Category: Faith

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!

Faith, Gratitude, Religion, Spirituality, Writing

A Quick Little Note…

Lisa Burbank

“Someday” I will learn not to procrastinate. “Someday” I will have made all of my Christmas presents ahead of schedule and not be cramming to get them finished–plus cramming on end-of-term assignments–and, alternately, goofing off with a good book or a quick game on the new smartphone that leads to several more.

Yup. I’m my own worst enemy. I have been dragging my backside for days now. The overwhelm that comes with last minute holiday ANYTHING has me by the throat. “Someday” I will start early enough that this “push” isn’t happening but I can slow down and savor the holiday moments. But “someday” isn’t today so a quick blog post to let everyone know I’m still in the land of the living. (Chuckle) And I have so missed blogging. There’s a certain peace that steals over me as I’m typing, a peace that we all should be looking for at this time of year–but a peace of a different sort, the ultimate peace that comes with Jesus.

Okay. Breathe. I know you’re all with me on this one. ‘Tis the season…but He is the reason for this season.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Gratitude, Healing, Prayer, Religion, Spirituality

The Power of Prayer

Lisa Burbank

“Come and hear, all of you who reverence the Lord, and I will tell you what he did for me: For I cried to Him for help, with praises ready on my tongue. He would not have listened if I had not confessed my sins. But He listened! He heard my prayer! He paid attention to it! Blessed be God who did not turn away when I was praying, and did not refuse me his kindness and love.” Psalm 66:16-20

Today, for the first time in weeks, I dialed in to The Prayer Cafe. What is The Prayer Cafe? It is a 20 minute group prayer hosted by The Christian Mompreneur Network. Though I am not a Mom (at least of any human children), I am seeking to build my own home-based business–in plural, actually. And, while, yes, I hope that at least one of these business ventures succeeds well enough to sustain Mom and I and our menagerie of fur and feather babies, I also hope that at least one of these business ventures will succeed well enough that I can also give back to the community.

And therein lies the truth of where I’ve been at fault.

I started this blog post to talk about prayer and how my soul has been thirsting for this 20 minutes each week of prayer and fellowship with these ladies–ladies I have never met face-to-face but whom I have grown to love very much. I have been thirsting, feeling dried up and maybe a little hopeless inside. I posted a prayer request because of all the financial difficulties I’ve been assaulted with of late–November was a rough month all around with 3 major losses of beloved fur and feather babies, and the usual stress of re-applying for emergency mortgage assistance until I can finally get back on my feet financially. The end of that first paragraph was an “Aha!” moment. The host of The Prayer Cafe posted something afterwards to me about the biblical truth of “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all of your needs will be met.” He spoke to her heart. And He just spoke to mine.

Did I not just type it the other way around? Did I not just type about giving back to the community AFTER the blurb about my own needs? I’m too focused on my own problems instead of giving them up to God. Instead of letting Him take control of my life. And so, He gave my friend the wisdom to post this reminder of His love, and His command, to seek Him FIRST. It’s not about me. It’s about Him. And always has been.

What does He want for me? (Note: that’s FOR me, not FROM me…) What are His plans for my life? Have I ever stopped to ask…and stayed long enough to listen to my heart, the voice of God speaking within it? Usually I run away from the answer out of fear, out of that lack of trust that I blogged about last week. I’m afraid to “Let go and let God”. Afraid that some part of me is not worthy of such goodness. That’s what comes from growing up with alcoholism and abuse but I can only blame others, perhaps, for the first 18 years of my life; what I’ve done or experienced since is on me. And I am choosing to hand the reins over to the God of my consciousness, a God of love.

Does that mean that hard times are going to miraculously stop happening? No. He doesn’t promise us smooth sailing, just a safe landing at the end of it all. He promises to love us, to see us safely through all of life’s challenges. If only we will place our trust in Him. And praise Him for every minute thing we have–both good and bad, because He can use all things to make our lives richer, better, in the long run.

