Category: Nostalgia

Holidays, Memories, Nature, Nostalgia, Scripture

Snow??!?

Lisa Burbank

“Come now, and let us reason together,” saith the Lord: “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.” (Isaiah 1:18)

I’m one of those weirdos that actually likes snow. I think it’s the memory of an unexpected snow day as a child. They were always a special treat. If you lived in Rhode Island in the 60s and 70s, no doubt you hated anyone who lived in either Foster or Gloucester since these rural communities were always the first to receive the benediction of “No school, Foster/Gloucester!” from the infamous Salty Brine (a Rhode Island legend).

We received a few inches this morning here in Connecticut. Not exactly a white Christmas since it’s a couple of weeks’ away, but I’ll take it. The only drawbacks are the shoveling, as it’s heavy and wet this time, and my spine isn’t as young as it used to be, and having to drive in it because, even though the schools are closed today, the library will likely be open.

Still, I love the first snowfall. And the world really does look magical today. If you are driving somewhere in similar conditions, take it slow. Safe travels! If you’re lucky enough to have a coveted snow day, enjoy the rest and brew a cuppa for me!

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Appreciation, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Community, Compassion, Culture, Family, Finances, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, History, Human rights, Nostalgia, Politics, Poverty, Scripture, Self-esteem

Seeking Humility

Lisa Burbank

“If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” (2 Chronicles 7:14)

Oh, it’s so easy to get caught up in the political propaganda machine! Yes, there was a political post two weeks’ ago before the election. I tried to stay middle of the road, but in my most honest moments, I did stray further to the right than the left in my commentary. These days my more conservative side is shining through over that part of me that is often liberal.

But this is neither here nor there.

The true test of my mettle has been since election night. I’ve wanted to cheer and do a happy dance (yes, me, the never-Trumper). But that’s the equivalent of rubbing salt in a wound for those whose candidate did not win. So I’ve contented myself with a simple: “Congratulations, Mr. Trump & Mr. Vance! God bless America!” on social media. Neither of these men are likely to see it, and even if they do, I’m a faceless name in a sea of posts, but I didn’t want to gloat.

Okay. Yes, I did. But, again, I chose to listen to the guy with the halo on my shoulder rather than the one with the pitchfork this time.

To make sure the point got driven home, He chose last week to cut off my wi-fi. Two rapid changes in wi-fi providers meant a billing statement got lost in the shuffle. Thankfully, it was a relatively easy fix, but it made me think about all of the people in this country for whom this wouldn’t be an easy fix.

Since last Tuesday, I’ve read a lot of posts decrying that far too many Americans chose money over morals. It’s an ugly suggestion that smacks at the biblical admonishment about the love of money being the root of all evil. Love of money is more like the character of Scrooge in Charles Dickens’ classic, A Christmas Carol: it’s where you love the coins piling up more than the good you could do with that money and piling it up becomes your only aim. It’s also where you put the earning of money before time spent with family making memories, where we value the bigger, fancier house and car, and dream vacations, over what should matter more: faith, family, friends.

That’s not what people voted for.

We live in a cash society. It’s something I lament nearly every day of my life. My years in living history taught me how much more freedom our ancestors had when they could bring a pail of old rags into a country store, have them weighed up, and receive so much credit in the store for them. (This is an example; there were many more commodities that could be bartered for what we needed) The shopkeeper would then take those rags, plus the rags delivered by other patrons, to the paper manufacturers and trade them for reams of paper to stock in his store. Very little coin was ever exchanged, but each had what they needed to survive (we manufactured paper out of cloth until 1954; many older readers might remember the rag man coming to call…). Community seemed to have a much deeper meaning then.

But that’s not the world we live in today. The first, and each subsequent, industrial revolution changed all of that. As mass-produced goods became more readily available, we chose convenience over quality…both in goods, and in life, but don’t get me started down that rabbit hole!

We live in a cash society. If we want to feed our families, instead of working our own farm and growing and/or raising our own food, most work a 9-to-5, receive a paycheck, and then go to the grocery store for our sustenance (I also won’t go down the rabbit hole about the “food” lining the aisles of that store…). We have to pay a mortgage, or rent, each month for shelter. We pay for our heating and lighting sources, and every other “extra” in our lives.

It wasn’t love of money that gave us the election results. It was the necessity of having enough money in this cash society, or of making our dollars stretch far enough in it, that we don’t go hungry…or find ourselves at risk of eviction, or foreclosure. As I was just recently hovering over the latter, I take exception to those who suggest we chose money over morals.

