Personally Speaking....

 Personally speaking, there's some things I've been saying a lot lately. One of them is: "... and the hits just keep on coming..." But this is almost always followed by.... "and God is still in the business of miracles." 

Last week saw a plumbing problem and no water for three days. If you've never been without running water, you don't know what a gift it is! But I placed a facebook plea and some one came and fixed it... for FREE! I know parts on this job were not outrageous. But I also know it took more time out of someone's work day than I could have paid them for. Maybe an entire morning? And that labor was donated as well. I asked if I could give them $20 to help toward parts and he said, "You can, but I'll give it right back to you. My wife said this is to be done for free...." Thank you God and the social network of social media for this not-so-small-to-us miracle. I really want to name drop here, but I think the glory should just go to God and good people. And know that the world is still right in some spaces in time. 

Personally speaking, I am realizing that I maybe shouldn't be too hard on myself about the acquiring of animals. It is an inherant part of my personality. But the Punky and I have some big plans for all our animals. We are brainstorming a petting zoo experience at the ole Hippie Chick Farm. People will pay money to bottle feed a baby goat. And let's face it, it is really fun. Those little kids are so adorable, wagging their tails as they suck down that bottle! Rabbit petting and holding. Self-explanatory. So cuddly and cute. Who wouldn't want this experience? Cats.... kittens.... treats for goats.... treats for chickens.... and let's not forget.... a pig. Cupcake, who knows her name and knows the word "treats." Who comes squealing and running, a full-on pig run across the yard to come and see humans. And who is becoming increasingly affectionate to her humans and seems to trust all humans. She has starting sitting down like a dog and occasionally she will stand up on her hind legs to get to a treat. All of these traits are endearing and cute. You should be jealous. For real. The petting zoo experience would help finance our love of all things animal. And at the same time, it would be giving back to the world in the form of an experience to remember and a moment to cherish in a world that is almost always more harsh than it is pleasant. 

Fiscal responsibility. Scary thought. So much harder to do that to talk about and think about. And my car is literally falling apart. A mechanic called it "aging out." My car is aging out. The other U-joint is going bad now. But I did not have the funds to fix it yesterday. I barely had the funds for what did get fixed. Speaking of which... I bought front brake pads. I thought the harsh growl was in the back but I could definitely tell the front was where the squeaking was coming from. Long story short, we had to exchange the front brake pads and get back ones. The squeaking in the front was from the U-joint. Which I knew was going bad because of the other side that we fixed at the beginning of August. I also knew/know that I can drive it a long time yet before I have to fix it. A short digression, but part of this story in a way... Last week, Carolyn calls and says, "my car broke down." She calls back and said her coworker was getting oil. She thought that would fix the problem. But it didn't. She had run it dry. And y'all know what happens then, right? Her engine siezed up. So just putting oil in it would no longer fix it. Nothing would. Nothing will. It's dead. Sad, sad story. (So if you're a prayer warrior, please pray that God, the God of miracles, will again provide a miraculous car for her). This sad story reminds me that I haven't checked my oil in a WHILE. And if your car uses oil, like mine does, this is not wisdom. So I go out and pull out my dipstick. It reads about a 1/2-1 quart low. So I pulled the quart of oil out of the trunk and sloppily spill a bunch of oil as I fill her up. Now I go to check what it read now. But the top of the dipstick is plastic and a piece of it stays in the tunnel(?)/tube(?) thingy that the dipstick sticks in. It just broke right off in there. And I could not retrieve it. I was told it might not be retrievable. By a local mechanic. But anyway. My friend, my circle, my social network friend who makes me feel like I can probably weather any storm because we're a community of people, not just loners, that friend. He fixed my brakes, new pads on the back, everything turned and smoothed and nice and all that. And he got the dipstick problem fixed. And he rigged up a way to keep the tube (whatever the right word is?) closed off until I can purchase a replacement dipstick. A network, a circle, a ripple in the waters of life. A miracle. Miraculously I got paid for a job on Friday and the payment was $70. The brake pads cost $60. And I put a little smidge of gas in so I could make it out to my friends farm. The Punky needed some meds, that is another story and I hope I find time to tell it, but suffice it to say, if you pray for us, she needs some pain relief of miraculous preportions. The new med was $60, but she thought I could fill the old one for $12. A facebook post and a friend sends me the $12. I go to the pharmacy only to be told that the $12 prescription is expired. The only option available is the $60 option. So I say, "thanks but no" and put $8 worth of ibuprofen in my cart. But another friend saw my sad facebook post and messages me about helping with meds. I explain that the $12 med is now $60 and he sends us the remaining $48 we need. Another friend sees the post and sends us $60 to help with car troubles. Now I can actually put in enough gas to get through until Tuesday (payday) and pay for the ibuprofen, a few things we can't do without and the meds at the pharmacy that we desperately need. So much emotional roller coaster riding later, I am overcome with emotion as to just Good God is. And how people are not to be given up on. Because there are lot of good ones out there. Still and again. Good people. A good God. Unworthy me. And miracles. Just wow. 

Most days I wake in a panic about how am I going to pay for.... (fill in the blank). And I fall asleep feeling insecure and afraid. But then, when the rubber hits the road, the miracles happen. I wish I had a better memory for this. Because the living in crisis mode for the birds and exhausting. 

I have a friend who talks me off the ledge on Wednesdays. "Okay, so prioritize, what can you pay with your paycheck? Realistically..." and she walks me through it. Thank God for her. I breathe a little easier knowing I'm not alone. And that it isn't me, I really cannot pay everything on the list with that one paycheck. So.... prioritize. And then breathe. 

This week there was a fun insurance experience also. I scheduled my carpal tunnel surgery (left hand first), and got a bill estimate from the clinic. My resonsibility would be $900+. Wait. What? Yes, the medicare person says, You have a $232 (I cannot remember the exact amount but less than $250) deductible that you haven't paid and so you are responsible for 20% of your bill. Okay.... so why are you not like other insurance and just take the $230ish something and charge me that and pay the rest? Carpal surgery cancelled for now. Until I figure this racket out. And it is definitely a racket. The harder I work, the more there is to pay for. When does the part happen where I catch up and start saving for next summer when my work options are less abundant (as in nil for subbing)? 