I needed prayer today. I need prayer everyday. We all do. But, in our modern world, where faith in God is often exploited and derided, we neglect our spiritual life. We don’t have time, we tell ourselves. We don’t have the money to give at church because food is scarce or the bills need paying, etc. We walk around with this scarcity mindset, a mindset that only sets us up to attract more of the same. We start neglecting everyone and everything that matters most to us, pushing aside precious moments–time that we can never get back, pushing aside even our most basic needs, pushing aside God. When He is the answer to all of this. Taking those 20 minutes or so today to indulge in this much-needed rest with Him in fellowship and prayer was just what the doctor ordered. I feel more refreshed and at peace. And, in the end, that’s what we’re all searching for. His peace.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Faith, Gratitude, Homesteading, Nature, Religion, Spirituality

Winter Wonderland

Lisa Burbank

The unmistakable smack and part-scrape, part-screech of a metal plow hitting and running along the pavement caught my attention yesterday morning. I had forgotten all about the 1″ of snow Mom advised me of the night before. Eh, how often are the weather people right? I looked out my office window and discovered that, this time, they were. Most of the ground was coated and, looking towards the massive spotlight in the parking lot across the street (even in darkest night, my house is lit up like a Christmas tree), I could see flakes still falling.

The child in me lit up like that Christmas tree. No, it’s not a “No school Foster-Gloucester” kind of morning, as Salty Brine used to say, and was the hero of every school age child in Rhode Island throughout the 1960’s and 70’s–and probably a few decades before. Snow or not, my college studies continue. But the memory of what the first snowfall used to mean clung to me like one of those icicles that form in late-spring after a perpetual cycle of thaw and re-freeze. Forget that I am a 50 year-old woman and that snowfall now equals back pain and muscle aches from endless hours of shoveling. It’s the first snow for Pete’s sake! And only an inch of it; no shoveling required. I couldn’t wait to get outside and experience it.

And neither could Max. Max, the lily-livered Blue Heeler who will hide behind every chair, on the stair well, any place he can squeeze his bologna sausage-shaped body to avoid going out in even a light mist of rain, catapulted himself off of the sofa yesterday morning, all tail wags, to go out in the fluffy white stuff (sorry, S-N-O-W is regarded as a disgusting swear word in the office at the dealership…LOL!). There was no hesitation. He pranced out onto the back deck and immediately put his nose down into it, sniffed, sneezed, snorted and then bounded off the deck, on the deck, and fairly skipped with me to the chicken coop.

That’s the spirit…

While the ground coverage was thin and actually spotty in some places, still, it was like someone magically transformed my backyard into that proverbial winter wonderland. Everywhere I looked, I saw pristine white. And the still-falling flakes made me feel as though someone had stuffed me into one of those snow globes…you know the ones, those kitschy ornaments that you shake and watch “snow” over whatever plastic, painted scene is protected under dome. And I loved every moment in it.

A few trips back and forth with Max to fill the smaller winter duck “pool”, scatter leftovers and birdseed for the chickens under the overhang where the snow didn’t fall, and replenish the outdoor waterers, and then Max went back inside the house so that chickens and ducks could come out to play.

Normally, I open the door of the hen house and take a quick step out of the way as 18 chickens and 3 ducks explode out of the house. Yesterday morning, Duncan, Dweezil and Dixie Ducks–affectionately and collectively known as The Quackers–waddled right outside and straight into their minuscule pool, obviously overjoyed to see this winter wonderland. Eh, snow’s only frosty water after all. However, there was a log jam of chickens at the door of the hen house. Goldie, the barking chicken (yes, she barks; she does NOT cackle or cluck. Whether this is learned “speech”, a mimicry of Max, or just her natural “singing” voice, I don’t know but Goldie barks…most convincingly…like a dog), squealed her brakes at the door jamb. Every hen and rooster in the chicken marathon behind her plowed into the back of her. Amazingly, she kept her footing and stayed just inside the door jamb. You could almost see the cogs turning as she took in this strange yet vaguely-remembered phenomena. Nope. She didn’t like this at all. It wasn’t until Sunset, Tank and a few others grew impatient and flew over her and into the yard that she finally resigned herself to cold feet for the rest of the day. And only Taffy ventured beyond the coop at first. In her usual pell-mell way, she came racing out of the hen house behind everyone else, squawking and cackling at the top of her lungs and racing, well, “normal” would be racing across and back again the yard but, with snow on the ground, her “race” was a wide arc around to the door of the goat barn. Race around in the snow? Maybe not…

