock solid.

I take a deep breath and glance up at the mural on my wall. It’s not complete yet but the extensive gardens filled with herbs, fruits, vegetables and flowers; the sailboats gliding along the water; the Shetland and Border Leicester sheep being herded by the Border collies yet to be; the Angora rabbits waiting to be groomed and sheared; the canoe tied up at my own dock; the goats nibbling at the bottom of an apple tree; the multiple hives full of honey–all of them beckon. And I know it is only a mural if I keep hanging in limbo.

Who cares about the drop if I learn to fly?

May God bless you & keep you!

Creativity, Environment, Faith, Hauntings, History, Spirituality, Supernatural

Happy Halloween

Lisa Burbank

Thanksgiving is truly my favorite holiday. Though I abstain from eating any meat or poultry, I love gathering together with so many loved ones and sharing such a wide array of vegetables: turnip, squash, pumpkin pie and green bean casserole are some of my favorites. But Halloween is a pretty close second.

I’m turning 50 in a few weeks but, if you turned those numbers around “05”, 5 years old is about how old I act when it comes to “dressing up” for the occasion. I have never outgrown it. No, I don’t go trick-or-treating–or mumming and guising, as it was originally called–but I like to make people laugh. Or, at the very least, smile. And, no matter what costume I decide on, it usually does elicit an upturn of lips wherever I go. To me, that’s reason enough to indulge that inner child.

Halloween tends to be a bit controversial within the Christian community. All Hallows’ Evening (Halloween is a contraction for this holiday), is said to be the time when the veil between the Otherworld and this one is particularly thin and the souls of the dearly departed are free to roam the earth–and, potentially, to right their wrongs. This, of course, has its roots in Gaelic traditions. The night of Samhain (pronounced SOW-en) marks the end of the harvest season, when spirits–or fairies–enter this world and must be appeased to ensure that people and livestock survive the long winter ahead. Earlier generations would invoke God’s protection upon approaching their dwellings, and guising–or the donning of a costume–was done to disguise oneself from the Fae Folk. The carrying of a Jack-o’-lantern by guisers was to protect one from any evil spirits lurking about. And, interestingly, the Jack-o’-lantern was originally either a turnip or a mangel wurzel (a type of beet). When early settlers to the Americas arrived, they adopted the native fruit–the pumpkin. Within the Roman Catholic Church, All Hallows’ Evening is part of the triduum of Allhallowtide, a time set aside for honoring the saints and praying for the souls of those dearly departed as they journey from Purgatory to Heaven. In many countries, All Hallows’ Evening celebrations also include a church service and the lighting of candles upon the graves of departed loved ones. However, as many Protestant religions do not believe in Purgatory, this practice, or belief, goes against their notions of predestination. Hence, some of the controversy surrounding this holiday.

For myself, the only “controversy” I feel about any holiday is the commercialization of it. Big box department stores have been lining their shelves for weeks with costumes and accessories, many of which will wind up in landfills after tonight. I’d hate to think I had so little gumption as to buy a costume. I’d rather give the creative genius a little room to spread her wings. Albeit, as I type this, I will confess to purchasing some rather toxic make-up to enhance today’s disguise. If anyone has a safe, less-toxic means of creating green face paint, I would greatly appreciate it for next time.

In the meantime, I am looking forward to seeing the smiles, and receiving a few chuckles, as I don this year’s ensemble. And I will continue to tell myself that the smiles and laughter are a tribute to that creativity and not the result of everyone thinking, “Look at that old fool!” Eh, you’re only as young as you feel…and I won’t say “No!” to a bit of soul cake* either!

May God bless you and keep you!

*Soul cakes were given during the Middle Ages to children and the poor when they came knocking during mumming and guising. They were cakes made with allspice, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, raisins and/or currants and topped with a cross to signify their giving as alms. Homemade with organic ingredients they must’ve been much healthier than our sugar-laced commercial treats (albeit, I won’t say “No!” to a Kit Kat either…and hang the IBS! LOL!)

**Information retrieved from http://www.wikipedia.com for educational purposes only.

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animals, Creativity, Faith, Gratitude, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Organic, Religion, Spirituality, Writing

Is it Wasted Time or Time Well-Spent?

Lisa Burbank

I have spent the better part of this morning searching through a directory of towns in Maine for a list of towns with the least amount of population. I’m looking for unorganized townships with less than 500 people. Next, will be to research their locations. If I decide to relocate, I would prefer being near the ocean. Not necessarily a waterfront property; they tend to be grossly over-priced, but I would like to be within shouting distance of the ocean…or a lake. Somewhere that I can plunk a canoe down in the water and paddle away. Is that possible with goats in tow (not in the canoe but farming in a coastal region)? Or are coastal towns all zoned into tourist trap submission? These are things I am hoping to find out. The mingled scents of clean farm animals and salty sea air would be the sweetest perfumes. And the cry of a gull amidst a chorus of bleats and neighs and cock-a-doodle-doo, the sweetest of songs. This will be my paradise here on earth. If I can find it. And if I can afford it when I do.

As I type this I am also thinking of all the improvements I’d like to make here on this little one-acre homestead in northeastern Connecticut. Being influenced by the folks at Path to Freedom (please Google for more information) in knowing that it is possible to have a sustainable homestead on a smaller piece of land–i.e. quoting Jules Dervaes in their excellent film, “Homegrown Revolution”, I decided years ago to “start with what I have”. But I worry about things like carbon monoxide from Route 6 settling on my herbs and vegetables, and the increased development of this Quiet Corner town. It’s becoming too commercial and yet the job market is scarce, public transport is so poorly planned as to be almost non-existent, and, despite being on this main Interstate, I feel like an island unto myself anyway. There is little by way of a “community” feeling.

