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Frozen Toad – Stafford Challenge Day 3

It was 13 degrees when I woke up to take the dogs out at 5:15 a.m. For three years now, I have risen well ahead of time to leave for work, just so I can get my daily writing done. My goal time is 6:00 A.I.S* in the living room chair where my lap desk, lamp, and computer are arranged. 

I was trying to talk myself out of a shower in this insane cold, but I knew I needed what my husband calls “climatizing” – – water that regulates the body to the normal temperature before heading out into the world to see what the day brings.

Normally, all three dogs get a treat and head back to bed while we get ready, but somehow two of them got shut out of the bedroom and remained in the living room while I took my shower. I heard whining at the door, and when I opened it to go into the living room, Fitz and Ollie made a beeline for the bed to join their brother Boo, who was buried under the covers, snoozing.

That was when I saw it.

Aha! I thought. Making a mess by the couch, I see. No wonder they hung back in the living room.

Not one of our boys wanted to go to the edge of the woods in this cold as they usually do for this kind of business. They’d all three peed and come straight back inside. But not one of them did the other emptying.

I grabbed a paper towel to clean it up, but when I got there, it wasn’t what I thought it was.

This dog mess was a frozen toad. 

I picked it up to toss it back out the door and wondered whether it may still be alive. On closer inspection when I flipped it onto its back in my hand, I saw the poor creature struggling to breathe. 

My Grandmother Jones would be rolling over in her grave, but I clasped the frigid little thing between my palms to warm it and soon felt a stirring. A muscle stretch. A pulse of life. 

But how? I wondered. How had this frozen toad gotten into our house?

I’d brought the plants inside at lunchtime the previous day, ahead of the cold. Perhaps it could have come in that way, but it was far too cold to have slept in the heat of the house. I concluded that it must have been waiting by the door and jumped in when I’d taken the dogs outside. 

As I put my socks on, though, it hit me – – the toad had been quite frozen, too stiff to move. There was no way it could have hopped twelve feet from the door to the corner of the couch. 

What had happened?

After piecing the possibilities together, my husband and I believe that our toad-loving Fitz brought this little buddy inside and hopped up into his favorite living room resting place on the back of the couch with it, guarding it. That must be why he and Ollie hadn’t come back to bed – they’d been toad watching.

We slowly thawed it out, and I took it to work with me – and to the local coffee shop for a meeting – in a little plastic box with the lid half-cocked and taped shut. At lunchtime, I brought it back and released it right here on the farm so that it could return to its family. Not many Pike County toads can say they were brought back from death and taken out for a morning of work and coffee.

But Lazarus can (thanks to Glenda Funk for suggesting the name).

Back-Again Amphibian Tanka

In the house, a toad

Somehow, in from dark night’s cold

Lazarus, jump forth!

Resurrected Frozen Toad

Back-Again Amphibian

A.I.S., as defined on an episode of the sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond, means ass in seat.

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Stafford Challenge Kickoff – Day 1

I accepted the challenge thrown at my feet. And by thrown at my feet, I mean the Facebook post stopped my scroll. I clicked on Learn More and read the details. A poem a day for a year, starting January 17. They call it the Stafford Challenge, and registration ends today.

Sounds like my kind of adventure.

I signed up, and my backpack is ready for the year ahead. My computer is charged, my coffee is hot, and my momentum is high. I’m looking around – – where is the inspiration in any writing time? Never farther than a foot away. I see my coffee cup, white with a black butterfly etched in the surface. Me. I see myself – caffeine for the long journey ahead, and the freedom to make it. 

I have a Zoom tonight to see what it’s all about, but for today, all I need is my poem. 

Ready

wings spread, eyes open

every moment, a story

becomes a poem

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Cast Iron Awakenings

Nightstand Before
  • Cast Iron Awakenings

still flipping old things ~

hotcakes in cast iron griddles

old wood awakens

a new lease on life

repurposed for the future

strong memories past

I’ve joined The Stafford Challenge to write a poem every day starting tomorrow for the remainder of the year. It’s free, and it looks like a great way to connect and encourage other writers, according to their website. If you’re participating in the challenge, I hope to see you there! I’ll still be regularly participating in all the writing groups I have grown to love – and adding one more! I deeply appreciate all of the writing groups and those who share their ideas and slices of their lives with me.

