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Little Missouri River

An Adventure on the Little Missouri River

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On my first long trip in my motorhome, I met a semi-retired airline attendant named Judy who had a precious six-year-old papillon, named Harper. We traveled side-by-side in our motorhomes for a couple of weeks in North and South Dakota. In my book Finding Joy in the West, which is scheduled to be released in early 2025, you will read about my adventures with Judy and Harper. Following is the first part of the first of many adventures with the dynamic duo.

The first morning we camped together at Theodore Roosevelt National Park South, Judy suggested we take her inflatable kayak and inner tube down the Little Missouri River. We found a place to launch at a nearby state park. We squeezed through a clearing in some brush, scaled our way down a steep embankment, and waded into the river. Judy put Harper on the back of her kayak, stepped in, and pushed off with her paddle. Following suit, I pushed off and plopped myself into the center of the inner tube.

We floated downstream, admiring the perfect view of the buttes and the amazing blue sky splattered with pillowy white clouds. Harper, perched at the stern inches behind Judy, looked confident like he had done this a million times. Several times we walked in the water because our crafts dragged on the river bottom, and occasionally the current became swift, but most of the time we just floated gently down the river.

An hour or so into our excursion, we switched places so I could try her kayak. Thirty minutes later we switched crafts again. When we got out to walk through a shallow area, I held on to the tube, but I hadn’t gotten back on it yet. In half a second, the water changed from too shallow to float to a rushing current too deep and strong for either of us to fight. Judy pulled over to the bank for safety. She called for me to come to the bank, but I was further downstream. 

To get back to her, I tried walking, and then swimming when the water rose above my waist. I felt as though I was in one of those resistance swim pools designed to give you just as much resistance as you can swim against—the swimming equivalent of a treadmill. My efforts got me nowhere. It was funny at first. But then, the water got deeper, and the current stronger. Though swimming as hard as I could (which was not that hard given I’m not much of a swimmer and I was still holding onto a tube I could not climb into), I was getting whooshed further and further from my friend.

Judy pushed off and steered her way through the turbulence. Thankful she was willing to push away from the safe spot she found on the bank, I held on to the tube and quit fighting the raging waters.

Once I quit battling the current, I gave one big kick with my legs and hoisted myself back on top of the tube, which now posed as my life-saver ring. With Judy and Harper close behind, the current shot us downstream as though we were on a ride at a water park. Within 2-300 yards, the water returned to the peaceful flow we had experienced earlier, and on we sailed. Minutes later, as though our lives had never been in danger, we once again marveled at the charm of the river, the stunning buttes, and the soft blue sky with the wispy snow-white clouds.

This is the end of part one of my first adventure with Judy and Harper. Part two of this story chronicles my first and only ride in the back of a police car. It all turned out ok, but you will have to get my book to read the rest of this story and the many Judy and Harper escapades that followed.

Got a kayak or white-water rapids story of your own? Please scroll down to share.

 

One Thing Narrow

One Thing

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Thanksgiving is the day many in the United States look back at the year and recall things for which we are thankful. Even in the throes of tragedy, we try to find the good. It’s healthy to look back, to be grateful for where we have been. And, after looking back, it’s good to look forward.

Reflection moves us forward. As I reflect on 2024, and my word for the year (which is focus), I think about how much I have learned about writing, about life, and about myself. My one thing has been to write. Yet if you read Focusing on the Big Rocks or any other blog I posted about goals, you know I struggle with focusing on one thing. Even when I sit down to write, I question: “Should I write a summary of my book? Or should I write a blog? Or should I write in my journal?”

One thing I find fascinating, though, is the timing of how pieces of information come together and weave the fabric of our lives into one neatly designed quilt. Currently, a few hundred of my best friends and I are taking an 8-week class with speaker, podcaster, and author, Jon Acuff. Jon is preparing us for “The Greatest Year Ever.” Our homework assignment for day two was to make an extensive “looking forward to list.” From that list, he encouraged us to make goals, and then to funnel our list of goals into one goal. One goal! He challenged us to commit to working on one goal for a minimum of fifteen minutes a day for thirty days.

