My life has taken a detour

If you were to ask me to name all the roads I drive to get from my home in Wilsonville to my office in Mount Angel, I probably couldn’t do it.

I just know when to turn right and when to turn left. I don’t pay attention to signs. Instead, I am too busy noticing the farmers planting in their fields or that the apples at a roadside fruit stand are ready or the field of sunflowers. There’s a black and white cat that likes to sun bath in a hay loft of a red barn and three elderly men who sit in rickety lawn chairs by a pond to fish. I have watched the hops grow from a few inches tall to stretching over the strings and the vineyards start with a few leaves to being able to see the ripe berries on the vine.  I love seeing how farmers make hay bales – some round, some square.  

Too busy noticing everything around me to look at the signs.

Needless to say I was surprised one morning to learn there was a large, orange detour sign telling me I couldn’t continue on my daily path. Swearing as I made my way on new roads with dips and potholes, I found myself not knowing which way to turn – left or right or go straight. In the distance, I spied Mount Angel Abbey. I knew if I headed in that general direction I would eventually find my way to work. What was most frustrating was the detour added at least 15 minutes to my commute, so I had to find a new way to work.

My life has taken its own detour.

Unexpected,  I guess. Or maybe I was just not looking for the signs.

Maybe there were signs but as I reread my blog I was too busy focusing on the positive and didn’t see the detour sign.

On June 1, my husband asked me for a divorce. We have been separated ever since. He has an apartment and I have a house with the kids. That’s all I will say about the separation.  Going into details or explaining this or that does no good – it’s like a ripping a Band-Aid off again and again and again instead of just letting the wound heal.

I will say it hasn’t been easy and at times I have felt utterly and completely lost. What’s guided me through this is my faith and the wisdom given to me by my mom and dad, grandparents, family, sister, brother and some good friends.
It comes down to this. I didn’t choose this path I am on but it’s where I am at and I have to accept that. I can choose to wallow in self-pity or I can choose to make the best of what I have been given.

I have chosen to run. For me, running is magic. I go really, really slow but it’s just a time to clear my thoughts, figure out my next move and remember to breathe and enjoy what is around me. I have discovered some great running paths near my home that I love to explore and yes, once or twice I have gotten lost but I always find my way home by asking for help.

I am reading  - there are several books on my nightstand - and my biggest stress reliever – besides running - is cleaning. My sister gave this great cleaning spray – Caldrea – which smells wonderful and makes cleaning fun. I even spent an exciting Saturday night cleaning the grout between the kitchen tile with a toothbrush and baking soda after mopping the hardwood floors.  

This is my life. Not what I expected. Not what I planned but it is what it is.

My goal is to show my children yes sometimes life knocks you flat on your ass. And just when you think you can stand up, it comes along and knocks the wind out of you.

That’s when you have a choice.

Just lay there, feeling sorry for yourself and feeling things aren’t fair.

Or get up, decide what you want in life and find a way to get it.

My goals are to be happy and healthy. To always remember that just because someone is smiling their heart could be aching. To give more than I receive and that little acts of kindness can make a difference. To remember I define who I am – no one else. That sometimes a good book ot movie or song that makes you cry is what you need along with chocolate . Always chocolate.

I am on a new path. But I am not lost.

I will keep running. I will finish my novel. I will run a half marathon this year. I will – and this is my toughest challenge – find a new job. I will be a good role model for my children. I will remember to ask for forgiveness when I fail and to say thank you when I have been blessed. I may miss the signs but I won’t miss the beauty each day brings.

I will remember this is my life. I don’t get to always chose what happens but I have the power to decide how to deal with what comes my way.

I chose grace, humor, chocolate, running, reading and most importantly – my children – always my children. For they are my inspiration and my motivation. They are the reason I chose to be strong, to believe things will get better and to achieve my goals. I chose to love and to forgive.

Today, I was at a coffee shop that I normally don’t frequent. There was a sign by the water jug that read “Life is one big road with lots of signs. So when you are riding through the ruts, don’t complicate your mind. Flee from hate, mischief and jealousy. Don’t bury your thoughts, put your vision to reality. Wake up and Live,” a quote from Bob Marley.

There are so many roads for me to explore. So much to learn.  I realize there are challenges before me and the road will be rough in places. I accept that. But I also know I can do this. I will find my way.

Here’s to seeing where this detour takes me and what I need to learn along the way.

Are you worried about Y2K 2012?

At my staff meeting today, two writers talked about preparing for either a natural or man made disaster. They shared the blogs and news stories they have read about trends they are seeing and what they are doing or have done in case the worst happens.
Is this on your radar?
Something you are concerned about?
Have you stocked food, water, supplies?
Eager to read your thoughts.

Chance or fate?

Bryan was ready to say no.

He had even typed a terse text message to Kate telling her that she needed to remember her text books and that he wasn't going to run home and get her chemistry book for her.

For some reason, he told us, he erased the text message and wrote another one telling Kate he would go back to the apartment and get her book. "She's a good kid and she's getting an A in Chemistry so I figured why not?"

At the apartment complex, he climbed the first set of cement steps, rounded the corner to climb the second set of steps and saw a toddler - about 16 months old - crawling up the stairs.

"She stood up and started falling backward right when I was behind her," Bryan said. "I caught her and carried her down the stairs."

He knocked on a few doors. No one answered. He was ready to take the little girl to the manager’s office when a 20 year old man opened a door and told Bryan he thought the little girl was in her room.

Bryan told the kids and I that he was in such shock that he didn’t say anything.

All he thought about, he said, was what if he wasn’t there at that moment? The little girl could have fallen, could have crawled where the cars are, someone could have taken her…

Chance or fate?

Confession of a Chocoholic

This was not the week to decide to go on the wagon.

I just finished writing 11 stories on graduating seniors, each around 350 words. I still have a 1,200 or more word story to write on vals and sals plus a story on the school district plus a story on the birth center plus I have to lay out the paper by Thursday and another paper by Friday.

And I chose this week of all weeks to eat healthy – translation no chocolate.

Yes, I am a chocoholic.

I decided to clean up my act after I downed a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy on Saturday plus I ate a few of Blake’s toffee ice cream bars and that's not counting the chocolate covered pretzels. I am guilty of standing in line at the grocery store and grabbing a chocolate bar and quickly eating it before I get home.