Nightstand After

Heartfelt thanks to Two Writing Teachers for hosting the weekly Slice of Life , giving writers inspiration and space to share.

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A Sparkling Sage Face Lift

Fifteen years ago, after we’d just moved into the house we designed during dinnertimes on napkins while we dated, I scoured thrift shops for inexpensive furniture and was surprised to find a little end table in amazing condition for ten dollars. It had a lot of scratches on it, but I figured it would mostly be covered with books and other things, so I scooped it up for my reading room, to sit beside the chair with a lamp – to hold my To Be Read pile and my coffee. 

As I looked at pieces of furniture needing a face lift at the beginning of 2024, this little table made the short list. I moved all of the things it was holding and dusted it off, getting it ready for a couple of coats of paint and a good polishing. 

Table before the refinish, turned with the brass-handled drawer facing the bookshelves

I sanded the top to find a much lighter wood – pine, stained in a rich chestnut color originally. Since I sit in the reading room to watch birds and enjoy the southeasterly views of the farm, I decided on a Sparkling Sage (Valspar) chalk paint for the bottom of the table, keeping the color of grass and life close at hand. Once I discovered the wood was a lighter color, I resisted the urge to whitewash the top and instead keep the natural wood under a coat of clear satin water-based polyurethane. I also decided to do something I haven’t done before – I kept the original hardware and painted it, too. 

Upcycled table iin the morning stream of sunlight

With a few touches of coordinating colors in decor accents, I’m pleased with the way it turned out. Now I’m ready for a new foot pouf to throw up my feet as I read and watch for birds to come to the feeders. 

And I’ve already got my eye on the next project that I want to accomplish as I look to paint and re-create before the annual cycle of deep spring cleaning begins in March. 

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Thread Nonet and Craft Room Dreams

I’ve been cleaning out my sewing notions that I’ve collected over the years. When Mom died, I inherited many of her notions and her magical Bernina sewing machine. Mom sewed all the way through high school, making most of her formal gowns (and mine, later). She made us matching dresses when I was young enough to still think that was cool, on the before side of life for being able to appreciate those sweet memories. When I was nine or ten, I made my first pair of bright green Terry cloth shorts, crying in frustration at having to rip seams and all less than perfect stitches in between, and I’m certain that the thread spool that witnessed my fits is among these in the picture. I’m also fairly certain that my crying fits of sewing are the deciding factor that I’m a 1 on the enneagram and not a 3 or 5. 

My goal today is to cut my supply of thread by at least half, keeping variations of the shades that I will use for rag quilting and mending and hemming clothes. As I look at this photo, one thing stands out to me that I may not have seen if I hadn’t organized by color. Mom wore bright pinks, reds, and bright blues – and to see this photo is to see her in all her handiwork right here on my kitchen counter. She’s urging me to take some lovely photos of the spools and then share the rest with others who sew so that others can squeeze more life out of items that would otherwise end up in a landfill. 

On, now, to buttons, rick rack, and other notions. I’m thinking of converting our office into a sewing room……I much prefer being creative to paying bills and sorting paperwork that piles up and has nowhere to live. 

Thinking………..

Inherited Thread Nonet

a bit of useless information:

I own one hundred sixty four

spools and seven empty spools

sorted by ROY G BIV

rainbow color groups

I should never

need to buy

more new

thread…….

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Haint Blue

As a Christmas present in 1985, my parents gave me an antique chest of drawers that has needed a facelift for at least two decades now. The date on the back is stamped 1926, and it is made of a dark hardwood. Some of the original knobs fell off, and one drawer needs to be repaired at the bottom. It’s a lovely piece, and the feet resemble the posts on my twin beds that I slept on as a child and that are now pushed together to form a King Size bed. Believe it or not, I still sleep in these beds today with my husband and our three schnoodles.

I couldn’t get rid of the beds. They came out of an old house on Sea Island Georgia, a smaller island off of St. Simons Island, where I lived as a child. The undersides are painted Haint Blue, a common practice on coastal islands in the southeastern United States, rooted in the belief that this color wards off evil spirits and ghosts. Sherwin Williams even has a paint color named Haint Blue. In addition to painting this color under beds, people also paint it onto porch ceilings as well. 