Our economy is tanked. GDP and unemployment numbers, as my fellow Democrats, shouted loudly and proudly during Trump’s last tenure, are NOT a true measure of how our economy is doing. The Democrats may have changed their tune in the last few years, but it doesn’t make that statement any less true. The numbers may look good on paper, per se, but if those numbers are not reflected in an improved quality of life for we the people, yes, we’re going to vote for the person promising cheaper energy, lower taxes and interest rates, better jobs, and the overall improvement of our lives as a result.

Like so many of my fellow Americans, despite being once again right-side-up on my mortgage payments–something I feel immeasurable gratitude for each and every day–I’m still robbing Peter to pay Paul.

My mishap with the internet was a result of being waylaid at Walmart by representatives from Frontier to switch to their service, then being somewhat unsatisfied with Frontier’s service, and when I called Spectrum to cancel my service with them, being offered a better deal, one that amortized my wi-fi and cellphone services into one bill that basically wiped out the cellphone service I had with T-Mobile. Hey, a savings of $90 a month (two phones) is nothing to sneeze at.

We were humbled further this month when Mom’s bank account was hacked, costing her most of her social security check.

Then the mortgage company sold my mortgage to another bank. There was an inspection fee that got added to my payment this month, another $300. (Yeah, I’m hearing the echo of Andrew Yang and Bernie Sanders both lamenting how “millions of Americans cannot afford an unexpected debt of $300…”)

It’s been a rough month. And I was humbled by another visit to the local food pantry.

It was there that true humility rippled through me. First, I was mortified to stand there again (pride goeth…). Then I saw some of my patrons to the library standing in line. Holy crap!

So many social media posts from fellow Democrats point the finger at those standing in that line as having brought their circumstances upon themselves, usually in the form of “they don’t take advantage of the opportunities they’ve been given” or “they don’t want to work”. These are the same people who attacked their Republican neighbors between 2017-2020 for pointing the same fingers. I was doing the same thing: judging others unfavorably, making assumptions that had no real grounds at all.

I was even judging myself unfavorably…how quickly we forget!

Maybe I’m not showing true humility to point out the hypocrisy of others here, especially when I share in it, but it saddens me because this shaming of those who are in need is a societal tumor. I hesitated to reach for help because of it. How many more suffer in silence, too far beaten down, afraid and ashamed to reach out to a society that judges them so unfairly?

I stand guilty as charged.

Still, and maybe it’s because I have been on both sides of this societal tumor, in my heart, I feel there is a need to call it out. There is a need to humble myself first and foremost, and to shine a light on the hypocrisy of others…and the division it causes. Will it make a difference? If it does so only in the heart of one single individual, then I’ve achieved my goal.

He reminded me of where I was just a year ago.

You see, as I stood in that line, I knew the circumstances of some of these people. I saw them everyday at work. I have talked with them. And, in my heart, I have loved them as friends and acquaintances. I know about the woman whose husband collapsed on the porch and has to have surgery. I know the man in the wheelchair, the one who was homeless until an accident took his ability to walk. I know that young mother trying to raise her children alone.

How would they handle an additional $300 this month for their shelter? How would they survive if their bank account was hacked? Most of them probably don’t even have internet or wi-fi at home. Many of those faces visit the library to use ours.

Suddenly, I felt blessed. I have so much. Yes, there is still want. There are still some needs in my life not being met. There is still a struggle going on, but I feel blessed…because the stories of my neighbors are also my story. They’re not stories of some defect of character, as those pointing the finger suggest, but the stories of a nation gone sadly awry and in need of a helping hand as much as each individual in that line. Incidentally, that line was wrapped around the building where we congregated…a 12,000 square foot building in a community of less than 9000 souls.

So, no, we didn’t vote for money over morals. Quite the opposite. We voted to help our fellow Americans, our neighbors and friends, find the means to pick themselves up by those proverbial bootstraps and the dignity that comes with earning one’s way in the world. We voted, too, for that sense of community that helps to lift those up whose circumstances won’t allow them to pick themselves up without a little help. Needing help shouldn’t be something that leaves our neighbors so ashamed that they don’t reach out for that help. It should be something that leaves those of us more fortunate ashamed for judging those who need a little–or even a lot–of help.

Because we’re all one family…God’s family. And when just one of us hurts, we all hurt. We voted to stop the hurting.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Compassion, Culture, Nostalgia, Politics, Scripture

Embracing My Luddite

Lisa Burbank

“Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.” (1 John 4:20)

Yeah, being a called a Luddite by a friend got under my skin a little bit…mainly, because it’s true.

Yes, I am sitting here typing away on modern technology. There are plans to leverage more technology in the form of a YouTube channel, and possible podcast. And I don’t have any fantasies about destroying Microsoft’s main database the way the original Luddites destroyed the first mechanized textile mills in England, so I don’t quite fit the mold.

