Category: Gratitude

Animals, Environment, Frugality, Gratitude, Minimalism

The Minimalist Challenge

Lisa Burbank

An article about the Minimalist Challenge was posted on Treehugger.com last month. My interest piqued right from the get-go but, as I had fallen behind on reading my Treehugger newsletters, we were halfway through the month and, rather than play “catch-up”–which seems to be the story of my life–I decided I’d meet the challenge in December instead of November.

So, what is the Minimalist Challenge? Every day for the month of December, I am purging my home of unwanted or unneeded items based upon the date. In other words, on December 1st, I removed one item. On December 2nd, it was two. Today is the 5th so I will be removing 5 items, and so on, and so forth. By now, you get the picture. By December 31st when I remove 31 items, all total for the month, I will have donated, recycled, re-purposed or, as a last resort, disposed of almost 600 items. Can I do it? You betcha! But why not just pick those 600 items up front? Because that would the most daunting task. By selecting only a certain number each day, it breaks the task into smaller, manageable bites.

Why would I do all of this though? Because, unless we’re talking homeless, unwanted, abandoned, abused and/or neglected animals (within reason, of course…and insert cheeky grin here), my philosophy is “less is best”. While I joke that my dream home is in either Alaska or Maine, the truth is, my dream is simply a much smaller house. I really love the concept of a tiny house and this is just a step in that direction, a step towards living with much, much less. It is a much more inexpensive way to live. The less you have, the less you have to maintain. A larger living space equals bigger repairs, repairs that will almost always require a professional that I can seldom afford to pay. As a single woman on a single income, well, those of you who drive by the black house on Route 6 every day (and I seem to have started a trend as I keep seeing more and more black houses cropping up on Route 6 and many of the surrounding streets, too…lol!) are privy to the unkempt fixer-upper that never seems to get fixed up. Less is also easier on the environment. Less living space means a smaller area to light, to heat in the wintertime or cool in the summer. Lower energy usage is always good for the planet. And good for all of us who share it.

However, I’m not relocating to a tiny house…at least not for the moment. Tiny house living has been relegated to that never-reached point in time called “Someday”. Minimalizing today is simply to remove the clutter that distracts, irritates, stresses me out; clutter that loses important items in a sea of useless or unnecessary “stuff”. This is “stuff” that, oftentimes, could benefit others if I simply took the time to go through it and donate it to the appropriate places. For this purge, many of the items I’m purging are books that I know I will never read again; clothes that no longer fit, or else I never really liked the way they fit in the first place; extra jars that I saved for storing dried herbs in but I have a few too many taking up much-needed kitchen storage. I have old cellphones that could be donated to women’s shelters. And a mountain of knick knacks that always seem to end up in my possession after someone else’s purge. These will go into a box labeled “Yard Sale” for next spring. While I have a few choice what-nots, I prefer a very select few to a mountain of fancy dust collectors. I guess I’m a bit Amish at heart because I like plain, simple living. I’d rather have utilitarian items hanging on my kitchen wall–like measuring cups and pot holders and colanders.

I’m enjoying this challenge. Looking around me, going through items that I haven’t thought of or used in a long time, is proving to be liberating. Not only in the amount of space that is being freed up, but also, I am finding myself wandering down memory lane, remembering people and events in my life tied to some of these items. I confess, that can make some of this purging painful but, anything with a strong sentimental attachment, can stay. The idea isn’t to tear a hole in my heart. But allowing myself these memories is proving a great way to celebrate the yuletide season. I spend most of my year hustling and bustling about so much that, to quote Jewel’s song “Deep Water”, my “standard of living somehow got stuck on survive”. If nothing else, the house is also getting a good cleaning. And I’m remembering a book I read about the art of Feng Shui, about how doing these sort of purges, giving things away to those in need, opens the door for you to receive as well. I sincerely hope that doesn’t mean more knick knacks but I think this philosophy falls in line with the biblical truth of it being “in giving that we receive”.

Either way, I am accepting this challenge. And I am doing so with a smile. It’s actually fun. And I am looking forward to seeing those select few momentos taking center stage on their own little shelves…instead of hidden amidst the “busy”.

Are you ready for the minimalist challenge? Maybe more so than you know.

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!

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!

Gratitude, Writing, Yoga & Fitness

20 By November 20th – Revisited

Lisa Burbank

Yup. I failed. Miserably.

