“Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, ‘Dear woman, here is your son,’ and to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.”
Relax.
Breathe.
It’s not what you think.
Dare I say, “Gotcha!”? I could hear the hackles rising as your eyes skimmed the headline. No, I am not celebrating an attempt to stop the election process here in the U.S., nor the chants calling for the lynching of our then-sitting vice-president. Regardless of who you believe is at fault for that fateful day, January 6th has gotten far too much attention already. Let’s leave it for the talking heads in mainstream media. It’s time to move on.
Instead of January 6th having such a negative association, let’s inject it with some positivity. I recently learned that in Ireland January 6th is Women’s Christmas. It is a time when mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters are honored with a day of rest and special pampering from fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons. Contrary to popular belief, most menfolk really do appreciate the gifts and sacrifices the women in their lives make. And, in a world where women are rapidly losing the awards and opportunities they’ve worked so hard to compete for, making January 6th a celebration of women worldwide would be a win-win for us all.
But don’t take my word for it.
If you would like to learn more about this lovely, but little-known tradition from Ireland, click on the video below. If you enjoy it, hit the “Like” button. Or, better yet, hit the bell to subscribe for more great videos about herbs, nature, spirituality, Celtic folklore, and traditions. I have been following Terri Conroy of Danu’s Irish Herb Garden for almost two years’ now. She’s a wealth of information and I look forward to her videos every week; I hope you will, too.
“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalms 118:24)
I read somewhere, can’t remember where exactly, but I remember reading somewhere that when you’re under a lot of stress, you get “stupid”. I.e. You make a lot of choices that you wouldn’t be making if you weren’t under so much stress. If your standard of living wasn’t stuck on survive…or even just going through the motions to make it look like you were surviving.
I’ve always hated the word “stupid”. My stepfather called all of us “stupid” on a routine basis. Such is the results of alcoholism and the subsequent abuse that usually accompanies it. But that’s neither here nor there.
“Stupid” works in this situation.
In the last couple of weeks since I’ve gotten my promotion at work, it’s like there’s this part of my brain waking up. “Wow. I haven’t thought of doing that in a long time,” says my brain as I cash my first paycheck in this new position and start labeling envelopes for everything I need to catch up on, or save up for. I’m on top of my billing schedule all of a sudden (maybe because I know I can make the payments?). Household chores are being taken up again. The apathy, depression, and anxiety are being put to sleep again. Problem solving, budgeting, and careful planning are jockeying into position.
Who knew.
Having been in therapy for decades from a childhood of abuse and degradation, my mind automatically starts analyzing everything. I feel like the “stupid” was really a self-defense mechanism kicking in. I lost a full-time job due to an injury (i.e. not my fault as I was laid up for several months) and fell behind on mortgage payments. I have new(er) neighbors challenging zoning…and threatening my goats, chickens, and ducks’ right to be here. My home needs a tremendous amount of work done. I have student loans coming down the pike and an out-of-control electric bill from a flooded basement last fall (well-pump not shutting off due to enormous hole blown in hot water tank…). We’re buying in water to drink due to my water softener dying on me. I feel like that self-defense mechanism kicked in and shut down logic and reason and common sense because maybe it was too much to handle. My mind could only focus on one thing: finding work to sustain me. And that was becoming a near thing.
Now, not only is logic and good reason, common sense and the ability to solve problems, budget, and plan returning, so is hope for a future.
Hence, my post from earlier this week about podcasts and YouTube channels and websites. Yes, I want to run with the wind. But, the perpetual fog I’ve been living under these last few years (yes, years), has tempered some of that run. I’m learning to walk again. Slow and steady wins this race.
And, of course, His grace, which has led me through this. It’s all in his hands. Faith has returned, too. It just took letting go of the reins. Not “stupid” at all.
“I will extol the Lord at all times; His praise on my lips. My soul will boast in the lord; let the afflicted hear and rejoice. Glorify the Lord with me; let us exalt His name together” (Psalm 34:1-3)
And an update: the mortgage company is NOT happy that I have suddenly tripled my income and may be able to begin payments again. They are fighting tooth and nail to go straight to foreclosure. Contrary to what they often tell you, no, they wouldn’t rather keep you in your home. Especially if you’ve been in the home for as long as I have, and even with recent financial difficulties, was moving from just paying interest to finally touching principle before my injury and subsequent job loss. If they take it over, the owner (in this case, me) loses the equity and, whoever buys it going forward will supply the bank with a whole new round of interest payments. Greedy b@$t@rd$…
However, my attorney is on to them and there is a plan in place. Either I will keep the home, or I will sell it and, hopefully, receive some of my equity.