I don't know if I mentioned this but I desperately need to pay property taxes. I need to pay somewhere around the $350 mark immediately. Like I had initially planned to pay it on the 1st, but that SSDI paycheck doesn't really stretch like it should anymore. So now the plan is to pay it on the 15th. I'll need to do this again in December. And then again in May. Fiscal responsibility. It never ends. or becomes less. It's always there. Multiplying. 

I know, I know. You "normies" know all this stuff and pay your bills in a timely fashion. But I don't and so far as I try, all I feel is desperation. Not some sort of responsible citizen bullshit. I just feel tired, and desperate. And alone. 

So... the kiddo. Punky woke from a nap one day to having her knee be fine when she went to sleep and her knee being in excruciating pain when she woke up. The ortho doc says this is common. How weird is that. The mri shows floating cartilage pieces loose in her knee. But her insurance ended on her birthday and she is in the appeal process for SSDI. So she has no insurance. No way to get insurance as she couldn't hold a job before this injury but this injury is all consuming. Some days she can barely walk. It's never a "good" day for her knee. At first there were some. Now there are BAD days and less bad days. 

So personally speaking... Jesus has been lacking in my life for awhile. Not gone, just quiet. Quieter than I like. Mostly because I stopped talking to him. I'm feeling spiritually distant. He's started talking to me about growing up financially and I don't really like it. And I'm 58 years old and I have NEVER known how to be a financially responsible human. I don't know why I think that is possible now. But alas. I have decided to give it the ole college try and I'm a little bit prickly about it. Maybe even salty.

But the truth, when I look at it, is that people and God love me. My animals love me. And miracles happen on the daily. And I can't help but be grateful for that. 

Cupcake laying at my feet while I sit in the rocking chair. Is that not the cutest thing ever?!

So many things swirling around my mind... a potpourri? A hodge-podge? A melting pot?

 I've had the urge to write for about a week. So many things to urgently expound upon. But let's start with faith. My faith is not in a great place currently. It's also not in a terrible place. It's kinda just there. Except maybe a little neglected. I pull it out occasionally and tell it how I'm really a good kid and trying to follow a path, and then I shove it back in a box and put it back on the shelf. Wouldn't want it to influence... oh, say.... every little area of my life. Big or small? God no. or probably.... God knows.... sigh. that's the kicker. God knows. God knows when I'm avoiding Him, drowning out the still small voice with an urgent social matter, personal matter, recovery matter, etc. He already knows. 

I've been hearing a lot of talk about abandonment issues. Mostly from anonymous friends. And apparently they work steps and get freedom. I guess maybe I'm clinging to my exceptionality. I am the exception to this. My hurts run deeper. My hurts are more spititual. My hurts are not at the heart of my addiction. Except they are. 

Isn't that why I crave not to feel? To find the numbness and get more and more and more? 

So maybe I'm just an ordinary drunk. An ordinary addict. a pill seeker. a thrill seeker. a searcher for the inner numb. 

There is this inner child that longs for healing from abandonment from her idol, her hero, her daddy. The Dad who too often left her in unsafe places with unsafe people as her only help, only hope. So maybe my mother never abandoned me but I was still all alone. And my dad, he's still my hero. Idk how to really look at this. To admit to it. To realize that maybe he's the one who failed me. Maybe it wasn't all "the other parent". 

I'm afraid. I'm afraid that what might set me free will kill me. Because these are feelings I do not want to face. 

I have talked to God about it some. But it's a little awkward. 

Financial responsibility. That's a good one. Except it isn't. Not to me. I don't like the term,  I don't like what it implies, I don't like the work it takes, and the self-denial I will need to exercise. yuck.

I have a moral dilemma. The "f" word. Have I mentioned that I love the F word? I do. And I wonder if I really need to use it in every single sentence that comes out of my mouth. Maybe I could dial that sh*t back just a little bit. (insert shoulder shrug) maybe. Maybe it would lend more credence to my claim that I love Jesus. maybe. But the thing is, Jesus knows I'm a big fan of the F word. He's decided to accept me as I am. Foul mouth and all. But society. I might appear more intelligent to the blankety-blank middle class if I were to use the F-bomb less frequently. And it might gain back some shock power and wow factor if I did. But what about creativity? I am fan-fucking-tastic at weaving that word into any thing and everything (every-fucking-thing). 

Homesteading and gardening and farming.... oh my! 

My brain is overloaded and overwhelmed with information on homesteading and I want to be a successful gardener and farmer. I want to have sucess. With my little farm and my little menagerie of animals and, and, and.... Seriously my typing fingers cannot keep with my thoughts. So much to do. Tending to the soil, caring for the animals, preparing for the winter, the spring, the next opportunity. Some days I'm exhausted before my feet hit the ground. 

Lastly, please continue to pray for us. There is a lot going on. So much of it is financially draining. And were in a season of Job. One kid has already said, "why would God just leave us in turmoil and not help us?" (I'm paraphrasing here, it was a late-night conversation for one and for two, my brain doesn't remember exact phrasing like some people's do). If it ain't one thing, it's another. Last month we fixed a U-joint and replaced a water pump. This month I've refrained from fixing anything because we're broke from last month still. But the other u-joint is acting up now and the brakes they are a squealing. Those brakes I can only ignore for so long and then I'll have even more expenses to pay. The universal joint should have A WHILE left on it before it's anywhere close to being as bad as the other one when we changed it. Oh yeah, and my dipstick broke. And a piece is stuck in the tube. So I can't check my oil. This frightens me a little. Just keep praying. Please. And I'll just keep swimming.

P.S. Grieving sucks. We lost one of our doggies last week. And we miss him. And knowing he's in a better place doesn't stop me from looking for him.

Midnight garden delight... it's often late when I water, but this guy was so cheerful greeting me!

Down the Rabbit Hole

 Last week's blog... yuck.

The part I think I should feel penitent about, well, I don't. The part I feel bad about is confessing my sins. Not the sins themselves. I don't know. That's not quite accurate either. It's complicated? Living with the ADHD mind.  