However, I do dream of living as close to the 1830s as humanly possible in this modern age. As long as I can pump clean water out of a well somewhere, I can be happy.

I was raised Catholic and continue to be a practicing one. Our doctrine isn’t quite in line with our Amish neighbors, but I can totally understand–and get behind–their aversion to electricity. It really does create idols…and a weakening of the flesh as we grow dependent upon these gadgets of “convenience”.

Worse, in some cases, we start behaving as if we’re gods trying to decide and control the choices for others.

I’ve been the keyboard warrior. When you can’t see the faces of your loved ones on the other side of the screen, it’s easy to forget that you’re talking to a person…with a heart and a mind and all of the human struggles that go along with it. I try to stay cognizant of this but, as I’ve written many times before, I sometimes fail.

Especially when former political party mates start circling my social media posts like sharks coming in for blood.

I will be glad when this election cycle is over. Sad to think that this is the new measure of what should be an exciting and empowering time for all of us. There’s always been mudslinging in politics, but it’s really gotten out of hand.

And, amazingly, both parties are accusing each other of becoming authoritarian…let that one sink in!

There are NO aspiring Hitlers running for president nor does she look like a camel. Instead, we have a father and a grandfather who has had the integrity to start his children in the lowest jobs on the construction site so they can understand and appreciate their privilege, as well as the struggles of those without that privilege, before he hands over the responsibility of the whole. And, while Kamala Camel might be a cute name for a picture book character, it’s beneath us all to attack a person on their appearance (yes, I know he’s been orange man…), or even their personality. Sometimes a veneer of ditziness masks a brilliant mind…as does crude speech. Attack their policies, if you disagree with them. Attack their record as either a former president, or as a former DA, AG and VP. But get rid of the personal attacks. There’s a person on the other side of that screen.

What are their policies? Is it realistic to expect they can deliver on their promises? How will those policies play out in the long run? Will they solve the problems the average American faces?

Because that’s where it counts. That’s where we will all feel the impact of both their failures and their triumphs.

I was Yang gang the last time around. A Berniecrat as second choice. Like Bernie Sanders when he accepted the moniker of “socialist”, as he has often been accused for his proposed policies to help the poor, I am accepting my Luddite title.

In this case, it’s owing to the mess that modern technology is making of our election process. We should go back to paper ballots; technology can too easily be tampered with…without leaving a trace.

We should also go back to the old adage of NOT discussing politics or religion in polite company. Not only is there another person on the other side of the screen, but we’re inviting them to sit down at the table with us for tea every time we engage on social media.

Would you treat them the same way over a cuppa?

May God bless you & keep you!

Alcoholism, Birthday Wishes, Chess, Family, Grief, Love, Memories, Nostalgia, Reading, Writing

My Poppop

Lisa Burbank

“They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green.” (Psalms 92:14)

My Poppop was a wealth of knowledge. He wrote for the Providence Journal Bulletin for 40 years and was even nominated for a Pulitzer’s Prize for his work. As an investigative reporter, he rubbed elbows with some of the best…and some of the worst. His obituary speaks proudly of the organized crime ring that he helped take down through his reporting. He also interviewed Henry Ford for the Ford Motor Company’s 50th Anniversary; I have some of the stationary and memorabilia from that event.

But none of that is why I loved him.

Obviously, I get my love of writing from my paternal grandfather. In part, my love of music (he played multiple instruments), as it runs on both sides of the family. I get my love of learning from Poppop, too. And my chess-playing ability. I’ve squared off with some of the best. I haven’t always won, but I’ve always made them work for the win. (Of course, I haven’t played in a while, but I’m confident it’s like riding a bike…)

Going to my paternal grandparents’ home each weekend was a magical time for me. Yeah, I’m honest enough to admit they spoiled me, but I’m going with age and experience on their part on how to teach children the wonders of the world.

Some of my fondest memories of Poppop are of Saturday nights sitting beside him on the couch while he read stories to me, or listened to me read them aloud to him, while occasionally blowing in my ear to make me giggle from the tickle of it. Sometimes he simply shared little tidbits of knowledge with me: “What letter of the alphabet is the most used in the English language?” I may have been 5 when he posed this question to me. I remember saying “A”. The correct answer is “E”.

When he wasn’t banging away at the keyboard of his manual typewriter, he was sitting out in the yard, smoking his cigar, and watching the birds. He was an avid birdwatcher (I am, too). He kept an assortment of bird feeders well-stocked and a bird bath to which a ceramic cardinal and ceramic blue jay perched alongside their living “cousins”. (One of the first knick knacks that I ever purchased for myself was a cardinal and a blue jay sitting on a branch…)

He tried to teach me to play the piano a time or two, but I wasn’t receptive to that teaching (something I rue to this day…).

