Tag: georgia

For This Snowman I Prayed

by Coddiwompling, posted in faith, Prayer, Snowman, Uncategorized

For the past decade I have been praying for snow. This is not an exaggeration. I literally have. Perhaps to you, especially if you have ever lived in a northern climate, that may sound silly, even childish. That may very well be so. And I’m okay with that. The simple truth is that I am one of those people who really, REALLY loves snow. And living in South Georgia, it is a rare and noteworthy event around here when snow finally comes our way.

I can count on one hand my lifetime snow experiences. I do have pictures of my mom, my aunt, and me in front of a snowman when I was a toddler. I have no memory of this event, so it barely counts. In 1989, we had a terrific snow – on Christmas Day, nonetheless. The only thing was, I happened to have been extremely pregnant and no one would let me do anything fun. My primary role was videotaping my friends having spectacular adventures “sledding” down the road on a boat seat being towed behind an ancient Dodge truck. In 2010, we had a freak storm that blanketed our area in fluffy white. I, however, was at the beach with my husband at a marriage conference. There not one flake fell. By the time we got home the next day, there were maybe three or four handfuls left in the shadows of our pine trees. Gone, just that fast. Then this past year, my husband and I took an Alaskan cruise, where we gazed upon glaciers in the distance and witnessed a brief bit of snowfall during lunch at the top of a mountain. It was a wonderful experience, but that was me visiting someone else’s snow. It was not my snow.

And that was sort of the thing: Not that I would go find snow, but that snow would find me.

In recent years, friends who live farther north and who are aware of my snow obsession would send pictures and videos when their winter storms would dump down anywhere from a couple inches to several feet of snow. I lived vicariously through them. I must confess that I did indeed covet their lovely whiteness. And still, year after year, I prayed for some snow of my very own. Last year the winter in Georgia was more than warm; it was downright hot. I began to despair of EVER seeing real snow. Sometimes it felt like chewing the same flavorless stick of gum, but I never stopped praying.

When I first saw the weather forecast predicting the required combination of moisture and cold temperatures, I took notice but didn’t get my hopes up. We’ve been there many times before. Then the percentages for snow kept increasing. The news reported snow “in view” in our area. I could hardly contain myself when the first fluffy flakes began falling!

My To-Do list for the day was officially trashed – for the rest of the week. I had the luxury of being at home on this day, and was therefore able to savor each moment. I ran from window to window, taking quick videos of the progression as my yard became blanketed in stunning white. I spent several hours with my nose eagerly pressed to the glass, awaiting that just-right moment when the accumulation was at its peak. Then, and only then, would I go outside and truly experience it all. After taking about a thousand pictures (well, almost…), I set about crafting my long-long-awaited snowman. Not from someone else’s borrowed snow, but in my very own back yard.

One thing I learned right away is that making a snowman is not nearly as easy as it seems. Those Hollywood three stacked balls are quite difficult to get rounded properly then attached to each other without them falling apart. Building my snowman took the better part of an hour, with very careful attention to detail. After numerous failed attempts, we found that the best method was to begin with a fat snowball then keep adding, one handful at a time, carefully patting and shaping each one. Perhaps others with more advanced snowman-making skills could have done it faster and easier, but for me this was an experience ten years – TEN YEARS – in the making. There was no need to rush. This was a time to enjoy the journey. Slowly, each inch of his stature was lovingly sculpted by my hand. Flu or no flu, this was the moment I’d been waiting for. And it was so worth it! When done, he was about three feet tall, with a carrot nose, button eyes, and a red scarf. A snowman so eagerly anticipated dare not disappear in anonymity; he must be granted a name. I donned his straw hat and christened him Jasper, a true Southern snowman!

IMG_0538Throughout the course of the day – one of my favorite days ever – I thought about some lessons I might glean from a slightly lumpy, lopsided snowman.

1. God is Faithful

He hears the prayers of His children, even ones asking for snow. Now I will not under any circumstances pretend that snow is essential to life itself. I could have lived out the remainder of my days very well without it. The snow was a gift and I enjoyed it as such. As we delight in giving good gifts to our children simply because we love them and want to see them smile, so it is with our Heavenly Father. This snow fell onto a season of my life that needed some encouragement and a splash of frivolous joy, and it happened on a day when I was perfectly poised to both receive and fully appreciate it.

