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About jfh48

Joan has entered a new chapter in life. She is using her newfound gift of time to hone her writing skills. In 2019, she self-published her first book, a memoir. Carried By a Feather is the story of Joan's family and the tragedy that befalls two members. The book won second place in The BookFest Spring 2023 awards in the personal memoir category. Joan will continue to journal all of life's twists and turns, the good with the bad. These jottings are for her eyes only. There is LOTS to write about! The written word is powerful, healing and worth sharing.

Tara the Toro

dsc00312There she is-my brand-spanking new Toro lawn mower. We brought her home last Saturday. Once we unloaded her from the trunk, we carefully extracted her from her cardboard home, extended the handles, and quenched her thirst with gasoline and oil. For five days, she has anxiously been awaiting her debut. Today, was her coming out. She started on the first pull, and when I gave the signal, we were off.  She is self-propelled, and has a self-pacing feature, meaning her speed will match the driver’s walking tempo. I am pretty sure that Junior will have no problem directing her around the yard.

Our previous mower was a Lawn Boy, which was a politically correct shade of green. Tara is fire-engine red, a color close to my heart and astrology sign.  (I was born under the fire sign-Leo.)  I think that we will be a good match.

Show Me the Money

I hate spending money on things I can’t see.  Let me take a moment and explain what I mean by “things I can’t see.” This list would include things like utilities (gas, electric, water), cable TV and frequent trips to restaurants. Now, before you begin thinking that Junior and I live in a cave with no heat, A/C or running water, and we hunt and gather our food as we listen to a transistor radio, let me clarify even more.

We live in a ranch-style home complete with a working furnace and air conditioner, and water does run freely through our pipes. We do occasionally dine out at our favorite haunts, and in the evenings we switch on one of our analog TVs and watch our favorite shows. However, we also practice several conservation habits, which enable us to keep costs down. During the winter months, I keep the thermostat at 67 degrees or below. We sleep in fleece PJ’s in flannel sheeted beds, which helps us to utilize our own body heat when the temps in the house dip to about 61 degrees. In the summer, nearly every room has either an oscillating or ceiling fan to help circulate air and keep the house cooler. We also turn off lights in rooms that are not in use and our fixtures are outfitted with those new compact fluorescent bulbs. We attempt to conserve water by using low-flow shower heads and limiting bathing times. We also only run the dish and clothes washers when the loads are full. These household conservation measures help with two issues. (The old two birds, one stone analogy.) They help us conserve the earth’s precious resources, thus “greening up” our home, and I am able to keep money in my pocket/checkbook/savings account.

Junior and I dine out only once or twice a month. This practice also helps to keep money that I can see and touch in my wallet, and enables me to maintain my “fighting weight.” (This has become increasingly difficult to achieve as my metabolism continues to decrease with the increasing number of candles on my birthday cake. Eating out is a special treat where I can indulge myself for that one meal and then get back on track eating healthfully within my minuscule calorie allotment.) All of this extra cashola enables me to purchase items that I can see, such as new appliances, furniture or knick-knacks for the home, or cute shoes and clothes for my closet.

Oh, and don’t let me forget about that great invention, the television.  I recently mentioned to a male neighbor that we do not have cable or satellite TV. (I refuse to pay to watch the boob tube.) His face looked aghast as he commented to my son, “Not even ESPN?” I am not sure what kind of reaction he might have had if I had shared with him that on more than one occasion, I have considered removing ALL of the TVs from our home. I just may have needed my CPR skills in order to revive him.

Back to the Grind

I managed to write four posts this past week-my scarcest offering to-date since beginning this blog. The reason behind the gaps in entries is that my son was on Spring Break. (I use the word “spring” loosely here, because it snowed TWICE in the early part of the week! No accumulation, mind you, but it still was snow in APRIL!) My son managed two sleepovers during his time off, and we conquered a couple of local museums, where we brushed up on dinosaurs and fine art. We also squeezed in a few chores here and there, and I worked on Good Friday. (Most people took that day off!)

