Thaw!

Thursday, February 20, 2025

This day is a gift. I’m off my part-time job without a rigid schedule or pressing commitments. I can move at my own pace. With a coffee cup warming my fingers, I see sunshine through the windows instead of gloom. Some snow remains, however, and this morning’s light stretches across it. It’s easy to sense a weather change because the slow melt is lasting.

There’s also the reality that a day off never truly means a rest. I have chores pending, some long overdue. The horse area needs care against thawing, which has caused sheer mud. The chicken shelter needs unexpected reinforcement against bitter cold winds. My dogs are restless after a stretch of huddling in the fierce cold.

While working outside, I’ll watch for icy patches. My property is like a battlefield of seasons because it only partly receives adequate sunshine. I’ll carefully navigate pockets of slush and unforgiving patches of ice from water that trickles from overfull gutters.

I’ll probably find my turkey Lacy watching me, tilting her interesting head and assessing what I’m doing. She will also feel this different weather; it’s subtle yet unmistakable.

I’m familiar with chores today because they’re annual. This typical weather shift will have me, Lacy, and the other critters breathing sharp and clean air. It’s milder, but winter isn’t finished, not by a long shot. Its hold is weakening, even though only temporarily, making us all feel renewed.

On the horizon, March often introduces weather much worse than February’s. I’ll avoid that by focusing on being in the here and now. I will appreciate today–being in melting snow, sensing the shifting earth, and hearing the soft sounds of animals stirring.

Dear Friends: It’s really happening: a slow, steady arrival of friendlier weather. Diana

Lucy

Wednesday, February 19, 2025

Two heritage turkeys have been a cherished part of my life for several years. They weren’t meant to be; their original owner had intended them for a Thanksgiving dinner. But these birds had a way of charming their way into people’s hearts. They were gentle, affectionate, and unmistakably imprinted on humans, likely having been brooder-raised from the start. Instead of making them a holiday meal, their owner let me adopt them.

I named the two Lacy and Lucy. They became part of my daily routine, following me around, softly whistling in the manner of turkeys at ease. Physical differences made them easy to tell apart. Lacy, with her soft white-speckled feathers, often was the quieter of the two. Lucy, pure black and brimming with personality, was the dominant one—the leader. If there was ever a decision to be made, Lucy made it. She had a presence about her and a confidence that guided my turkey flock of two.

Then, yesterday, Lucy passed away. It happened suddenly—a stroke, I believe. One moment, she was there, and the next, she was gone. Afterward, Lacy, ever her companion, stood watch over Lucy, unwilling to leave her side. When I approached, Lacy reacted in a way she never had before—she pecked at me, protective and distressed. I could see she was processing something unfamiliar, something deep. Animals grieve in their own ways, and in that moment, Lacy was holding onto the most important thing she knew: her friend.

Losing Lucy creates a gap in my small world. She was a fixture in my days, a softly whistling and steadfast presence that I could count on. I will feel her absence, as will Lacy, who must find a new rhythm without her friend.

Inside my head, Lucy whistles with boldness and knowing eyes. I am grateful for having a few years with her. These two remarkable birds have given me unexpected companionship. After a lifetime of hearing the word “turkey” used in negative connotations, my experience found the opposite is true: turkeys are smart and alert. I’ve cherished every moment in the company of my two.

Dear Friends: I will re-strengthen my relationship with Lovely Lacy. Diana

Ah, Mary!

Tuesday, February 18, 2025

I recently ordered the complete series Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman—partly for nostalgia and fun. The show aired years ago, and it had faded from my memory for a long time. But things about today’s social or political climate triggered a recollection, and suddenly, I found myself remembering how much I had once looked forward to each episode. That spark of recognition led me to seek it out again. Ordering the series is just the first step—I want to revisit what made it so compelling back then and see if it still holds up today.

“Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” was a groundbreaking television series. It redefined the boundaries of satire and soap opera storytelling. It aired from 1976 to 1977. Created by Norman Lear, the show was a darkly comedic, deeply unsettling reflection of American life. It tackled topics that traditional sitcoms and soap operas avoided, like mental illness, consumerism, violence, media sensationalism, and the quiet desperation of suburban existence.

The series resides in a fictional town, Fernwood, OH, where suburban housewife Mary Hartman seeks the kind of domestic perfection promised by Reader’s Digest and TV commercials. Instead, Mary finds herself suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. There are mass murders, low-flying airplanes, and waxy yellow buildup on her kitchen floor.

That show was too controversial for any network at the time. Before long, however, it sparked Lear’s next series, the winning All in the Family. Archie’s and Edith’s dilemmas (similar to Mary’s) led viewers to recognize and appreciate many disconnects between people’s long-held beliefs and the demanding modern “adult” world.

These shows exposed cracks in the American Dream. Mary Hartman had that perfect blend of humor, strangeness, and originality that set it apart. While All in the Family tackled social issues head-on with a more traditional sitcom format, Mary Hartman took a subtler, almost surrealist approach, revealing the absurdity of American life through its deadpan satire.