However, I never left my grandparents’ home on Sunday evening without my Poppop driving his big old black Buick sedan to the railroad tracks on Kilvert Street in Warwick, Rhode Island. We would sit in the parking lot beside a tenement there (from which I rented an apartment years later!) and wait. Almost the whole family–Poppop, Nanny (my grandmother), Aunt Margie and Mom & I (sadly, my father, his son, never wanted to be a part of my weekend)–went along for the ride. We sat and we waited until those railroad lights started flashing and the arm came down to stop traffic going over the tracks. Once the train went by, we drove down the other end of the road to another parking lot–usually the bank’s–and watched one jet take off and another land, all with a sense of wonder over the marvels of modern technology.

Poppop’s 119th birthday was this past Sunday. Alcoholism took him from us too soon at the age of 68. But, despite this social “disease”, he lived a life well. He will forever be my “Poppop”.

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Animals, Appreciation, Culture, ecosystems, Global Warming, God/Jesus, History, Homesteading, Memories, Nostalgia, Scripture, Tradition

The Comfort of Fire

Lisa Burbank

“Love each other deeply. Honor others more than yourselves. Never let the fire in your heart go out. Keep it alive.” (Romans 12:11)

I shared the photograph below on social media over the weekend, but it bears sharing here, too. Because nothing brings about a sense of tranquility and peace like a warm fire blazing in either a fireplace, or in my case, the woodstove. It really is a comfort.

Yes, I know a few European countries have banned the use of fireplaces and woodstoves, citing climate change, pollution and air quality as the reason. But how much more is our air quality challenged by the smoke stacks of various manufacturing facilities, jet exhaust, crop dusting, and the mining for various minerals and precious metals that go into our electronics and so-called “green” energies? Even with the recycling of some of those components, it doesn’t completely offset the harm done of this last.

Yes, my minor was environmental science. I’m familiar with the science, have seen the evidence that the climate is changing, and that Mankind is responsible for this change. But it’s not you or I driving back and forth to work each week, or the woodstove you’re lighting to save money on heat each winter, that’s the cause. Both are just a drop in the bucket against corporate violations.

But that’s neither here nor there. I’m here to talk about fire…the good kind that satisfies the soul on a chilly autumn night. Can anything else compare? Surely no electric, oil, or even gas, heat soaks into the bones as readily as the fire on the hearth.

What is it about fire that soothes so much? Is it ancestral memory? Surely our ancestors spent their winters gathered around such, praying, reading, telling stories, making music together, sharing a pot of tea and a wedge of pie.

Granted, before woodstoves were invented, they wouldn’t have been warm. Houses from the 19th century and before were not insulated. And, while the fire on a true hearth (i.e. fireplace) satisfies almost as readily as that in a woodstove, much of the heat actually escapes up the chimney. It’s one of the reasons why woodstoves caught on: the heat stays locked in the cast iron, radiating throughout the house. With a fireplace, unless you’re sitting right in front of it, you cannot feel its warmth.

Perhaps the ancestral memory goes back even farther…to days of living in caves and the crackle of a fire keeping predators away. Is it that sense of safety and security that make it such a joy? While we may not need to keep a fire going to save us from being eaten by a saber-toothed tiger, perhaps there’s a transference of that safety and security onto the knowledge that, in the event of a storm and subsequent power outage, we’re still safe from freezing to death.

It’s likely we will never know the true answer to that, but what a time to mourn if we’re ever denied the comfort of that fire as some of our European neighbors have been. It truly is a gift…as Miss Zelda would agree (below).

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Books, Creativity, Diversity, Fashion, History, Nostalgia, Reading, Scripture, Tradition

Proud to Be A Woman

Lisa Burbank

“Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” (1 Peter 3:3-4)

I’m going to get myself in trouble today. We have our monthly book club meeting this afternoon and this month’s selection is our own. I.e. We chose this month to read a biography, autobiography, or memoir of someone we like, or admire, and will share little bits and bobs from what we read and why we chose the person we did.

My choice?

Well, to be honest, I couldn’t decide between Tasha Tudor and Tucker Carlson. I like Tucker. I love his faith, how open he is in his belief in God, and the gentle and respectful way that he interviews those invited on his show. I also like his courage in being willing to interview those that most journalists and writers would shudder away from…such as Vladimir Putin.