Jon likens this challenge to dating, rather than marrying. Often people commit to doing something for 365 days that they have not even tried for 1-7 days. On January 1, people set goals such as ‘I’m going to run five miles every day,’ when the only running they have been doing is from couch to refrigerator. So, Jon is encouraging us to start small and build. We may find that after 30 days of “dating our goal”, we don’t even like it. That’s the point of dating. We can break up and find a new goal to date.

Now, while Jon is encouraging our group to focus on one thing, I noticed on Goodreads that Jon just finished listening to Do It Now: Overcoming Procrastination by Fuschia Sirois. Not wanting to procrastinate, I downloaded it and listened to it myself. The author points out that we can’t multi-task like we think we can. We lose our focus every time we get a text, an email, or a phone call, and it takes valuable time to refocus on our task at hand. She says we get less done by trying to do more. She also noted we procrastinate on tasks we know are going to be difficult or unenjoyable. That’s why Jon says we should pick one thing we love. Focusing on one thing we love could lead us to more enjoyable lives.

Before I finished Do It Now, a friend told me she was listening to a book called, The One Thing: The Surprisingly Simple Truth Behind Extraordinary Results by Gary Keller and Jay Papasan. I bet you can guess the underlying theme of this book. Yes, like Jon is teaching us to focus on one thing, the authors reiterate the importance of focusing on just one thing. How did Michael Phelps, diagnosed with ADD as a child, become the most decorated Olympic athlete of all time? Among similar stories, the authors note Michael won twenty-eight Olympic medals by focusing on one thing.

Everything I have heard this week is telling me to focus on one thing. So, as you reflect today on what you are thankful for, I challenge you to make your “looking forward to list.” Then, think about what you might focus on in 2025. We have a month to “date” a few goals before we pick one to “marry.” Do you already have something in mind? What is your one thing? I’d love to know your thoughts. Please scroll down and comment below.

*Photo by Janice Burrell

Woman smiling in hallway

Beverly Armento: A Life of Joy and Resilience

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What a JOY! We met in February at the Georgia Writers Museum Writers Retreat in Eatonton, Georgia. As a former teacher and college professor and second-year presenter, Beverly spoke to the group with enthusiasm, poise, and confidence. I hung on her every word. At the end of her presentation, I was inspired to finish my book, Finding Joy. She had published her first book, Seeing Eye Girl: A Memoir of Madness, Resilience, and Hope, at the age of 81. It is her story of growing up with a blind, abusive mother in a wildly dysfunctional family. Certainly, I thought, if Beverly can publish at 81, I can do it at 60.

By the end of February, I had finished reading her book, posted reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, and become not only a fan, but a friend. On our first phone call, Beverly encouraged me to make JOY the thread that weaves through every blog I write. And as I was realizing that my book, Finding Joy, falls under the creative memoir genre as much as travel and adventure, she told me that memoirs are about reflection. It will take me years to reflect on those words of wisdom, but I will always remember I heard them from Beverly first.

In a recent talk, Beverly told me she was focused on writing her next book. However, she admitted to having too many commitments. As Seeing Eye Girl gains momentum, she struggles with promoting her first book while writing her second. Her next book is a novel called Will Power, which is about her father.

            “So, how did you find the time to write Seeing Eye Girl?”

            “Well, you have to be persistent and disciplined with your behind-the-computer time. I also participated in a critique group. Ten women who were all writing memoirs got together every week. We analyzed each other’s work. Being analytical about others made me more analytical about my own writing.”

            “You met every week?”

            “Yes. We were all dedicated to our own work and to each other. I would also say, get in a group with at least two or three writers who are better writers than you. You don’t need people who are just going to tell you, ‘Oh, this is so good. I wouldn’t change a thing.’ That’s not going to make you a better writer.”

            “That makes sense.”

            “I also took a lot of classes in creative non-fiction. My book reads more like a novel because that’s how I looked at it. I was ‘showing a story’ rather than ‘telling a story.’”

            “Oh, I like that. Yes. You were definitely showing your story.”

            “Yes. It took me a long time to find my voice. But when you find your voice, it’s like you have found the tone you want to achieve. It gets easier after that.”

            “Tell me more about tone.”

            “Well, I didn’t want to bash my mom or wallow in the abuse. My mom wasn’t all bad. She had a compassionate side, too. When I was living it, I felt the fear and the anger, but as a writer I didn’t want readers to feel sorry for me. I wanted to portray the ‘strong Beverly’, so I turned down the volume on the abuse and emphasized the good times, the joy of my childhood.”