  1. Be patient – it is worth the wait

Waiting is hard, and as a general rule, I tend not to like doing it. But when something is worked towards or cherished over an extended period of time, it becomes highly valuable to us. I would be hard pressed to explain to you why snow matters to me so very much. All I can say is that somehow it represents something magical, something rare and precious. Had it started snowing three minutes after the very first time I prayed for snow, that would have been pretty doggone terrific. But it didn’t. Time after time after time, it didn’t. But then one day it did. All those days in between made the flakes more valuable to me. The waiting made something “nice” into something “exceptional.”

  1. Power of community

Each individual snowflake is unique, one-of-a-kind. That’s pretty cool (HA!). On its own, however, one Georgia snowflake probably is not going to last very long before it melts away into nothing. It takes the combined effort of all those tiny individuals to make a snowdrift, a snowball, a snowman. Much like us, they last longer and can create more when in community with others. A lot of little flakes working together can make something truly amazing.

  1. Even the ordinary looks beautiful when there’s snow

Right now my front yard is a symphony of dried grass. It’s not the most stunning view on earth. Then came that special combination of water, temperature, and wind. As the lawn was coated with millions of frozen flakes, that dead grass was transformed into a thing of beauty. I wandered all over the yard snapping pictures of things I never would have bothered to notice before – sticks and leaves and fallen trees. By adding a dusting of fluffy white powder, even the fence posts and ant hills became part of a wintery fairytale.

  1. Abundance

One of the things that really struck me was the abundance of God’s gift. This wasn’t simply a couple flakes that melted upon impact. We had three- to five-inch layers on everything – the cars, the roof, the patio, you name it. This was not some chintzy half-answer to a decade-long request. We still had large patches of snow five days afterwards, which is unheard of in these parts. This was a lavish reply. There was one moment when I was standing alone outside in the stillness and the silence, in awe as I reflected on the perfection of this day. I dare say He was even showing off a little. My heart could scarcely take in such beauty. On this treasured occasion, as my childlike dream was fulfilled, I could feel His pleasure. And I LOVE that about God! He goes all-out to shower His love upon us.

  1. Squeeze all the good out of it

Certainly in life there are more ordinary days than spectacular ones, so when the really super-dyna-whopping experiences come along, we need to make much of them. Savor them. Memorize the moments. File them away to refresh our spirits during the lean seasons which will inevitably come our way. One of the ways I did this was to keep a running update on Facebook about how Jasper was doing. I had waited most of my adult life to build this snowman so I wanted to enjoy him for as long as humanly possible. It was silly and fun, and I happen to be blessed with some amazing friends who came along side me during this slightly ridiculous exercise. While pointless from all practical purposes, it helped me prolong the joy. No regrets.

  1. Endings and Beginnings

Almost a week later, I came home from running errands and noticed that the large patches of snow had finally melted and that Jasper was leaning dangerously low. Thirty minutes later, I looked again and he had toppled over. Of course I knew this was coming, but it still made me a bit sad. As I wistfully gazed on my melting creation, a fluttering caught my eye. A pair of bluebirds lighted in the inexplicably green honeysuckle vine on the trellis over Jasper’s head. As the birds gathered twigs for their nest, Jasper melted away, surrendering himself to the water cycle. I couldn’t help but smile as one form of beauty gave way to the next.

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When The Going Gets Tough

by Coddiwompling, posted in Adventure, Bible Study, faith, Getting Healthy, Moving Forward, No Excuses, Physical Fitness, Prayer, Running, Self-improvement, Tough Times, Uncategorized

When the going gets tough, the tough go tromping through mud and wet grass for a three-mile run. It was a great plan. I’ve been in such a purple funk lately, fighting my way back to solid ground after letting the circumstances of life toss me about. Over the last few years, running has been both my physical fitness activity of choice and my emotional release from the stresses of life. It was the obvious choice.

