How to follow a blog

Wow! And here I thought I had sorta crested the first hump on my very slow ascent up this mountain into the blogsphere.  Admittedly, I’m a little out of breath up here, and now people are asking how to “follow my blog”.

Well, that’s a good question. Let me pour myself another cup of tea (left over from this morning, nice and potent that way), wake up the website genie and see what he says.  Hold on, I’ll be right back….

Hmm.  Not sure that helped.  I signed up Google Plus, but my “new” facebook account is being contrary.  I’m thinking there must be a button somewhere that I’m not pushing that would make the process easier for any aspiring “social media followers” to this project.  Haven’t found it, yet.

Now, before anyone under 35 starts rolling their eyes at an old woman’s technological ineptitude, please understand that I’ve “come a long way, baby”, (to quote a commercial that played long before many of you were born.)  Case in point, a few years ago, a tech person was on the phone talking me through some problem solving steps for my computer at work.  I knew they were speaking English, I just knew it–had the right American accent and everything.  But alas, communication was a bit of a challenge.

And so, by way of apology, I offer this olive branch:

There once was a broad from Ne-VAA-duh,

Who could really grow a to-MAA-duh

But it was really a slog

To follow her blog

And quite a bit irritate-ah.  (Okay, so YOU find something that rhymes with Nevada, as in Missouri!)

Now, if that doesn’t scare you off this site, then you are either made of stout stuff, a glutton for punishment; or a family member.  Granted, I’m not a poet; that would be my husband.  In my defense, however, I have just self-published a fun, short devotional book entitled God Loves Dogs which can be viewed on Amazon (paperback or Kindle version).  My mom bought one…..thanks, Mom.

In the meantime, I will continue to try to find an easier way to “follow” this blog, in case anyone is interested.  Kind souls please feel free to send technical suggestions.  Creative souls please find another word that rhymes with, you know, Ne-VAA-duh.

Blessings—   dawnlizjones

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And speaking of new tricks for old dogs…..

My first Hobby Club bread.
My first Hobby Club bread.

One of my New Yorker daughters signed me up for a Hobby Club, hosted by one of her work buddies, Tyler Riewer.  (That’s rEE-ver, for the uninformed, a very nice Germanic name, very much unlike Jones, which is so common as to be utterly boring…more on that another time.)  Mr. Riewer’s Hobby Club gives all the members a chance to experiment with new and different activities, one for each month of 2015.  Included on his website (check it out—it’s really fun!) are instructions for each undertaking after which we are invited to post our Instagram photos so we can all enjoy laughing at ourselves and each other.

This month of January, we delve into the floury depths of breadmaking.  Now, this is not an altogether unexplored territory for me, since I already make most of our own bread for health reasons anyway, whole wheat, no salt, no white refined sugar, all that.  But what this club is doing is taking the breadmaking art to a new level for me—they actually expect me to use (gulp!) measuring cups and a receipe!

What Mr. Riewer doesn’t know is that Instagram is, in itself, a new and different activity for me.  As are  many of the other cultural changes that have come about secondary to the birth of the internet.  I have embraced a somewhat love/hate relationship with the web, for example, but I suppose each new discovery and invention presents its own opportunities for good or bad.  Kind of like money, or guns, or parental authority; it’s all about the choices of those that use it.

But some things do not change, at least for me.  Like the joy of seeing my grandchild, (even if it is only on a video chat instead of in person).  Like the sound of football on in the family room.  And of course, like the smell of fresh bread baking on a cold January day.  ‘Nuf said.   I need to go make that baguette.

Thanks, Mr. Riewer!

God Loves Dogs–lessons learned from man’s best friend

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Bath time…..probably could have had a few non-publishable comments on that one.

Just to make it clear from the start, we are a dog family.  My business-minded daughter, Robin, set me up with an Esty site to sell some things I had made out of yarn, and suffice it to say that, although the page advertised the items being from a “smoke-free” home, we definitely could NOT say that our home is a pet-free zone.

At this post, we are on our fourth, not to mention a few visitors that have come and gone.  My husband bonds excessively with his canine compadres, so after #3 expired, it took me a whole year and a half to convince him that it was time for another.  Such is the emotional connection we allow ourselves to get into with our pets, and as difficult as good-byes can be, those “live in the moment” times (something are dogs try to teach us, I suppose) are well worth it.

In fact, there are many good lessons our dogs can teach us.  By the way, I might as well confess in this first endeavor that our dogs talk to us.  Yes, I suppose that’s what I would call it.  It’s not unusual for someone to talk to their dog, being such good listeners and all.  Our dogs, however, have a propensity for verbal response, and many times somewhat uncouth ones at that. I have, as yet, been unable to train them to behave themselves in their choices of conversational topics, particularly with company present, and have resigned myself to thier unfeigned social inappropriateness.

Despite that, and at times because of it, dogs have added emmensely to my family’s collective personality as, if you choose to continue in this “category”, you will soon share…

dawnlizjones

From my side of the fence to yours…

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First, let me just say that…

…my father-in-law is a Master Gardener and I have turned to him more than once for advice and assistance.  George does things correctly…the first time.  He has patience and experience; he is a builder of things.  He designed a special birdfeeder for my garden, and not only explained, but also got his hands dirty helping me “re-do” some potted plants that desperately needed to be, well….re-done.  In spite of my obvious inexperience, there was no chiding, only gentle and joyful condescension like a father to a child.