My way of dealing with my stress - trying to sell a house and getting frustrated living in an apartment – is to eat chocolate. So add the deadlines at work with the feeling of being out-of-control when it comes to selling a house and I turn to chocolate. Lots and lots and lots of chocolate.

Even before we were selling a house, a normal deadline week would consist of a bag of peanut M&Ms plus a Snickers bar.

This week, I am attempting to clean up my act so I am taking carrots, cucumbers and fruit to work to eat on instead of chocolate.

So far, my plan has worked. It hasn't been easy. There's still ice cream in the freezer and chocolate pretzels in the cupboard calling my name. Here’s to making it to Friday without falling off the wagon. If you have any tips on how to avoid chocolate, let me know.  

A priceless day ...

Yesterday was an amazing day.

Not because our house finally sold or we won the lottery. It was the small, every day moments that made it priceless.

Getting up at 8 and making breakfast for Blake before he headed out the door for four basketball games.

Going to the Lake Oswego Farmer's Market.

Helping Kate write a resume to send to Nike for a part-time job at the Woodburn store.

Driving with Kate to Blake’s games in Beaverton, getting there and seeing her run to her dad to grab the Jamba Juice he got for her and then watching her and Bryan laugh about the silly message he wrote on her Jamba Juice.

Listening to them talk about this and that. Inquire about the morning game in Salem. Kate asking Bryan for help on a report she has to write about whether or not there is a Kennedy curse, he sharing the latest news. They make jokes about the referee and critic the game.

Watching Blake play two games with his Wilsonville friends while sitting on the bleachers with the parents – who are great and caring people. Seeing Blake smile after sinking a 3, listening to Kate laugh at the stories a friend is sharing with her.

After the game, Kate gives Blake a hug and tells him how much he has improved since she has last saw him play. They get in the front seats, I sit in the back of the car, close my eyes and listen to them talk about music, the game, Kate giving her little brother some pointers, Blake telling her about a musician he likes, Kate jokes with Blake she has more arm muscle than he does, he jokes back. Kate looks at the rip in Blake’s jersey, tells Blake he did a good job not letting the guy he was guarding push him around.

Get back to the apartment, Blake changes uniforms, Kate makes a sandwich, they agree on music for a CD they are making. Back in the car to drive to Salem – the music – well, listening to fingers racing across a chalkboard mixed with a dozen screaming kids would have sound better to me – but they like it, talk about it, critic it. They chat about this and that. Get a glimpse of what it might be like next fall when Kate is a senior and Blake a freshman and they drive to school together.

Watch Blake play against a freshmen team. Watch another game of juniors. Leave around 9:30 p.m. Kate drives home from Salem, I tell her I am thankful and grateful for her driving. They decide on a movie to watch. I go to sleep knowing despite all the times they have fought over socks, T-shirts, basketball shorts, this and that, and the computer – they really do love one another and will look out for each other.

What more can a mom ask for.

Why teens are embarrassed by their parents

Apparently I am on crack.
This was the assessment of my 14-year-old son, Blake, this morning after he looked in his lunch bag even though he knows I never have used illegal drugs. Lots of coffee and chocolate - guilty.

In his lunch bag were a Tiger’s milk peanut butter and honey bar, goldfish crackers, water bottle, Granny Smith apple and two large pieces of pizza housed in a red, rectangular container.

Pulling the red container out of the bag, Blake glares at me and asks “What are you thinking? I can’t take this to school. Are you on crack?”

Translation from grumpy teen language to English – “Mom, my friends would give me crap if I pulled this out of my lunch bag. This is so embarrassing."

Putting the pizza in sandwich bags was out-of-the-question because each slice of pizza was about the length and width of a paperback novel. I didn’t have any tin foil to wrap it in.

Next best solution – natural wax paper.

"You aren't going to use that, are you," Blake asked.

"Every problem has a solution," I told him, only to cause him to roll his eyes and shake his head.

Yes, I took a large sheet of wax paper, put the pizza slices on it, grabbed some tape and wrapped the pizza up.

“Mom,” Blake said as he watched me neatly fold the corners and tuck them in, “it’s not a Christmas present.”

Looking at his serious expression sent me into a fit of giggles so serious, tears came to my eyes. My uncontrollable laughter only caused him to roll his eyes again and shake his head. (Note to readers: Blake is silly and goofy in the afternoon but he’s not a morning person.)

The more serious his expression was, the more I started laughing. His attempt to stifle his grin only made me laugh harder.

“Really, mom,” he said, grabbing his lunch and heading out the door.

"Sometimes, you just have to laugh at what life brings you," I told him. Time and time again, my children have heard me say laughter really is the best medicine.

Driving to school in silence – except for the radio blaring the latest bubble gum music – we got to school.

“Bye, I love you,” I said.

Quietly, “I love you too,” he said as he got out of the car and raced toward school and his friends.

Can I please talk to a real person?

There are few things I truly hate in life.

Most things I can tolerate, take a deep breath and say OK I can deal with this.

I hate calling the bank, the pharmacy, the schools, the doctor's office... and hearing "Welcome to XYZ. If you would like A, push 123; if you would like B, push 356; if you would like C....

And then after I pick the first option, that option gives me five more choices to select from, leaving me wanting to scream at the phone, please just let me talk to a real person.

I think what makes me the most angry is I think of all the people who could have a job if the automatic receptionists were unplugged.

Just got off the phone with my bank. I was selected to give my opinion on the customer service. The automatic receptionist skipped letting me talk to a real person and went straight to the customer service survey. When I was done pushing one for horrible service, I had no way to go back and talk to a real person.

So I had to hang up, call again and push more buttons.

Needless to say, the automatic receptionists really pushes my buttons.

I think my parents did a terrible job raising me

I am beginning to think my parents and grandparents did a terrible job raising me.

Taught me the wrong values.

My dad, Douglas Thomas, died when I was 12 years old. A few months before his death, I remember driving with him up Burnside and I was staring at the homeless men and women lining the streets.

"You are no better than they are," he told me. "Just because you have a nice house, a nice car and clothes doesn't make you a better person than someone who is homeless just as someone who has more than you is no better or no less than you are."

My parents taught me to respect other people, treat them the same way I would like to be treated and not to judge people. They taught me to give what I could every day to make a difference, to be kind to everyone I meet and to be respectful of other's views.

Just because I chose to live my life one way doesn't mean everyone else has to make exactly the same choices, believe the same things, read the same books, worship the same way...