From the trauma in her home life, Beverly learned to be strong and resilient. She found comfort and joy in school—in her supportive teachers and friends. Her teachers were so kind to her that she resolved to give back by becoming a joyous, happy teacher for other students one day. And she did just that. Beverly taught middle schoolers and then college students for fifty years before retiring to write.

Miss Armento (who later became Dr. Armento) enveloped her children with kindness and taught prospective teachers to do the same. Beverly credits her teachers with believing in her and encouraging her to become a teacher who would make a difference. She says teachers have more impact on their students than they will ever know. And at 83, Dr. Beverly Armento is still out there encouraging others to make a difference in the lives of today’s youth.

I encourage you to read my friend’s memoir. It’s on Amazon. And you can learn more about Beverly on her website www.beverlyarmentoauthor.com. If you know her or ever get to know her, I’m sure you will agree with me that Dr. Beverly Armento is a JOY.

*Photo by Kai Smith of Eikonik Images

Niagara Falls

Don’t Wait

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As I wrap up the writing of my book Finding Joy in the West, I am forming the outline of its sequel, Finding Joy in the East. The books are about finding joy as I ride my bike in fifty states, the people I meet, the places I visit, and in my spiritual walk with God.

In 2019, I took my first long trip in my motor home. The plan was to drive to California via the northern half of the country and zig zag my way back to Georgia on a southern route. Spoiler alert: the trip did not pan out that way. The six-month trip got cut in half. To hear the story, you will need to read my soon-to-be-released book.

In 2020, I took a six-week trip to Florida and a six-week trip north. By 2021, it was time to head east. On my trek to Maine, I tagged up with my brother and sister-in-law, my 102-year-old Aunt Helen, and friends and family in Indiana. Also, while in New York, I re-connected with a cousin and her parents, my mom’s sister and her husband. Having given them only a few days’ notice, I presumed we might meet for dinner, and I would continue my trek to Maine.

As my sister’s friend once said, “I could not have been wronger.” I arrived in North Tonawanda two hours before my cousin Kim retired. She and Uncle Don and Aunt Carol invited me to stay overnight. The next day, they invited me to stay another day. And the “stay one more day” pattern continued until I had stayed in my cousin’s driveway for five nights. My mom’s other sister, Ellie, came from Detroit and made the visit even more special.

The days (and night) we went to Niagara Falls became a highlight of my five-month trip to the east coast. Uncle Don had been a tour guide at the Falls, so he and Kim knew exactly where to take me for the best Falls experience. He explained the importance of the Falls as a source of hydroelectric power and shared the phenomenon of the natural whirlpool twirling clockwise or counterclockwise depending on the volume. He shared so much history, I couldn’t remember it all. Having done it many times before, Aunt Carol and Uncle Don waited for Kim and me as we enjoyed a thrilling boat ride on the Maid of the Mist, which took us to the bottom of the Falls where we felt the mist of the water as it gushed to the pool below.

After that visit, Kim set up a bi-monthly Zoom call with me, her identical twin Karen, Uncle Don, Aunt Carol, and Aunt Ellie. She invited other cousins and my siblings, who joined occasionally. The core group always included Kim and Karen, with an occasional pop-in visit with Don and Carol, who moved in with Kim after her husband Jim died in January 2023. We treasured those Zoom calls as we got to know each other better. Karen died in March this year of the debilitating disease of ALS. Oh, what a blessing it was to get to spend time with her, albeit on a computer screen, before she passed.

On a call in September, I told Kim I wanted to have a special Zoom with her and Uncle Don to reenact those days we spent at Niagara Falls. For my book I wanted to get more details about the Falls, and what better resource did I have than my resident-expert Uncle Don? We planned to schedule a Zoom once I turned my manuscript over to my editor again and Kim and her parents returned from a trip to Upper Michigan.

Well, that conversation never happened. Uncle Don died from a sudden heart attack last Tuesday. Somehow, the world seemed a much better place before Tuesday. His funeral was this past Saturday. I’m grateful that we reconnected, and I got to know my cousins Kim and Karen and their parents better, but I’m heartbroken that we didn’t get to have that one last chat. I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye to Jim or Karen or Don. We all know we are not promised tomorrow, yet we think we will do this or that next week, spend time with family and friends next month, and make a bucket list trip next year.