Tomorrow, it is back to real life-schedules, homework, packed lunches, and over-stuffed backpacks.  Despite the chilly, winter-break-like-temps, it was nice to take a breather and have some down time. And, the good news is the last day of school is a mere sixty days away. Bring on those lazy days of summer, along with some warmer air!

A Chip off the Old Block

Junior has been working on a fictional narrative in his fifth grade class. The students have been closely instructed and supervised as they learn about character development, rising action, climax, falling action, etc. His teacher has communicated that the class is doing a great job and are quite imaginative. Junior’s story is entitled, “Dog Heaven.” It is about a family of mutts that have the good fortune of being adopted by the well-to-do Miller clan. The canines-mom, dad, and their four offspring-take up residence on an upper floor of the Miller home. Their private wing comes complete with a butler, personal treadmills, an indoor swimming pool, flat screen TVs and more. The story meets all of the criteria of the assignment, and is typed up, ready to be turned in tomorrow.

I can remember writing lessons of this nature from my own elementary school days. A story about leprechauns, penned by me in the third grade, is my most vivid memory of my earliest attempt at the fictional narrative. Perhaps my son’s short story will inspire him to continue to reach inside his right brain and create more works of fiction. And, if he becomes a better writer than me, I will bow to his lead and change the name of this blog to “Junior’s Jottings.”

Stalked by Sleeping Beauty

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I have written a few posts about our lovable Lab, Lexi. We adopted her nearly three years ago from a rescue. She is my first venture into the world of retrievers. (Previous canine companions have included a beagle-poodle mix, a couple of Chow Chow’s and a Rottweiler.) I have been introduced to a few common Labrador attributes, such as their incessant urge to hunt, chronic ear goo and an inability to be separated from their top dog (me) for even a nano-second. It is this last trait which has forced me to label our dog, The Stalker. If I am home, simply going through the motions of the day, she literally follows me from room-to-room. If I head to the basement gym for a workout, she tags along, often standing over me kissing my face as I crunch my abs. If I need a moment for bathroom duties, she feels compelled to follow. Her latest stunt is to jump on me while I talk on the phone. (I am pretty sure she learned this technique from Junior, who still, at the age of eleven, is in desperate need of my attention as soon as I have a telephone receiver in hand.) I have been forced to shut the door and hide from Miss Lexi Lou in an effort to speak on the phone or flush in private.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love our Looney Lab, but some days between Junior’s constant supervision with homework and Lexi’s silent stalking, a girl tends to go a little crazy. Calgon take me away!

Rock-a-Bye Baby

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I am hoping to take advantage of the creative juices that have been flowing within me since beginning this blog. I will be swimming in un-chartered waters as I attempt to refinish a piece of furniture. I have never really had the desire (or the patience) to take on a project of this nature, but with time on my hands and a lack of change in my pocket, I figure, what the heck.

This particular rocking chair is a token from my childhood-a comfortable resting place that once accommodated my pint-sized tushy. Once she could no longer safely contain my increasing size and weight, this rocker became a haven for my vast doll collection.  She had been safely stored away in my basement, until recently, when I brought her upstairs and found her a new home near the fireplace. Her current dye-job does not blend well with the decor of the room, so I will attempt to update her look.

This past weekend, I ignored my self-imposed shopping ban and headed to Lowe’s, where, for about twenty bucks, I picked up the products necessary to transform Miss Thing from her current oak wash to ebony. I posted a “before” photo, so you can see her original state. Once the makeover is complete, I will post an “after” glamour shot. That is, IF she turns out well.

Driving Miss Joan

If you read my earlier post, “The Religion of Joan,” you know that I believe that EVERYTHING happens for a reason.  This belief has definitely come into play as I try to figure out exactly what I am supposed to be doing with myself career-wise.  In 2005, I was accepted into a master’s program in Community Counseling. (I have a bachelors degree in Psychology and wanted to obtain the credentials necessary to become a counselor either in a cancer clinic or hospice.) I took my first course that summer and enrolled for three more for the Fall semester. One week before classes were scheduled to begin, my son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. I withdrew from the university in order to focus my attention on taking care of him. I have never taken any more courses towards the degree that I had believed I was meant to pursue.