I can't understand why so many people are upset with President Obama choice to support same sex marriage. I don't agree with arguments that two people who love each other and want to make a commitment to one another is a slap in the face to me and my marriage. I don't see this as a war on marriage. I see this as saying enough is enough on discrimination.

As my daughter wrote on her post, "Proud to be an American today. Our President inched us closer toward the ideal of "liberty and justice for all" by coming out in favor of gay marriage. I'm mostly thankful that I live in a pluralistic democracy where people can believe and speak freely. Thank God we don't make laws based on religion, otherwise we'd be like Iran where women are stoned to death for violating religious tenets."

Rush Limbaugh said on his program "We've arrived at a point where the president of the United States is going to lead a war on traditional marriage." This from a man on his fourth wife and let's not even get started on how he left each of them - but he's a fine example of marriage.

As one of my friends on Facebook said, "Love is love." And when two people are truly in love, it's a joy to see, to be around, to celebrate.

Another Facebook friend wrote, "God does not judge, and neither should we. If you truly followed His word your heart would be open to all people, whether they bear white skin or black skin or red skin or yellow skin; whether they love men or women or both. Let's not forget that we are judging when we judge a way of life."

Look, I am tired of the sex talks - what people do in their bedrooms is none of my damn business - as long as it is legal and not causing harm to anyone mentally or physically or emotionally it's no one's damn business.

It's time this country start talking about the important issues like education and funding it or creating new jobs.

Who is sleeping with whom? Don't care. The value of my house declining due to a poor housing market - that's what keeps me up at night.

So America - wake up. Focus on the real issues facing our country - not just the sexy ones.

Lessons on avoiding the problem

I strongly dislike driving my husband's convertible Volvo for many reasons - it's too low to the ground compared to my SUV; it's difficult for me to see out of the back window and most importantly I know if I put a scratch in his precious baby that I am as good as done for.

Saturday night Blake had a date at the Bridgeport movie theater and asked me to drive him there. Not wanting to take my messy car, I took the Volvo. Drove there and back. Went around 8:30 to pick him up. Parked the car. Blake tried to open the door.

"I can't open the door," he said. "It's too close to the pole."

Parking at the apartment complex is a challenge because of the small spaces.

Worried about being too close to the pole and too close to the car on my left, I pulled closer to the curb - imagine the sound of fingernails scraping across a chalkboard and you'll get an idea of what it sounded like when the car's front end meet the curb.

"Oh xxxx!," I said as I backed up the car once again hearing the scraping sound.
Got out of car, looked at the undercarriage and saw a white spot about the size of my fist.

Being the great mom I am, I told Blake that let’s wait to tell dad until the morning. Note: Bryan wasn’t feeling too great that evening with swollen, infected eye.

Given the choice of any sort of disagreement and avoiding the problem – I generally chose the latter.
Sleeping that night wasn’t easy. I knew I wasn’t setting a good example for Blake.

So Sunday morning I went downstairs, looked at the car, saw the damage and went upstairs.

“Bryan,” I said. “I hit the curb last night and there is a white scratch.”

“Are you talking about a white spot on the undercarriage,” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I am sorry and I will pay for the damage.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You didn’t do that. That is from a sticker that was on the car. I have hit the curb a couple times myself.”

Why is it that people avoid problems when we all know eventually we have to deal with them?
I am guilty of procrastinating any bad news – for example I waited to take Kate’s car in to be fixed because I was worried that the diagnosis would be extremely expensive. Turns out it was a defective battery that was on warranty and the battery was replaced.

On the other hand, when it comes to chores I always do the ones I dread the most - cleaning the bathrooms, scrubbing sinks and taking out the garbage.

In the last week, there have been a couple examples where I avoided the truth only to find the truth was something I could deal with and much less stressful than worrying about what I was worrying about.

The way I have been dealing with bad news is like slowly pulling off a Band-Aid. From now on, I realize it’s just best to quickly rip it off and deal with whatever happens next. No more procrastinating.

No mattet how painful or expensive the truth may be.

Women - it's time to unite, not fight

Ask five women to make an apple pie and each one will have their own way of making it from the apples they use, to how they shape to the crust to the ingredients...

But they all will use apples, have a crust and put their heart into making the best pie possible to serve their friends and family.

Just like women may not agree on the best way make an apple pie, there are many issues women disagree on or have an opinion.

But women always find a way to get the job done.

Yes, there are many issues we disagree on. But we can’t let those issues get in the way of working together to make positive changes for our children, our country.

Let me provide you an example.

Two of my dearest friends are Beaver fans. Yes, Beaver fans.

Lisa and Val are two of the kindest, sweetest and most thoughtful women I know. They would give the shirt off their back to a stranger and lend a hand whenever and wherever needed.

I am sure there are many things we disagree about – besides Ducks vs. Beavers – but we don’t let those issues separate us.

We agree on the important things in life – family, friends, good food, wine and books and the importance of a quality education. We believe in treating people with respect, volunteering in our communities and raising our children to be contributing members of society.

It’s only May and I dread - yes dread – the upcoming presidential election season. I am tired of the negativity. And what really irks me is if you or I were to apply for a job, we wouldn't rip the other job candidates to pieces by saying awful things about them. We would talk about our achievements, what we would bring to the job, our vision.

Ok, ladies here it goes. We have to stop letting politicians divide us. I believe it’s time for women to stand up and say enough is enough.

We should be standing together and working for things we agree on.

For example, I am willing to bet a chocolate bar that all women want to know the food they buy at the grocery store is safe for their family to eat. I bet we can all agree that food regulations need to be tougher– think pink slime or recent food recalls.

And I am guessing most women agree that they want their children to receive a quality education – whether they are homeschooled or attending a private or public school. Is it fair to say women want to be able to send their children to college without worrying about incurring an enormous debt? Am I assuming too much when I say women want to know the town they live in is safe and has a low crime rate? Or that the water that comes from their tap is safe to drink? Or the air they breathe is free from pollution? 

In 1972, women fought together to get Title X1 approved –the law that allows our daughters the same opportunities as our sons on athletic fields and courts. Forty years later, we are fighting each other. Think of it this way, you are sitting at the table with lots of dirty dishes and pots and pans. Instead of everyone working together to clean up the mess, everyone is pointing fingers about who caused the mess and who should clean it up and how it should be cleaned up rather than just reaching agreement and getting the work done. That's what happening in our country, in my opinion.

