Running with the Ball

Have I mentioned that sometimes God just drops awesomeness in my lap?  It happened again this week.  I was in the Wal Mart parking lot when the phone rang and a fellow beek  (slang for beekeeper) asked "Hey, you want my extra Hawaiian queens?"

Do I want Hawaiian queens?  That's like asking if I want to live long and prosper, a new SUV, or a winning lottery ticket (not that I play the lottery mind you).  But yes, I wanted them!

The deal with a Hawaiian queen in February is, it gives you a serious head start on your bee year.  A good honey crop is imperative on having healthy hives with many, many bees.  And the sooner said hives can build their population from the winter slump, the more bees will be ready to start making the sweet golden stuff when the surrounding nectar producing flowers are in full swing.  The new queens will allow me to split my existing hives with vigorous layers so that I'll have many more bees to make honey with than I would have growing my own  queens. It's a good thing. 

So yes.  Hawaiian queens are my lapload of awesomeness this week.  Live Long your Highnesses, and Prosper!

Welcome 2012!

Yes, I know I'm ten days late and I was supposed to think all this through before now, but I have to tell you, your predecessor  threw me under the bus there at the last and I really couldn't think about you.

I guess it's only fitting that 2011 went out on a loud note for me.  In a way, 2011 was just LOUD for me.  There was the wedding, there were the business and financial issues, there were people coming and going so fast that I thought our door was a high speed fan.  There were great blessings, and there were great sorrows.

And there was God.  I have to tell you, the only reason any of the other made sense, let alone worked out, was because of Him.  It's like everything bad you threw at me, He turned it into good, even the broke ribs you left me hurting with as you whimpered off into the history books.

So I welcome 2012.  I don't know if this year will be any better, but you know, that don't matter.  I know the One who created and controls time, and I know how the story ends, whether it ends with you or one of your children . . . so it's ok.  I welcome you, I embrace you, and while I don't dare hope you'll be kinder and gentler (after all, raw dependence on God does have it's benefits) I look forward to walking with and through the coming months with you.

Schooled

Since my husband's heart surgery (triple bypass, July 2010) I have watched with happiness and moderate amusement as he's incorporated less stress and more enjoyment into his life.  I shouldn't have been surprised that his love of music played into it.  Now mind you, about all he can play is anything electronic, or mechanical in the case of his beloved Edison.  He did a little trumpet in high school, but that's really it as far as an actual instrument.

One of the results of this is an increasing collection of media.  At first it was lp's, also known as 78's.  That was ok.  We've had a traditional turntable for years.  Then one day I noticed a huge box on the front porch.  I started to take it in only to realize I needed a hand truck - the sucker was heavy!  Turns out it was a pristine condition TEAC reel to reel tape deck that once served a radio station.  He'd practically stole the thing on Ebay. 

"What are you going to play on that?" I asked.  He just grinned.  And proceeded to hook it up and whip out a couple of tapes.  The sound was phenomenal, Mancini probably didn't sound that good playing live.

"Ok, that's fine.  I can live with that - just please throw out those eight track tapes that came with the reels."  He only nodded that he'd heard me.

Now mind you, in redneck Alabama where I grew up eight tracks were a scourge. My only memories of them were of raunchy tears in your beer country music and piles of dirty ones laying in the floorboards of pickup trucks along with empty chewing tobacco pouches. This was NOT something I wanted in my house.

More boxes have come and gone since then. Knowing he won't buy anything unless old Abe Lincoln gets squeezed real hard I don't keep track of what he's doing.  Evey day I hear what I've come to consider "vintage music" - sounds from the past that shaped America, sounds that our children would only recognize from commercials with no understanding that what they are hearing shaped two, and in some cases three previous generations.  I'm hearing history - big band, 50's, 60's and 70's elevator music, a lot of classic gospel, a bit of jazz - the list goes on.

This morning I heard something that hit a nerve -  Summertime from Show Boat.  My dad used to sing it, and he did it great justice.  I've always loved that song, partly for the good memories it invokes, partly for the sheer haunting beauty of it.  I found my sweetheart and told him how much it meant to me only to be laughed out of the room.

"It's from a tape of great American music . . . . . and it's an eight track"

No Moss on this Rear

A few years ago I heard a snippet of a talk on the radio that really, really, caught my attention.  The speaker was recalling an old preacher man speaking to a him and his peers, a group of fresh faced college boys who had yet to experience life beyond a dorm room.  The talk went like this:

(Imagine a elderly voice with a couple of rocks thrown in for graininess)  "You know, most Christians sit on their rears year after year and say,  'God, show me an open door!', and they sit with moss growing on their rear.  But not me.  I say "God, if you don't want me going through that door you better close it!',  and there aint no moss growing on this rear"

My Becky and I loved it and adopted it as a motto which soon turned into a life principal.  She went on to a college in the far north, married a great guy and together they are looking and working toward of life of service to others as they complete their studies.  No moss there.