A half hour later, goats, chickens and ducks all watered, fed and wandering free, the snow turned to a mix of snow and rain. The pristine whiteness rapidly gave way to the mud and muck of the barnyard again. But, for a few shining moments, I walked through magic, a magic that makes all things new again…just as Jesus makes all things new again.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Healing, Religion, Spirituality

The Great Divider

Lisa Burbank

“Now it is time to forgive him and comfort him. Otherwise he may become so bitter and discouraged that he won’t be able to recover. Please show him now that you still do love him very much.” 2 Corinthians 2:7-8

The Great Divider, the Adversary, has been working his mischief in my life of late. Instead of being loving and forgiving, instead of swallowing my pride and reaching out to others with whom I have a bit of conflict, anger and bitterness have been welling up inside and a part of me is ready to cut all ties, to slam the proverbial door in the faces of those who have recently hurt me. And I know that is definitely NOT God’s plan.

I am speaking of the family conflicts that have arisen these past few months, conflicts that I have blogged about a few times. I’ve tried to keep mum about them as much as possible but my soul is hurting because, people I have trusted above all others, have lied about me, lied to me, and now accuse me of things that they should know better about me…even to questioning my faith in the Lord and my vocation as a minister. I know the Bible says the world will hate me because I am His but I don’t think that’s the motivation behind it.

Or is it?

I am suddenly maligned because I won’t take a side in this family conflict. I cannot. Even if I wasn’t a minister, family is extremely important to me and, the idea of turning my back on any family member, goes against everything I believe in. Yes, I know there are many who come from families where they’ve been abused and seriously mistreated–I can claim some of that myself, coming from an alcoholic home with a stepfather who wanted too much to do with me. So I understand why some would not want to associate with family if such an association only brings more pain. Finding the strength to walk away from that abuse and mistreatment takes courage. I know. I’ve been there. And I respect those feelings in anyone who has or is walking a similar path. For myself, I’ve come around full circle, finding forgiveness for those who have either abused me, or who saw the abuse and did nothing to try and stop it. Forgiveness does not wipe the slate clean, it does not justify the offense, the act, the unkind words, etc. Forgiveness, however, does cleanse the soul–the soul of the person who is finally willing to surrender and offer that forgiveness. Forgiveness takes away the resentment that has built upon our souls, resentment that opens the door for that Great Divider, Lucifer, and gives him free rein to wreak even more havoc in our lives. By choosing to forgive, we open the door to Jesus Christ and allow the healing of our broken and battered souls, minds, spirits and bodies to be complete. I cannot change what has happened in my past. Holding onto that resentment and anger only hurts me more; it doesn’t hurt the people who have hurt me. It doesn’t stab them with guilt so that they want to repent. In fact, holding onto that grudge, that resentment, only gives others a power over us, a power that is not of God’s way, a power that tears us down and makes us less than what we are. In short, by holding onto that resentment and anger, another person can claim a victory over us. As can the Adversary. Forgiveness gives us the Power to heal. It tells that Great Divider to “get thee behind me” in Jesus’ name.

There are countless references in the Bible about forgiveness. And each and every one of them admonishes us to forgive our brethren because, if we do not, our Father in heaven will not forgive us. And, no matter how much I may try to deny it, I am as much a sinner as the next soul. So I am choosing forgiveness.