On another note, I am looking to upgrade my blog. My plan is to grow it into an actual website i.e. a paid subscription to WordPress (after taking some tutorials; I’m abysmally ignorant of how this all works) with a hosting platform. Whether I stay in my current home, or sell it and move, The Herbal Hare Tomestead will be growing. I’m still in the planning stages but, stay tuned.
A sneak peek?
Links to a future YouTube channel; podcast; a bulletin board for workshops and other events; how you may contact me for freelance projects, including possible voiceover work (although that may be a year or more into the future; I need to secure my home before I can look into building out a voiceover studio in it), as well as an online retail space as I get back into fiber arts. Again, this last may be farther into the future but, it starts with creating a website that can be added onto as I grow my homestead and business.
Again, stay tuned…and a big shout out of “Thanks!” to everyone who has continued to follow me through such spotty and uncertain times. I really appreciate your support, encouragement, prayers, and friendship.
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)
It’s been a long time since I’ve had some positive news: I am now the Director of the Brooklyn Town Library. Granted, the title is currently “Interim Director” as there is a three month probationary period. This is standard practice for the library. I had a three month probationary period when I was hired as a clerk; the previous director also had a three month probationary period. I’m not too worried. Sure, there’s a risk that I might not prove to be exactly what they’re looking for. But, playing it “safe” will keep me in a part-time position…and cost me my home. Now I have a fighting chance in keeping it.
Or the means to save for a potential move (even a local one?).
I’m leaving it in His hands. The willingness to accept either outcome, and praising Him every step of the way–regardless of outcome–has set me free.
Finally.
It is a gentle reminder of Who is ultimately in control. Praise Him, even in the storm. God really does give second chances…and third…and fourth…
“Your road led by a pathway through the sea–a pathway no one knew was there!” (Psalms 77:19)
I received a phone call from a realtor a couple of weeks’ ago. It’s not the first offer that I’ve received for my property but, up until this point, they’ve been offers simply to list it and, knowing it’s fixer-upper state, I’ve pretty much ignored the letters and calls.
Until now.
Granted, selling would solve a lot of my financial burdens. Previous realtors talked about “staging” and, in short, wanting to “showcase” it for potential buyers. In its current state, I doubt it would pass an inspection for anyone other than a house flipper. If I had the financial means to make some of the repairs, or the plumbing, carpentry, or construction skills to do it myself, it wouldn’t be where it is in the first place and I probably would’ve sold years’ ago.
This guy was different. After total transparency on my part: it needs a new roof, new gutters, a new hot water tank (we haven’t had running hot water since last November), a new water softener (buying in water every couple of days for humans, goats, chickens and ducks to drink is breaking the proverbial bank), some electrical work, the foundation repaired, and the back door doesn’t close properly due to too much settling, this realtor tells me his interest is in its commercial value. He would like to see the property, of course, but his plan is to remove the house and rebuild for commercial use.
This looks hopeful. There’s even a chance of recouping some of the equity in the home to start over again.
It is also bittersweet. On the one hand, I’m feeling a sense of hope that maybe I have a future after all…beyond pitching a tent in the woods somewhere. There’s an impending sense of relief to be free of the roller coaster emotional ride that foreclosure mediation inevitably brings. On the other hand, I’ve lived here for over 20 years. There are a lot of memories, both happy and sad, and the dreams I had for this place that have never been realized due to the financial burdens that started with the Great Recession and appear to be ending with the current recession. I have many beloved pets buried here, too. I hate the thought of them being paved over or dug up.
However, I’m also seeing how limited I would be to make those dreams a reality even if I stayed. There’s still the zoning issue to resolve…and no guarantee it will go in my favor. The property isn’t big enough to accomplish what I have in mind. There’s no parking for that second-hand book store. No room to grow things like flax or rye straw, or cash crops like elderberries. No pasture for the number of fiber-producing animals that I’d need to raise to truly become “The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Sanctuary: Home of Misfit Animals and Books, and Makers of Herbal, Apian, and Natural Fiber Products”.
“Leaf It To the Goats” isn’t even on the radar here.