Example of a Haint Blue porch ceiling (not mine)

I’ve had paint sample colors, paint stripping paste, and all sorts of brushes and tools ready to give some of our furniture a new life for six months now, and I’m finally getting around to the actual work. That Christmas gift from 1985 was at the top of my list, even though my grandmother’s kitchen table started the big avalanche of projects.

This week, I’ve watched about a half dozen YouTube videos and talked with my furniture flipping daughter on how to use chalk paint and all the variations and ideas for using it. I started simple – – with a can of Greige (a Behr paint color cross between grey and beige) and some new black knobs for the chest of drawers. I learned that a quick sanding is all that is needed, and that chalk paint dries in about 30 minutes, allowing a few coats and a complete project finish in an afternoon except for the wax wait time to cure. I used a small furniture roller and got to work.

Before:

Chest of drawers with trial replacement knobs attached

After:

Finished, waiting for wax to dry and cure (applied in a circular motion, which will show for a week or two) between buffings

I’m lining the drawers with contact paper to give it a fresher look, and moving on to my next project – – a small end table that I use in my reading room for my coffee by my reading chair.

I’ve chosen Sparkling Sage for the table and will finish the top with a white wash.

Let’s get sanding. 

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Happy Birthday to My Husband

Here’s a great big Happy Birthday cheer for the love of my life. We share life, we share dreams, and we share challenges. I’m grateful that the good Lord sent him to be my husband. He’s a keeper, and I cherish him. 

We recently visited my brother and father in South Georgia for Christmas, and when we arrived, Ken was outside blowing off the back porch. It looked like the leaves and debris were headed clear down to Florida, as powerful as this blower was. 

My brother left shortly after we arrived for an appointment, and as soon as his car was out of the driveway, Briar picked up the blower and walked out along the path in the back yard to test it out. 

Briar’s blower might be able to blow out one candle on a birthday cake on a full charge, but Ken’s blower could peel twelve layers of pine pollen off a porch screen. Both blowers are battery operated, giving full range of an area without a cord to trip over.

It was one of those moments when I paid attention when I needed to. Rarely do I get a gift as right as I felt this one would be. And I realized even more that I’d nailed it when I’d had to stop by Home Depot and Lowe’s the weekend before his birthday so I could get chalk paint and wood stain for our kitchen table. While I was looking for just the right color wood finish, he said, “I’m going to be in the tools for a minute. I want to see if they have that blower like your brother had.” 

I did my best to give a quizzical look of confusion and vague memory.” Oh, yeah, that blue thing you were playing with out in the back yard?” 

There was already one of those blue things in the back of my car under a blanket even as he looked around for it, so close that I’d had to jump ahead of him with the buggy to load our bags of paint and be sure he couldn’t see his birthday gift awaiting him.

Happy birthday to the man who likes everything clean and always helps make sure it stays that way! 

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Body Aches

My arms and legs don’t want to go to work today. The rest of me is dressed and ready, and my mindset is already thinking about the day ahead. My lower back will clock in at some point once I get moving, but my body is protesting Monday with tired, sore muscles after we refinished the kitchen table and a couple of chairs over the weekend. I can’t wait to share some before and after photos once the project is complete, but for today, I’m keeping my One Little Word front and center (pray) and my diopter word of the day is stand. I’m praying I can stand up and step out and struggle through the woes of an aging body trying to do what my younger body did without all the grief and agony the next day.

Why Old People Walk Bent

                 refinishing chairs

              sanding, painting, staining slats

              bending, straining backs

Photo by Mike Bird on Pexels.com – Photo for topic only – this is not my chair. 
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They Know Me

For Christmas, my grandchildren made me hand-stitched birds. The love that went into each stitch is precious and was a labor of love and patience for them and for their mother. They will adorn my new office space as soon as we get moved into our new building. These are far too lovely to hang only once a year on a tree. I need them where I am reminded daily of my blessings, for those times I get caught up in the work day and forget that there are so many reasons to smile and take things in stride. I love that their mother is already teaching them that the key to the fine art of gift giving is in the heart of the recipient – and that handmade gifts are the most special of all!

A great big thank you to my grandchildren!