Here on the farm, you'd think things would ease up a little with all the kids gone, but that doesn't seem to be the case . . . you see, these wonderful doors keep opening up . . . and God keeps holding them open.  I love it and have seen some truly amazing things in 2011.

In May I fulfilled a life goal of ministering to the homeless with my Cindy through her church in Memphis.

I saw God start a new,  long prayed about chapter in her life. That was wayyy cool and there's more to come!

I've had opportunity to minister in other unexpected capacities.

My bee business has adopted a charity/ministry organization.

Wonderful, smart, talented and gifted people have come alongside me in learning and working with bees.

I've embarked on a dream of becoming a Master Beekeeper along with two friends.

I think I've taught more than I ever have.

My 16 year old sidekick is becoming a leader and a teacher too.

My grandmother heart is starting to awaken at the possibility of an adoption.

Amazing internet sales after a candle went viral.

More opportunities to fill in for my Extension Agent Mentor.

Blessed reunions with people from my past.

Meeting two favorite authors -  one a high school role model, the other a new found treasure.

I'm sure there are others and I may come back and add more later.  I mostly just wanted to get this written down while it was fresh on my mind so I don't forget 2011 as the "No Moss" year.  What's really ironic about that is that I've got TONS of moss left over around here from Becky's wedding!

What a Week!

I've been sighing a breath of relief since Friday as the orders finally started slowing down.  I know that probably sounds a bit strange coming from someone who promotes, promotes, and promotes, but seriously, I was not prepared for the influx of orders that came after Etsy sent out my Primitive Skep Candle  in an Etsy Finds email.

Don't get me wrong - NO COMPLAINTS, in fact, if anything I'm blown away by the awesome power of internet adverting, and even more that Etsy considered me a seller worthy and capable of handling the honor. Now that I've actually said that, I think Etsy's endorsement may be the better of the two.

Regardless - I've given up the 24 hour candle making in favor of more sustainable volumes, and am increasing by volume capacity by taking up mold casting at the same time.  This is an adventure I have dreamed of for years and after collaborating with my good friend Phillip G, who made my awesome Tree Branch Candle mold, the time is right.

This morning I got a message from Jeanette, another Etsy seller,  at The Play Date blog.  She has featured the skep candle in a beautiful collage on that site - a first time honor for this farm girl. After reading her inspirational posts I'm most anxious to get started on the mold casting - like I said, the time is right. 

Choosing Color

"I don't do white."

I felt the room around me kind of pause. The words were spoken to a young lady of color behind the counter of a fast food chain. She had just waited on some other customers of like skin tone and they were silent too. It was a bit awkward as I realized what just came out of my mouth.

You have to understand. I'm a 50+ Caucasian woman, somewhat overweight, obviously not a youth, and obviously suffering from a serious case of foot in mouth disease this day.

The young lady and I were trying to work through some logistics to get my order right. The restaurant only offered packaged dinners - I wanted something different and was trying to explain to this girl why I did not want a biscuit with my fried chicken.

And that's when the awkward statement came out of my mouth.

The long and short of it is, I'm giving up white foods. White flour, white sugar, white pasta, white rice, white potatoes. I'm sure there are some others I need to give up, but that's the big five for me. It's not that I can't have breads, sweets, pasta, rice and taters - I will just have the superior forms and not the inferiors that have become staples of the American diet.

So far so good. I don't know if I'll even be able to tell a difference six months from now, but I do know it won't hurt.

So yeah, I don't do white.

What's in a Name??

Her life was a wreck. She was sick. She was broke. In fact, she was broke because she was sick, and she was still sick thanks to a medical community who didn't have a clue about what was wrong with her, let alone how to help her. And she was desperate.

What do you do when you're desperate? You do desperate things. For her this meant throwing on enough powder or face paint or hair gel or whatever to fain wellness and mingling with a mob hoping she wouldn't be noticed.

Her purpose gave her strength enough to make her way through the crowd. She knew that if she failed she had nothing left but to go home and die. She was so sick she might not even make it home to die. This was it.

At last she found what she was looking for. She stooped down, reached out, then stood up . . . whole, and well.

There wasn't even enough time to feel a flicker of joy when her heart trembled at hearing an authoritative "Who?" She knew it was her. This wasn't supposed to happen, she had thought to do her deed and get out of of there.

A moment of confusion ensued as the mob stopped and tried to figure out what happened. Then the voice spoke again, "Somebody touched me". This time it was personal - she was being called out.

There was nothing to do but to come clean then and there. This dear nameless woman, fell trembling before the One who had made her, and then made her whole. All she could do was pour out her story before Him and hundreds of onlookers.

Jesus's next words not only gave her permission to rejoice in the new life she was given by touching the hem of His garment, but even more so in a new relationship with Him. Her faith in Jesus Christ, not some ethereal idea of something greater out there, but a real faith in the very real Jesus Christ, a faith that called her to action, had made her whole. The "Who" that was singled out as a "Somebody" was now a "Daughter", instructed to go in peace.


Taken from Luke 8:43-47

From Beemusement 101