I could go much smaller, of course. I could be content with turning much of this almost-acre into an extensive herb garden, maybe add a small greenhouse for warmth-loving spices, like cardamom and turmeric. I could still grow microgreens, maybe get into growing mushrooms. There’s a planned YouTube channel, regardless of where we land, and I could still produce it here as its main focus will be herbs. I could be content with rabbits, maybe a couple of Angora goats (if I won the zoning case), for spinning. And honeybees don’t take much room. However, the latter haven’t done well here. I think it’s in part because I’m so close to a major interstate; they don’t have much of a “fly zone”. But I’ve also heard from more seasoned beekeepers that it can take years to get an apiary up and running…and there’s always Colony Collapse to contend with today. It’s not a bad plan and would leave more room for writing (always a plus).
In short, I’m leaving it all in His hands. I will be calling the realtor later today to schedule a visit. I’m also waiting to hear if I’ve gotten the director’s position I applied for at the library where I work. I had the interview on Friday. I’m hoping I hear something before my foreclosure hearing on Monday. This could be the definitive moment. As the salary of a director is considerably higher than a part-time librarian’s it might be enough to modify.
Again, it’s in His hands. I know what I’d like to do. And I have contingency plans. But, in the end, it’s His plan that truly matters. Talk about one’s faith being challenged.
May God bless you & keep you!
PS Please keep the prayers & positive thoughts/energy coming. And I would be eternally grateful if you would share the Go Fund Me link below. Praise the Lord!
“The good man’s earnings advance the cause of righteousness. The evil man squanders his on sin.” (Proverbs 10:16)
First of all, Happy Presidents’ Day to any U.S. citizen reading this blog; I hope, like me, you were gifted with the day off, preferably with pay. Either way, I’m sending you positive vibes. For me, it’s the first time in a long time that I have had the blessing of paid holidays. I am filled with gratitude for this change in circumstance.
I spent my morning outside, a rarity for this time of the year. The temperatures were mild and the sun was warm. I decided it was the perfect time for pruning apple and crabapple trees. In a couple of weeks, they will be budding out and then it will be too late. I did all four fruit trees. One of them was being taken over by bittersweet. That one took me the longest amount of time to prune, but it was worth it. When I finally went indoors, it was with a feeling of accomplishment.
Those hours spent outdoors were also the first in a very long time that I felt a sense of peace. So many of my posts over this last year or so have dealt with too many financial difficulties, zoning issues, and, of course, the stress of our political and social climates. For the first time in a very long time, I was completely absorbed in what I was doing and I felt a healing in my heart. While a part of me looked at all of the myriad repairs and updates, landscaping projects, etc. still to be done, and felt overwhelmed, another part of me looked at how it could be. I remembered my dreams when I first moved here, wanting to raise animals and herbs here, grow my own food, use the garage for a used bookstore. Of course, this property doesn’t have room for anyone to park; there’s just a driveway and enough room behind my car for one other vehicle so an actual business would be out. And, unless I can find an attorney to handle the zoning issues, that animal dream is lost, too. But it was nice to remember those dreams.
I don’t do a lot of that anymore. I don’t allow myself the luxury of daydreaming anymore. While lamenting such a thing may seem strange when my title talks about “the work of thy hands”, daydreaming is also a sign of hope…as is pruning apple and crabapple trees on a property that may not be my own anymore in the not-so-distant future, if things don’t turn around. I remember thinking, if I have to sell, if I lose this place, if I win the modification but lose the zoning case, I want to leave this place as neat and tidy as I can. There may be signs of neglect from lack of funds but, with a little luck, and a lot of elbow grease, at least the next owners will know I did the best I could with what I had.
Now as I sit here, shoulders sore from this morning’s labors, I’m still feeling blessed. All in all, it’s been a good day. Perhaps it’s a lesson in how idleness truly is the devil’s workshop. Instead of worrying and stressing, these hands went to work and peace filled my soul. It’s good therapy.
“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast.” (Ephesians, 2:8-9)
I want to be a writer, but I have to have some other career to support it, I have to do something else besides write…well, not all of us can be the next Toni Morrison or Stephen King so maybe there’s some truth to this one…but there must be something defectively wrong with me to not have found another career option that I feel just as passionate about…
Like some of my favorite authors who write 8 hours a day, I have to carve out 8 hours of my own to dedicate to my novel, my blog, etc; I can’t be a writer if I don’t write every day for 8 hours a day…even with a “day” job and a small hobby farm and the need to eat, sleep and, well, you know…
Like a favorite singer/songwriter, I do my best writing at 3:30 a.m. so, if I don’t get up at 3:30 a.m. every day to write, I’m not doing my best writing?