I got on the scale a couple of weeks ago and found I had lost 6 lbs.; Friday morning, November 18th, I had gained the 6 lbs. back. I can certainly sympathize with someone like Oprah Winfrey or Kirstie Alley, both of whom fluctuate in the weight department like yo-yos. I feel their pain. It’s frustrating. But I’m also honest enough–in my case–that it was a lack of discipline and that ol’ bugger willpower that defeated me.

Yes, my cabinet shelves are now lined with chips and sweets and all the myriad no-nos that helped contribute to this now-officially middle-aged spread (I turned 50 yesterday). Yes, the candy bowls are usually filled at work, too. I’ve even risked serious injury to myself by popping the occasional Hershey’s caramel kiss. (Chocolate and IBS are not compatible…) And, no, I haven’t disciplined myself into creating a solid walking habit. So, extra fats, sugars, carbs and a lack of exercise. While I stay ever-faithful to my yoga, it doesn’t burn the calories like a good cardio routine would. And the need to resist temptation is one I need to respect as I keep sabotaging my own efforts.

All this being said, I’m not giving up. I’m simply taking responsibility for this failure and readjusting. They say only a true optimist would consider dieting during the holidays. I’ll take the compliment…and the challenge.

I’ve readjusted something else recently. I can no longer claim 3:30 woman; it’s more like 5:15 woman. Working nights it is nearly impossible to get to bed early enough to support such an early rising time. Burnout moved in fast and I started dragging my backside. When I found myself zoning out, staring at this computer screen for almost an hour without having written anything, and not remembering where I zoned out to in that hour, I realized it was time to make that adjustment. Sorry, Dolly, but some of us work a “day” job. (Chuckle)

So, how did I spend my 50th birthday? Besides lamenting my downfall? After an hour at church, which proved quite enjoyable as I sang with friends in the choir loft, I spent 8 1/2 hours on the computer working on homework that was due. It wasn’t exactly how I’d planned to spend my b-day but, while others may think it strange, I had a lot of laughs with the many family members and friends who posted birthday wishes on my Facebook page. Wandering down memory lane reminded me I have much to be thankful for. I also had my faithful sidekick, Pearl, glued to my lap, and myriad other felines–and Mom–popping in and out of the office. The latter came first with the painting she’d done for me and later, with a big bowl of popcorn, heavy on the parmesan cheese (and I wonder why I can’t shed pounds…lol!).

I’m looking forward to the next 50 years–well, give or take a few.

May God bless you & keep you!

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!

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

Trust Issues

Lisa Burbank

“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.” Jeremiah 29:11

This biblical quote has been given to me twice this week. First, it was part of the readings in church this past Sunday. Yesterday, another member of the Christian Mompreneur Network, quoted it to me after I posted a prayer request on their Facebook page. I don’t really need a third to tell me He’s trying to get my attention, that I need to learn how to trust that He is a loving God and Father. To trust, period.

Ironically, today’s post in my Al-Anon daily reader, Courage to Change, traveled along the same theme: “‘Let Go and Let God’ teaches us to release problems that trouble and confuse us because we are not able to solve them by ourselves.” But maybe it’s not so ironic. Because this is exactly what I need to keep hearing right now. That I am loved. That I have not been abandoned.

I am a chronic worrier. And only He knows how many years I’ve probably sheared off of my life by doing so. You’d think after years of stressing and worrying–and all of the myriad stress-related conditions that I’ve developed from it: Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Acid Reflux, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Chronic Epstein-Barr, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder–that I would have gotten the memo decades ago. Granted, many of these maladies are also a result of a poor diet growing up. Mom has ever been the queen of packaged, processed junk food. But it is the combination of the two that really sets it all off. And, of course, it is a vicious cycle. The poorer the diet, the more stress on the body, and, what do many of us do when we’re stressed? We reach for the junk food.

Why do I worry so much? Because I am a control freak. Growing up, scary things were always happening in my home. Having a cold beer or two, or a glass of wine isn’t inherently bad, and I’m not a tee-totaler. However, the step-father kept going until he was raging drunk. From the age of 5 and up, he skulked about looking for any opportunity to get me alone so he could do things that were frightening and painful. We had pictures hung in odd places from a fist or a foot colliding with the wall. And, on more than one occasion, the police were at our door. I know that I have a choice now. And I choose to live without such a scary environment. Albeit, I do so by somewhat isolating myself from friendships, both new and old; I seem to have forgotten how to make those needed connections. But the scars run deep. And I am perpetually driven to find some worth in myself.