But I’ve settled on Tasha for today. I’m rather tired of political debate. And, if anyone notices the Trump/Vance 2024 bumper stickers on my car, there will be enough political discourse at this book club meeting without me adding Tucker (though I may bring both books in with me anyway…who knows?)

However, for the moment, I’ve settled on Tasha because she is someone I have long admired. She chose her 1830s lifestyle at a very young age and she never wavered from her course. Her art and her creativity was infused with her gentle love for children, animals and nature and, of course, days gone by. She spun yarn, wove cloth, perused antique stores and estate sales for 1800s fashions, which she wore rather than just keep as displays (I’m guessing she was a tiny woman; my 5’8″, 190 lb. self could never fit into such clothing). She kept doves and chickens and geese and goats and birds and at one time even had a crow. She also raised Corgis, which she called Corgyn in the plural, declaring it the only proper way to do so. She cooked on both a hearth and cast iron cook stove. She lit her home with candlelight and oil lamps.

After years of working in living history museums, why wouldn’t I choose Tasha? I wish I had been so focused in my youth and lived much the same way.

But the real reason I chose Tasha is a quote from the book The Private World of Tasha Tudor by Tasha Tudor and Richard Brown:

“Why do women want to dress like men when they’re fortunate enough to be women? Why lose our femininity, which is one of our greatest charms? We get much more accomplished by being charming than we would by flaunting around in pants and smoking. I’m very fond of men. I think they’re wonderful creatures. I love them dearly. But I don’t want to look like one. When women gave up their long skirts, they made a grave error.” (Tudor and Brown, 1992, p. 63)

Having worn the long, full skirts and petticoats of the 1830s, I wholeheartedly agree with Tasha’s view here. When I’m wearing long skirts, I feel attractive and feminine. I feel confident and vital. That’s when I can truly say: I am woman. Hear me roar. It’s when I take myself seriously…so you should, too.

And, despite her love of all things 1830s, including the attire, Tasha had a long, successful, and modern career as a commercial artist, and could navigate between the two worlds quite nicely…even though, by her own admission, she wasn’t always “nice”. There was never a sign that she gave up her rights as a female to look and dress as a female. Instead, she simply celebrated being a woman.

It is something to celebrate.

But that’s just what I think. Let me know what you think (or thought?) when you read Tasha’s quote above in the comments below.

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

Tudor, Tasha and Brown, Richard. The Private World of Tasha Tudor. Little, Brown & Company, 1992.

19th century, Animals, Appreciation, Christianity, Emergency Preparedness, Finances, Friendship, Homesteading, Minimalism, Nostalgia, Poverty, Prayer, Scripture

Coming Out of the Darkness

Lisa Burbank

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.” (Psalms 46:1-3)

Phew! The last three weeks have been a whirlwind of plumbers, notaries, electricians, lawyers, well-drilling technicians, and mortgage lenders…fits, starts, stops, highs and lows.

The good news is we now have safe and reliable running water again. We’ve been doing the bowl bath thing, heating the bottled water that I purchased every couple of days at Walmart and washing up that way…since November 2021 (Yes, you read that correctly!). To say that first warm shower last Wednesday felt ambrosial is an understatement. And I dare say, my infatuation with 19th century living has been tempered a bit. Had I the infrastructure of our ancestors, such as a pump at the kitchen sink, it might not have been quite so bad, but I’m not complaining. I feel like a lady of luxury these days (Thank you, Jesus…and a very special shout of “thanks” to Sir Robert the Welcome!).

Granted, we did have running cold water until April of this year. It wasn’t safe to drink but, we could at least fill kettles, pots and pans at the sink to heat for dishes and bathing so the cost to refill gallon jugs at Walmart was somewhat manageable…even if it was a pain you-know-where.

It actually feels strange not to have to stop every few days, not to have a mountain of empty jugs piled up in a box on the back seat to refill, not to have to look for an empty grocery cart nearby to haul those 15-20 empty gallon jugs into the store when I park my car. I keep thinking I’m forgetting something. Again, I’m not complaining. But what a habit to maintain out of necessity!

Thursday morning there was a moment of panic when I noted the lonely little gallon jug in the corner and I still hadn’t fed the goats, chickens, and ducks their breakfast, which always includes a refill of clean water. I barely stopped myself from berating myself for not stopping the night before for refills. The feeling of wonder when I remembered to turn on the tap and watched clear, cool water run out into their buckets must’ve been akin to what our ancestors felt when indoor plumbing was first invented.

And it’s amazing how He works. Despite all of our financial difficulties, somehow we always managed to have enough to buy in the water we needed. He always provided…even if we did rob Peter to pay Paul a few times. I’m feeling truly blessed right now.