I can’t run a used bookstore; I won’t make enough money from it to support myself; I need another career to supplement it (it’s like the writer thing…)
I want to rescue animals, to offer them sanctuary–and often do–but, I’m a single female and I’m in danger of becoming a hoarder–or so the media tells me. If I was married, or a man, and still took in the occasional stray cat, and the free-to-good-home rabbits and goats, etc., found forever homes for some and offered a forever home to others, because their original humans were being evicted and no longer had a home to offer them, would I NOT be in danger of becoming a hoarder?
I want to homestead, to grow my own food and produce my own clothing, to live as sustainably as possible and lower my carbon footprint, but I don’t have enough land, enough money, enough knowledge, and I have to start right here…well, I have, sort of, but I’m also facing foreclosure myself so there’s a bit of apathy getting in the way. Why keep investing here when here may soon be gone?
In my youth, I wanted to be a rock star but, I didn’t keep my guitar strapped to me day in and day out. I only spent an hour or two each day practicing after work, so I guess I must not have wanted it so badly…
When I worked in living history, I told myself I didn’t know enough about either herbs or gardening to manage an heirloom herb garden. I felt like a fraud and everyone would find out eventually that I didn’t have what it takes. It’s called Imposter Syndrome; I just learned about it in my first class as I work towards my MFA in Creative Writing…
I made a mistake 10 years’ ago and rushed headlong into an abusive relationship with someone. I knew better, saw trouble coming a mile away, heard the voice of Reason in my ear saying, “Walk the other way” and ignored it; gave him a chance. I no longer deserve God’s grace…or His love…or the love of another man should I ever meet him…
These are the lies I tell myself, among others. Having just turned 55, “I’m too old” is another…even with the evidence before me that age has nothing to do with success or love or, well, anything…except maybe wisdom and experience, and the appreciation that usually comes with them.
“I’m not worthy” is the overall underlying message in each of these. I have to *earn* it. And, yes, if I want to write, I have to write. If I want to grow food, I have to plant a garden. If I want to be taken seriously at any endeavor and meet with success, I have to do the work. So, these things I tell myself each day have an undercurrent of truth and practicality ringing through.
The Serpent is cunning, to say the least…
There are conditions to everything, especially when you grow up in a house with addictions and abuse. A loving Father is an alien concept. And, no matter how much love, support, etc. you receive from others, that nuclear family unit that consists of parents, siblings and yourself, has the power to shape your way of thinking for life. So, it’s no wonder I’ve tied myself in knots and can’t seem to get out of my own way. Writing books, selling used books, caring for unwanted animals (or those on the receiving end of someone’s hard luck), homesteading and prepping, even learning an instrument by themselves may not be *enough* income to survive, let alone thrive, but together? Or, even if I still work a “day” job, I’m not allowed the joy that each may bring to me?
They’re idols.
That’s another lie echoing through my mind. The Lord has brought me to this place because I’ve made “idols” of animals and books, and I’m trying to live self-sufficiently, which means I’m not relying on Him…or so I’ve heard said. To punish me for this “idolatry”, He’s going to whisk it all away. Hence, the impending doom of foreclosure and zoning challenges…
Who would follow such a God?
Or am I wrong? Will I be stripped down to nothing? Am I being taught another lesson in not judging others for decisions they’ve made during hard luck circumstances? Again, I don’t deserve His grace because I haven’t always given grace to others…
Praise God we don’t get what we *deserve* for our mistakes. Ultimately, I know there’s nothing we can do to *earn* his grace; it is already freely given but, my faith needs a good bolstering today.
“A home for misfit animals and books, and makers of herbal, apian, and natural fiber products.”
Sanctuary – Focuses primarily on small livestock and pets that are being relinquished due to zoning regulation issues, foreclosure, or eviction.
Tomestead – A different sort of “rescue” or sanctuary, one that keeps used books out of the landfills. The bulk of the books will be from donations. Patrons will have the option of in-store credit (20% off purchase) or a check for 20% of estimated resale price. Campus will consist of re-purposed sheds, RVs, trailers and/or mobile concession booths. Each upcycled building will host a different genre, or subject(s) and be themed accordingly. Additional outbuildings will host various natural fiber, herbal and apian products produced on-site and throughout the local community. topography will include a 9000 square foot heirloom herb garden where walks and talks will be hosted; a petting zoo featuring some of the rescued animals at the sanctuary, and a cafe featuring menu items that would have been popular in the 19th century. Proceeds from sales will be re-invested into the business, as well as providing for the care of the animals.