And yet, there’s still that little voice, the voice of my wounded self, that still wants to snarl and sneer. I am still looking to lash out, to shout at the selfishness of spirit that keeps dividing us. And, as I do so, I am reminded of the entry I read today in my Al-Anon daily reader, Courage to Change: “Other people can be our mirrors, reflecting our better and worse qualities. They can help us to work through conflicts from the past that were never resolved. They can act as catalysts, activating parts of ourselves that need to rise to the surface so that we can attend to them.” What part of this situation is pointing that spotlight back on me?

I want to be liked by everyone. That’s the sin of pride. I have this unrealistic view of that utopian world, a world where everyone gets along and shares only the best of themselves. Would that this world existed, but by trying to force it to be so, I am in danger of doing more harm than good. And I can recognize that abused little girl inside of me that gets violently shaken whenever voices and tensions arise. I hate conflict. I avoid it to my own detriment because I still struggle with how to assert myself. Speaking my mind, speaking up for myself, was not encouraged growing up. And, really, I’m thinking that this is the conflict from my past that has never been resolved. For the first time, I asserted myself in this situation. I refused to allow myself to be bullied into taking a side. Because that’s what was done. I was given an ultimatum and I refused to give in to it. For the first time, I refused to be a nodding doll, holding my tongue about things that I didn’t agree with simply to keep the peace. I’m sure for some family members this has been akin to one of our resident mice suddenly developing fangs and claws to pounce on my cats rather than the other way around. No, I didn’t “pounce”. I asserted myself calmly. But the effect was the same. While I have never been guilty of trading secrets or bad-mouthing anyone behind their back, because I kept silent when others said things that didn’t sit right, I can certainly understand why others might believe I would. “Keeping silent” has hurt people I care about, has hurt me, and it is akin to lying, even if an untruth was never uttered. By keeping silent, I have given a false impression. I’m not sure if this last revelation is that “mirror” talked about in Courage to Change but it is certainly that catalyst activating a part of me that needs to be attended to. While I would wish it otherwise, and while I know I will never be comfortable with loud voices and angry confrontations, it is better to risk that anger, that disagreement, than deliver another shock to someone later on down the line. And maybe, just maybe, I can finally learn to value myself enough to communicate without harm.

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!

Animals, Faith, Homesteading

Goodbye, Alice Cooper…

Lisa Burbank

Alice Cooper the Cat, that is; not the rock star. Yes, this is one of those blog entries again. I’m too shocked and angry and blubbery to really register how abysmally tired I am of making these kinds of posts.

I came home last night from the dealership and went about business as usual: feeding and watering the goats, chickens and ducks, and settling them into the barn for the evening. I finished up in the barn, came inside and opened a couple of cans of cat food. After scooping the food into their bowls, I turned around and noticed Alice was missing.

“Oh, no!” my heart screamed. Alice never misses a meal. I smothered the panic rising and tried to rationalize. He’s asleep upstairs and didn’t hear the can opening. It would be a first but it might be true. Or, as I strode to the bathroom door, he’s shut in the bathroom. I opened the door. No Alice. I gave a quick, cursory glance around the rabbit room, knowing that if he was in there, he’d have come running for dinner. I guess some part of me already knew but didn’t want to believe. Still rationalizing, I ran upstairs. Maybe I closed him in my office…even as I knew I hadn’t been in there since early morning and he’d been down to breakfast since then. He’d played with the rabbits later that morning, too. I remembered him chasing the blue feather on a stick, the cat toy I bought, I think, for Samantha and 8-Ball and that has entertained nearly every feline since.