It’s time for us to stop fighting – cease the battles between stay at home moms vs. working moms – note to all – regardless of the situation we can all attest we do more than men. (This is where you are supposed to laugh and raise a glass of wine or grape juice.)

Recently, I worked in a concession stand with women of various backgrounds. Just by listening, I garnered a little about them. While we may go to different churches or have different political views, we all agree on volunteering to support our kids. We all worked to get the job done and raise money for athletic teams.

That’s the kind of energy and focus I believe women need to take on issues we can reach common ground on.

Instead of focusing on issues that we will never agree on –let’s focus on what we do agree on. I think women have learned more than men – in my opinion –how to compromise, to find common ground and I believe we have more common sense.

So the choice is do we stand together and get something done or do we continue to fight one another? What example are we providing for our daughters and granddaughters?
Let me know what you think.

Why I never write "spokesperson" in a story

Any time I hear or read the word “spokesperson,” I hear a cane pounding on the newsroom floor.

After college, I spent a year working at a public relations firm in Boston where using the word spokesperson was the norm – expected.

The first time I used the word in a newspaper story, managing editor Bob Moore yelled across the room “Thomas, come here.”

Moore had been an editor at The Boston Globe before he started working at The Tab. A little shorter than me, he had silver hair, blue eyes and wore glasses. He looked like the nicest guy in the world – yet he struck fear in the heart of every reporter.

“Sit down,” he told me. “See this word – spokesperson – do you know the difference between a man and a woman?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Obviously you don’t because if you did, you wouldn’t have used spokesperson. Don’t ever use it again,” as he pounded his cane on the floor. “And if you do, don’t expect to work here.”

I got his message. I never have used the word again.

Over the years, I have had many editors – some who taught me valuable lessons and others who made me question every word I wrote and some who made me doubt I could write.

And over the years, I have had readers tell me my writing was awful - after writing a story on the northern spotted owl and the BLM - a reader wrote to me saying my story wasn't good enough to line his bird cage.

As a rookie reporter, the words stung. As I grew as a writer, I learned some people will like what I write, some people won't and some people don't care.

The lesson I have learned is whose advice or criticism I should take to heart. I have also learned who I should say thank you for your feedback but not let their negativity get to me.

As the managing editor of Our Town, I think carefully about what I am going to say before I talk with a reporter about his or her story.

My goal is to encourage, support, teach and inform. Sometimes, when I am editing a sloppy copy story, I want to call the reporter and ask him or her if she knows how to follow directions, ever looked through an AP Style Manual, reads a newspaper and knows the period goes inside the quotation marks … I get especially grouchy when I have eight pages to layout and a story arrives late – full of mistakes.
Then I remember how I felt the times an editor, a friend or even a teacher used words to make me feel insignificant, stupid, … and how those words hurt.
I know every one of my reporters is doing the best work he or she can and he or she makes a mistake it’s not intentional. And if I chew them up one side and down another, what good will that do?
Words have power – they can open doors; shine light through a dusty window and they can cause people to add locks to door and never open the curtains on their windows.

I know in my lifetime I have said things I deeply regret. I have used words to cause harm.

And I know after doing so, I don't feel any better - just the opposite - much, much worse.
Here’s hoping we all think before we speak or write and we realize we can make or break a day with the words we say.
Sounds a little corny – yes – but it’s true. At least for me.

From field to glass - local hop farmers share their stories

If you like beer and want to explore a wonderful place, visit the Oregon Garden's Brewfest. It's one of my favorite things to do in April, especially because I get to sample new beers like Dragontooth Stout from Elysian Brewing in Seattle; Chili Beer from Calapooia in Albany or Wailua Wheat Ale from Kona Brewing. Plus the Oregon Garden is bursting with flowers this time of year. A great place to go for a walk, watch the sunset or just relax.

Oregon Garden Brewfest

Noon – 11 p.m.  Friday, April 27 and Saturday, April 28

Oregon Garden Pavilion

879 W. Main St., Silverton

Hand-crafted beers, Pacific Northwest brewers, lmusic, food Tickets: $15.  Includes admission, five tasting tickets, festival mug. 503-874-8100 or oregongarden.org

From field to glass     Three hop farms supply local, national breweries 
published April 15 in Our Town Life

By Kristine Thomas

Barley, water, yeast and hops are the four essential ingredients to make beer.

The variety of hops, and how the brew master uses them during the brewing process, contribute to making each beer unique, John Annen of Annen Bros. Farm in Mount Angel said.

 “Without hops, beer would be sweet water,” Gayle Goschie of Goschie Farms said.

Just as each hop variety has its own unique flavor, aroma and bitterness, three local hop farms – Goschie, 4B and Annen – contribute in their own way to the hop market.

Jeff Butsch of 4B Farms grows four varieties of hops - Sterling, Nugget, Mount Hood and Palisade – which he sells directly to a broker.

“We don’t know what breweries use our hops,” Butsch said.

At Annen Farms, Annen sells to several breweries as well as to a co-op in Washington. The farm is a part-owner of the co-op, with two other farms from Oregon and three farms from Washington. The hops from the co-op are sold to 1,200 breweries.

Goschie sells to several breweries as well as a couple of brokers. She enjoys walking down the beer aisle at Roth’s grocery store and seeing the breweries that use her hops, including Deschutes, Bridgeport, Widmer Brothers Brewing, Sierra Nevada, and many more across the US.

All third-generation hop farmers, Goschie, Butsch and Annen each said they use many of the same farm practices as their ancestors. 

According to the Oregon Hop Commission, the majority of hops are grown by third and fourth generation farmers. The cost of the equipment and hop house and establishing fields prevents new farmers from getting into hops, said Nancy Frketich, Oregon Hop Commission administrator.

Oregon is the second largest hop producer in the U.S., with Washington first and Idaho, third. The state produces about 17 percent of the U.S. market share or about 5 percent of the hops grown in the world.

But production has diminished in recent years. In 2008, there were 6,370 acres of hops grown in Oregon compared to 4,202 in 2011.

“Growing hops requires a great deal of hands-on work,” Butsch said. “We have to restring the trellis system of poles, cables and wire, and hand train the vine onto the trellis.”

“Hop farming hasn’t changed much since the time my grandfather started growing them,” Annen said. “You still have to restring the trellis system and train the hops. It’s basically the same work.”

Goschie Farms

In 1905, Carl Goschie planted the first hop fields near Lone Pine Corner.