I had determined that this summer would be the time I got my running game back on track. Or at least on treadmill. And wouldn’t ya know it, we have experienced one of the rainiest summers in recent memory. On any given day, once I got finished with work or whatever else needed doing that day, the monsoon had begun. I do own a treadmill. It is totally accessible. I just hate using it. So, most days, I don’t.

This particular day was surprisingly sunny, though not surprisingly, humid. I suited up in a cute runner girl ensemble and headed out the front door for a run around our property. To say that I went for a run is, I must admit, a liberal use of the term, but I was running at some points, so you will have to give me the benefit of the doubt here. Truth be told, our land has never been pane-of-glass smooth, but after a visit from Hurricane Matthew last year, it was even less so. Running in the grassy sections would be unwise because there could be a hole there and I would never know it until I found air instead of solid ground beneath my feet. So mostly I was doing some brisk power walking through two sides of the rectangular area and running when I hit the road and my driveway. It was a great plan. Until it wasn’t.

In my closet there are any number of running shoes, various types for various purposes. I wore my old favorites because they are comfortable, and I wasn’t too worried about getting them all muddy. It seemed like a logical choice at the time. I was about halfway through my distance goal of three miles. There were about five running strides left before I shifted back to power walking. Without warning, I did a face plant. I’m not even sure what I managed to trip over, but in a movie-like slow-motion sequence, I watched the muddy ground get closer as my left ankle twist painfully and awkwardly to one side. The ridiculous thought that raced through my mind at the moment I bounced off the terra firma was, “Woman! You have trail shoes in your closet!”

In one slightly less than fluid motion, I picked myself up and scraped the worst of the mud off my legs. The ankle was none too happy but could support weight, so I took a step, then another, and decided to press on with the run. After one slow and steady lap, I felt confident that there was no damage and returned to the running segments. While I was chugging along, I remembered a time when I’d had a much more serious fall while running down a street in near-total darkness. With the help of my friends, I hopped up, ignored the blood, and kept on running. Recalling that incident gave me the courage to not wimp out this time. If I bounced back from a tough run once, I could surely do it again.

That made me think about King David. Long before he assumed the title of king, David was the runt-of-the-litter little brother who was left behind to take care of the sheep while his older brothers, by all accounts burly and impressive young men, who were off having exciting exploits as members of Israel’s army. Only things weren’t going so well for them. David showed up and offered his assistance. When the brawny brothers pointed out that David was indeed a runt, he remembered times in the past when he’d faced tough situations and how the God of Israel had strengthened him. He said, “The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine.” (2 Sam 17:37). You might say that David had a giant problem. This is quite literally true because David was about to face off with a giant, not in a figurative sense, but in the original, honest-to-goodness, for real and for true giant named Goliath who was nine feet tall and not at all a nice person.

In that moment, David recalled the way he had faced challenging situations before and triumphed. He knew that his God provided the strength necessary. He didn’t cower in fear and run for cover. He didn’t complain about how he’d been in much better shape when he faced the lion, or that the conditions had been better on that day. But what he did do was remember a success from the past, which in turn gave him the courage to face the giant on this day.

Now I don’t claim to be a David, and getting up after a small stumble may not be that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. But perhaps there are some lessons we can learn here.

  • Remembering the trials we have overcome in the past can give us courage to face different, but equally challenging, difficulties in our present.
  • We often need to think of our circumstances differently. In a crisis situation, it is easy for molehills to become mountains in our minds. Taking a step back and calming down can do wonders for our perspective. When we are calm we simply make better decisions.
  • Sometimes we just have to develop the best plan we can and go for it. I’m sure David’s sling and rock attack didn’t look like an especially wise military maneuver to anyone else. But he trusted his God and slung that rock. The results speak for themselves.
  • My Faith not in my Strength – that comes and goes – but my Strength is in my Faith. More specifically, my Strength is in the One who is the source of my Faith.

Psalm 121:1-2, written by David, this same shepherd boy turned mighty warrior, says, “I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” (NIV)

When the going gets tough, the tough call on Jesus.