There really isn’t any bad news, not even where mortgage lenders, attorneys and notaries are concerned. It’s just frustrating news. As mentioned in my previous post, the final date for the signing of the permanent modification paperwork got pushed out another month. It would appear the lenders are not happy with my ability to make mortgage payments. However, it’s very satisfying on this end to be able to write those checks again.

I have 9 days to go before we meet again. I spoke with my representative a couple of days’ ago and she said everything was correct this time. So, third time’s a charm, I guess, but praise God for the blessing of friends…and co-workers willing to take time out of their busy days to act as witnesses.

I’m asking for lots of prayers, good wishes, positive thoughts, etc. that Mom and I, and our little farm, can get right-side up again permanently. As always, many thanks!

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Animals, Christianity, Exhaustion, Faith, Family, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Herbs, History, Homesteading, Memories, Nostalgia, Prayer, Religion, Sleep Deprivation, Writing, Yoga & Fitness

Getting Back To My Roots

Lisa Burbank

“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens.” (Psalm 8:1)

Sunday was Palm Sunday. I went to Mass and served as Lector, reading through Judas’ betrayal of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. It’s one of those rare moments when Mass becomes almost a play, with Father Ben reading the words of Jesus; Lectors, like myself, reading the parts of the narrator and “voice”, and the rest of the congregation reading the parts labeled “crowd”.

I sometimes kick myself for not pursuing a career in acting. I studied acting in high school and, again, in community college. I’m quite good at it. And, after several years of serving as Lector, my knees no longer knock together in front of a crowd.

But I wasn’t really thinking about acting as I stood in front of the congregation on Sunday and read for the “voice”. My mind was reflecting over the last 5 weeks of Lent. I gave up junk food, at least the more popular definition of it (candy, sweets, chips, etc.). Living with the definitive junk food junkie (Mom), it’s tough to resist. However, as a measure of Mom’s sweetness and solidarity, she also gave up junk food for Lent so it wouldn’t be so hard for me. She didn’t want to eat chips and cookies in front of me.

Less mindful after Mass, I took Mom out for Chinese food and broke that Lenten vow by eating a fortune cookie (sigh!)

I also vowed to get back to reading a chapter of the Bible each morning and focusing more on my prayer life.

I’ve failed miserably on that score.

It’s amazing how hard it is to rekindle a habit once it’s been broken. It’s also amazing these epiphany moments.

Earlier blog posts have often sung the praises of working for a living history museum. It was the dream job come true. And, in many ways, that statement was true. I learned all sorts of things that will aid me on my homesteading journey, things that have been a major blessing already. Perhaps the sin of pride, but there was recognition as a herbalist…because that was my title: Herb Garden Lead. And, in many ways, I got to act. There were “scripts” to memorize (i.e. historical facts) when interpreting for visitors to the museum. There were skills to learn so we could demonstrate life in the 19th century.

It was also a very demanding position.

Prior to getting this job, I had a habit of rising everyday at 3:30 a.m. I blogged, prayed the rosary, and hit the yoga mat. Then I headed downstairs and outside to the barn to take care of the animals. I didn’t have to be to work until 3:30 in the afternoon at the dealership so I spent late-morning, early-afternoon writing. If the dealership had been a full-time position, it would’ve been ideal for this writer. I got home at 7:30 in the evening, spent some time caring for my animals again, and then went to bed.

Living history, however, demanded swing shifts. Evening programs on a Saturday didn’t see me driving over an hour home until after midnight…only to have to get up again a few hours’ later to work Sunday morning. 3:30 a.m. and writing became an impossible dream. The rides into work each morning found me playing “beat the school bus” because every route into work seemed to be a school bus route…no matter what time I left for work. I spent my mornings literally running through the barnyard, 19th century skirts hiked up over my knees as I threw hay and feed at the animals and yelled at them to get out of my way (we had to be fully dressed in period attire walking into the museum). Even changing the animals’ feeding time didn’t help because of how late I often got home at night.

And then I got my wrists slapped a few times for what few blog posts I still managed to create. I wrote about something unethical I witnessed in regard to the animals kept at the museum. I lamented being unable to attend Mass on a Sunday morning because of a conflict of hours. I own my bad on the first but, the lamentation over Mass was simply that: a lamentation. Not a dig against the museum.

I remember coming home from one of those evening programs, collapsing in the easy chair in the living room, still fully dressed in period garb, getting up 4 hours’ later and going back in, rumpled plaid still hanging from weary shoulders. I drove home the following evening praying, telling Him how I simply couldn’t do this anymore. As much as I loved interpreting, as much as I loved wearing the period clothing and learning all of these antiquated skills, I simply couldn’t devote every ounce of my being to it, as it seemed to be required.