While her grandfather grew only a few hop varieties, Goschie and her brothers Glenn and Gordon grow a dozen different varieties on 400 acres, equaling about 500,000 pounds of hops. 

“Most beers have more than one type of hops,” she said. “Each variety of hops creates a different taste and bitterness.”

Like neighboring farms, Goschie Farms once sold a majority of its hops to Anheuser Busch that was purchased by Belgian beer company, InBev, in 2008. The purchase resulted in the company buying less hops from local farmers.

Goschie Farms now sells to brokers who in turn sell the hops to breweries. They also sell directly to craft breweries as well as MillerCoors.

“At harvest time, we have brewmasters coming to the farm and walking through the fields,” she said. “They really are like kids in a candy store as they walk through the fields, smell the hops on the vines and see the hops on the drying floor.”

She enjoys meeting with the brewmasters and discussing current trends. She appreciates the care and passion the brewmasters put into making beer.

“There is a real pride in being connected with all the breweries we work with,” Goschie said. “I haven’t met a brewer large or small who isn’t dedicated to producing a quality product.”

Goschie attends conferences to learn what’s happening in the craft brew industry. Eager to learn, Goschie has taken a brewmaster course. She is experimenting with low trellis hops and is growing some organic hops. The farm is also Certified Salmon Safe.

“As the third generation to grow hops, there is a history and responsibility we have as farmers,” Goschie said. “We recognize how unique we are that we have lived in one small area for over 100 years and we have produced one unique product.”  

4B Farms

Incorporate in 1972, Jeff and Linda Butsch, James and Donna Butsch, and Lori and Derek Pavlicek are the owners of 4B Farms in Mount Angel.

Since 1910, Jeff Butsch said the family has been in and out of hop farming.

“We started growing them seriously again in 1985,” Jeff said. “We now grow four varieties – Sterling, Nugget, Mount Hood and Palisades.”

The hops are sold directly to a broker who sells to the breweries, Jeff said.

“We grow just what the market needs,” he said. “We are taking out 10 acres of Palisade and rotating the ground to some other crop because Palisade is not marketable.”

A perennial, hops are planted in the spring when the ground is dry, Butsch said.

“The first year, there is almost zero hops,” he said. “It’s not until the second year that you have a crop.”

That means, he said, he has to know what hop variety to plant in 2012 to provide what the broker is looking to buy in 2014.

“We talk to the breweries to get a feeling what they are looking for,” he said. “The Hop Growers Commission invites craft brewers and merchants to the fields for tours and to talk with hop growers about where they see the market going.”

Besides growing hops on 252 acres, 4B Farm grows hazelnuts, grass seed, row crops, elephant garlic, seed garlic and radish seed.

“Hops are a very unique crop,” Butsch said. “We have a lot of knowledge about growing hops and we enjoy growing them. They take a lot of hands-on labor.”

Along with his sister, Lori, Jeff said his family takes a great deal of pride in their land and they enjoy the traditions each season and crop brings.

A unique crop, maybe that’s why hops garner people’s attention, he added.

“Hops are the spice of the beer,” Lori Pavlicek said. “They are what give the beer a little zip.”

Annen Farms

John Annen, 53, said his great grandfather followed the monks to Mount Angel when they came to build the Abbey.”

“He started farming in 1865,” he said.

Annen grows 16 hop varieties on 265 acres. He recently planted a hazelnut orchard, too.

In the early days, farmers grew hops on five to 20 acres, he said, adding the cost of equipment and a downturn in hop prices forced small farmers to get out of the hop growing business.

“Annen Farms purchased the second stationary hop picker in the Willamette Valley,” he said. Many farmers stopped growing hops because of the cost of equipment along with various regulations. “Before the stationary hop picker, it took 12 hours to pick three or four acres of hops. It now takes an hour to pick one acre.” 

Annen sells directly to less than a dozen breweries, including Seven Brides in Silverton. Some hops go to Hop Union, the Washington co-op owned by Annen and other growers.

Annen said he used to grow and sell directly to Anheuser Busch.

“We were just a vendor number in a computer program to them,” he said. “We slowly ended our contracts with the mega brewery industry because we saw where they were going.”

Annen started working with craft brewers in the 1980s.

“We were one of the first hop farms to dedicate our hops to the craft market exclusively,” he said. “Craft beer has become a larger and larger percentage of the beer consumed. Craft beer uses more hops – in some cases three times more.”

Declining to name the hops he grows or who he sells to, Annen said, “Some varieties we grow, no one else grows. We get our hop starts out of the world collection and grow them in our greenhouses before we plant them in the fields.”

He already knows who he will be selling to in 2015. “I like dealing directly with the craft brewers because they are the finest people in the world,” he said. “They are hard-working and they truly care about the quality of their product.”

Just as every brewer sets himself apart by the type of hops he uses and how he brews, so each hop farmer does by what time of day the hops are picked, how they are dried in the kiln and how long they are left on the hop floor before bailing, Annen said.

“There is a science and an art to growing hops,” he said. 

If I bought kale, garlic and spinach, would they devour that too?

There ought to be a law that prohibits parents from entering a grocery store with a teenager.

Or at least if you do, an alarm would sound and bells would ring while a deep, loud voices booms, “Crazy mom entering grocery store with a teenager.”

Blake and I recently went to the grocery store to get some things for his trip this weekend to Seattle to play basketball. First stop was getting a new blender to make smoothies for breakfast. Next, he had to take off the lids of several different brands of deodorant and smell them before deciding on his brand.

 As I went to get staples, - milk, bread, cheese, fruit, veggies, OJ, yogurt, - he would disappear and then reappear. It wasn’t until we got to the checkout line, I noticed the Gatorade, Tiger’s Milk bars, pretzels and a few other items he had gotten. Both Kate and Blake are pretty good at choosing healthy items - we do have the potato chips and some junk food but both are good about selecting healthy items.  

Several bags of food later, Blake and I were unpacking the food in our kitchen. All I could think, didn’t I just go grocery shopping? Where is all the food?

I am looking for an inventor who can create a devise that every time a cupboard or the refrigerator opens and one of my teens takes something out, that it is automatically replaced.

After Blake guzzles another glass of milk, the jug automatically refills itself. If either Kate or Blake eats an apple or orange, another magically takes its place.

I feed them dinner. Make them breakfast and lunch. Yet they seem to eat 24-7.