I am in a place where I know I need help learning to navigate my finances. I don't make enough on SSDI alone to live. But with my supplemental incomes I do. I can live. And we should be able to pay our bills and eat food without strife or worry. But there's not enough to be spendy or to pursue the American dream.  And certainly not enough to "farm." Any kind of farming involves risk. If you are an agricultural farmer you have to take a giant risk that your investment and hard work will yield you enough to balance not only your initial expenditures but the disasters that come along in the mean time (hail, tornadoes, drought, flooding, freeze, etc.). With livestock, in our case goats and poultry, you risk that your does will get pregnant and produce, which we're experiencing the "oh crap she didn't take" side of that right now. You're believing that you are capable and will be successful at keeping your does from your bucks when you don't want them to produce. Chickens won't get sour crop or egg bound. Or any other horrible things you get to gamble on when you read those social media pages about all the terrible things that will befall your fowl. Fowlpox. Coccidia. Marek's. To name a few. Lice and mites. ewwww. Anyway, it's a risk. No matter what. But to be a farmer is a risk that is heavy on the "it takes money to make money" side of business. I need to invest in this high dollar billy in order to create a line of goats that is worthy of the prices we are asking for when we have kids. We need to keep chickens that lay the eggs we want for our rainbow flock. We need to keep buying outgoing, social animals that engage with people if we want to pursue the dream we have of a petting zoo type of experience. 

Feeling remorseful... or not. So having jumped in and admitting that yes, I do need help learning to reign in my spending or more accurately to learn to be financially responsible, I have instant feelings of hopelessness and failure. I often refer to someone I love and say, "she's &$ years old and not getting any younger, she's always done it this way, and I know better than to think that she is going to change now." So what makes me think that I am going to be able to drum up some sort of backbone/will power and some kind of ability to learn, retain and put into practice new ways of thinking in regard to money?! It seems kind of audacious in the sense that it seems rash and reckless and maybe even an tad insolent. Is there any real chance I can change and retain the change and still be a relatively happy human? Because this human is happiest when she's acquiring animals. 

So it's crazy to think I can go on living like I do. Less than paycheck to paycheck. Hoping and waiting for things to work out. But it seems crazy to think that I can change my frame of mind in regard to spending and to be able to see long term costs involved with say... acquiring animals. It's not just an $8 pig. It's an ongoing expense of food pellets. And someone said that potbellies don't need to be given grain pellets because they can free range.  But nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, makes Cupcake happier than her daily ration of grain. She gets very happy. There's the cost of maintaining a pen for her and creating and maintaining a pen for other critters since she occupies that "extra" pen now. There could be vet costs. And I do not know about pig feet. Do they need their feet trimmed? 

On another note.... Cupcake is quite the addition. She is vocal, and she is hilarious. I really enjoy her. She talks to me a lot. Yesterday she lay her head on my foot because she was happy to see me. When I come out the door she comes running from wherever she is. Well, in the short day and a half since I started letting her free-range during the day. She's happy to go into her pen at night, that is where her feed is. Oh yeah.... 

 

Cupcake with Charlotte. Don't be surprised if we have a web that says "Some Pig"

And a bag of chips (or should I say a Cupcake for dessert?)

 My life really is all that.... and a bag of chips. Somedays those chips are cow chips. Somedays they are rabbit raisins. Somedays they are Tomato basil Sun Chips, a fave. But my life is a spectrum of joy and mundane-ness, and sorrow, and crisis. And I'm the one who built it, and I'm the one who "gets" to live it. 

Currently I'm grieving my inability to handle money well. Some of the things I am wondering.... is it too late to make a permanent/positive change? Have I reached a level of misery that will get me to a place of willingness? Because in order for change to happen, I have to have more than a mouthful of willingness. I have to have a willingness in my heart. And dare I say it, even in my soul. I have come to the realization that I like the way I spend money. I don't like being broke and facing endless financial crisis, but I like the moments when the auctioneer says... "you want a pig? $5...." And for $8 we bring home a pig. A pig that I was none too sure of. She screamed a lot. and she was LOUD. And she was larger than what I really wanted to start out with. A pig. A pig named Cupcake that in a short 10 days has won our hearts. She talks a lot. She doesn't scream anymore. She is tamer (more tame?) than she appeared to be that first night. She likes belly scratches and butt scratches and someone to have a conversation with. She likes watermelon and cantaloup and maybe bell peppers. But she LOVES her grain. She talks about it. She talks to it. She wags her tail when she eats it. She likes it when I change her water. She loves her clean water. 

So here's the rub. She didn't cost us much at all. And right now she gets one scoop of pig food a night. And the bag was $16 for 25 pounds. How can anyone hate on that?! That's reasonable, right?! But ongoing, yes. And who knews how much it will cost in the long run, right? And let's be honest, we don't really need an additional $16-20 a month on our Tractor Supply order. So maybe the pig should go back to auction. Really?! We are now emotionally invested in her. We have a plan to have a free range pig that follows us around and does her own thing and lives her little potbelly life doing piggy things. So I'm a little heartbroken thinking about reselling her.

We do have a dream and a vision. To grow this into an interactive farm experience for kids. We will offer bottle goat feeding when we have kids. And you can give treats to the goats and the chickens and the rabbits and the pig. 

But does it align with becoming fiscally responsible? This is as of yet undetermined. I can kind of guarantee that keeping the rabbits, though they are not expensive, will not become a money maker. or a break even-er. 

So last night in talking with my kiddo, we decided to sell the pig and the rabbits. Kind of breaks my heart. But currently they (rabbits) are all in cages down low to the ground and I would call it temporary housing at best, or the equivilance of living in government housing the ghetto at the worst. Well not Star. She has a pretty nice set up. I don't think she appreciates it much, but it's good. But thinking about the investment of making or buying a rabbit hutch with four apartments or more is a bit daunting. But they need better. Both Wally and Mochi are in need of having their basements cleaned out (all the poo under the cages). I dread this. For reasons that are glaring and obvious... like ewww. But also like... time. Who has time? And work in the what? The heat? or the dark? Well, maybe both at this particular time.

All this drama to really say.... Hippie Chick Farm needs donations. I am in need of an immediate cash payment to the county to keep our house from being auctioned for taxes. (What kind of dumbass lets this happen... well, I know one). We need some supplies. We need more food/water dishes that are larger and not easily dumped over. Both the giant dog and the boy goats like to drag water bowls around and slosh them and spill them. We need old towels and blankets. From your garage or basement, from Goodwill or garage sales. Thread bare is just fine. Old t-shirts also work. But there's too much bathing and transporting and house in cages and mopping up of the spills and accidents. These are the immediate needs that would improve our lives or the lives of the animals we love. 