I slipped while shoveling snow the following Tuesday so I could go into work on Wednesday and fractured my shoulder. The rest is history.

I may not have kept my Lenten vows as well as I would have liked this year. However, this Lenten season has been a time of reflection. How did I stray so far away from all that I hold dear? Writing, herbs, animals and homesteading…the things that make me, well, me. More importantly, family, friends, and above all, faith. I feel like this has been a long lesson in the sin of idolatry.

Because I truly idolized what seemed an idyllic job. If I had lived closer, if I didn’t have farm animals and pets, if, if, if…it might’ve remained a dream job–despite the grueling work schedule. But, perhaps, it was also a lesson that I’m not Supergirl. Like every other human being, I am gifted with 24 hours each day. How am I spending them?

As I continue to reflect during this Lenten season, I’m starting to go deeper. I feel like Job, questioning the why and the how. Maybe it’s time to re-read that book from the Bible.

However, for the moment, I seem caught up with the Psalms, finding balm for my spirit in shorter verses that always seem to pack a punch. It’s a reflection on my life these days: slow and steady, short and sweet. Baby steps forward, learning to take those steps and not being too hard on myself for being unable to handle anything bigger these days; it’s too overwhelming because of how far I’ve fallen behind in, well, everything. The good habits will return, or morph into something better. The life I dream of living will become a reality…or He will mold and shape it into something beyond my wildest dreams.

Amazingly, He’s been using my work at the library to teach me this very valuable lesson in taking things one step at a time. Rome isn’t built in a day but, those baby steps make a difference. It’s time to apply them at home. I can’t twitch my nose and do it all in a blink. But, each baby step will take me that much closer to that dream life…and maybe I’ll finally have time to enjoy some of that journey doing what I love, sharing it with those I love, and above all, praising Him whom I love above all else. In short, getting back to my roots.

May God bless you & keep you!

Appreciation, Bereavement, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Culture, Diversity, Faith, Family, Friendship, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Grief, Healing, History, Love, Memories, Nostalgia, Politics, Prayer, Religion, Scripture, Understanding

Remembering 09/11/2001

Lisa Burbank

“The path of the godly leads away from evil; he who follows that path is safe” (Proverbs 16:17)

I had just come back from the company cafeteria with a cup of tea when a co-worker hollered over the foam-filled cubicle wall, “Oh, my God! Did you see that?” And then a cacophony of voices asking, “What?” “Yes, OMG!” “Holy crap…my sister/mother/brother just texted me; look at this!” “What happened?” and “This can’t be real.”

And, yet, it was.

As the images scrolled across every screen in our corporate facility, I remember glancing at the plate-glass window behind me and trying to imagine what it would be like to see a large commercial airplane heading straight for me. Granted, I was on the ground floor and our facility sprawled rather than rising up to touch the skyline but, at that point, I believed anything could happen. I thought of the family and friends those people would never see again…because, in that instance, you would know there was no escape.

Glancing at the clock on the PC, I picked up my extension (I wouldn’t join the ranks of cellphone users for many years to come), and called my parents’ house in Warwick. I knew they weren’t flying anywhere but, you know, you couldn’t help but check-in with all of your loved ones at a time like this. Every other extension was lit up with the same type of phone calls. Nobody was working on September 11, 2001…outside of first responders and hospital personnel. And, as news footage rolled, janitors, cafeteria workers, assemblers, accountants, executives and technical engineers stood shoulder-to-shoulder to watch in horror.

Mom wasn’t up yet. My stepfather had just awakened, poured a cup of coffee and turned on the TV. His two-plus-packs-a-day-early-morning-gravel declared, “It looks like something out of a Sci-Fi film”. As he could likely quote dialog from Star Trek, I agreed with this assessment. I still had that feeling of otherworldliness myself; it would not wear off for some time. For me, it was more like Freddy Kruger meets Godzilla, or something equally as fantastical and unbelievable.

My stepfather woke my mother up. It felt good just to hear their voices as I watched new footage rolling of people trapped in the upper floors of the Twin Towers jumping to their deaths.

Suddenly, my Mom mentioned a new neighbor of theirs who had sat outside with them a few nights’ earlier, showing off a new tattoo. She remembered it depicted an airplane flying into a pair of towers…

They hung up to call the local police station.

Nobody ever responded, took them seriously…even after they discovered only hours later that the couple had moved out in the middle of the night on September 10th.