Fast forward to late 2008. I had been unhappy in my part-time administrative assistant position for quite some time and made the decision to resign in order to pursue work in the mental health field. I  had my sights set on working at a nearby clinic that specializes in eating disorders, addictions, bipolar disorder and more. (I was willing to work as a volunteer in order to accrue some relevant, current work experience on my resume.) I applied for a few job postings at the clinic and even sent in my application for a volunteer program that they are planning to implement. (My sister even forwarded my resume and volunteer application to the director of the program with whom she has worked in the past.) Funny thing, I have not heard a word from them in over two months.

It seems that each time I make a decision to pursue a certain career path, I am “steered” in some other direction. I do believe that a higher power is at the wheel. I will do my best to be a silent observer, snugly belted in the passenger seat. Too bad I can’t Google a map to show me where we are headed.  Patience has never been a virtue, and I don’t care much for surprises.

The Grass is Always Greener…

I mowed my lawn today. I am sure you are thinking, big deal. The last time I actually mowed my lawn was on June 19, 2003. I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I held onto the mower with one hand, while my other hand held a tissue to my nose. (I had a nosebleed that would not stop.) I did not give much thought to my perpetually dripping nose, and tried my best to go about the day. On the morning of June 20th, I would find out the cause of my nose issues-a rare, bleeding form of Leukemia. There would be no more yard work for me that summer.

Today, I conquered a demon, of sorts.  As I walked behind the mower,  I could not help but think back on that day in June of 2003. I had no idea that my life would be turned upside down and quite possibly, changed forever. I would be lying if I said that I am looking forward to cutting my own lawn again, but I am grateful that I am alive and well, and more than capable of handling this seasonal chore.  The grass may be greener on the other side, but I hope to stay on this side for awhile.

Good Read

I just finished the book, Boom !, a bestseller written by Tom Brokaw. The book chronicles the events of the 1960’s, as described by the people who had been there and done that. This work of non-fiction covers the Vietnam War, the civil and women’s rights movements, the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, politics, music, and illegal drugs.

I was born in 1960, so I was just a newbie earthling for most of that decade.  I was more concerned with learning to walk and talk, skipping rope and playing with dolls, and was therefore fairly oblivious to the pivotal events that were occurring around me.This book provided me with a way to catch up on those early years of my life. There was so much change and controversy that took place in that ten-year span. This type of book is not my “usual” choice of a read, but I was most pleasantly surprised. It was a history lesson that did not bore me in the least, and one that I looked forward to reading at the end of the day.

Happy Birthday, Dad

Today, March 31st, would have been my father’s eighty-seventh birthday. He was born in 1922 in southern Germany, and passed away nearly 13 years ago, at the age of seventy-four. It has been a long time since I have heard his voice or hacking smoker’s cough in the flesh, but those sounds are still fresh in my memory.There are many things (the good, the bad and the ugly) that he has missed over the past several years, but he lives on forever in our minds. If he were here today, I believe that he would be an engaged grandfather to his three grandsons-the boys that he always wanted. (His own offspring were two clones of the female kind.)

We recently had a “visit” from dad. A few weeks ago, my sister and her son cleaned out his old tool chest in mom’s garage. They stumbled upon a receipt from Revco dated June 13, 1996. At precisely 1:55 pm, dad purchased 11 chocolate candy bars, for which he paid $6.90. (He had hidden the receipt and the empty wrappers amongst the tools so mom wouldn’t know that he was cheating on his “diet.”) We found some humor and comfort in knowing that dad had enjoyed one last binge in the days preceding his death. (Now I know where I get my chocolate addiction from.)  Happy Birthday, Dad! You are missed.