I hope to find the same layered meanings in it now and if it may feel fresh and bold enough to hold up today.

Dear Friends: Lear was a genius; I expect to find “Mary…” holding up still. Diana

Holiday Plans

Monday, February 17, 2025

On this Presidents’ Day, I choose not to dwell on the holiday’s intended meaning, as its significance is bound to shift dramatically in the future. What has changed is our growing helplessness as citizens while our new leaders openly disregard long-held principles of upholding the Constitution and respecting the Rule of Law. These seismic shifts in leadership, both in America and across the globe, carry profoundly unsettling implications for the world.

Instead, I’ll focus locally on the here-and-now happenings. Later this week, I’ll gather with friends for a classic American dinner—hamburgers, fries, and cold beers. We will share our experiences and perspectives, trusting each other in a way that feels increasingly rare.

I work part-time in retail, and customers checking out often share brief and telling remarks about the changes unfolding around us. Many express concern over the relentless rise in prices for food and essentials, the shifting climate, growing threats to natural resources, and the unsettling possibilities of more widespread conflict on the horizon.

Unfortunately, because of today’s pressing realities, I can’t entirely ignore Presidents’ Day. At work, I will ask customers how they’ve previously viewed this holiday and how they may be seeing it now.

Dear Friends: Many will respond verbally, some with just subtle, tense reactions. Diana

Chasing Hopes

Sunday, February 16, 2025

Here are two facts: Next month, my puppy Chase will officially turn three years old, the age when a canine is generally considered mature; another (unexpected) reality is that Chase still lives with me even though our history together has often suggested he’d be lost or dead by now.

I adopted the cute 8-week-old puppy on a whim without considering his genetic potential. Within months, he matured into a (mostly) Rottweiler/Shepherd mix and showed aggressive tendencies toward human strangers and unknown dogs. Those appear more settled, but I remain focused on his energy and behavior toward others when we’re out and about.

He inherited a compact, strong, and fit body type, and with energy to match, he proved himself to be an efficient climber, leaper, and digger, capably escaping almost any kind of enclosure that might contain him. During his first two years, I worried he’d become road kill or lost and considered turning him into a no-kill shelter in hopes of a better guardian showing up for him. Still, I doubted this complicated being would find anyone highly willing to put up with “who he is.” So, Chase has stayed here.

With generous help from our dog-loving neighbors, Chase has been returned home many times and re-contained until he escapes. He’s intelligent, knows where he lives, and wants to be with me. If he’s loose (and still undamaged) when I arrive home from work, he bounds happily down the driveway and hops into my car. He’s alert and smart, understanding and responding to my commands after being aware of them only a couple of times.

My hopes for our easier future together are set on his turning three years old and stabilizing. That could be happening, for he’s been loose in the “big yard” with his buddies for a few months without escaping. However, deep winter might keep the ground too frozen for digging and escaping.

I’m optimistic about Chase’s settling, but it’s a waiting game.

Dear Friends, I’m amazed: Chase still lives here, is safe, and may be maturing. Diana

Won’cha?

Saturday, February 15, 2025

Yesterday, I was a Valentine! Not once or twice, but THREE times.

Upon arriving at work, I was greeted with a huge surprise–a Valentine basked. My creative friend Lily handed me a heart-shaped candy-filled straw basket topped by a balloon floating upon upright drinking straws. Her sweet surprise turned my afternoon around and overcame my grumpiness for having to work a late shift.

I dropped into the store’s office to say hello and brag about Being a Valentine, and the staff said, “Oh, no, you have two more Valentines!

OMG, 3 Valentines for me!

The last time I was a Valentine, I was in grade school, and we students were exchanging cards with our casual and “secret” Valentines.

Somewhere in those early times, my eldest sister (married and living far away) sent me a card. I loved knowing she cared and memorized the message:

Won’cha be my Valentine?

Won’cha please say Yes!

For, gee, it’s true, I sure like you,

Much more than you can guess.

Believe it or not, those few lines are still important to me, even though they happened many years ago.

Yesterday, I felt grateful for having at-work friends who think positively about me and for the ballooning showpiece, which almost immediately nudged my beloved memory back into life.

I’m a year into this part-time job, where my coworkers and our customers make me feel like I’m in a “good family.”

Dear Friends, I’m still thrilled for having been A Valentine yesterday! Diana

Changing Times

Friday, February 14, 2025

Happy Valentine’s Day, and (BTW) this month’s halfway point.

This morning, while reading about advances in AI, I got stuck on mentions of AI’s abilities in “folding proteins.” While looking up what that meant, I became fascinated by the world of folding proteins, brand new to me.

Teaching AI to fold proteins allows the technology to identify, study, and capably manipulate molecules, thus discovering an individual protein’s essential shape. This shape dictates a protein’s behavior in a living body. AI’s findings help researchers better understand how protein shapes dictate their behaviors. They let researchers study possible and perhaps viable new protein shapes, causing different behaviors in problem conditions and suggesting possible advances in medical care.