I need educated in an empathetic way. And if your going to say the envelope thing, please explain to me how you made this work for you because I cannot for the life of me figure out how to live on a cash system in an electronic bill-pay world when I live 15 miles from my "bank" to put money in the places it needs to be for electronic withdrawals. Mostly I need prayer. Because I need to be willing to try whatever system will help me and a system without dopamine rushes via animal acquisition doesn't sound like something I'll be able to do. I'm on the edge of the cliff, the willingness is right there, just out of reach, but almost. so close. 

I don't know how to put a qr code on here, but my cashapp is: $carriehippiechick. And my mailing address is: 4411 S Woodberry Road, Burrton, KS 67020. That's also my physical address if you want to drop off blankets and such. 

Meet Cupcake!

Click on the photo to go to TSC website

As June Concludes...

 A question. A big question on my mind... "Why?" Why do fundamentalist/Nationalist Christians think that berating people is the way to their heart? When I ponder that question, the answer I rest on the most is this: They don't. They don't actually want to build relationship with the people they are casting judgment on. So what exactly is the piont except to be self-serving and arrogant? While I believe that is mostly the point, I don't think that they believe they are being arrogant. 

Yesterday I attended a PRIDE picnic. Set up right at the perimeter, was someone with a sign that had LBGTQ+ colors/symbolism for the background with the words, PRIDE comes before a fall. And a bible reference. My friends at the PRIDE picnic were concerned that someone vulnerable might hear the rhetoric being spun and be injured by it. But as I sat there I wondered.... just WHOSE pride were they talking about? I know it was meant to berate and belittle the PRIDE participants, but the gall and arrogance of someone who would mimic a PRIDE banner to draw attention to themselves and to further endanger lives of vulnerable people makes me think they are so misguided by the word PRIDE that they can't see their pride and arrogance. 

Two things I have been learning about in my life. The LBGTQ+ community and the Bible. I've done a fair amount of bible reading this past year. And yes, we pick and choose what we are going to read about. But we also pick things by the Book, not by one chapter or one verse. Generally I get the opportunity to understand what surrounds certain passages that are becoming near and dear to me or that have been near and dear for a long time already. I am gaining knowledge of context and why the author penned what they did and who their audience was. I am reading alongside a friend that I would consider to be quite far on the conservative pendulum swing. And we often do not glean the same things from the reading. So I pause here for a brief second to say: "how cool is that?!" God knows where each of us is at and one author penned one passage and it hits home for each of us in our different walks. Wow. I am more and more in awe of the God who loves and saved me than I've ever been.

I am also more left-leaning than I've ever been. Those prayers prayed for me.... Lord just let her understand where you are coming from and not her own perspective? I don't think they are getting answered the way it was expected. I know I've been surprised. Pleasantly and often. How many times have I heard a well-intentioned person say something like, "God is a God of comfort." And I think what does that have to do with what is happening here? Whichever "here" might be happening at the moment. And as I've sought the Lord, I feel like I am seeing... "God is a God of comfort..." He comforts me when I hurt, He reaches out to the unreachable, He sees the forlorn. The more I am learning about God, the farther left I lean. I know that breaks my momma's heart. She prays for me to be saved. From what I am not sure. I've been and am being saved from the throes of addiction, the sneakiness of the desire to not feel certain things at certain times and the pull of the bottle that once was my very best friend. I've walked in a hell that some only imagine and some can't imagine. And I have been saved. I have been given a reprieve. Which allows me to seek God and seek life. And to learn more about my own selfishness and destructive ways and my own desire to drown my soul in death and destruction. 

But I digress... 

What is the draw for people who consider themselves to be Christian to "call out" the behaviors they consider vile and to tell people that they have been saved by Jesus Christ as if the people they are addressing couldn't have been saved by the same Jesus. It's ignorant and arrogant. 

This summer, this fall, this next year.... I will continue to pursue Jesus. I want to know him more. I will continue to ask him these questions. And I will go where the winds of change take me. My beliefs are ever evolving. 

But I know this: Jesus loves me. He forgives me from all sorts of vile things in my past. And I want more of that kind of love in my life. I cannot afford to shake my finger at anyone. 

This was a free download. Not my photo. 

Father's Day: Dear Dad

 Dear Dad:

Today I miss you incredibly much. I joke about today being my day since my kids's dads were not really present and for the most part I played the role of mom and dad. But you were there. Not always. Not maybe to Mom's hopes and expectations, but you were part of my life. You were my shelter, my saving grace, a safe place in the chaos. 

I miss you more I can express. I miss your smile, and that twinkle in your eye. I miss you saying... "hello Sweetheart!" or "Carrie.... it's your Pop-oh!" or at the end, the last year or so... "you're one of my dolls..." or "Awww, you doll." I miss your hugs, and little peck on the forehead or even sometimes on the lip. Just a quick peck. Not a weird thing. 

To say I miss you is so small in comparison to these feelings. My life has been forever changed. There's life before Dad died, and life after. They are not the same. 

I love you and miss you. 

Carrie Lynnerskinner

Dad and I at Guymon Pioneer Days Rodeo 2013

Jesus was a Socialist

 A lot of bible-thumping, right-winging, conservatives seem to think that their way is the only way to heaven. And, of course, it is the American Way. These conservatives, who don't want anyone to tell them what to do with their religion, sure think they should judge everyone else. One of the things I've heard a lot of times thorugh this transition from right to left, is how Democrats are just Socialists in diguise. And socialism seems to be the mortal enemy here. I know I was taught how terrible it is. And in all honesty, I don't think that is works. Because people are flawed. And greedy. and power-hungry. But the idea that I should/could/would share whatever I have or whatever skill I excel at in order to help another fellow human who is lacking, that is what I understand to the be the basic premise of socialism. Is this right? Is my understanding accurate? Because this concept is how I undersand Christianity to be. And we've been told to take care of other Christians and to make our church our community. I seldom actually see that. And when I do, it is often connected with some form of a cult-religion. And I don't want to be part of the cult mentality. 