The Herbal Hare – Farm side of the campus will host various fiber-producing animals, in addition to rescues, such as sheep, goats, alpacas, and rabbits. Spinning, weaving and dyeing demonstrations, herbal workshops, and “bee” school are future offerings. Fibers will eventually expand to include basket weaving, chair caning, and straw hat making, and sericulture (silkworms). Herb store will eventually be expanded to include a couple of greenhouses for growing heat-loving spices, such as cardamom and turmeric; mushrooms; microgreens, and sprouts.
Planned fiber products – primarily yarns and some woven products to start. Straw hats, baskets, silks and linen in future.
Planned apian products – honey, beeswax, candles
Herbal products – seeds; dried and fresh herbs; young plants; skin care products; scent mixes and tea blends
All facilities will be zero-waste. Reusable bags, boxes, upcycled Mason jars will be available for patrons. We will also seek out compostable wraps, containers and utensils for our envisioned cafe. Compost will be re-purposed in the herb garden and future greenhouses.
Where is this wonderful place? For now, it’s on the drawing board awaiting either an angel investor (or two) to help with start-ups, or a great, big pot of luck!
What expertise do I bring to this endeavor? Besides being a writer, I am a certified herbalist who worked in living history, both as a volunteer and as paid staff, for many years where I learned spinning, weaving and caring for natural fibers, and straw braiding for the making of hats. I am also a Master Gardener with the University of Connecticut, and a librarian. I have been rescuing and giving sanctuary to unwanted animals for much of my adult life–over 35 years!
This is my dream. With God’s grace, it will one day be a reality.
May God bless you & keep you!
PS The link to my Go Fund Me campaign to make this a reality:
“For you have a new life. It was not passed on to you from your parents, for the life they gave you will fade away. This new one will last forever, for it comes from Christ, God’s ever-living Message to men.” (1 Peter 1:23)
I find myself unable to think of a word, or biblical phrase, to define this year. I’ve thought of “Intention”. “Trust”. “Discipline”. I need to work on all of these…and a phrase/verse from the Bible to help remind me.
Wow.
I guess I really am mired in depression. See? I need to work on that trust issue for sure!
But, as always, on New Years’, I like to take a moment to reflect on the year past and remember those loved ones who will never again grace The Herbal Hare in life.
Praise the Lord, my human family has been hale and hearty this year. =) However, we did lose the boss of the barnyard this past spring. Sgt. Feathers, my Polish crested rooster, is protecting his ladies in heaven these days. And while his sons, Radar and MIG, and grandson, Jeep, are doing their best to carry on with protecting our living flock, it seems strange not to hear his trumpeting anymore…followed closely by a little, squeaky half-pint of a crowing. Tank, the little Silkie, who, having followed so closely at Sgt. Feathers’ heels in life, followed his commander closely in death, too. I lost them within a few days of each other. With Sgt. Feathers, it had been expected; every day was a gift. He was quite old for a roo (10) and had started walking almost hunched over like the old man he was. Tank, however, is a mystery. No sign of illness or injury. But, because they like to peck the ground, parasites are always an issue…no matter how clean and careful you are with their environment.
Sgt. FeathersTank
We also lost two beloved felines this year.
Only a few days after I posted last New Year’s memorial, Mom’s cat, Rosco, left us. Rosco had an interesting life. He was found atop a house in Illinois during all the flooding in the Midwest over a decade ago. No clue who his owners were, he was brought to a local shelter. Mom and my stepfather were shopping at PetSmart one weekend. The store was hosting an adoption clinic this day. Mom saw Rosco and fell in love. But my stepfather said, “No, no more cats!”. She worked on him as they wandered the store and, as they reached the checkout, he relented.
But Rosco had already been adopted…
…by their upstairs neighbor in the apartment complex where they lived! Said neighbor did not take good care of him though. Mom watched in horror as this declawed kitty had his front paws intentionally raked over the rough bark of a tree, lost weight due to inadequate feeding, and lastly was kicked by the neighbor’s boyfriend. Mom saw them outside with him on a leash, marched over, picked Rosco up and walked away with him. When the couple protested and threatened to call the police, Mom challenged them to go right ahead so she and the other neighbors could all tell the police how cruel they had been to this little guy. Poor Rosco had to have his jaw wired from the kick. And had to be fed frequent, tiny meals for awhile until his shrunken stomach could handle more substantial amounts of food. He grew to expect the frequent feedings though. He was quite fat by the end of his days…except his tail, which stood up skinny and reminiscent of the wire used to guide the bumper cars at a fair. He rode shotgun on the dashboard of Mom’s minivan when she traveled across country from Missouri to Connecticut to move in with me back in 2014. His “hoot” will be missed (Rosco’s jaw remained misshapen due to the abuse he endured before Mom rescued him and he could not articulate a more traditional “Me-ow!”).