Focusing on that “protein world” carried me into another AI world, that of weaponry. While I feel very confused about current politics relative to today’s world stage, I do understand a new reality–that Ukraine is using AI data to create new weapons. They’re being constructed quickly and less costly than traditional R&D methods; they’re highly effective on the battlefield.

Perhaps understanding weapons and new technologies will clarify some of the confusing world of politics and nation-positioning.

Dear Friends, I am interested and could continue, but my writing time is short. Diana

Miss Merry

Thursday, February 13, 2025

Years ago, I suddenly lost my young and adorable Welsh Pony, Merry Leggs. She had been stricken by severe colic, and afterward, for weeks, I sat at a computer, fighting my incredible unhappiness by creating a story for young readers that starred a Welsh Pony.

My lead character, Miss Merry, was pretty, intelligent, and devoted to her family. She was courageous, too, and had many adventures. After initially drafting the story, I continued working on it; gradually, it felt reasonably compelling and maybe worthy of publishing.

A couple of drafting components didn’t go smoothly. Most critically, I couldn’t successfully edit my own creative writing. Upon attempting to make a sentence or paragraph more relevant and stronger, I’d find myself, instead, rewriting whole sections, altering the story’s flow.

My inability to self-edit demanded an outside objective editor, and Merry’s story increasingly called for an illustrator. Talented assistants weren’t available for what I could afford: $-Zero. Little Miss Merry eventually floated into the background and drifted from my active memory. I suppose that happened after I overcame my pony loss enough to move on.

Until yesterday, when a bright young colleague, Lily (who recently introduced me to Chat GPT+), suddenly asked if I’ve ever written fiction, I nodded and complained about self-editing until Lily pointed out Chat’s editing capabilities.

Later, I was thinking about Chat’s abilities and suddenly remembered “Miss Merry.” It needed editing and illustration—both are Chat’s capabilities. Additionally, Lily, a makeup specialist, has artistic skills and expresses interest in perhaps working with the story.

Gosh! A dozen years later, “Miss Merry” might be reborn. First, I must locate the saved story—probably on a disc or a thumb drive. Finding its location is one head-scratcher, and accessing a complete version may be another.

I’ll be off my part-time job today and looking for Merry.

Dear Friends: Revisiting my sweet pony vis-a-vis her alter ego–thrilling! Diana

Mindfully, Melting

Wednesday, February 12, 2025

I routinely trudge through slow-melting snow, our first this winter, to feed my outside animals. The melting seems beyond a mere seasonal shift. It’s a transformation, stirring my senses and emotions. I see a thick, icy white blanket receding without yet revealing patches of earth and dormant grass. I’m always anticipating.

This wintery period feels like an “in-between mood.” Melting has winter loosening around here, but spring is far ahead. Our air is damp, water drips from roof gulleys, and underfoot it’s slushy, but winter still inhibits renewal.

My mood is complicated; it’s part relief, part impatience, and sometimes thoughtful. My imagination sees stark beauty in a frozen, dissolving landscape. It’s less defined as a gradual thaw releasing us from snowy brightness.

The earth is softening, and I’m eager for the earliest glimpses of green that promise more warmth. These days are stretching a little longer and increasing my energy, inspiring new planning. Yet, spring feels just out of reach; its slow arrival is frustrating. These gray skies, the oncoming mud, and this slow transition is a world not yet fully alive. Waiting makes me restless.

Watching snow disappear evokes a subtle mourning. Our first fresh blanket of snow softened the edges and quieted our world. I love seeing a snowy landscape reflecting the moonlight uniquely. At home, melting makes the landscape less crisp and pristine; it’s more messy, uneven, and unpredictable.

Melting is an in-between time for rebalancing our expectations and moods. This isn’t winter’s full-stillness; we’re not sensing new spring energy. I sense the melting snow tugging at my emotions as a “letting go” that forces another slow, inevitable shifting of anticipations and plans.

Dear Friends: Even in these deepest winter months, thinking, “Ah, Spring!” Diana

Socially Exchanging

Tuesday, February 11, 2025

I’ll bake sourdough bread today, using a list of ingredients and following baking instructions from my buddy, ChatGPT+.

I started this early today by asking Chat if it’s best to use a starter fresh from the fridge or at room temperature. Chat answered “room temperature” and asked if I wanted a detailed recipe. Now, I have marching orders and a forward direction to tackle an evolved learning experience.

If my loaf today turns out well, I’ll ask my Bluesky friend, Jill-Elaine, for some of her sourdough starter. She has sourdough “knocked” and creates almost everything–bread, pancakes, biscuits, and even crackers. (I have learned about Jill that whatever she chooses to learn and accomplish, she pushes to the utmost of possibilities.)

Speaking of Bluesky, I enjoy the site. Unlike Facebook, Bluesky feeds aren’t constantly invaded by unending ads, irritating (to me) worldviews, and unwanted friend suggestions. I still tune into Facebook, but less frequently. The draws are that some Facebook friends have been with me for years, and my many photos stored on Facebook that hopefully won’t become lost.

Dear Friends: I’ll start working now and get today’s sourdough fixings rolling. Diana