Because of my experience, I want to say to you, “don’t wait.” Live each day as if it may be your last. End each call, each visit, with a sincere “I love you.” Having lost her husband, her twin, and her dad in less than two years’ time, my cousin says, “if you have the resources, don’t put it off for another day.”

Hands on Laptop

We All Do It

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We all do it, but it is not sustainable. When we have a project, an event to plan, a change in life, or any big task, we push ourselves and focus on that task to the detriment of everything else. Sleep? Who needs sleep? Exercise? Definitely no time for that! Cook? Isn’t that what fast food is for? The weekend tasks get pushed aside. Our house gets messy. Laundry piles up. Our yard looks like an abandoned lot. We all do it, but we know it’s not sustainable. Something has to give.

This past weekend, I sent draft number ten of Finding Joy in the West to my editor. When I sent draft nine to her before my birthday in June, I honestly thought it was almost complete. I figured she would make a few suggestions like “italicize this and capitalize that” and it would be ready for publication. Oh, how naïve! She sent it back to me on August 1st with what felt like a thousand suggestions and clarification questions.

For seventy days I stressed over details in my manuscript big and small. To have more time for revisions, I pushed aside more and more as the days turned into weeks. Over the last two weeks I rode my bike three times rather than the scheduled twelve. I quit reading before bed, stopped visiting friends, drastically reduced texts and calls, avoided social media, and let email and other things pile up.

Back in 2013 my focus word for the year was balance (see One Word Can Change the World). Though I have tried to add that word to my world for over a decade now, clearly, I have not embraced it to its full extent. This year I chose to focus on getting Finding Joy in the West published. Because I do not always know how much is involved in achieving a goal like writing a book, my world gets out of balance from time to time. I know your world does too. Sometimes it seems that’s just how life goes. But the question is, “what are we going to do about it?”

Unfortunately for you I have no answers. All I have is questions­­­­­­­­—­­­­­­­questions only you can answer. Is what you are doing important enough to put everything else aside? Is it really your big rock (see Focusing on the Big Rocks) and if so, is that in keeping with your personal values? Does it have to be done in the time frame you have given it? Can you cut some corners and call it “good enough?”

Sometimes, like farmers, we must push hard when it’s time to plant or harvest. However, even farmers cannot harvest twelve months out of the year. They complete tasks in the off season to make the harvest go as smoothly as possible. If this is your off-season, what can you do to prepare for your harvest? You may be more driven than most, but even superman has his kryptonite. We must schedule some downtime. Yes, we have to stay focused, but we also need to stay balanced.

Determine what is important, really important and focus on that, but also find that balance. Whether you take an hour to reenergize at the beginning or end of each day, take a day at the end of each week, a week at the end of each quarter, a month at the end of each year, or some combination of all of those, find something that works for you. Find a plan that is sustainable and stick to it. You know you will feel better, and you will have more to give in the long haul. When you find that balance, or if you have already found that balance, let us know what it is for you. Please email me or comment below with your sustainable plan.

Then we can say, “We all do it, and it is sustainable!”

October 2024 Calendar

It’s the Fourth Quarter–Time to Focus

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In the fifteen months I’ve been writing these blogs, I’ve noticed that my stories fall into one of three categories: people, travel, and goals. Because today, October 1, 2024, marks the first day of the fourth quarter, this blog is about goals. If setting and reaching goals is important to you, I’d love for you to go back and read or re-read, Consistency, I Can’t, One Word, Starter’s Day, Eternal Hope, and The Big Rocks.

In January, if you picked a focus word for the year or set a few goals, you are among the top twenty percent of achievers. If you reach those goals, that puts you among the best of the best of goal setters. But you need to know the fourth quarter is the pinnacle of the make-it or break-it point. This is when everything you have done all year comes to a head. It’s time to put your head down, focus, and reach your goal. Now is not the time to make excuses, tell yourself it was only a pipe dream, or let yourself quit.

Because I’ve told you from the beginning that my goal is to finish my book Finding Joy by the end of this year, I’m in the former group. My word for the year is focus, so that is what I must do. Quitting is not an option. I know you wouldn’t let me quit if I wanted to. You’d tell me, “You are so close. You can’t quit now!” So that’s what I’m telling you. “Don’t quit.” Let’s reach our goals together. The best part of the game of life is that all of us can win.