Actually, I’ve gotten better with the self-esteem thing. Around 12 years of age, the skulking thing stopped. For the most part. Albeit I still slept with a pocket knife under my pillow…just in case. The drinking raged on. And we all heard almost daily how stupid we were; how we couldn’t do anything right, etc. All of the little jabs that pepper an alcoholic’s speech. Yes, I understand it is a disease. And this is the disease talking. But, growing up hearing it, you start to believe. It didn’t matter that I was a straight-A student, that my name was often on the honor roll. I was also perpetually laughed at and picked on in school. And my first “crush” in high school? When he found out I liked him, told me he wouldn’t go out with anyone as ugly as me if I was the last girl on earth. By that point, I already believed myself “damaged goods”. I’m divorced twice. In more immediate times, I’ve had family members bad-mouthing me behind my back. I’ve allowed myself to be taken advantage of. People close to me do not follow through with things they’ve committed to–and I don’t always hold them accountable. And, most recently, I’ve lost a lifelong and close family member because I wouldn’t shut my doors and my heart to other family members with whom she was feuding. So, yes, the self-worth thing has been a long road to travel to a healthier self-image.

To be honest, today I am quite comfortable in my own skin. I’m too old to be a candidate for Miss Universe but I am confident I wouldn’t qualify as a blooper either. I don’t write any of this to be wearing my heart on my sleeve but merely to explain where some of this journey started, why trust is such an issue with me.

The biggest thing I have struggled with throughout all of my life is the belief that He is a loving God. Or, more appropriately, a loving Father. The condensed explanation of my life is that my biological father has never wanted anything to do with me, and my step-father wanted too much to do with me, so the concept of a loving Father in heaven has been tough to wrap my mind around. For other victims of abuse, this is quite common (I’ve had 20+ years of therapy). And, where I start to wane, is in the “waiting on the Lord”. I tend to be impatient. I know the best things in life are worth waiting for but the waiting makes me anxious. And I’m apt to sabotage my own efforts if the waiting goes on too long.

This is happening in my life now.

I left work on a Friday in 2008 with 30K in a 401K account to plunk down as a down-payment on a property in Maine. This is when the crash happened. I came back on Monday with only 3K available for that down-payment. I let it go. A year later, I was laid off from the corporate position. Though I would miss many of the friends I’d made in that position, I cheered as I drove out of the parking lot. The last few years there, I’d driven into work raging and miserable. It wasn’t what I wanted to do. As I began the long, arduous journey of unemployment, never suspecting how long and arduous it would be, I turned my focus back on my current property, determined to create a small homestead here. And it definitely has potential but I’m looking to spread my wings and fly; I’ve kept them clipped for way too long now. However, as the world spreads out before me, my lack of trust that He will provide, that everything will work out in better ways than I could ever imagine (i.e. step out in faith), keeps me worrying that when I finally do spread those wings, I’m liable to go splat on the pavement.

Family members and close friends parrot predestination platitudes about things being “meant to be”. While I believe in predestination in some areas, such as death and taxes, falling back on these platitudes keeps one perpetually in a victim mentality. Yes, “Let Go and Let God” but haven’t we all heard that He helps those who help themselves? That means we cannot have a lukewarm faith; we have to have an active faith. And I have to step out in that faith, flapping those wings like ain’t nobody’s business, trusting that I will be airborne, rather than a half-hearted rustling of those feathers that will surely result in that splat I live in fear of. Fear is the opposite of faith. And it keeps me grounded…and not in a good way.

As for wrapping my mind around the concept of a loving Father in heaven? While I may not have an earthly image to compare it to, the scared and scarred little girl often dreamed of what a loving father might look like. While he may have worn the faces of Pa Ingalls, John Walton Sr. or Mike Brady, I believe my Father in heaven is equal to all of these images…and more. My personal God will never leave me. My personal God will not abandon me.

It’s time to fly…

May God bless you & keep you!

“Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.” – Anonymous

Animal Rights, Animals, Environment, Faith, Gratitude, History, Nature, Politics

Congratulations

Lisa Burbank

“Then Daniel praised the God of heaven, saying: Blessed be the name of God forever and ever, for He alone has all wisdom and all power. World events are under His control. He removes kings and sets others on their thrones. He gives wise men their wisdom, and scholars their intelligence.” Dan 2:20-21

This morning I turned on the PC, went directly to MSNBC’s website and swallowed my disappointment. My gut was telling me last night, before I turned off the TV (yes, we have TV now; Mom can’t get along without it…), that Donald Trump would be the winner. And, while it is a disappointment, because he has little to no stand on the environment, thinking only with his pocketbook rather than the safety and good health of the people, animals, and our shared planet, I have to concede to God’s wisdom in this and give thanks. We have a new president. And, before I went to bed last night, I prayed only that His wisdom prevail and that whoever He thought would be the better candidate would win.

Astonishingly, to those who know me best, Hillary Clinton was not my first choice of candidates. I have been following Jill Stein of the Green Party, which is just as the name suggests–one concerned with our environment and the very real threat of global warming. However, she did not get my vote. And, I confess, it was a bit of a dilemma all the way up to the ballot box. While I felt she would have been the better choice, I also knew, like our Independent and Libertarian candidates, she wouldn’t even be a consideration in the overall big picture. It is sad, because we really can’t call ourselves a democracy if we narrow our views to the same two parties each election, but that is the way of it. And, as I debated about my decision, knowing that maybe a few more votes might put the Green Party in a better position for later elections, I didn’t want Donald Trump to get into office. I didn’t really want Hillary either but, in my opinion, because she at least she has some sensitivity to the environment, she was the lesser of two evils. My vote went to her only because I wanted it to truly count against Trump and, maybe, just maybe, give Hillary a little more edge over him.

But who am I to question God’s wisdom?

While disappointment is a bitter pill to swallow before 4 a.m. in the morning, I give my heartfelt congratulations to Donald Trump. I don’t really think he’s “evil”, per se. I think he is an intelligent man, even if he lacks the finesse and tactfulness that should be a leading quality in any position of authority. We already have a reputation in many other countries for being greedy, wasteful and arrogant, even as we provide aid and support to many countries, especially in times of crises; before Donald Trump is through we may have to add crude to that list as well. I do think he is a good businessman. He knows how to manage big money, how to handle large debts, how to balance a budget, and he has the strength and courage to make tough decisions where it comes to job creation and the economy. For me, those things are almost as important a concern as the environment, as full-time, decent-paying employment opportunities are few and far between these days. However, I also think, as a businessman, he leads from a corporate perspective, meaning the growing gap between the haves and the have-nots is going to get even wider. No, I don’t expect anyone to be handed anything but I do hope he truly can create more and better-paying jobs so that Americans may stand proud again from having earned those wages. Somehow, though, I think we are going to see longer unemployment lines, and longer lines at our local soup kitchens and food pantries. I hope I’m wrong. If I am, in four years’ time, I’ll eat some humble pie and sing his praises.

In the meantime, I’m sending up prayers for our environment, that his decision to start extracting oil from tar sands and oil shale might change before he is sworn into office in January. I hope that, somehow, he manages to pull his head out of that sand and stop denying this very real threat–not only to America, but to the whole world, and to every living being that shares it with us. As the US currently is responsible for 25%-40% (depends who you ask but it’s a large number either way) of the energy usage in this world, I think we would better serve it–and even ourselves–if we moved to greener energies rather than mining for more petroleum. That’s my personal utopia speaking but I dread the next four years; I dread what they will do to this great planet. Somehow, America the Beautiful is more of a history lesson now than anything else–or it will be once this mining begins.

Last night, before she went to bed, I half-jokingly told Mom that if Donald Trump won the election, we were moving to Canada. Amazingly, she laughed and said, “That’s right!” I doubt she truly meant it but it has been a consideration. However, as our polar ice caps continue to melt, and knowing Donald Trump will likely not use this new authority he’s been given to try to at least help slow it down, moving is not really an option. If they melt, and our oceans rise the 40 feet scientists predict, there will be nowhere safe. And, in the meantime, as our planet continues to heat up at an alarming rate, I’m going to join some of those doomsday preppers. Greater temperatures mean bigger and stronger hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanic eruptions. Again, nowhere safe.

And, yes, I am a little ray of sunshine this morning. I told you it was a bitter pill to swallow at such an ungodly hour.