Rosco
Lastly, Kirby. We lost him in May 2021. Kirby came to “visit” for the first time in the spring of 2014. I heard some of the resident felines howling in protest in the kitchen, went to investigate, and saw a bright-eyed little face peeking in over the window ledge. He did this for several nights…all while I protested I did not *need* another cat. He probably belongs to a neighbor, he’s just passing through, etc. But he kept coming back. And, finally, I determined that, yes, God had planted another stray kitty in my path. I started feeding him, gaining his trust. It took a few months (!!??!) before I was able to trap him and get him indoors. And then another couple of weeks of him being isolated in a room by himself until I could get him to a vet.
He howled all the way to the vet office, ripped open his toes trying to claw his way out of the travel cage, and then shot out of the cage and placed bloody runnels down the exam room walls as soon as the doc opened the cage. He had to be sedated so she could examine him, patch up his mangled toes, neuter and give him his shots. I seriously thought this was one baby who was too feral for a forever indoor home.
He proved me wrong.
Mom had just arrived with Rosco and Max, her blue heeler we lost a couple of years’ ago, and Kirby and Rosco became bosom buddies, along with Paz, my geriatric tuxedo. Then, a few months’ later, when a pregnant Priscilla was dumped off on the farm, he minded her babies like the proud surrogate Papa he became to them. He, Ozzy, Emmylou, and Alice Cooper became inseparable, and he was a sort of ambassador to every poor feline this farm has taken in since.
However, I proved him wrong, too. I told him he would love laps someday…and I was right. Once he was reassured that he was loved and there would always be someone to care for him, he was the ultimate cuddle kitty. =)
Kirby with his adopted “sons”, Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourne (l to r)
Both Rosco and Kirby, Priscilla late last December, and earlier in 2020, my Pearl, all developed kidney and heart disease rather suddenly after using Seresto collars. I don’t know if there is a correlation, though I did see an article in USA Today in regard, stating that these collars are being linked to possible kidney and heart disease; I have not found the link to that article today but, I did find a more recent news article about how certain lawmakers are asking that these collars be recalled. There have been reported incidents in the thousands as regards these collars so, please, proceed with caution if you are using them for your pets. I have included the link below so you may read it for yourselves. My then-vet suggested the kidney and heart failure was simply due to their age. Granted, Pearl was 16 when she passed; Kirby and Rosco both estimated at 12-13 years’ of age. Priscilla, however, was only 7, a bit too young, in my opinion and experience, to be struck with organ failure. No sign of illness in any of them prior to these sudden downturns…and I do mean sudden. Rosco had been playing with me like a young kitten just 3 days’ earlier when all of a sudden, he just stopped eating and started shutting down. We have since found a new vet as the “old” one refused to take my concerns seriously when I voiced them to him. I may be wrong about the collars but, it seems, I am not alone in my concerns with them.
Kirby; the best ones are the ones who choose you (sigh!)
In addition to these memorials, I think it is safe to say that 2021 was even more challenging than 2020. I’ve alienated a lot of friends due to my stance as regards mandating getting jabbed with something that neither protects one from contracting an illness, nor prevents one from spreading it. I’ve been a Democrat all of my life; I am seriously considering at least becoming “unaffiliated” as I cannot abide the hate and vitriol being spewed about by others of the party. The fear-mongering by mainstream media; the attempts to force us into a police, or authoritarian state; the lack of respect for others who do not share the same views have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I actually owe President Trump an apology for being so anti-Trump during his tenure. While he will never be a favorite of mine, yeah, it really was a witch hunt…one, I am ashamed to say, I contributed to widely on social media.