Finding a New Normal

by Coddiwompling, posted in faith, Getting Healthy, Moving Forward, No Excuses, Physical Fitness, Running, Self-improvement

I ran today. Well, perhaps that is an overly ambitious use of the verb. I completed three miles today, perhaps a third of which might be considered running. After bringing home a doozy of an upper respiratory infection from Poland, this was my first exercise in almost a month. I honestly did not Want to go running today, but I felt like I Ought to.There was a raging debate when I first woke up. The smart thing to do would have been to put on my shoes and go, but I paused for a split second. This was ample time for the voice of laziness and complacency inside my head to make a fairly solid case for the extreme comfort of my cozy covers. Still, somehow sound reasoning determined not only that I Should get up and go, but that I Would. 

The last couple years have brought a great many changes in my life, some of which I intentionally chose, others, not so much. Some heartbreaking and some truly amazing things have occurred. Through it all though, I’ve felt myself struggling, flailing through life. My two essential foundations – Jesus and Jeff – remained rock solid, but nothing else seemed to quite make any sense. And, I’ve gotta tell ya, Type A people don’t like it when things don’t make sense.  

My new boss is a genuinely fantastic woman with an uncanny ability to “read” people. She suggested I check out the book “Who Moved My Cheese.” If you have not already done so, invest about an hour of your life with this tiny, incredible book. It’s an analogy for business, and for life, told as a modern parable about four mice in a maze searching for cheese. It is neither fancy nor complicated, but it helped so many things suddenly make sense. 

I’ve known all along that I needed to find my new Normal. But try as I might, I simply have not been able to. This has been the source of MUCH frustration, which my family has endured like champs because they love me and know that sometimes I just have to wrestle my way through things. Reading this little story helped me t see that I’ve been trying to make completely new circumstances fit into my old way of doing things, to make the new Normal fit into the same mold as the older one. This is a sure-fire recipe for failure and frustration, and man alive, that’s where I’ve been. 

I used to run almost every single day, raced at least once a month, and consistently placed at the top of my age group. I used to be a pretty doggone good teacher, confident and poised, and ready to bring out the best in my students. Those were great times, enjoyable seasons of life. Today things are different, therefore my approach must also be different. New circumstances require a new ways of thinking.  

So today I went rambling around the pond. It was later in the day, and quite warm, but what a beautiful backdrop! The sun was shining, the squirrels and ducks were each amusing in their own way, and there were other families out enjoying the day. My mind contemplated these things while Daughtery and Def Leppard fueled my feet. I ran and walked and breathed. Then, without warning, I felt my stride shift from awkward shuffle to the smoother glide of former days. Was I as fast as I used to be? Not even close. But, who cares? I don’t need a finisher’s medal to prove that I gave my best. I walked away slimy, completely spent, but absolutely satisfied. 

Seasons of life come and they go. Things change, and that’s more than okay; it’s actually quite exciting. My Should will eventually catch up with my Want To. It’s counterproductive – and impossible – to try to squeeze today into yesterday’s mold. There are too many wonderful things ahead to dwell in the past. Sure. It may still take some time for all the elements of my new Normal to ease into place. But they will. 

Pushing That Train Back Up The Hill

by Coddiwompling, posted in Adventure, Getting Healthy, No Excuses, Physical Fitness, Uncategorized

Several years ago, I lost a significant amount of weight. It was no easy task, but I was determined and dedicated, and I cut no corners. It took a little time to see success, but slowly, ever so slowly, I did. Then, it was almost as if I could barely keep up with the ever-increasing need for smaller clothes, I was losing weight so quickly. Once I reached my target weight, with the perspective that only time can bring, I equated a health and wellness journey to pushing a train up a hill – it is laboriously slow and difficult in the beginning, but once you crest that peak, you better hold on, baby, because this machine is about to take off!

And so it was. During this golden era, I stubbornly made good food choices. The junk food I formerly craved lost its appeal. Trying to entice me with that slice of cake? Not interested. Give me some fresh coconut and raw snap peas and I was one happy girl. I exercised almost every day – not because I “had” to, but because I just enjoyed it so much. Fat burned away. Muscles, though tiny, began to give my silhouette a sleek, strong stance. My confidence sky-rocketed. It. Was. Fantastic!