A bag of Smart Food - gone in less than 24 hours. Hummus with carrots, nuts, nut bars, mangos, strawberries - none of them stand a chance of surviving 24 hours in our house. A teenager's appetite reminds me of locust - devouring every morsel in sight.

Why can’t the refrigerator and the cupboards be like the laundry basket? Just as I have folded the last sock or towel, it seems like the laundry basket automatically fills up again.

Here’s wishing that would happen to my kitchen cupboards. Until then, here’s to many more adventures grocery shopping with the teens.

Now if I can just teach them to sneak more items with chocolate as a main ingredient into the grocery basket, life would be grand.

Do you forgive easily

“The first to apologize is the bravest. The first to forgiven is the strongest. And the first to forget is the happiest.”

Do you forgive easily? Let bygones be bygones?

Or do you remember every mistake, wrong word or action a person has done to you and hold it against them?

Several times in the last week, people have brought up my past mistakes. Things done years or days ago. And they haven’t forgiven me for them.

It’s the little things I do like repeat myself, or forget something or stress about this or that they haven’t forgiven me for.  “I didn’t invite you to the event because I thought you wouldn’t want to go based on previous experiences,” one person told me.

I am not perfect – probably as far from perfection as a person could get. I have my faults, a long list of them.

I am trying to change. I want to change rapidly – but I find old habits – like nagging – are hard to break. I am trying.

But I don’t always feel people allow me to change. They see me as they want to see me – not as who I am trying to be.

And to be frank, if people don’t allow you to change what’s the point in trying to change?

My answer is to prove them wrong. Even if those around you tend to cast you in the same role, you can decide that’s not who you want to be.

The person I want to be is one who gives something whether big or small each day to make the world a better place – maybe it’s a kind word or holding the door open for someone or letting some take the closer to the door parking space. I try to be positive, optimistic and caring.

I know I am not strong enough to carry the weight of my grudges against others on my shoulders. There are too many people who have disappointed me in their actions or words that I know if I lodged each wrongdoing I would be weighed down and unable to move. I am respectful to those I don’t like figuring being rude doesn’t do anyone any good.

So I forgive. I trust each person I meet is doing the best he or she can and that there are days when the wrong words are said or the wrong actions are taken.

Who I am today isn’t who I will be tomorrow. With each day, I learn, grow and try to change.

I am not perfect. Never will be.

But I know my heart is in the right place, I know when I do nag it’s because I care and I know I am doing the very best I can.

That’s all any of us can ask of ourselves.

Where has time flown?

In a year, she will know.

In a year, she will have made the decision.

Where has the time gone?

That was what I was thinking yesterday morning when Kate crawled into bed with me.

“I don’t feel well,” she said.

“Do you feel OK to go to school,” I asked.

“I just need five more minutes of sleep then I will get ready.”

Five minutes.

That’s how fast the last 17 years seem to have flown.

It seems like it was only minutes ago Kate was 1 years old and going to work with me at the Sandy Post. As she snuggled close, I marveled how the little girl I used to carry in a backpack or used to sleep on my chest as I wrote stories now towers above me. It seems like only days ago, we wore the same shoe size. Now my feet swim in her shoes.

In a year, she’ll decide where she wants to go to college. In a few weeks, she takes the SAT. Between now and next April, she has lots of decisions to make. She needs to find a dress and shoes for the prom, who she is going with and where they are going to dinner in the next week. There are letters from colleges arriving in the mail box and my email box that she needs to sort through. Letters from schools as close as Portland and far away as New York.

With a year to go, I worry have I done enough, given her the tools she needs to pursue her goals, provided the right life lessons…

I look down at my teenage daughter – who is growing quickly before my eyes. I marvel at what she has already done, how intelligent she is, how kind she is, how much she reflects on things, how confident she is in who she is... and how I wouldn't want her to be anyone but her.

Yes, I know she’s ready for whatever she decides to do, whatever path she decides to take. She’s ready for the next step in her life.

I look at the clock – it’s been nine minutes since she crawled into bed. I hope she knows wherever she goes, whatever she does, whatever decisions she makes that I will always be there for her.

“Kate, it’s been five minutes,” I tell her. “It’s time for you to get ready and go.”

Ten reasons why living in an apartment rocks

Since March 17, we have been living in a three-bedroom, two bathroom apartment. The living room is big enough for our couch and a tv. We have a place for our table and chairs. It's been a little bit of an adjustment - the kids miss having a place to play bball or to even be able to bounce the ball in the house - something they can't do living on the third floor.
After the four of us returned from seeing the Hunger Games on a recent Saturday night, Kate, 17, said, "Apartment living isn't that bad."

Still they are counting the days until we sell our house in Silverton and can purchase one here - Blake, 14, has even mentioned getting a puppy.

Here are 10 good things about apartment living:

1. It's so small that I always can find my phone when it rings and there are less places to look for my car keys.
2. Cleaning time reduced from about five hours for a top to bottom clean once a week - to an hour.
3. Don't have to worry about rolling the garbage or recycling cans to the curbside.
4. No yard work so more time to do other things on the weekend.
5. Don't have to yell "Dinner time" to get the kids down to the table. Instead, they can hear the vegetables sizzling in the pan.
6. Laundry gets done right away rather than piling up higher than Mount Hood. Since there is no room for it to sit, it gets thrown in the washer, then dryer immediately.
7. Going up and down three flights a stairs at least four times a day should help me get in better shape.
8. We have access to gym equipment.
9. Great opportunities to meet the other apartment dwellers such as last night when I came home from Target with some storage bins and a few items. Since it was raining, I tried to take a shortcut from the parking lot to the apartment, climbed three flights of stairs and knocked on the door while trying not to drop the heavy bins. Knocked again. Was searching for my keys when a man opened the door. My first thought was who the hell are you and why are you in my apartment? He politely asked, Can I help you? No, I wanted to say, unless you can install a GPS system in my brain. Politely apologized for knocking on the wrong door in the wrong building and scurried home hoping I will never be seen again by that man.
10. Mostly importantly - every day lessons on what's important in life - my family, my friends, our health, happiness and when life hands you some lemons, you can choose to be bitter or to just laugh.
Laughter really is the best medicine.

Serious addiction

The problem with an addict is that she never wants to admit she actually is an addict.