So, a truly heartfelt “Congratulations!” to Donald Trump. Again, despite my fear for the environment, I will not question God’s wisdom in setting you in our highest office. You fought the good fight, maybe a bit down and dirty, but that’s politics. And you won. That’s an accomplishment in itself, for any candidate. To Hillary, an A for effort; you hung in there until the end. As I felt Bill did a decent job in office, I am sure you would have done well, too. And I would have liked to have seen a woman–finally–in our highest office. Just because. Thank you to all our candidates! Maybe our next election will be one of true change–a change in parties; can’t hurt. The last few elections have been more about choosing that “lesser of two evils” rather than a candidate we can truly feel good about. Sad, but true. And, as we begin the march towards that next election, may Donald Trump, and all our political leaders, lead with God’s wisdom and love…for all creatures great and small.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Ghosts, Gratitude, Hauntings, Supernatural

Haunted Scavenger Hunt

Lisa Burbank

There was an afternoon, shortly after Dan & I purchased this property, that Dan came home from work, having just cashed his paycheck, and placed $300.00 in an empty sugar bowl that was on the kitchen table. This was mortgage money and he did not want to carry it on him while he ran some errands. So he put it in the sugar bowl, placing the lid over the bowl, for safe keeping until he returned.

A short while later, Dan returned from his errands. He had one more. That was to make a deposit of the cash he’d placed in the sugar bowl. He walked in the house, walked over to the kitchen table and lifted the lid on the sugar bowl. It was empty! What the –?

Of course, anyone’s reaction would initially be panic. The table sat in front of a large picture window. Did someone see him “hiding” the money through that window? His first reaction was that we’d been robbed…even though the doors were locked and none of the windows showed signs of having been jimmied open. Eh, we’re not living in Mayberry anymore; crooks are getting craftier by the minute. But before Dan could call the police to report it, Woody, our gray tabby, came running around the corner with a $20 bill in his mouth. Phew! Relax. Breathe. The cats were simply into mischief…

…and somehow managed to take the lid off of a sugar bowl, remove fifteen $20 dollar bills, and place the lid back on the sugar bowl as snugly as Dan had initially left it? Somehow, Dan just couldn’t wrap his mind around this one but there wasn’t any other answer. Thus, began his scavenger hunt for the other fourteen $20 bills.

The first few that he found fit the story of the kitties being responsible. Two or three were wadded up and “rolled” under the couch, a chair, even the bed upstairs. However, the rest were inexplicable–unless you have a few restless ghosts roaming around the house. One $20 bill was peeking out from between the mattress and box spring, perhaps an ode to a common, antiquated practice of hiding your savings under your mattress. Another was peeking out of a dresser drawer. Still another peeked out between the cushions of the sofa. He found one in a jacket pocket–and, as these were crisp, new bills, we were both fairly confident that this wasn’t a forgotten bill from another time. The strangest one, and one that couldn’t be easily explained whether from kitty capers or otherwise, was found folded lengthwise over the rod in our bedroom closet, held in place by a couple of hangers.

Dan had just found the last one when I came home from work. Needless to say, he was quite flustered due to all of the strange places he found the money, places that no cat–even were any gifted with a pair of thumbs–could accomplish. Trying to wrap our minds around it, we considered the teenage boys we’d seen up on the hill the day the cats were found out-of-doors. But would teenage boys create a scavenger hunt? More than likely, if they were gifted enough to break and enter without detection in broad daylight, in the middle of a commercial district on a major interstate, they would likely have pocketed the $300.00. And what would be the point of the scavenger hunt? None would be able to watch and laugh at their joke…unless thieves and pickpockets from another era had played such a plank.

Whoever, whatever it was, I am simply grateful the money was found. But, as any “mother” will tell you, even her “fur” babies are a cut above the rest. Maybe Paz, Woody and Ariel played a practical joke after all.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Ghosts, Gratitude, Hauntings, Supernatural

Haunted Kitties

Lisa Burbank

The first Christmas season here in Brooklyn, CT, I came home from shopping one afternoon to see a black-and-white tuxedo kitty running around the back of the house. My first thought was “That looks like Pazzy” but Paz, Woody, and Ariel, the three cats that shared our home back in 2001, were strictly indoor cats; I never let them outside so I simply assumed this was a stray that looked like Paz. I didn’t get that good of a look at him. So I went about my business of unloading the car and carrying my bags to the door. By the time I had opened it, the stray cat had completely slipped my mind except for a vague wish that he or she would not find Route 6 any time soon.