That said, I’m behind where I had hoped to be today. I hoped to have my manuscript ready to send back to my editor by the end of the third quarter. It’s not ready. In fact, it’s probably two weeks from being ready, but onward I trudge. Just like I’m encouraging you to keep going, I will persist. We must push through the challenges, for it’s the struggle that makes us stronger.

What I need is more time. Yet, no matter who we are, we all get 24/7/365. Only what we do with our time can make the difference. Can we take something off our plate for a while? What doesn’t have to be done right now? Or what can we finish faster or with less perfection? Can we pay someone to mow our lawn or clean our house so we can focus on what only we can do? Or if our goal is a financial goal not yet reached, can we get a second job, work a few overtime hours, or get one more client?

Or how about putting the phone or the remote down? Please don’t judge me, but when I look at the stats on my phone, it shows I am on my phone four to seven hours a day. Granted, some of that time is talking to someone, or listening to a book or podcast while driving, cooking, or cleaning, but clearly that is time I’m not writing. If my book is my biggest priority (see The Big Rocks blog), I’ve got to put the phone down.

How about you? What is keeping you from accomplishing your goals? Would you have time to get to the gym if you gave up watching football for the season? Is going out to eat, eating up your budget or keeping you from losing weight? Or are you right on track and heading for the December 31st finish line, just as you planned on January 1st? Honestly, I hope that is the case. If so, kudos to you. Perhaps you could post a couple of tips or words of encouragement for the rest of us in the comments section below. Please share your strategies that have helped you accomplish your goals this year.

If you’ve read this far, thank you for your support. We’ve got three months. Let me know if there is anything I can do—barring picking up my phone—to help you reach your goal(s). In the meantime, I will focus on Finding Joy. I hope you will do the same.

Payne's Coast to Coast

No Place Like Jimmy’s

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I walked into Jimmy Payne’s Coast to Coast Home and Auto and found Jimmy’s widow Sue and son Mitch sitting with a friend at a table beside the key-making island. 

“Hello! Just the people I wanted to see,” I said. 

Mitch smiled. “Where’ve you been?” 

His mom looked at him and said, “She was just in here last week. She’s been around.”

“I mean, I wondered where she had been in her motorhome. Where’ve you been traveling to lately?”

“Well, actually, this week I had to make the decision to stay home this fall. I planned to take a friends and family tour to Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan, but my book isn’t as far along as it needs to be. So, I’m staying home for now. Still pushing to get it done by the end of the year.”

“So, what can we help you with?” Sue said.

I leaned on the glass counter next to their table. “Well, I have been intrigued with you guys and your store since I moved here to Calhoun thirty-six years ago. I was wondering if you would let me write a blog about you. There’s just no other store like this. You have everything. Every time I come in here, I see something else I didn’t know you carried. Sometimes I enjoy looking around and taking it all in: tools, toys, parts, lawn and garden items, kitchen things, appliances, mattresses, bikes. It amazes me when I see the variety you have.” 

Sue said, “There used to be a store like ours in Rome. And Dalton and Cartersville had one, but they’re not there anymore. Guess the next generation didn’t want to keep it going.”

“Yes. It’s like walking into the past when I come in here. It’s history. We just don’t have stores like this anymore. I just love it. Jimmy’s is what makes Calhoun still feel like a small town.”

Mitch told me his dad, Jimmy and grandfather, Robert started an auto parts store called Economy Auto across the street in 1957. Later it became OTASCO, then Coast to Coast. When True Value Hardware wanted to change the name, his dad said he was finished with name changes. Everyone called it Jimmy Payne’s by then, anyway. People told them to specialize in one thing, but Jimmy and his dad thought it was more important to expand. Through the years, as businesses closed or moved, they bought more of the historic buildings downtown—some just to hold inventory. 

“We’ve got nine buildings now. My dad’s mom owned the dress shop next door. When she closed down, we made a doorway and put all our kitchen things and some of the furniture over there. Same with the back, where we have the mattresses and lawn and garden supplies, and the other side where we have the appliances.” Mitch said. 