On a rainy, snowy night, I wasn't even finished with my first "hit" when I realized I needed to drive to the nearest dealer to get my second. Here's something you should know about me - I strongly dislike driving at night - something having to do with getting older and the eyesight.

My fear of driving was squelched by my need to have the second one right after I finished the first one.

Yes, it’s true I am a book addict. Just ask my family and they can tell you how bad my habit is. When a book has me hooked and reading like a mad women to get to the final page, my family knows they cannot count on me to feed them, do their laundry, vacuum, dust or even move an inch from the couch. All that drives me is the need - the hunger - to finish the book.

And then I will start the next one.

I was reading “The Hunger Games” when I realized I had only 20 pages left. I couldn’t wait until the next day to start the next book “Catching Fire.”  And when I was at the “dealer,” I realized I might as well get the last book “Mockingjay.” After all there aren't many book stores open at midnight.

After finishing three book in three days, I visited my favorite “dealer” – the library. I love that place – and in a week I read, “The Little Giant of Aberdeen County,” “The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake” and “Dead Bolt.”

Needing something to read I went to the library today and got five books to read and four vegetarian cookbooks to glean new recipes from.

I always carry a book with me – reading a few pages here or there while waiting for a game to begin, when I pick up Blake from school or the water to boil.

Yes, I am a book addict. And if you are too – let me know your favorite books.

Where did March go?

Where does life go?

I had plans for March.

But the best plans often go awry. What I didn’t plan was the rental house we were living in to be sold and being given a month to move out. And then I didn’t plan deciding to move out March 17 instead of March 31. And I didn’t plan on all four of us getting that nasty bug that left us in coughing fits.

I was going to run a race on March 17.

Instead I spent the day going up and down three flights of stairs – moving out of the rental house into an apartment. We took only our couch, a table and chairs, some dishes, beds and clothes. Feels a little like we are camping. Last Saturday, we went to see the Hunger Games and afterward both teens remarked that living in an apartment isn’t as bad as they thought it was.

On March 23, Bryan and I took Bailey to the vet. He hadn’t been eating, was having a hard time walking and had a huge sore on his leg because he was chewing on it. We decided – after much going back and forth – it was time to put him to sleep. Julie and Kevin Palmer at Silver Creek Animal Clinic are awesome. Julie – can’t thank her enough for listening to me sob. The vet came in, explained the process and then gave Bailey a shot that put him to sleep right away. He was resting his head on me when the vet gave him the final shot.  If watching him die wasn’t a challenge, it was even harder telling Blake who was mad at us because he didn’t get to say good-bye. He was rather stoic – fighting back the tears. Bryan told Kate who was also mad at us for not telling her what we going to do so that she could have driven to say goodbye to him. After crying a bit, she went to the store, got two candles for her and Blake to light in Bailey’s memory and a picture frame for a photograph of Bailey.

I miss Bailey. He was a wonderful dog, protective, kind, lovable…. It seems odd to come home and he’s not here to greet us.

After not having internet since March 17, - we had to make the switch from house to apartment – it’s running again. And that means I need to get serious and start writing again and to start exercising.

Here’s to a better April.

Easiest and most priceless things to pack

As I wrapped my Waterford crystal sugar bowl in a lace tablecloth, I felt Martha on one shoulder and my Grandma Constance on the other whispering to one another – who taught this girl to pack? What is she thinking? Can you believe the manner in which she has packed her good dishes? What is she thinking?

One would think if you do something enough times that you would become good at it. This will be the second time I have moved in less than a year – first from Silverton to Wilsonville in September and now from house to apartment in Wilsonville and since we only signed a three month lease, I will  have to move again.

Every time I pick up an object to pack it away, I look at and wonder why? Why am I keeping this? What value does it add to my life? Is it worth packing, unpacking and packing again? Will I miss it if it stays in storage for three months?

Most of my nice dishes, old books, furniture and paintings are hand-me-downs from both sets of grandparents. There are a few objects like the vase with the shamrocks, a painting from England, some teacups, a wicker basket, a wooden duck, a steamer trunk and my old books that I hope my kids keep and then their kids keep…

But more importantly what I hope my kids keep are the memories associated with the items. The wicker basket was my Grandma Christine’s that she used to bring homemade pies to family dinners. I now use it to go to the library, bring food to family dinners or go to the farmers’ markets.

As I pack again, I am determined to keep only what brings value to my life. The rest will be given away to family and friends, donated or sold. There's something refreshing about lighting my load. 

As I sit on the couch, I am listening to Kate and Bryan in the garage playing basketball and Kate telling Bryan thank you for shooting with her and then Blake and Kate talking about going to the store and Blake asking Kate to take him and his two friends to one of the boy’s house. These are not monumental moments. But there are moments of love and kindness.

Moments to pack away and keep. Moments more priceless than anything I own that can be packed away in a box.   

No bouncing in the apartment

Take four people – three who are used to playing basketball inside the house.

Reduce the square footage from a 4,000 ft. rental to a 1,000 ft. rental. Go from a house to an apartment and what will you have – one hell of an adventure and hopefully we don’t drive our neighbors crazy or go crazy ourselves.

Today, my husband and I signed a three month lease for an apartment. We were told this weekend we have to move because the rental we are living in was sold. So now we have until March 17 to pack, clean and move. In between that there are some basketball games, some freelance assignments, work and decisions to be made about one aging dog.

We are hoping by mid-June our real estate agent will have worked his magic and sold our home in Silverton so that we can start looking for a house in Wilsonville.  OK, truth is I pray about selling my house every moment I get.

A few days ago, I was feeling pretty low – OK really low. It’s not the moving I mind – it’s the worries about locking myself into a lease. Fortunately, the apartment manager understood our situation and agreed to a three month lease. A really good thing that makes me breathe a little easier.

In the long run, downsizing will be a blessing. Less rent + Less space to clean equals more time to do things. We are taking only our beds, a table, a few chairs, clothes, the couch and the TV. A few dishes and pots and pans. Everything else into storage.

I am trying to convince my husband we should get air mattresses and bean bag chairs so we don’t have to move beds or a couch up three flights of stairs but he’s not there yet. Guess I will have to nag a little more until I get my way.

Mostly, I need to remember to count my blessings. Life isn’t perfect – far from it. But it’s good. No, it’s actually great. I have three people who I love more than all the chocolate in the world and as long as we are together – life is good. And I know it will get better.

Plus I quite certain living in apartment with two teens and a husband will provide some interesting material to write about.