Setting down my bundles, I noticed that none of my kitties came to greet me at the door. That was very unusual because they always did. However, I still wasn’t making the connection between the Pazzy-lookalike and my own precious felines. I called a greeting. Still no response. That’s when it hit me. That “stray” didn’t look like Pazzy; it was Paz!

My first thought, because I assumed Woody and Ariel were still somewhere in the house, was that he’d slipped by Dan when Dan went out to visit his friend, Timmy, and play some cards. After all, the door had been locked tight. But where was Arial and Woody? I started searching the house. Nobody sleeping on the bed, the sofa, any of the chairs. I checked all the usual “haunts”; then even scoped out the closets and every other possible hiding place just to rule them all out. Finally, I had to concede that somehow they had all gotten out and there was no way that all three could have slipped by Dan together. I ran outside and around back where I’d last seen Paz.

Calling his name, I looked everywhere for all of them. Suddenly, Paz flew out from under the back deck, streaked by me and scurried under the shed. This wasn’t going to be easy and I needed help. I ran back inside and called Dan.

“By any chance did you let the cats outside?” I asked because I still couldn’t fathom how all of them had escaped at once.

“Of course not. Why?”

“They’re not in the house. I saw Paz running around the back of the house when I got home. And none of the other cats are in the house either. Paz just crawled under the shed. I can’t find Woody or Ariel anywhere.”

“I’ll be right home.”

Dan and I spent the better part of two hours trying to find them. After another careful sweep of the house, we ascertained that none of them was inside. We checked all of the doors. All of them were latched and locked tight; there was no way anyone could get in or any possibility the wind could’ve blown a door open to let them out. We headed back outside.

Flashlight in hand, Dan started shining it under the shed. Nothing.

“Are you sure this is where he went?”

“Yes. He was under the deck before that.”

A light bulb went off in both our heads. Maybe they were all under the deck. Outside was probably a scary place for three inexperienced kitties. But how were we going to get them back out? There was no access for humans under that deck unless we started taking it apart.

Suddenly, Dan grabbed the garden house and turned on the water. Walking backwards and forwards he started hosing down the back deck. Within seconds Paz came scurrying out. I managed to scoop him up and put him inside, rejoicing that I had one little bundle of joy safe at hand again. Dan kept the hose running, concentrating on the back corners now. Ariel excavated some of the dirt away from the bottom of the deck and seemed to grow out of the ground like a giant mole. I caught her up and took her inside, too. That left Woody. And, as he was the most skittish of the three, after another 20 minutes of hosing the deck, we were both forced to conclude that Woody had not joined his siblings under the deck. Where was he? Dan turned off the hose.

By now, I was in hysterics. Where was my Woody? Though I love all of my cats, Woody held a very special place in my heart. Though all three are/were extremely affectionate, Woody was the ultimate cuddle bug. Got lap? Have Woody. He just couldn’t be lost. I started praying, an endless litany of the same thing over and again. “Please don’t let him be lost for good, Lord!”; “Please help us find him.”; “Please don’t let him get out on Route 6 or let anything attack him.” Shuddering at the thought, I walked to the edge of the road and looked up and down it, breathing a sigh of relief that no little gray and black tiger-striped cat was “gracing” it. I started walking towards the woods. I would overturn every rock and branch in those woods if I thought it would help me to find him. I noticed some teenage boys sitting atop the hill and wondered, briefly, if they could have let them out as a prank but how did they get in to do so? Again, all three doors were locked, as were the windows. It was December, after all. More likely, they were drawn to my big mouth calling for my cats and were simply getting a show.

It was then that I heard Dan call out, “I’ve got him!” Woody had chosen to hide in the front bushes. Dan searched them on a hunch and Woody came right to him; he didn’t like his trip outside.

“Thank you, Lord!”

I never ran so fast in my life.

Later, after all three felines were safely inside again, Dan and I started wondering how they had gotten out in the first place. We checked the doors again. They were all closed tightly. All of the locks on the windows were set and there was no sign of any forced entry. Though I still don’t rule out a teenage prank entirely, it is only because I hate thinking that some “other” entity had a hand in their escape. Though I am by no means an expert on the supernatural, or ghosts, I’ve read, watched and studied enough documentation to know that pets are often innocent targets during a haunting. And would teenage boys hang around after the fact? It is more likely they would have lit out of there, not wanting to get caught as suspects in a breaking and entering.