But when I think about socialism, living in community, and serving Jesus, I think it falls under the unbrella of Socialism. Of course, I often discover that I have these ideas in my head of what something is, and reality is something different. So I may go off on this tangent only to get educated in the future and say.... "oh, I was really wrong back then..." 

But I'm tired of people getting mad a those christians who are pursuing Christ and also practicing sharing what they have with people in need. I'm tired of hearing this is wrong because it is the dreaded Socialism. I'm just at the point where I'm annoyed with it. 

Jesus would have given me the fruit of his labor. He would have said, "hey, come on in to my garden and grab the groceries you need...." And when someone comes and asks, "Jesus would you help me build something, I know you are a carpenter..." I can only imagine he would say yes.  

I see people doing some of this in the world today. Not usually from the right-wing church. I see it in gossip groups on Facebook, people helping people in need with no expectation of pay back. I see it on Helping groups and pages on social media. Also with no expectation of payback. 

I'm sad that it is more common to see strangers helping strangers than friends taking care of friends. Or really what I mean, the church taking care of the church. and the unchurched. The people Jesus told us to take care of... widows, orphans, homeless, poor, and immigrants. 

Okay, my rant is over for tonight. I'm tired. I purged my soul and spit it out so it will not haunt me all night in my sleep, so I don't lay in my bed thinking that Jesus acts like a Socialist. And having the urge the shout, "Jesus would help others whenever he had extra, or maybe even if he didn't, he'd still share all he had!" 

I don't honestly think Jesus fits any political or social perameters. He's Jesus. He's not a democrat, republican, Libertarian, socialist, communist, etc. These are governmental inventions we made. Humans. And Jesus is not of human origin. He has heavenly realms at his fingertips. But this is another whole post. 

 

Slice of Life Tuesday

 Tuesday is here again. An opportunity to share my posts with a community of writers and readers and to comment and grow. There are some of my favorite things in life.

My slice today starts off being about baby goats. We've been waiting and waiting and waiting. The first possible due date was early May, like May 7. My daughter has been posting pregnant goat updates everyday for nearly a month. Sunday evening at feeding time, my oldest goes to fill waters for animals and suddenly calls out: "There's a kid in here!" and before we can get in there to see for ourselves, she yells, "There's another one!" We were so excited. After all that waiting. 

Yesterday we are outside, letting new-to-us bunnies play outside and eat a little grass. I look up. I see our other goat who's due to kid, and then I see the kid next to her. Then the other one! Both our does kidded within 24 hours of each other! We are so smitten! 

This morning I had the responsibility of helping get mommas on the milk stand, getting kids outside to play in the grass and later, getting them put back away. What a privilege to "have" to be responsible for these things! And we have the cutest kids ever! 

So this was how I started my day. In spite of being sore and tired from my little dog Maddie being terrified of the thunder and lightening in the night, keeping me up and forcing me to sleep in the living room, not in my bed (sadness...), it was a pretty awesome start to my day. 

baby girl... she might be a keeper!

Sweet baby boy

Ivy is a great Mom! She nudges them toward the udder, 
she keep them clean, keeps watch over them, and talks to them. 

Poppie is a pretty good mother too... she is feeding them, 
and is very protective of them, headbutting the cats and 
other kids if they get too close! I don't have as many pics of these guys yet.
They are both boys. 

To read other slices of life, click on the image. 

Why PRIDE matters to me

 Staring at the page... wondering where it all went. The ideas. I had a million and one ideas. Now I have none. I know something I want to write about, but I'm scared. Scared because sometimes when I get off on a tare I get mean. Scared because I have said this stuff before. Scared because God is telling me some things lately and they are not really pleasant. Like how the insanely high standards that I apply to everyone else in my life, need to apply to me as well. Yuck. I just read something on facebook about "tone it down" and it didn't really apply, and yet it spoke to me. I don't want to tone it down if it is something I'm passionate about. And yet I know that I listen to people who are passionate, but not assholes. 

So anyways... here goes. 

Why does PRIDE matter? 

I mean, there's a plethora of fundametalists in my life that are ready to attack. To talk about how disgusting it is and how it is an abonination to God and blah, blah, blah.... Christian Nationalists is a label that fits well here. I also hate that. I hate that so many people that I love dearly fit the Christian Nationalist sect. 

But here is why pride matters. I can't say I love these people and then mock them and shame them. With love, comes respect. Enough respect for the human being to treat them like they are intelligent and valued. Do I think everything LGBTQ+ aligns with biblical principals? Eh, maybe not. But I think that there is a LOT of my life, habits, daily routines, actions, don't "pass" on a biblical level. I know I'm covered by grace. See where I'm going? If I am covered by grace, why wouldn't my LGBTQ+ friends and family be covered as well. Well, because, if I'm honest here, in America, we skew the rules to match our white supremist system. Ouch. You know, I know that every day I experience privilege because I'm a white person. With a big vocabulary. And believe it or not, that wordist shit matters. But I digress... 

Isn't the goal of Christianity, of striving to live like Jesus asks me to, to reach other human beings and bringing them into the fold? "Love the Lord, your God with all your heart" and "Love your neighbor as yourself..." Even in the middle of a bunch of self-loathing and self-sabotage, I still "love myself" and give myself a pass for a lot of things. Behaviors. "I couldn't help it," "I didn't know better," "I'm doing the best I can with what I have to work with..." and so on. Jesus didn't ask me this. Jesus said, the greatest commandments are (paraphrasing here)... "Love God" and "Love your neighbor." Know why? Because if I do those things, actually do those things, I'll cover all those other things that God wants from me. If I love God, I'll respect him and do what he asks. If I love my neighbor, I'll accept them, even if they look, love, sound different from me. 

God loves my LGBTQ+ people. God love everyone. He is not American. And I am not his favorite. 

This is the short list as to why I celebrate PRIDE. I don't want my friends and family to think no one loves them and maybe suicide is the answer. I don't want them to think that if Christians don't love them, God doesn't love them. This weird American thing where we think we can hate and bully someone into feeling loved is beyond me. I know it didn't work on me (yes, I'm straight, but always the outcast). I didn't feel loved and I didn't feel motivated to "fit in." I just felt more outcast and more alone. I felt determined to never be like the people who tried to pressure me to be worthy of their love.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Memorial Day and Memories

Today is a Monday on a Tuesday. With yesterday being a holiday. 