Get ready for some fun?

And if things get really crazy, there’s always Jon and Stephen to cheer me up.

If I could dedicate a song to my children, it would be ,,,

If I could dedicate a song to my children, it would be "My Wish" by Rascal Flatts.

Here are the lyrics:

"My Wish"

I hope that the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
And each road leads you where you want to go,
And if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.
And if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep on walkin' till you find the window,
If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile,

But more than anything, more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.

I hope you never look back, but ya never forget,
All the ones who love you, in the place you left,
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,
And you help somebody every chance you get,
Oh, you find God's grace, in every mistake,
And you always give more than you take.

But more than anything, yeah, and more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.

This is my wish
I hope you know somebody loves you
May all your dreams stay big

Don't want to pack or make choices

Life is about choices.

Each choice leads to the next choice. And every choice has a consequence – either good or bad.

That's all easy to say but sometimes making a choice isn't easy.

Have you ever been in a place where you wish you could have someone else make a choice for you? Or had a crystal ball to see where your choice takes you.

Yesterday, we learned the house we are renting in Wilsonville has sold. We have to move by March 31.

I am happy for the homeowners that they sold their house. And I am happy to move as the house we are living in is too big and I am tired of cleaning every time a real estate agent calls.

What I am stressed about is what do we do next? There are hundreds of decisions to make and I don’t feel prepared to make any of them. Do we rent an apartment or a house? What about Bailey? Do we sign a year lease or a six month lease?

All those choices would be easy to make if we sell our house in Silverton. We can’t buy a house until it sells.

And it’s the house in Silverton that has me stumped. I don’t want to sign a year or even a six month contract if the house sells. Our hope is our house will sell soon and we can purchase a house here in Wilsonville.

We looked at a townhouse and an apartment today, leaving me seeing the glass half empty – rather than half full. I know I should be grateful to have a roof over my head and I shouldn’t care where I live but … not excited about moving, living in such close quarters … yes, a bad attitude.

I know I should look at this an opportunity, an adventure, a chance to do something new but right I know I have a headache.

Where has time flown?

To help pay for college, I waited tables during the summer.

Carrying one or two plates wasn’t a problem. Three to four plates, I could do it. Five or more, I would start to stress. There were several occasions I had to carry a tray with eight plates.

And there were several times, I lost balance of the tray only to watch in panic as the plates slid off the tray, crashed on the floor and food flew in every direction. Yes, it was embarrassing but mostly I felt terrible because the lunch guests had to wait even longer for their lunch.

After this happened one busy lunch rush, I recall taking an order from a five businessmen.

“Can we trust you to get our food to us and on the table or will it end up on the floor,” a man sarcastically asked.

It’s been 20 days since I wrote a post for my blog and I am feeling like I dropped a tray of food on the floor.

It seems the more I try to add to my life, the more I tend to drop something. With responsibilities at work, for my family, sharing the computer with my children and husband and sheer exhaustion, I haven’t had the time to write or exercise. I am only working out twice a week.

What I am trying to figure out is how to do it all with dropping something. There’s so much on my do to list that I really want to do but I haven’t figured out how to do it all.

Any suggestions?

Plum tired of worrying - Confession of a Worry Wart

Stephanie Plum and I don't have much in common.

She’s a New Jersey girl. I have visited the state. She’s a kick-ass bounty hunter and has two men in her life. I reign over dirty dishes and endless laundry.

She’s the protagonist in Janet Evanovich’s books and I like to read Evanovich’s books because they make me laugh and forget my worries.

What Plum and I do have in common – are mothers are worriers. But Plum is much smarter than I am because she doesn’t worry as much as I do.

And I worry – a lot.

Living in Trenton, New Jersey, Stephanie stumbles from one source of mischief to the next while trying to solve the latest mystery. Problem is her mom’s not too thrilled her daughter is a bounty hunter toting a gun and having her car blown to smithereens more than once. If Stephanie’s even five minutes late to dinner at 6, her mother is ready to call the morgue, then the cops.

Despite the situations she gets herself into, Stephanie Plum doesn’t seem too concerned. Yes, she worries about money, sometimes men. She eats without care – donuts, fast food, her mom’s meals made from scratch… And even though she knows little about being a bounty hunter, she tackles the job with enthusiasm and is fearless while also a little naïve. And when things go wrong, she bounces up and gets even.

Me, I worry about everything – will my car start, will I get pulled over if I am going 45 in a 40 mph zone, my kids, money, my mom, my sister, my brother, my friends, my nieces and nephews, my mother in law, paying for college, will what I wrote offend someone, what’s happening in the world, the economy, …. Yes, I am a terrible worry wart.

“Do not anticipate trouble or worry about what may never happen. Keep in the sunlight,” Benjamin Franklin was quoted as saying.

Well, Ben, I have tried to keep in the sunlight but then I read something in the newspaper or see something on TV and my overactive imagination kicks into gear and I worry. What if..? Should I…? Why hasn’t… ? Have I…

Yes, I am ashamed at worrying about the things that have never materialized and for not having more faith. It’s not out of spite that I worry. More out of love and wanting to protect those I love from ever having harm come their way.

My worrying stems from when I was 12 years old and I awoke to the sound of my mom opening the door to two police officers who told her my dad had died in a car accident. So if someone is late coming home, I go to the worst possible scenario possible. Wrong – yes. Do I try not to do this? Yes. But old habits are hard to break and I am working to break this one.

What I am slowly learning is that worry about things that haven’t happened yet can cause hurt feelings, causing more harm than good.  

“I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened,” a quote by Mark Twain.

Yes, Mr. Twain. I get what you are saying. There are things that happened and there are things you only imagine might possibly happen. And isn’t it best to worry about things when they actually happen then to worry about the things that never have occurred? And isn’t it best to keep my worries to myself – which I do about 80 percent of the time. It’s the 20 percent of the time that gets me in hot water.

Indian philosopher Mahatma Gandhi once said, “There is nothing that wastes the body like worry and one who has any faith in God should be ashamed to worry about anything whatsoever.”

And it’s his advice I need to follow.

Giving up chocolate will be a lot easier than to stop worrying.

But it’s something I have to do if I want to and those I love to live in the present.  

“Pick the day. Enjoy it - to the hilt. The day as it comes. People as they come... The past, I think, has helped me appreciate the present, and I don't want to spoil any of it by fretting about the future.” Audrey Hepburn