I don’t know what this new year will bring. The media continues to cry for the arrest, ostracism, and abuse of those who either cannot, or will not, take their (in my opinion) poison**. Gasoline is up to $3.60 per gallon here in New England for regular unleaded; I’m sure it will rise even higher as we approach summer. Empty shelves grace the local Walmart and grocery stores, and there’s sticker shock when you do find what you’re looking for. On a more personal note, while foreclosure is still eminent here at The Herbal Hare, I find myself even more committed to homesteading, and now prepping, than ever before. I cannot help but think a collapse of some sort is eminent. I pray I am wrong, but it doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. Perhaps you’re all thinking, there goes another whacked out conspiracy theorist. But, maybe, just maybe, there’s something to those conspiracies. (No, I don’t think little green men are injecting tracking devices under our skin, but I do see changes in government, in our society, that make me think I may have to carry around special papers proclaiming myself “free” (passport anyone?), or don a special band marking me as some sort of enemy (face masks?))
However, I am committed to building a community of like-minded people, too. None of us are islands unto ourselves; we need community. Perhaps the word I’m looking for this year is “tribe”. Regardless of whether or not you agree with me on a social or political level, when all is said and done, this year I feel it is especially important to at least be kind to one another. We are all struggling during this turmoil. And our tribe, or family, is who we choose to care for.
But this is all just what I think. I invite you to share, whether you agree or not, in the comments below. I do ask that you be respectful of others, and of this blog, by refraining from profanity, name-calling, bullying or belittling; again, we are all one family, each a very special part of the body of Christ, none of us whole without the other. That being said, regardless of what you believe (or not!); how you look; who you love; socioeconomic status, or current “jab” status, all are welcome…to this blog, to this community, in my home and in my heart. We got through 2021 together, we can get through 2022 as well…and, hopefully, come out the backside of it in a much better place than we are going in.
Wishing everyone much love, much hope, peace, prosperity and, above all, a deep and abiding faith for the New Year! May God bless you & keep you!
**A note: though my opinion leans towards choice when it comes to matters of health, to everyone who has been *poked*, please know that I respect your choice to do so. It is your body and you have to do what is best for you and yours. I am not “anti” pokes; I am anti mandating personal autonomy. For everyone obsessed with forcing others to do as you do, stop for one moment, please, and think how you would feel if suddenly a mandate was issued that said you were no longer *allowed* to get poked, even though you feel in your heart it is the right thing to do for you and yours.
Again, may God bless you & keep you! Stay safe & stay free!
“Mocking the poor is mocking the God who made them. He will punish those who rejoice at others’ misfortunes.” (Proverbs 17:5)
I received an invite to an outing to go whale watching from a cousin recently…which was then recanted after seeing my Go Fund Me campaign link on Facebook. Of course, nothing was said initially. As the date of the outing was coming up, I messaged her to ask if we were still on. She didn’t want me to feel “bad”. I’m not sure exactly what that meant but, I want to believe her heart was in the right place, and that she was simply being sensitive to my financial difficulties. I sincerely hope she wasn’t thinking I might “mooch” off of her, or others, in order to go. The expense was minor and, despite my situation, I would have enjoyed the outing…as a day of respite, perhaps, from my situation. I confess to feeling rather hurt, even if good intentions were meant.
It seems a common theme these days.
For those of you new to this blog, I fractured my shoulder two years ago and lost a full-time position as a result from my injury. I have yet to find full-time work again and am behind many months on my mortgage. It has gone into foreclosure…and even Covid allowances aren’t doing much to stall the progression. My inability to get the vaccine is making it harder to find that full-time position, even if I trusted the “poke” enough to do so. I have new neighbors who got themselves on the Planning & Zoning Board and are challenging my right to farm, to raise livestock, despite having engaged a zoning attorney over a dozen years ago and getting the okay to do so. Now I have beloved animals at risk if I cannot find an attorney to take on this case…and, of course, pay him/her to do so. The roof leaks. There’s mold growing. Something is driving my electric bill up to $700 each month (from $100) and the electric company sends me to Community Action who sends me back to the electric company to find out what it is and try to remedy it. The yard is overgrown, as usual, because I lack the proper tools to keep it up…or the means of hiring out for what I cannot do myself. I’m getting the runaround from the DMV. And I have nowhere to go if I can’t save my property and pets that I cannot bear to lose.
All of this bearing down on me, and I’m trying hard not to succumb to “victim mode”, but I really hate how society treats those who are either inherently poor (i.e. from birth), or simply have fallen on hard times.
I may have recanted the aforementioned outing myself after taking a careful look at my finances. I do work. I do have some income coming into my home. It’s just not enough to cover all of my expenses yet. So, while I appreciate the concern, it would’ve been nice to have been asked/reminded of the outing and still be regarded as a thinking, feeling human being…
Even if I had determined FOR MYSELF that, no, I couldn’t handle this expense this month (I get paid monthly by the library where I work).