Then, as is so often the case, life happened. My work loads at school and church increased significantly, as did my stress level. Instead of making my way to the gym, I started making excuses. And for a while I almost had me fooled, because, after all, I am a wordie girl, and the bent logic I fed myself was almost as delicious as the mac-n-cheese on my plate. Almost. The trouble with excuses, of course, is that they never stand up to any real scrutiny. The pants, however, do not lie.

And so it would go. My clothes would get tight. I’d say, “This is bad. I need to get up and exercise.” Two fairly decent weeks of physical fitness would begin. Followed by another slacking off. Then, the tight clothes. “This is bad…” and on, and on, and on it went.

About a week ago, I almost blew a gasket. I am tired much of the time. Most nights my sleep is fitful. My pants are oh-so-tight. More than anything though, I seem to have misplaced that confident, can-do attitude. My work life, my physical health, my spiritual life all suffer from the emotional weight brought on reverting to those old ways. That simply will not do! I got so mad – seriously PO’ed at myself. Why on earth did I just sit still and let this happen? I worked so hard to build a healthy lifestyle. Why did I let myself to default to all the negative habits that I knew perfectly well were the reason I had been heavy and unhappy in the first place?

Enough. ENOUGH! It is far past time to push this train back up the hill. I am finally fed up with settling for mediocrity and making excuses. Although putting some weight back on is certainly an issue, the number on the scale is not the primary problem. The simple truth is when I eat healthy food and exercise regularly, I feel better. I think and act and speak more efficiently. I am more creative and productive. No doubt, I am more pleasant to be around as well. And that sleek, poised, Wonder Woman? I sure do miss her smiling back at me in the mirror each morning, ready to tackle the day.

Sometimes you’ve just got to get fed up with your own junk and choose to do something about it.