Of course, I do little to encourage that community feeling. My yard is always overgrown. When someone knocks at the door, I seldom answer–unless I’m expecting someone. And I walk around with the feeling that I’m sitting in a fish bowl. The Thujas bordering the front of the house offer a great privacy screen but it is not enough; I’m that eternal hermit-in-the-woods. Not exactly the most encouraging attitude for an ordained minister but I crave solitude like the flowers crave sun and rain. It’s one of the reasons I’ve had such a difficult time adjusting to having a roommate–even though that roommate is Mom.

Whine, whine, whine…

Or maybe that should be wine, wine, WINE!

No, I seldom partake of the latter. Having felt the effects of alcoholism many times as a child–from watching a beloved grandfather vomiting blood each morning, and losing him all too early, to a stepfather’s drunken rampages and pedophilia–I’ll take the fruit of the vine in the form of some organic grape juice instead. (Albeit, I wouldn’t say, “No!” to a wee drop of mead though…)

As for the whining? The best remedy is gratitude. No, I am not where I really want to be. And I am feeling the shifts everywhere in my life right now, shifts that say change is coming and it is time to move on, move forward, get out of this rut that I’ve been “stuck” in for the last several years. Despite my hermit-in-the-woods mentality–which is another side effect of having grown up with alcoholism–I do desire that sense of community, that sense of connection with others. But I also want that oasis in the middle of it all, that place of quiet retreat where I can recharge my batteries–literally and figuratively speaking. We all need that.

So, as I draw a ragged deep breath and prepare to send Wendy Whiner on her way again, I make a short list of all of things I am grateful for right here and now:

I am grateful for the air I breathe, the water I drink, a roof overhead, the food on my plate and the clothes on my back.
I am grateful for my roommate, my Mom; grateful that I am fortunate enough to still have my Mom with me.
I am grateful for family and friends, my community of loved ones–whether they live in this Quiet Corner or not.
I am grateful for all of the myriad animals that share this home with me–both domestic and wild.
I am grateful for the gifts from God of being able to write, sing, play music, paint, draw, create and homestead.
I am grateful for my job, for being employed, and for the wonderful co-workers who share that part of my week with me.
I am grateful for my garden, for the herbs, fruits and vegetables growing there.

And I am grateful, most of all, for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who died for my sins and gave me everlasting life.

Now what the heck was I whining about?

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

“Homegrown Revolution Quotes.” Quotes.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2016. Web. 22 Sep. 2016 .

Animals, Creativity, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Writing

3:30 Woman

Lisa Burbank

I remember many years ago, when I was dating my first husband, he painted a little soldier figure and christened him “3:30 Man”. “Is it 3:30 yet?” was the daily battle cry within the stockroom where we worked together and it was boldly painted on the side of this figure. “3:30 Man” sat on the desk that my ex shared with his then-supervisor. 3:30 p.m. was the magical time, the time when we could all go home and remember something of a life apart from the daily grind just to make ends meet.

Today his counterpart would be 3:30 Woman. But I doubt I would dress her in olive drab. 3:30 Woman is a lot more flamboyant. She’s wearing her Wellingtons in the mud and barnyard muck, raking old hay and animal waste into the compost pile after schlepping water and feed out to the barn. She’s standing in the kitchen with a bright pink apron over her clothes, measuring sugar and molasses to make her own brown sugar instead of the store-bought variety. She’s got a paintbrush in hand, dabs of paint on her hands, her arms, in her hair and is busy detailing that rocky beach gracing her office wall. She’s also pounding away furiously at the keyboard, not waiting for inspiration but writing anyway as Pearlina, Paz, Emmylou, Priscilla, Ozzy, Kirby, Whitney, Alice, Rosco and Ariel chirp and purr and chatter away in her lap, in the window, on the yoga mat. Eh, she needs a good dose of feline intervention to write. Without little paws climbing on the keyboard, the desk, begging in and out of the room and getting into jars of pens, markers and other office supplies, it would be too easy.

3:30 Woman, like 3:30 Man, is a defender of innocents but there the comparison ends.

Of course, 3:30 Woman is hailing 3:30 a.m. rather than p.m. At 3:30 p.m. she’s going into work to take pictures of cars and vans…and salivating over that Chevy High Country in a rich burgundy color, rather than going home. 3:30 a.m. is when life begins, a little blurry-eyed and incoherent, but it is a life worth living. Perhaps I should add a cuppa tea in 3:30 Woman’s hand though…a little mix of Slippery Elm (Ulmus rubra) and Echinacea (Echinacea purpurea) to soothe the vocal chords when it’s time to sing or, perhaps, a bit of green tea (Camellia sinensis) to control the asthma. When 3:30 a.m. is a bit of a challenge and she’s still slumbering away when that alarm goes off, perhaps just a cup of plain, ol’ Salada tea after the usual morning yoga practice to give her a little more “pick-me-up”. Either way, that cuppa tea belongs in her hands as much as 3:30 Man holds his rifle in defense.

And, as another alarm goes off, this one to remind me to step away–if only for a while–from the literary world and attend to homesteading matters instead, I smile and wonder, “Is it 3:30 yet?” I’ve still got a few more chapters left.

May God bless you & keep you!