Yesterday we took a moment to honor family who have passed on. My Dad, who did not pass away in combat, but who was a veteran. And my grandparents and my "real" grandma. Of course, my grandma was my real grandma, but my dad's mom died when he was 8. 8?! What a burden to carry. Or lay down, but I think mostly he carried it, tucked away deep inside his soul. 

 Anyway.... we had a quick visit to the cemetary yesterday evening and put some things on Dad's grave and visited the others. There is so much history in that cemetary. The Loewens, and Sudermans, and Hieberts, and Penners. And Leppkes. and more. But these are names that overwhelmingly fill the cemetary, and bring up memories of childhood. 

I wanted to stop and talk to Dad a little. But.... too many people. 

So I just acted like I was fine with simply decorating his grave a little and moving on. Shame on me for acting as if. But that's what my family does. We act as if we are fine when indeed, we are not. 

I remembered Dad and all the many times we went to the pond to fish on Memorial day. And times when he sacrificed his opportunity to fish in order to put the worm on the hook and take the fish off the hook and ride kids around on the 4 wheeler and prepare the fire for us to cook our hotdogs. 

Earlier in the weekend, we took part in a craft show to sell my daughter's crocheted stuffies, otherwise known as amigurumis. During this show, they played a lot of music featuring "America." America the Beautiful; the Star Spangled Banner; Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue; Proud to Be an American; and more. Many songs that made me think of my Dad, his patriotism, his love of our country and our state, and his pride in his citizenship, and probably in his service. 

Though he went into the Navy as a pacifist, and pursued things that would only involve peace, much of the community/church etc., did not appreciate that someone of a faith of pacifism served in the armed forces. We didn't really talk about his service until I was fortyish. When I became a teacher. But the American Legion did place a nice flag at his headstone and he had a lovely tribute from the Navy (?) at his funeral. They played taps, and ceremoniously gave him a flag. It was very cool. 

Memories. I'm flooded with memories. The good kind. I'm so glad there's so much to remember and so much GOOD in my dad. 

Dad's headstone. The flag was placed for his service. And we brought the rest. 

Grandpa and Grandma Suderman's headstone.

My Grandma that I never knew, this is her headstone. My Dad's mom, 
who passed away when he was a child. 

A poem of solace discovered

 This Space

Who is that? 

Chittering in the tree? 

I cannot see. 

It's not the cardinal 

or the robin

whose song I'm well familiar with.

I catch a glimpse

from the corner of my eye 

of movement on the sidewalk.

A toad.

Or maybe a frog.

I will only know for sure

if it rains a lot and I hear their song.

Currently I hear

the wind rushing through the green,

the trees, the grass, the newly headed wheat. 

I smell rain

though the sun is bright and the clouds are high.

No foretelling

of disaster to come. 

the calming drum

of the woodpecker

drilling away 

as he seeks to build his home.

Quiet chirps of all types of birds.

And always the rustling of the wind.

Calling me. 

Reminding me.

This is home.

-Carrie Horn

5/18/26

Love of Poetry

Poetry...

one of my passions;

a necessary evil,

a source of joy.

Part of daily survival 

for me.

Like rain to the crops

and hydration to my body,

poetry is a life substance. 

It inspires me

purges me

gives me  courage, strength: a voice.

A voice to shout

to whisper

to tell my story.

To rant and rage, 

to build my case. 

Poetry gives me purpose,

rights some mysterious wrong,

some feeling I can't quite touch.

Poetry gives me a voice,

reason,

a way to purge my thoughts. 

There's a beauty,

a majesty, 

a sense of certainty,

that lives in poems.

I hope the world can read

my emotion

floating 

between the lines,

in the breaths, 

the beating of my heart,

my passions....

my convictions,

my causes,

and quiet certainties. 

Poetry.... 

expressions of my soul.

-Carrie Horn

5/16/26

Open post; free verse Poetry

​Here’s what greeted me Monday morning in my plans. 

Two things I'm passionate about.... causes and poetry! 

Poetry. Free verse poetry. I mean…. How did they know I would be teaching 2nd grade this week?! Seems like maybe something is at work here that is bigger than just me. 

We spent an entire activity time planning our poems with word webs. I decided to have them focus on what they are learning about: Fighting For A Cause. The first lesson was about Susan B Anthony. 

So we carefully constructed our thoughts with her name in the middle. We decided our poem title should simply be Susan B Anthony. Then they were to use the ideas in the web to develop lines and verses.

That first day, every child wrote a prose paragraph. And followed those grammar rules to a tee.  

So the next day we talked about how the rules are different in poetry. That in some ways, there are no rules. But that poems pick up a rhythm. That you don’t have to use complete sentences, that sometimes you make your point by not using a complete sentence. 

Our Susan B. Anthony writing started to turn into poems. Some students realized fairly quickly how to structure the poem using their concept/idea/thought and then moving to the next line to move to the next thought. Some kids said, "I thought we couldn't start sentences with (this) word...." And I said, well, you aren't starting a sentence, you are just continuing your thought on a new line. And the rules are not the same in poems. "Ohhhh......" 

Some students started to pick up on the magic. Finding a rhythm. Picking up on a theme. Getting to express themselves. As I tried to explain to them about how to brainstorm and organize their ideas, I drafted a sample. 

my notes/brainstorming/main ideas

My poem about Mr. Miller's class!

There was only one student who said I did not have permission to share her poem with my poetry group. So I will honor that. But I am including a few Susan B. Anthony poems as well as a few of their free choice free verse poems.

Wolfs/Wolfs eat meat/wolfs travl in a pack.

Legos/they're so fun/they're plastic brick/
they're so fun.

Cat or my fafrit/because cats/ are cute.

Kiwi Bird; The Kiwi bird is a bird 
can't fly/the eat berrys and insects./
The Kiwi bird is fast and speedy./
Kiwi birds live in New Zealand.

And my personal favorite.... 

Ms. Horn
You are the best sub ever/you are nice/
you are cool/you live on a farm/with little dinosaurs.