Here are a few positive affirmations as I snatch my own rumpus back in gear:
• I may not have been acting like Wonder Woman, but that is who I am.
• I will act like who I am. Not who I’m afraid of oozing back into, but who I am.
• That same determination and dedication that brought success before is still right here inside of me.
• Being a stick-thin supermodel is not my goal.
• I want this earthly temple to be an honorable dwelling place for the Holy Spirit.
• Strength and good health are more satisfying and last much longer than any slice of cake.
• I really do like coconut and raw snap peas.
• The train is not so far in the valley as it was seven years ago.
• This week, I have already put my shoulder to this caboose and moved it forward an inch or two.
• I WILL push this train back over that hill. I WILL.

~~~~
PS This is the first time I’m double-dipping with my FB health journey page “Running After His Heart” and my Coddliwompling.com blog site. Feel free to check them both out.

Hiking Practice: A Deux

by Coddiwompling, posted in Adventure, Appalachian Trail, Uncategorized

As the date of our Appalachian Trail day hike draws ever closer, Jeff and I decided to schedule another hiking practice. The original plan was to spend an evening eating and sleeping in our own little woods. Hurricane Matthew, however, disrupted our idea. With 85*+ temperatures, swarms of quarter-sized mosquitoes (I only wish I was exaggerating) and snakes on the move, we decided to pass on the sleeping-under-the-stars portion of the proposal.

Plan B wasn’t nearly as rustic, but we made do.

Our first order of business was to obtain water. Jeff and I walked through a small copse of trees to reach the tiny creek on the front corner of our property. Then we filled our bottles with the tea-colored water that bubbled along over the rocks and decaying limbs. The water we collected was certainly suspiciously-colored, but lacked any visible sediment. We could only hope that filtration would prove successful and there would be no violent cases of intestinal distress.

With all necessary supplies collected, it was time to start a fire. We have in our possession matches and fire sticks and cigarette lighters, but I wanted to create fire with a magnesium bar. Even if I never have to do so again for the rest of my life, I needed to know that I could.

We gathered sticks of all sizes, pine cones and straw, and dry leaves for a tinder ball. Jeff demonstrated the proper technique once, then let me have at it. I put down a paper towel with crushed dead leaves. After scraping a pile of tiny silver flecks from the magnesium bar, I struck the other side, hoping to create a flame. Nothing doing. I tried again. And again. Then one more time. After a couple more failures, I eventually figured out how to produce a weak flicker. Even that, however, is no guarantee that fire will ignite. This procedure is not nearly as easy as the survival guys on TV make it look. Remembering a tip from some such show, I ran inside (Oops! Cheated a little there!) and returned with a cotton ball. I used this to make a nest for the metallic flakes, and vigorously pulled the striker against the magnesium bar. The first real burst of sparks startled me and I dropped everything. Recognizing an opportunity for success, I reconfigured the cotton ball and struck again. Flames! Big yellow flames! Suddenly I was Tom Hanks dancing in front of the bonfire in “Castaway”. I had created FIRE!

It was a moment.

We stoked our fire with limbs, graciously provided by Hurricane Matthew, and had a substantial campfire rolling in no time. Once that was underway, we turned our attention to food prep.

Recently Jeff had returned from a gun show with a gift for me (let that sink in) and I have been eager to try it out. Today was the day. We took the bottles of our freshly-collected but undeniably brown water and attached my brand new Life Straw filter. Timidly I took a sip. It tasted like – nothing really – but when your water starts out that discolored, nothing is a good thing.

We measured out filtered water and put it on the miniature camp stove to boil, which took about 90 seconds…sweet! We measured out the water and added it to our pouches of freeze-dried beef stew. After waiting the allotted ten minutes, we enjoyed a tasty meal, accompanied by a pretty decent cup of coffee, in our blue ceramic lumberjack mugs. Jeff and I sat in front of the crackling fire, which kept the mosquitoes at bay. Had we not been “camping” on the back patio, it would have made a picture-perfect commercial for an outdoor-sy magazine.

I wish the conditions outside had been more conducive for this newbie camping diva to sleep under the stars (comfortably snuggled up in a sleeping bag inside a three-season tent). We will try that when the weather cools off a bit and the first hard freeze wipes out a significant portion of the mosquito population. The extended AT camping event is scheduled for early spring, so we’ve got time.

Jeff and I are about two weeks away from our day hike. I am ready. I think. There is an elevation factor to consider, but I am comfortable carrying a loaded pack and walking a reasonable distance, say, about ten miles. I now know how to make fire and filter water. I have my hiking shoes and several layers of clothing available, as the conditions may require. Best of all, I have my favorite person on the planet right here by my side to plan and prepare, then to enjoy the journey.

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When Your Pet Needs a Pet

by Coddiwompling, posted in Adventure, Uncategorized