When I got to the top of the stairs, something compelled me to go into Mom’s room and turn on the light. I went straight to the new bed she’d created out of a cardboard box; cats love boxes, love any hidey-bed they can find. I looked down and saw a fluffy, white tail. Even before I reached in to touch him, stone-cold and hard as a rock, I knew. I knew he was gone. Didn’t stop the major freak out that followed as I picked up my beautiful, blue-eyed baby boy and gave in to hysterics. I went racing downstairs with him. Mom came running.

“What’s wrong?”

“Alice!”

“Why? What’s wrong with Alice?”

“He’s dead!”

Poor Mom. I think she aged 20 years in the span of about 20 seconds. No sign of illness or injury. Happily running around with his litter mates, Emmylou and Ozzy, Mom Priscilla, and pals Whitney, Kirby (surrogate father), Rosco, Paz and Pearl right up until the end. Other than a couple of fleas–and we’re not “infested”, just overdue to pick up more flea prevention–he was fine as frog hairs. Or seemed to be. After I calmed down enough to talk without babbling, I called my best friend, Mary, who works at a vet hospital in the Midwest. Without actually seeing him, but based upon my description, it is likely he had some sort of congenital heart disease or defect, possibly something he was born with but wasn’t detected earlier in the year when he went in for neutering, shots, etc.

I am devastated. I lost my cool last night after I found him, railed at God, yelled, swore better than the best truck driver or sailor, raged. He was only 15 months’ old. And such a sweetheart. When he wanted attention, he planted himself at your feet, looked up, blue eyes squinting as he grinned up and purred loud enough to shake the floorboards–or almost. My last moments with him were in the rabbit room that morning, a brief playtime with the feather and a quick cuddle before I ran out the door to the food pantry.

I got Jeremiah 29:11 again yesterday, too. To paraphrase, it says that His plans are to give us a hope and a future. I’m not sure if I believe it now. I’m not sure it truly is a good future without Alice. I do know I was blessed for the 15 months that we shared on this earth. I just can’t wrap my mind around the why of it though. When they’re older, like Ariel, though it cut to the core, I knew it was coming, expected it. At 16 years of age, it was inevitable. But with Alice, well, I guess this is an example of that limited understanding of humans. I know when I signed on to this homesteading thing, when I signed on to rescue and care for as many unwanted and unfortunate animals as He gave me the means to do so, that heartache was a part of the deal. But I’m angry right now. That beautiful flame-point, double-pawed, blue-eyed sweetie was beloved of everyone in this household…and everyone who visited. I had more offers to give him a home–even from another best friend, whom I know would have cared for him as well, if not better, than I could…from the moment he was born. He was impossible not to love. There’s the blessing, that such a creature should grace my life at all. I’m about out of hope though. That’s 3 in as many weeks: Ariel on November 1st, Charity the Chicken was found decapitated a week later in the barnyard (owl hunt) and now Alice. I feel as though I’ve been clubbed to my knees. Though I try to hold onto my faith, wanting desperately to believe that I may one day see all those–human and humane–that I have lost, that’s lagging a bit, too. Awful thing for a minister to say but I’m lucky even to make a coherent post through the tears.

I love you, Alice Cooper Burbank…heaven must’ve needed another angel.

May God bless you & keep you!

PS I have pictures of him but they’re all on my cellphone. As soon as I figure out how to download them, I’ll post them. =O

aquaponics, Faith, gardening, Gratitude, Organic, permaculture, Politics, Religion, Spirituality

Squirrel Leaps

Lisa Burbank

That’s what my mind feels like it is doing today–squirrel leaps. I have so much to consider right now. It’s time to take a deep breath and try to center myself.

Breathe. In. Breathe. Out.

Phew! There, that’s better.

Well, not really. My mind is still jumping from one avenue to the next. I’m thinking of making a nice long list of things that need to be done if I’m going to make this move. Especially since I don’t really know where I’m going yet geographically. (insert sheepish grin here) But it might give me a better sense of direction.

Or not.

I typically make lists and then forget about them. Or else scan the length and overwhelm myself.