“I remember when Mitch was maybe eight or nine, he found a snowball machine upstairs. He brought it down, cleaned it up and set up a stand out there on the sidewalk and sold snowballs to people walking by. We had to get the syrup from a supplier in Atlanta, but he was making so much money he opened a bank account and hired one of his little friends.”

Mitch and I laughed. “Quite the entrepreneur, Mitch. What has kept you alive for all these years? How have you stayed in business?”

“Yeah, it’s been tough sometimes. First some big stores came in and they sold most everything we sell. And we’ve got other car parts stores in town too. But we found that the competition doesn’t keep the parts to fix things like we do. And the appliances. That’s probably the main thing most recently that keeps us going. We have them, and we deliver them. People appreciate that.” Mitch said.

I nodded, encouraging Mitch to continue. He said his dad had him take over the appliance part of the business when he was nineteen or twenty. 

“I told Dad I didn’t know anything about appliances, and he just said, ‘you’ll learn.’ Dad was right. I started asking questions and listening to people and what they were looking for and before long, I figured it out. People didn’t feel pressured.”

Sue said, “We used to advertise. Then we realized we didn’t need all that. Most of our business comes from word-of-mouth and that’s the best advertisement anyway. People don’t have to wait in a long line here either. I think people like knowing they can slip in and out of here fast. Well, unless they get to talking to Mitch. Mitch has become more like his dad since Jimmy passed away. Jimmy talked to everyone. He got to know them. That’s what brings people back too—the relationships.”

“Absolutely. That’s why I always come back. Jimmy made me feel special.” 

“Yeah. It’s the relationships and you’ve gotta have enthusiasm too.” Mitch said. 

So there you have it—a blog about Jimmy Payne’s and the owner’s recipe for success. In summary: hold on longer than anyone else, stick it out through the tough times, know what people want, stay well stocked, be willing to deliver, give back to the community, sell without pressure, exude enthusiasm, and if all else fails, throw a kid out front to sell snowballs. 

Woman at fountain

A Life Well Lived

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My mother passed away in 2008. Of her five siblings and their spouses, she was the first to die. Dealing with mom’s death was the most difficult thing I have ever done. Losing my mom forced me to look at life and death differently. To feel closer to her, I thought it might help to spend time with her younger brother Wil and his wife Barb.

In 2009, I rode my bike across Michigan with Uncle Wil, then 78, and 598 other cyclists on an organized ride called the PALM (Pedal Across Lower Michigan). I stayed with Uncle Wil and Aunt Barb for a couple of nights before the ride. Barb was more hospitable than I deserved. She thought of everything from what style pillows I liked to preparing a big breakfast casserole.

The evening before the ride, Wil and I skated around the park next to their home. Wil hit a stick and took a tumble. He got up, looked at his skinned knee and said, “I’m fine. Let’s go one more time around the loop.” On that last time around, he hit a rock. It took him down hard. His right knee and right forearm took the brunt of his fall.

With blood running down his leg and arm, he skated back to their house and Barb came to the rescue. I couldn’t even bear to look at my uncle’s injuries. It was bad, really bad. I’ve never been scraped up that badly and don’t recall ever being with anyone so banged up. To Wil and Barb, it was not a big deal. Barb doctored him up while I cringed. Neither of them even winced when she doused his wound with alcohol, applied ointment, and wrapped him up in gauze like a mummy.

If it had been me, I believe Wil would have ridden the PALM without me. Even though he couldn’t straighten his elbow, Wil never even considered missing the ride. Barb packed gauze, bandages, and ointment in his bag. Each night, I reapplied his bandages and never heard the first complaint. Though his wounds still looked bad, by the last day of the PALM, he insisted on going bandage-free. If only I could be that tough.

Somehow that experience endeared me to both of them. Over the couple of days I stayed with them, and as Wil called his wife every night of the weeklong ride, I saw their unwavering love for each other. Wil and I did two more PALMs together, as well as the GOBA (Great Ohio Bicycle Adventure) with some of my friends. I loved how they spoke of each other over the next several years. Through those years, I called and talked with both of them more than I ever had before. The more I got to know them, the more I loved them.

Uncle Wil passed away in November 2019. At his funeral, Barb gave me a devotional. In January 2020, she and I began reading through the Bible together. Our talks became more frequent and more focused on God and the scriptures. Knowing Barb was reading through the Bible with me kept me on track. Both of us missed days and doubled up on other days. However, we stayed committed to reading through the Bible—a first for both of us.