It’s the sort of thing that happens often enough in the country. Small woodland creatures wander up to your door. It’s no real surprise to come home and see a herd of deer grazing in our yard or even eating the shrubs flanking the front porch. A myriad of birds, including cardinals, finches, bluebirds, and three kinds of woodpeckers can be seen flitting from tree to tree on any given day. Driving moles and armadillos out of our yard and into the adjacent woods is an ongoing battle. There have been various snake sightings, but fortunately these are rare. In the last month, however, the source of most of our wildlife interaction has been at the hands of the unassuming possum. (Just for the record, I am aware that the official name is opossum. However, no self-respecting Southerner ever uses the full name of North American’s only marsupial more than once, and that is to simply let you know that they know about the extra letter, but refuse to use it.)

Our family of three humans is rounded out by two canines, Lucy (Boston terrier/pug hybrid) and Maddux (golden retriever – big of head and small of brain). They love it when people come over. These two could easily have been the inspiration for the cheese wrapper meme. But let another animal enter their domain and you will see two dogs get highly upset. This pertains to most anything with four legs, including frogs and lizards.

At some point today a little possum wandered through my yard, probably looking for food: fruit, rodents, berries – possums will eat pretty much anything. Perhaps he was even heading to the screen porch, lured in by the aroma of fresh Alpo. It’s hard to say. What is clear, however, is that the two sentinels noticed the encroaching beast and sounded the alarm. And sounded. And sounded. And sounded some more.

Lucy finally grew weary of all that barking at an unresponsive opponent and fell asleep in the sunshine. The first time I saw the little guy, Maddux was sitting beside him on the ground. It was a pitiful sight. I thought surely the critter was dead. At their best, possums are prone to looking pitiful, and playing dead is one of their primary defense mechanisms.

Thirty minutes later, Maddux and his new pet were reclining on the back porch. From my window vantage point, I could see the little guy was breathing. A few minutes later, as Maddux began to drift off, small gray ears began to twitch and one eye peeked open as the hostage cautiously surveyed his surroundings. He prudently kept his head turned away from the dozing dog and yawned, revealing a long, thin jaw lined with sharp teeth that he was oddly reluctant to unleash on his canine captors.

In what can only be described as a comedy of errors, at that exact moment, a red wasp swooped down from the ceiling fan and stung Maddux on the nose. Both he and the possum leapt up. As the highly offended Maddux gave chase to the aggressive insect, the possum – less than 18 inches away from the steps leading to freedom – ran as quickly as he could in the wrong direction – further trapping himself in the corner underneath the porch swing. Lucy, noticing a change in Maddux’s attention, seized the opportunity afforded her. A crestfallen Maddux dropped his massive head as he slowly realized that he may have gained vindication by gobbling up the wasp, but he had lost possession of his furry gray pet. About that time, Lucy noticed my presence and went all Guardians of the Universe on the bewildered ball of nappy fur. Deafened and disoriented, he resumed his only course of action – total and complete inaction. As much as I hated to, I knew it was time for me to enter into the fray.

Knowing my dogs’ greatest weakness, I ran to the kitchen and found some leftover barbeque. Maddux was an easy sell. One whiff of the smoky meat and he trotted willingly onto the screen porch. Lucy paused momentarily from her  barking to look up. She was tempted but not willing to relinquish control. It would take something truly fantastic to lure her away from such a major prize. After several failed attempts, I finally got her attention away from the possum and onto the tasty treat. Moments later, both dogs voiced their discontent as they realized that the meat was all gone and now a screen door stood between them and their would-be captive. Curses! Foiled again!

Phase One of my clever plan was a complete success. But, now what? I had to get that possum off of my porch and back into the woods where he belonged. I could shoot it, but that was unnecessary. He was not being aggressive; he had done no harm. I just wanted him gone, not dead. I could put on some leather gloves, seize him by his tail, and….no. Just, NO! Then, remembering a successful tactic from a few weeks back, I grabbed the water hose.

I sprayed the possum, and I wish for all the world I had a picture of this moment. I could almost hear him as he looked up at me with a weary, “WHAT NOW???” expression. Using the spray, I motivated him to leave the corner. Try as I might, I could not guide him towards the steps. With one frustrated look back at me, he bailed off the edge of the porch onto the ground.  After allowing a moment for the tired animal to collect himself from the two-foot drop, I panned back and forth at his feet with the water, encouraging the possum to head for the trees. Finally, he seemed to understand what was happening and picked up the pace, snorting and waddling off towards the woods.

I can just imagine what it would be like for the little possum to finally make it home: wet, weary, and empty-handed. “Sorry, I’m late, dear. No Alpo today. You are NOT going to believe what just happened…!”

Storm’s ‘A Brewing……

by Coddiwompling, posted in Adventure, Uncategorized