Later, as the list of casualties scrolled across every news outlet feed, I learned that Mom had an old high school friend on board one of the planes. Carol was en route to her daughter’s wedding. I can’t imagine her last thoughts…or that of her daughter on what should have been a day filled with joy, not sorrow. And, as my mother’s side of the family is mostly police officers, I couldn’t help but grieve for those who lost their lives trying to save others, while also admiring the bravery that every emergency worker displayed as they rushed in, heedless of their own safety.

Of course, with the renewed sense of patriotism after these attacks, and the pretty much unanimous approval for our commander-in-chief to invade the Middle East, came a great fear in the hearts of many for anyone of Middle Eastern heritage. Or anyone just sporting a head covering of some sort. Memes spread via email hating on anyone Muslim or Middle Eastern…or both. I understood the fear behind it but, when one such meme surfaced quoting passages from the Quran, I decided to risk some censure. The quote and the book didn’t even exist in the Quran (and forgive my faulty memory for not remembering the fake quote from 20 years’ ago). Though I am Christian, I have a copy of the Quran in my home and have read it cover-to-cover. I double checked and then copied down text from the numbered passage the meme claimed as “gospel”.

Yup. I got reamed. Family, friends…was I crazy?

No. Just trying to do what I thought Jesus would do: counter the lie with the truth…and stop the persecution of innocent people. While all members of Al Qaeda and the Taliban identify as Muslim, not every Muslim is a member of Al Qaeda or the Taliban. It’s like members of the Ku Klux Klan claiming to be Christian, but not every Christian is a member of the KKK. Both are fringe extremists of their respective religions and cultures.

I was called un-American for pointing out the error in the aforementioned meme. I had a brother deployed to the Middle East right after 9/11. Of course, I was worried sick over his safety, and that of his brothers- and sisters-in-arms. Of course, I supported (and still support) our troops, our police officers, firefighters, EMT’s and other emergency workers.

And I always will.

As I sit here remembering 09/11/2001, my heart grieves for Every. Single. Life lost in this terrorist attack. I grieve and pray for all of the unsuspecting executives and office workers, maintenance and food preppers, blue color and white color, who went to work that morning never realizing what that day would bring…or the ultimate sacrifice they would have to make. I pray for the passengers and crew aboard each airline. I pray for the emergency workers and first responders who gave so selflessly. I pray for the lives lost over the last 20 years due to the myriad pollutants inhaled during and after the attack. I pray for all of our soldiers, many who also gave the ultimate sacrifice to defend our country, and for those who came back less than whole with limbs missing, sight and/or hearing destroyed, suffering from PTSD and, like so many of our vets from Vietnam, found themselves homeless upon their return to the U.S. (we can do better than this America…). And, yes, I also pray for those caught in a cycle of hate for their heritage and/or beliefs since this attack, whether Muslim or Sikh or any other individual mistaken and mistrusted for something they had no more control over than any other American.

Twenty years…

The children of the soldiers deployed in 2001 are now old enough to be soldiers themselves. 13 of them died as our current administration finally pulled out of Afghanistan. Yes, it was time and past for this war to end.

More criticism: I’ve been told I have no idea how hard it is to pull a whole army out of a country like that and I shouldn’t judge…even though thousands of American citizens and Afghan allies were left behind. I should focus on the, I believe the number is over 120,000, people that were rescued. Focus on the positive; this has never been done before (yeah, there’s an echo chamber here from the previous administration…). Those left behind are essentially hostages now. And, no, I really don’t know how hard it is to pull out of a country like that. But my brother could’ve been one of those 13. And I believe my critics are missing the point completely as we all mourn the loss of who I pray will finally be the last of those lost since 9/11 and the seemingly endless war that has followed in its wake.

May God bless you & keep you!

And may we never forget: 09/11/2001 – 09/11/2021

Animals, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Forgiveness, Friendship, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Grief, Healing, Homesteading, Humanity First, Memories, Nostalgia, Poverty, Prayer

And Then the Other Hammer Falls

Lisa Burbank

“But Lot’s wife looked back as she was following along behind him, and became a pillar of salt.” (Genesis 19:26)

I feel a bit like Lot’s wife. He’s been pointing me away from here for years now. And I keep looking back, allowing nostalgia and sentiment to sway my decisions. Now home has become unsafe and I received the foreclosure notice yesterday.

WARNING: There may be some redundancy in my blog posts as the weeks roll on. I will be sharing the link to my Go Fund Me campaign periodically in my posts. Please forgive me; these are desperate times.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-our-farm-is-being-foreclosed?utm_source=customer&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=p_cp_guide_do&member=12637057

Even if you cannot help, if you could share this link on your social media pages, I would be forever indebted to you! Your prayers, positive thoughts and energy are also appreciated!

May God bless you & keep you!