Today, I’m just grateful we found them all. Paz and Ariel are still beloved blessings in my life; Woody was likewise until his passing in 2012. And his memory is something I will cherish until my own dying day. I am also grateful that “my” ghosts have not seen fit to let the cats out again…

Perhaps it was a teenage prank after all…

May God bless you and keep you!

28936_113750781995484_900142_n ariel

Faith, Gratitude, Healing

A Perfect Sharing

Lisa Burbank

Four good “witches” from the North traveled even farther North this weekend as Mom, two aunties and I made our annual trip to Salem, Massachusetts. Sadly, we were a much smaller group than last year’s convoy but I’m learning to accept that things are the way they are and, more importantly, I’m learning to follow Father Elson’s advice about the current family situation: Let those who don’t want to associate with you go their own way but don’t burn all the bridges; let them know the bridge is always there if they should ever decide to cross back over. You cannot force someone to cross it if they do not want to; that is their free will, but you can love them enough to keep in contact, whether a holiday card or whatever means, to let them know they still matter to you. And so, I take it to heart. Or at least try to…

However, despite all of this crazy drama, I am not lamenting this Saturday’s outing at all. We had a grand time, enjoying the sites, the beautiful weather, some good food and a lot of laughs.

I have a penchant for always being late. Amazingly, Mom and I were actually about 15 minutes’ early–even with stopping for gasoline and a cup of chai (moi)/coffee (Mom) along the way. And there was no convoy as 4 of us fit quite nicely together in one car. I have to remember next time to bring some tunes but that was the only hitch this time around and we made up for the lack of tunes by catching up with each other. No wrong exits, no ‘bad’ directions, fewer streets blocked off and we found the perfect place to park–at a special education school parking lot that was raising money for the school to benefit the kids that attended it. It was a win-win situation; we found a safe place to park for the day without worry of being towed or vandalized, and the school received a much-needed donation. They also opened the school up for travelers to use their restrooms and provided printed directions for an alternative route out of Salem–one that wouldn’t take you through the downtown area that became more congested as the day wore on. And, though we planned for any sort of weather and temps, it was a beautifully balmy day for sharing with loved ones; the jackets and gloves got plunked into the trunk of the car before we headed downtown.

The usual million dollar question got tossed about for awhile: what do you want to do/see first? We took a walk through the mall where countless vendors hawked their wares and I was strongly tempted to purchase a T-shirt that read: “Never mind the flying monkeys; beware what I might do with this broom”. But I restrained myself, preferring to keep the $15 in my pocket. Instead, I went for a $2 bumper sticker that reads: “I dream of a world where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned” That may well become the battle cry for my existence.

We found a lovely little pub down by the wharf for lunch. Initially, we were told it would be a 45 minute wait but, when so many people had left rather than waiting, we had a table for 4 within 10 minutes. Again, we enjoyed the conversation, the laughs and even made plans for the upcoming holidays. It was the perfect sharing: no gossip, no quarrels, no drama.

What made it even more perfect was that the sharing wasn’t just in the conversation. I drove. I didn’t mind; I’ve been to Salem enough times that everything starts to look familiar without directions–almost. But everyone chipped in for parking and gasoline; I didn’t ask, they simply did. One aunt paid for lunch. The other bought us coffee/tea and dessert later on. We gave to each other in an endless ebb and flow of sharing. By doing so, nobody felt left out or uncomfortable.

Now we’re planning for next year. Despite the mutual sharing, pricing was such that we declined a number of events. And some of the tours were rather lengthy so we’re hoping to plan out a few activities before we make this next road trip. The Psychic Faire, The Ghosts and Legends Trolley tour, The Smugglers’ Tour and the Mahi Mahi boat tour were all yearned for but either the timing was off and/or we hadn’t planned on the higher price tags. Also, the usual historic home tours do not happen during October due to the sheer volumes of visitors. Instead, though I assured everyone that Witch House was worth the admission, it proved false as we were left to look around on our own and simply read the lengthy static displays in each room; it’s much better off-season when an actual tour guide provides a good 30-45 minute commentary on the history of the house, and Judge Corwin, who was a prosecutor during the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.

Maybe next year we’ll make two trips–one for a more enjoyable history lesson and another for the special Halloween/Samhain events. Maybe next year we’ll also have a bigger convoy but, again, I won’t lament what is. Gratitude is the way to true happiness.

May God bless you & keep you!