In 2021, we read through the Bible chronologically. The next year, Barb returned to reading devotionals and focusing on certain books of the Bible in more depth. Our discussions always included what we were reading or studying. As of this writing, I am on track to read through the Bible for the fifth year in a row. Much of that is because of Aunt Barb’s encouragement.

Two weeks ago, after enjoying a week at her cottage with her son John and his family, Aunt Barb passed away. I’m sad because I had planned to visit her in September, but I’m grateful she remained cognitively sharp until the end. And most importantly, I know where she stood with God.

As I reflect upon her life and our many phone calls, I realize I never heard Barb say an unkind or negative word about anyone. Nor did she ever mention what she did for others. Aunt Barb never even talked about singing at her church or weddings or any of the other things she must have done to encourage and help people through the years. Certainly, I will miss her encouragement and guidance. I will always remember Aunt Barb as having a big part in my spiritual journey. What a life well lived. If I could be half as gentle, kind, and compassionate as my aunt, I would consider my life well lived.

Cool Springs Overlook at Fort Mountain

No More Pretending

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For two years, we pretended we were camping. My four-year-old great niece, Maxley, would drive my motorhome to the park and announce thirty-seconds later we had arrived. We would then pretend we were camping in Florida, or Michigan, or wherever, right there in my driveway. Last weekend the pretending gave way to real camping.

I made reservations at nearby Fort Mountain State Park for Sunday night. For those of you not familiar with state park camping, typically you can get a reservation for a weekend in the spring, summer, or fall with no problem—provided you book it before your children are born. But if you camp Sunday through Thursday after the local schools start, you can reserve a site a day or two in advance. So that’s what I did.

No more pretending. We were really going camping! A little after noon on Sunday, I strapped in one excited little girl, and we drove off in what she calls my tiny house. Our trip would be one adventure after another—all firsts for her. Along the way, we stopped in a parking lot for a snack. We stopped in another lot for a bathroom break. Traveling with a bathroom on board is one of the best perks of motorhome-life, especially with little ones.

We stopped at the overlook just before the park entrance to take pictures of the mountain behind us. The wonder in her eyes delighted me. Fortunately, I sent the pictures to her parents and grandparents from there because that was the last cell connection we had for the next twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, though, none of us knew that until it was too late. I’m sure her momma worried all night long because she didn’t hear from us, but we were fine. In fact, we were more than fine. We were having the time of our lives.

As soon as we got settled into our campsite across from the campground hosts, we put on our suits and walked to the beach.

“I’m so excited! I’ve never been to the beach! The sand is soft like Grandma’s sandbox!”

Before I set our towels down, Maxley ran into the water, where she met a girl named Sophie.

Maxley laughed. “Sophie? That’s a dog’s name!”

Sophie’s sad face promptly led me to apologize to a five-year-old and explain that our friends have a dog named Sophie. The girls played and played in the water. With no apprehensions, they borrowed flotation devices from friendly strangers. Upon request, Sophie’s dad and I threw the girls in the water again and again. Then, the water changed from refreshing to cold. The sun was fast approaching the horizon. After hugs, pictures, and goodbyes, Maxley and I trudged back toward our campsite.

“Joy, will you carry me on your back? My legs are hurting.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” How can I say no to that?

After a quick shower in my tiny house, we started a fire, prepared our meal, and ate at the picnic table, watching the flames. Finally, it was time to roast marshmallows. Maxley enjoyed holding the stick to the coals. But for future reference, she said she prefers them “cold out of the bag.” We doused the coals with a bucket of water. She rolled the awning in and turned the porch lights off. She remembered we needed to take another shower to wash the lake and the smoke out of our hair. Maxley amazed me with how brave yet cautious she was in the lake, around the fire, and in the shower.

Monday morning, she asked to go back to the lake to play with Sophie. She settled for the playground and a hike to the fire tower. Sophie’s dad had suggested we go to the fire tower to see the view of the mountains. After the playground, Maxley helped me put everything away. I buckled her into her car seat, and we drove to the top of the mountain for the hike. I thought the climb to the fire tower would be too much for her, but she said her legs were not hurting like on Sunday. The first-time hiker stopped and waited for me every 100 yards.