The poor, the downtrodden, the down-on-their-luck individuals are half-humans for most of society. We’re too stupid to manage our own money…even though I lived on the savings, 401K and other investments that most experts advise for two whole years after being laid off in 2009 from a corporate position.
“We brought our poverty, or difficulties, onto ourselves”…even though we work whatever menial job comes our way and carefully budget, save, practice a frugality that most of society would never be able to handle if they were in our shoes, and either we were born into poverty already and so have a tougher climb up the ladder of success, or our difficulties are the result of a recession, depression, or an injury or illness. Not sure how that equates to bringing it all on ourselves but, so be it.
“We don’t want to work”…oftentimes, the poor in this world work harder than anyone but, wages, and hours available, seldom keep pace with the cost of basic needs. Despite the media hyping a “booming” job market, most are still part-time endeavors…and now we have mandates crippling our economy even more.
The financially-challenged are not allowed to have any enjoyment. God forbid you should have pets. Or buy a pizza for dinner on a rare occasion…even if you save some of it for lunch the next couple of days and, thus, get multiple meals out of it.
Yes, I’m angry. Yes, maybe feeling a little sorry for myself. But, more, I’m feeling a sense of loneliness that has this computer screen blurring even as I type. When you’ve been struggling as long as I have, there’s a sense of apathy that settles over you. Anxiety and depression war inside in an endless cycle that can often be crippling.
Yes, I’m partly to blame for my loneliness. I don’t reach out. I don’t pick up the phone just to call and say “hello” or find out how others are doing, but rarely does anyone do likewise for me. Mom and I could die over here and it would be weeks before anyone discovered our remains. Granted, in my apathy, in the uncertainty that such financial struggles bring, I have let everything go. My home is a fright so I don’t invite anyone in. I’ve gained weight, been eating mostly unhealthy, and most of my social interaction has been work…or the doctor’s office (I have a stress test coming up). I sleep a lot more but, it’s rarely solid. The mind races at night when all is quiet. Insomnia visits from time to time…as do nightmares and chronic fatigue syndrome. In short, I’m suddenly ashamed and I don’t want friends seeing how badly things have gotten. I am overwhelmed. And pride goeth before the fall.
Of course, I know the Adversary uses all of this to whisper his lies, to drag us down further and further away from God…and humanity. I’m not worthy. I’m unloved. God has forgotten me. I’ve used up all of His grace. The litany drones on. Rather than praise, my prayer life–when I remember it–has been a pathetic begging to be taken out of this storm. Maybe my lack of attention to the blessings He’s already bestowed upon me is part of the problem…even as I acknowledge the lack of means to provide some of that upkeep. (See how the Adversary works…)
And yet, I’m mindful that He is teaching me a lesson in all of this, too. Like many others, I never really recovered from the Great Recession so, when I fractured that shoulder, there was much less to fall back on to sustain me. Since 2009 I have had to swallow my pride many times to visit food pantries, apply for heating assistance and medical coverage through the state, and a host of other things just to survive. I used to judge others…much the same way I am lamenting being judged. I looked down my nose, rejected friendships from anyone who might be too “needy”. Now the shoe is on the other foot and, yes, it pinches. Bad…
But the greatest lesson of all has been three-fold. First and foremost, I cannot do this without Him. He’s asking me to rely on Him. To trust Him…no matter what happens. To believe that He still loves me, always has, always will. That’s a tough one for a survivor of abuse, the concept of a loving Father in heaven. The Adversary’s still whispering doubt in my ear even as I type. Proof that I need to draw closer to Him in this storm, rather than reject and withdraw.
Second is to remember that picking up that phone costs nothing. Even in my own need, there are others who could also use a friend…and it’s nice to be remembered “just because”. Walmart sells boxes of generic cards for under $2 each. A remembered birthday, a sympathy card when a friend loses a loved one, a get-well-soon might be appreciated far more than a quick blurb on Facebook. And it’s always nice to be asked.
The third part is to start sharing my life again…even if it is in chaos. Rare am I going to have posts about some amazing workshop that I attended or an outing I enjoyed; it’s simply not possible. And, while I hate constantly posting about my situation, maybe those kinds of posts would be less if I wrote more consistently about other things…and not just when my anxiety is through the roof and I’m in need of an outlet.
To everything there is a season…and I still have hope that He has a plan in all of this.
The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Sanctuary 