Saturday thoughts in a 9-5 world

 Happy Saturday my friends. This has been a whirlwind of a week and emotional and spiritual ups and downs. Where to even begin.... 

I am in the middle of a three week sub gig. This has stirred up all sorts of things inside of me and brought some stuggles at home. I am feeling the tug of teaching like I haven't felt since I was a "teacher." I love the connections. I love feeling like I make a difference in the lives of kids. I like feeling like my life has purpose beyond the daily farm life purpose. Here is where it gets tricky. This feeling of purpose is something that lacks when I rely on nature and animals for my sense of self. BUT.... my farm life is insanely important to me and gives a different kind of purpose. It is a peaceful one. But that human connection is lacking. Sometimes I forget how important this human connection is. 

My youngest child has always faced some things that other kids don't. Ummmm.... writing about these things are raw and painful. I find it difficult to share because it means I failed. But I also believe in facing it. And I can't heal what I can't look at. 

This Punky of mine has some sort of attachment disorder. (This is diagnosed by Dr. Me... the one she's attached to). As well as some ways of thinking and processing that would most likely fall on the autism spectrum. The reason I include this has to do with her need to be understood, her need to control friendships and relationships in ways that don't work for the other person. This leads to her having fewer friends than the average person. Which circles back around to me, her main person in her life, and her best friend, her support. I can remember when she became aware that I was the only true constant in her life. That her dad was hit and miss. Mostly miss. And that there's just mom to take care of her. It was and still is a big insecurity for her. This stirs up a need to be with me and a feeling that she is alone all the time, sometimes even when we are together. The thing about that is that it's exhausting for me and it causes conflict with things that other people whose grown children live with them don't face. Like how it upsets her when I work full time. And she says things like "what about spending time with me?" To which I respond.... "You are an adult child living in my home, I should be able to work if I want (need) to". Because I don't feel like I need to check with my child before I accept a job. I don't feel like I should spend my days determining whether or not she will feel secure. But this circles around to.... Mom-guilt. All this guilt because of ways I failed my kids in the first place. I worked a lot when Punky was little. And had to leave her in care that I didn't always trust to be in her best interest. As well as being EXTREMELY human, and not always being a safe place for her myself. More mom-guilt. So do I owe her my time now in order to heal her childhood? Would that even suffice? Is there such a thing as healing? Mom-guilt. mom-guilt. mom-guilt. inner turmoil.... 

So back to other thoughts.... should I pursue a fulltime teaching gig? Reasons to do this: insurance, retirement, less financial stress, I am good at teaching... it gives me a sense of self and fulfillment. Oh, and I love being a teacher. I gain a certain prestige. Both in the community and in my own head. Reasons not to pursue this: losing my disability, less time for farm stuff, I come home exhausted every night, politics of teaching: planning to meet standards and district expectations, I don't know what my body needs or if it can actually handle teaching full-time. 

What I generally circle back to is this: I'm pretty happy being a sub, I can choose to work or not work, and this way I can give my knees (and my carpal tunnel) time to recover from working. I love working on my farm. You can't tell from driving by. Because I have limited time and limited energy to give to things like clean up, mowing, and so on. But I do. Love my chickens, ducks, goats, cats and even my damn dog. I love the sunsets (and sunrises which I seldom indulge in). I love taking a minute (or hour) to blog and think and chew on ideas and write and study the scriptures. I love this freedom that comes with my disability insurance. 

So (secretly) I know what the answer is. 

But these are thoughts and emotions swirling in my head and heart. So now I say again, Happy Saturday my friends. 

New month, new day, new you

​I freely admit my heartbroken-ness over the poetry challenge ending. I was prepared not to like it. I had an expectation that it would be an intimate group of writers who wouldn’t easily accept this strange one. The surprise was so pleasant. It was an intimate group. But so accepting and inclusional. So intimate in the best way. 

Where will I share my writing? My soul? Opinions? And who will comment and encourage me? I’m seriously asking. Because it’s so edifying. Ego boosting. 

Yesterday was Poetry Friday. Who knew there was such a thing?

Well I know now. So prepare yourself. 

Today has declared itself to be a day full of randomness. Randomosity. Not singularly themed. 

We’re at a suicide awareness and prevention walk. So my mind is overwhelmed with heaviness. Or is it my heart? I’m overwhelmed. There’s a lot of joy here among people. But there’s a heaviness as well. 

Talking with family about end of life plans. Like funerals. How I asked kids to play some certain songs at my funeral when I die. Will they remember? I don’t know about “they….” (The mysterious they), but Carolyn will remember. It would surprise me if she didn’t. But I won’t know. I won’t be here. When I say what I want I either begin or end with…. But a funeral or memorial  is really about you, the living, not me, the dead. So you do what you want! Oh…. If you’re curious, I did NOT request AC/DC, but I did request Amazing Grace. And there’s a Rod Stewart song Called Forever Young.  Not the Bob Dylan song. Oh…. I forgot this one: Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd. 

Oh, back to suicide prevention. I’m not suicidal today, but I do choose gratitude every day. Especially for the little things, like how we saw a little family of geese— the goose, the gander and 3 goslings. I saw some beautiful flowers this morning and they brought me joy. Im confident I’m growing old. I have started being reminded of something from my youth by nearly every mundane daily experience. The flowers remind me of my childhood and the peony bushes in our yard and when I was fairly small, we had beautiful irises in our back yard. 

Today I thank my god for joy. Joy in every small moment. Not every moment I live. But there are many glimmers every day. For this I’m grateful.

These were some of the lovely irises we saw today.

Ode to this Gathering of Poets

 April draws to a close

and the last period, exclamation point, ellipsis, question mark 

has been finalized. 

The last little glimpses of my soul

have been exposed. 

This is the end, 

the jumping off place, 

the place where it all starts to change. 

I'll write my little verses,

with no one to admire my work. 

I'll still think I'm so talented.

I will pine for readers,

yearning for responses. 

I'll miss the validation, the comraderie....

my new found friends. 

-Carrie Horn

4-30-26

Music Describes my Life

​“Welcome to the show

Step inside 

Step inside”

This starts playing in my head 

as I think about my life.

I think about

The chaos that described 

2020; Covid.

This feels a little bit (lot)

The same.

I feel the mire

Pulling me down 

I can’t breathe. 