“I just want to check on you, Joy. Are you ok?”

“I’m breathing heavily, but I’m doing fine. These steps are so big. I don’t know how you are climbing this mountain so fast. Thanks for checking on me, sweetheart.”

After fifteen minutes of serious climbing, we found the fire tower locked. Bummed, we explored a bit and headed back down—with her checking on me every time she thought I lagged too far behind. At the end of the trail, we picnicked at a nearby pavilion. The watermelon had never tasted so sweet. A park employee directed us to a short hike to an overlook where we took the selfie pictured above.

Now after 3:00, we drove to the dump station so I could dump the tanks full of shower and toilet water. Exhausted, she asked if she could take a nap. I let her lie on the bed while I went outside, but a minute later, she joined me and even helped with the dumping process.

Maxley picked up the sewage hose. “This looks like my Slinky.”

“Yes. It does. Uncle Tom calls it the stinky slinky.”

She laughed.

When the tanks were empty, we buckled in and said goodbye to the park. Within minutes, my little niece was fast asleep. I had to wake her up an hour later when we arrived at her place. We had the time of our lives camping for real. No more pretending. She’s already inviting friends to come with us on our next real camping trip.

By the way, my legs were sore on Tuesday. The four-year-old’s were just fine.

Aunt Helen in Pearls

Remembering Aunt Helen

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The world lost a good woman a couple of weeks ago, a few months shy of her 104th birthday. Born the youngest of nine children, Helen entered a convent for nuns in Erie, Pennsylvania, at age fourteen. She was just a child. After graduation, she taught at a Catholic school within the community for 31 years and then in the Erie Public School System until age 72. That’s fifty-four years of teaching kindergarteners and first graders! Who does that!? That’s nearly double my teaching career! I can’t even do the math on how many children she must have taught to read and write. What a contribution to society.

Aunt Helen told me she learned to drive after she left “the community” at nearly 50 years of age. Having lived part of her childhood and the first half of her life in a convent, Helen had much to adjust to when she opted to teach in the public schools. Endless firsts such as buying a house, learning to drive, opening a bank account, paying bills, furnishing a home, shopping, cooking, etc. for teens and twenty somethings are challenging enough. Can you imagine what it must have been like for her to learn the systems of the world at the age of 50? Yet, at 101, when she told me about it, she acted as though nothing bothered her. Helen said her brother Tom built a duplex so Helen, Tom, and their mother could live together, making her transition to “the real world” easier.

After her mother and brother died, she rented out the other half of the duplex until a few years ago when it became too much trouble to be a landlord to people who didn’t live up to her conservative/moral standards and who didn’t want to pay their rent. At 99, Helen gave up driving. Though it might have been perfect to have a friend or family member live in the other half of her duplex, it remained empty the last few years of her time in Erie. She relied on a few friends and neighbors to take her places and do things for her, but she insisted on compensating them for everything they did, even if she paid them with food or gifts.

Her neighbor Roy shared a story with me about the two of them arguing about her paying him to mow her lawn. He wanted to do it for free, yet she insisted on paying him. One day she gave him a brownie. When he got home and unwrapped the treat, he found a twenty-dollar bill taped to the underside of the wrapper. He just had to laugh.

In my first blog about Great Aunt Helen, I wrote about her giving me a Benjamin Franklin during my visit with her in Erie. She told me to put it toward my writing, so I bought an editing software program. Last fall, as we celebrated her 103rd birthday in Detroit, I thanked her again for her generosity. She said she loves her family, and loves to help people, and she was joyful to help. All she asked in return was for a copy of my book Finding Joy in the West. It breaks my heart that I was too slow. I couldn’t give her a copy.

Aunt Helen believed in me and my visits with her will be told in book #2 Finding Joy in the East. But she will not see that book in print either. Tomorrow I am supposed to get my manuscript back from my editor. I plan to clean it up as quickly as possible. Even in her death, Aunt Helen is inspiring me to get my book finished before the end of this year.

To all of you, like Helen, who have supported me from the day you found out I was writing, I say thank you. Thank you for reading these blogs and thank you for supporting me as I trudge forward on my second career. Your support means the world to me. It’s what keeps me writing. And thank you for remembering our dear Aunt Helen. May we all learn from her example to encourage each other in the pursuit of our dreams.

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