Hurricane Matthew was, in many ways, a new experience for people in my area. We have had bad storms, to be sure. There was Hurricane David in 1979, Hugo in 1989, and Floyd in 1999 (Hmm…. there seems to be a pattern here). While these storms touched the area in varying degrees, the Savannah coast is largely protected by geography. As hurricanes head our way, they tend to bounce off Florida and hit South Carolina instead. It sometimes concerns me that people will grow complacent and expect this to always occur. A direct shot into Savannah could potentially make Katrina seem like child’s play. In recent hurricane seasons, and even this year, we have had a number of near-misses. Some people prepared. Others watched halfheartedly for Jim Cantore and went on about their daily lives.

As the reports about Hurricane Matthew began to increase in frequency and it became clear that he was headed our way, emergency planning teams sprang into action. Evacuation orders were made. There was a clear plan for where people were to go, and even buses to make sure they got there safely and on time.  I have to say, I was incredibly impressed with the thorough planning of our infrastructure. Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina in particular were in cooperation with each other, employing streamlined evacuation measures, curfews, etc. Expectations from individual citizens were clearly stated and enforced. In a world where people complain incessantly about our government, here is a shining example of leadership done well.

My family lives about an hour away from the coast. Our county had a voluntary evacuation since we were in the zone where “tropical storm” winds were predicted. As we debated whether or not to bug out, I changed my mind several times. The temptation to head west and not stop until we saw tumbleweeds was strong, but in the end, we decided to hunker down and ride it out.

The day before Matthew’s expected arrival, I went into Prep Mode. There was shopping for non-perishable food and other supplies, gas for the generator, and straightening up the house. Now, I don’t even know how to explain this. Perhaps it was the change in barometric pressure, but I felt myself slipping into this bizarre domestic zone. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. I scrubbed things in the house that aren’t on the normal weekly spruce-up list. I organized Jeff’s paperwork. (You would just have to see the before and after pictures to appreciate the depth of that sentence.) I put our emergency food supplies in plastic tubs for easy access and quick getaway, should that become necessary. My humble home looked like a show place. I suppose my thinking was, if my house blew away with the wind, it should be in immaculate condition before the roof was ripped off and the walls fell in.

When Jeff came home that afternoon, we swept the yard for potential projectiles. Lawn furniture, garden hoses, our rickety old grill, and anything else that wasn’t nailed down was stowed away so it wouldn’t come crashing through a living room window. The next morning, we made one last run to the store for extra food, then settled down to wait. And wait. And wait.

This part wasn’t so bad. We had electricity and Netflix until 1:30 am. I know this because I was still wide awake. That was about the time that things really picked up outside. Suddenly the decision to ride things out didn’t feel like that great of an idea. We experienced 45-50 mph winds, which sounded as if they we going to uproot our house and send us to Oz. Meanwhile, Jeff slept quite peacefully through the entire ordeal. I am still trying to forgive him for that!

We awakened the next morning to an amazing sight. Twenty-nine 100-foot-tall pine trees lay on the ground in an arc, facing away from our home. I stood at the window, mouth gaping open, as Number 30 crashed to the ground. Through it all, unlike the dear people of Haiti, there was absolutely zero damage to home or Haywood’s. I’ll take that outcome any day.

A change in the direction of the wind and we would have a very different story to tell, assuming we lived to tell about it. As things turned out, we spent a week without electricity, but with an ample supply of food, a guy who can skillfully wield a chainsaw, and the steady hum of a generator, I have not one thing to complain about. Not. One.

Here are some observations from the first few days after the storm:

The Bad:

  • There will always be grumps. For them, every silver lining has a cloud. Perhaps they were without power, cell, Wi-Fi for a period of time. Yet they were alive and well enough to do their complaining. These people will be present in any and all situations of life. I am learning to ignore them.

The Good:

I can only speak for people in my area, but there were many more who were proactive helpers, rays of sunshine, if you will.

  • Linemen from 20 states left the comfort of their homes to sleep on a gym floor and work ridiculously long hours, with the sole objective of helping restore power to thousands of people they have never met
  • As electricity was restored, many offered their use of their homes to others needing food, phone recharging, or hot showers
  • Random strangers helped remove trees from roofs, roads, and driveways
  • Both society’s “haves” and “have nots” donated and delivered food and water to those in need
  • State and local infrastructure did an excellent job of planning and preparing citizens well in advance
  • A local mayor who could have evacuated, stayed behind instead to help clean up his town after the storm. In fact, he took care of the needs of others long before turning any attention to his own home.
  • Probably my favorite: For almost a week, there were no political arguments on Facebook.

While I certainly do not mean to diminish the devastation some people in Georgia, Florida, or South Carolina experienced as a result of Hurricane Matthew, my point is simply this: There is always a reason to be grateful. We need only to look at Haiti and know that even on our hardest day, we have much to be thankful for. Sometimes it’s difficult to see, but it is always there.