Someone laughingly says 

“My life is sh*t show!” 

And I say….

“Mine too. Mine too.”

I hear the carnival music

And smell the carnival foods 

As the familiar theme

Plays in my head.

But this is real life. 

And as I feel myself go under

Another anthem rings through my head

“Save my life I’m going down for the last time….”

-Carrie Horn

4-29-26

Poetry writing

​I’m sad now

Thinking of how the days of poems

Are coming to a close. 

Do I have to stop writing poems daily?

I guess not. 

But the thrill of checking for a response

Or two

Will be gone. 

What’s that? You’re hungry?

But of course you are. 

How much time before kids come back?

Can I write and eat. Both?

Oh gosh….

I dunno. 

10 more minutes Care

You can do this. 

But I need to review plans. 

Oh yeah 

Where are those plans?

Wait. 

You’re not done. 

Are you done? With the writing?

The poems? The distractions? 

Writings not the distraction….

Lesson plans. 

That’s the distraction.

Really? 

I need another coffee.

Maybe I should check the lounge. 

I still have 7 minutes. 

-Carrie Horn

4/27/26

The Song on the Breeze...

 First things first. I'm cheating just a smidge on this post. It's Sunday. My day to be home. Not to take a drive. Here is where my serenity lies. 

So I'm on my porch in my ole rocking chair, watching and listening. To the rustling of the trees as the wind gently sways their branches. The goats are bleating because that's what goats do. and birds are calling. The roosters are crowing and the ducks are pleading with me to set them free. The air is damp and chilly. As it can be this time or year. It stirs wonder and awakens my soul. I take a sip of my Sunday coffee, blissfully strong and a little bit bitter, with just a hint of something softer. Sunday coffee tastes better than Monday coffee. Relaxed and blissful. The wheat in the field still green but tall and starting to head. It dances in the breeze, majestic and choreographed. It creates its own rustling sound, the music of my forefathers with their Turkey Red Hard Winter wheat. Hardy and resilient. Just like the souls of the mennonites who brought it Kansas. It is my family's heritage, softly moving in the breeze to the rhythm of the wind, the motions of the dance, captivating and awe-inspiring. I hear the birds creating their own songs and mixing their harmonies. The peace and stillness laced with life and song. The barnswallows are back. Swooping and careening and singing and sailing. They are forging their future and finding their nests. Who will inherit the nests of the past, who will relentlessly attempt to build on my porch, only to have their hard work torn down again and again? 

Sunday Vibes

Today is the day

the coffee tastes best,

    strong and black,

    hot and steamy.

    Only a small hint of bitterness... 

I pause to wonder, 

is there a deeper metaphor here, 

the depths of my soul,

finally learning to give warmth,

still holding a hint of bitterness?

What do I hear on the breeze, 

and see in the air? 

Are they gulls of some kind? 

They crash my party 

With both majesty and mayhem

stirring up chaos 

and grandeur.

Mixing their melody with the harmony

of a killdeer or two

calling out,

the song of a songbird too.

What is that warble? 

A robin? A whipperwill? 

A call of a pheasant joins in the song

all playing on top of rhythm 

provided by the wind.

Barnswallow swooping, 

gracefully,

in tandem,

like an olympic champ.

They careen and they call

and look perfectly in sync

with the world of my farm.

Wind on the trees, 

wind in the wheat,

in my too tall grass that cries to be mowed.

Theres a chill in the air

carried across the breeze

calling beware

a reminder that Springtime in Kansas

can mean chaotic weather.

My slice of heaven

time with my creator

sporting a safety yellow hoodie

my favorite one of all time.

My coffee cooling quickly,

reminding me of Dad

(because he, like God, is everywhere)

and his magical ability to

 not only drink lukewarm coffee

but still enjoy it thoroughly.

Not a skill I've yet acquired. 

I'll refresh my cup and ponder some more. 

The sound of roosters

calling to... who? 

I'm not sure. 

Maybe their hens, 

maybe to me,

maybe to prove

their voice is strong.

The wheat acoss the road

waves to me

beckons me

invites me to play. 

And old piece of farm equipment 

planted in the field 

like a prop for a photo shoot.

I'll oblige you there.

I sip my black coffee

and ponder my Sunday. 

Not shaping up as I'd planned,

mother nature herself,

the sudden, spontaneous, changer of plans.

I now hear the chime that makes me smile

my windchimes I love, mix with

a new voice on the wind.

I'm not sure who, but adding its melody

to the background music. 

The band's all here,

the instruments are vocalizing,

harmonizing as

a kitty comes trotting

across the yard

her prize in her mouth...

and the circle of life

keeps going round

to the harmonious sounds.

I sit in my rocker and rock to the rhythm

and sip my bliss and 

gather new songs 

and give thanks. 

to my creator. 

-Carrie Horn

4-26-26

I’ll take your word and I’ll raise the stakes

​What was that word?

Woke?

Is that some kind of joke?

I’ll take your word and I’ll raise the stakes

Because your word is a perfect descriptor 

Not an insult's as intended. 

Passion. Passionate. 

That’s what I call it. 

And to the “Christian” right I say,

I read the book, 

The words in red, 

The ones that explain

WWJD to me. 

I love people. 

Some are poor. 

Some are addicts. 

Some people I love 

Have different spiritual beliefs than me.

Some are black and 

Some are brown. 

Some are Asian 

And don’t speak much English.

Some came here to escape…

Violence.

Terror.

Warfare.

Drug kingpins.

I can’t understand,

America

Where is your freedom?

Compassion? 

I was always taught

About a great melting pot.

Liberty and justice for all,

Let’s be honest 

The definition of all

Is really, really small.

What about the homeless,

The poor, 

The immigrant, 

The African American

Living and working in our midst.

America

I’m enraged.

And I’m embarrassed.

How can we talk about people

In such labels. 

How can we continue 

To pat ourselves on the back

In the midst of-

Injustice

Immorality

Thievery 

and more.

I’m ready to fight,

With all my might,

For what is right.

So call me woke 

Or whatever 

floats your right wing boat.

I know God 

And I know my neighbor.

Love them both.

Can you REALLY say the same?

It’s not a joke.

It’s not a game.

Say their name.

-Carrie Horn

4-25-26