Mom and I have been talking about this on and off all week, this whole relocation thing, as well as starting our own aquaponics’ farm. She likes the concept of it, seems to be fascinated by it almost as much as I am. And, of course, living with me, she keeps getting regular updates as I learn new things about it. As I consider my Mom’s gifted way with people, if we were to start a commercial scale aquaponics’ farm, Mom would be unstoppable where customer relations are concerned. She’s definitely a people person. She’s also very persuasive. Yes, Mr. I-just-drove-up-in-a-2017-Jaguar, you do want the 10 lbs. of spinach; 5 lbs. might not be enough to feed all of your guests.

Actually, doing the aquaponics thing right here in Connecticut isn’t a bad idea either. Having utilized the local food pantry in recent years, I know how hard they struggle to get the donations needed to feed so many individuals. Friends of Assisi Food Pantry in Danielson is only open Tuesdays and Fridays but there are often 25-30 recipients each day. If we take the conservative side of the range, this is 50 families per week X 4 weeks = 200 families. At least. And while The Pantry receives some produce, much of what they distribute is more of that packaged, processed crap. I’m not dissing The Pantry over it, nor the purity of hearts who opt to make the donations. I am grateful that so many care and are willing to help in whatever way they can. And the packaged, processed crap has a longer shelf life. I understand this is one of the reasons Mom invested in it growing up. But it doesn’t give the consumers of it a longer shelf life with it. And, no, I’m not going to go into one of my usual rants about the food industry but it does seem sad to me that it is the ones with lesser means who are forced to consume this agri-poison. When you’re receiving a measly government check the first of each month, whether it is welfare, unemployment, disability or social security, it is hard to stretch it for a full month. Again, I feel a sense of gratitude that our government has such provisions for our citizens but cost of living isn’t really factored into it. And it is worse with the SNAP program, or what was formerly food stamps. There was a man who used to visit The Pantry (he may still) who was so crippled up, his hands, fingers, all of his joints, severely twisted, one elbow perpetually frozen at a 90 degree angle. He used a walker. If I had to guess, he was in his late-50’s, early-60’s. Probably a forced early retirement. He was talking one day. He only qualified for $16 per month on the SNAP program. How the heck does anyone feed themselves on $16 a month? Especially if you’re only living in a rental where you likely can’t have a garden, outside of a few containers on the back steps. And, considering his crippled body, he likely wouldn’t have been able to tend it unless it was made up of raised beds. And most rentals won’t allow you to install something that’s even semi-permanent like that.

I am not a politician. I don’t know how to influence others into making certain decisions. I wouldn’t know where to begin to lobby for better, more humane provisions for the sick, the elderly, the infirm who cannot work 40+ hours a week to provide for themselves. Yes, there are the occasional lazy-bodies who do not truly want to work but, at the food pantry, they are far and few between. And, yes, I am of the mindset that it is better to help someone learn how to fish than to provide the fish. Again, I’m thinking of those who cannot. I’m also thinking of those who are working but their income simply isn’t enough to cover basic living expenses. Northeastern Connecticut has plenty of minimum wage and/or part-time jobs but few with full-time, competitive wages. I can’t force our government to up the cap or quota that determines a person’s eligibility but, with a commercial-sized aquaponics system, I could provide more produce for the local food pantries.

I am ruminating a bit with this because I’m trying to flesh it all out in my mind. But it is a worthy goal. And I am holding onto the faith that says if this is His will for me, then He will provide the means–both the financial and the mental/emotional support to keep going. Educational, too, as I may know what to do with the plants, but I have never put together or maintained an aquaponics system, so there will definitely be a learning curve involved. If these changes are signifying some doors being closed, then I am assured He is opening some new ones for me. I’m going to hold onto yesterday’s biblical passage from Jeremiah 29:11 that His plans are to give me “a future and a hope”; faith can move mountains. I’ve only got a few steep hills to climb.

May God bless you & keep you!