Our lives, our relationships, our families, and our own hearts are so much the same as my innocent garden with all its mess in the midst of beauty.  Who saw the divorce coming?  How could anyone have prepared for the accident?  Lost the house, what now?  Why does life have to be so hard?!

Master Gardener or invested amateur, navigating through life’s gardens takes more than the basics, even more than the best planning.  We, all of us, none excluded, need help, and usually more than a little.  We need the original Master Gardener Himself to walk through the garden of our lives, tending the soil, rearranging the environment, mulching, weeding and nurturing us.  And along the way, He makes us flexible, creative, patient, and attentive to what He supplies for our needs.

This is my offering.  A few seeds and grains of dirt from my life’s garden to yours.  I hope it helps good things to grow on your side of the fence!

—-dawnlizjones

Mom for Hire

Self-explanatory...
Self-explanatory…

Posted: MOM FOR HIRE, used but in acceptable condition.  Still capable of giving unwanted advice, making you wear a hat in the cold, and generally being an embarrassment in public. Does not do windows.  Inquire below–

That title is almost as pretentious as tagging myself as a “writer” in the new facebook page that still trying to link to this site!  But if so, it’s probably of little consequence, due to the nature of the blogosphere.  It’s not like being in high school when you had to read something and do a book report (I wonder if they still do that??)  And I know that this post is mere nano-particle in a galaxy of worm holes and flashy comets (yes, I was a Star Trek fan back in the day–the original version, to be clear.)

And yet, there is something to be said about starting my twenties by having three babies and ending that decade with selling Girl Scout cookies while putting their father through grad school.  (I.U.-Bloomington, go big red!)  My thirties were filled with prepubescence and flaming adolescence, braces, sporting events, and the task of helping the girls “find themselves”.  That’s right, we have no sons, and I was informed that our house rules were “strict” by their friends’ parents’ standards.  My home became know as “the Convent” and I was nicknamed (affectionately, I hope) “Mother Superior”.  

Forty-something was the transitioning from a full house to my little goslings flying off to college one at a time.  I remember the night of my actually “empty nest” experience.  Our baby girl, Heather, was on her way out the door for her first night in her new dorm room.  Now granted, all the girls spent their first two years of collegiate existance at the small college where their dad is a prof.  Basically, down the street and around the corner.  But still, this was a bit of a milestone…at least for me!  Goodbye hugs, etc. No more Boom Boxes competing on different levels of the house.  No more choir concerts, band concerts, and various awards ceremonies at the high school.  No more prom dresses, monthly allowances, or staying up waiting from someone to make it home by curfew.  Wow.

The college starts their year like most, in August.  Here in southern Missouri, August is not the most pleasant month, unless you’re a tropical iguana.  Naturally, Heather’s dorm was un-airconditioned, and she was living (as I recall) on the third floor.  It wasn’t long (a few hours, max) before I picked up the phone for a request to bring herself and two or three of her new friends “home” to spend that night in the cooler air. 

The empty nest can be a bit overrated anyway…

People tend to refer to life stages as “seasons.”  My life is better described as “spasms”.  I am now in my mid-fifties, gray-er, somewhat more experienced.  I have grown to appreciate my parents, who are now in their 80’s, and the humor through which they process life.  I have grown to value my past struggles and mistakes, and embrace whatever God has for me (and my family) for the future.  

So that.  If you are over-heating in life, or even if not, I invite you to join my blog-nest, thoughts (and responses) from a well-used mother, from my home to yours.    —-    dawnlizjones

Old dogs–new tricks

Hello, blog number one.  Not even sure that anyone would care to read the scratchings of this old woman, but no matter,… at least for now.   I’m experiencing the dual thrill and frustration of “surfing” through the different “themes”, setting up “widgets” and “categories”, and figuring out (thus far unsuccessfully) how people can “like” me on some page of a book with my face on it.  This is evidently what my New York City thirty-something-year-old middle daughter refers to as Life Skills.  Hmmm…

I am now at a stage of life where I find myself using phrases such as “stage of life”.  Back in the day (there’s another one!) Life Skills had to do with balancing your check book, the family budget, and your children’s academic and extracurricular activities.  Life Skills were defined as learning to maintain a job, a car, and a marriage, generally in that order, and usually for longer than twelve months.

This original conversation began with my daughter when my husband (her father of thirty-something years) and I upgraded phones, called 4-G, whatever that is. (I have to buy us identical phones because he goes into a sixty-something tizzy if I ask him to answer mine when he doesn’t know how.)  Bob could care less about all the bells and whistles on “our” new phones.  His remains parked on the dresser in the front room, lonely, blinking its little light but totally ignored.   Our daughter must have thought this beneath her dad’s intellectual prowess, considering her world of Instgrams, Four Squares (that used to be playground game…), and Tweets.

Life changes quickly, our culture just about as fast.  If I’m going to learn to blog, which seems more or less like a public diary (for those chronologically challenged, a diary was a book of our deepest secrets that was kept under lock and key…back in the day, so to speak), then I guess I should just settle on my current WordPress Theme, throw in a few widgets, and have at it for a spell.

My husband remains delinquent in his Life Skills, but is now enjoying his sporting events due to his new HDTV signal.  He sure learned how to use the remote without too much difficulty…definite Life Skills for his gender.

Now if I could get him interested in the new dishwasher…

dawnlizjones