Tag Archives: writing

Technology, Blogging, and Unwavering Faith

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Welcome back to another episode of my little world on this corner of the internet. It’s been a hot minute! And we have celebrated another blog-a-versary!! Do you realize we’ve been doing this for eight! count them eight! long years? That’s that obnoxious age where kids start to smell funny but don’t have real jobs yet with responsibilities and life is just stupid potty jokes. Am I super famous? No. Have I ever gone viral? No. Do I have a tonne of followers? No. And l’m inclined to say that I never will. Why? More than likely because not too many people know about us (besides the friends I casually mention I wrote a blog — thanks friends ;)) and not too many people really wanna hear about our escapades on Itsnotta Farm — and they especially don’t wanna hear about my Christian world view. Well… they might if I debated or dabbled in political hot spots or great controversies or flaming topics. But I don’t.

Oh, we touch on the occasional hot spot or news flash. I celebrate a few events (yeah family day weekend!) We do a few specials and host a few contests, but mostly, I just self journal, and you all get to share in it. And that’s okay. I think about when I first started mittonmusings.com. I did it to learn about coding, websites, internet and a bit of tech. That didn’t work much… this week I had to ask how to update my phone. I blame it on too many photos of chickens and grand baby. Which means it’s not my fault, right?

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

….and this is where my entire finished post just vanished when I went to upload and publish it! Grrr. See? Technology sucks. Now, do I remember what I wrote about? It won’t be as good as when it first came out… but here it is. Again. Writers, this happens, right?

Where was I? I fear. I fear for my kids and my grand kids who will have to live in a world where reality is blurred. Where A.I. has made real what is not, and what is not is made real. Where gender and traditional roles and food and money is no longer real. And the fear comes because this will be “normal” for them. I fear for my older family members who know this is not normal, but have to deal with it anyway, because that’s the way society is going. And we are being swept along.

Do you remember the days where we balanced our cheque BOOKS with a real pen and paper? Now I am beginning to think that A.I. could handle that too (for $19.95 a month mind you). I think I should start stashing $20 bucks under my mattress for a rainy day. It may get me to where I need to be faster. Or maybe not. Cash is going out the window too… but gold bars are too heavy to store under my mattress.

Even the church will be blurred. There will be no separation of church and state. Our world views will become intolerant and silenced. No, I don’t dabble in the political, because I don’t like it. There’s too much, well, there’s too much politics. Yet, I have said it here many times, God’s got this.

If we believe our faith to be true; and I believe it is; then I believe that our never failing God has a plan, and He knows where all this will end up. He knows the direction we are headed, and He’ll be there at the end of it. Me? I am learning to be gracious in this fast paced world (aka my #wordoftheyear) which means I have to slow down every now and then and smile at someone, or take the time to listen. I don’t think A.I. has really got a hold of that yet. People still count for something.

And the God who is faithful from the beginning is still in charge. He is the same, yesterday, today and forever. Talking donkeys, talking robots. It’s funny, when I started this post, I was looking for a prompt or a verse to get me started… and then the words just flow out… and then the words had to change and adapt and get written again because I lost it all. Which frustrated me, but reminds me again that technology dictates a lot. Still, my words are my own, and although it may never be famous, I think mittonmusings.com gets written because God uses it to touch someone, somewhere, somehow. Even the second time ’round. So, if that’s you, please drop me line and let me know to encourage my soul….

(and ease my pain at technology)

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

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It rained today. Not that that really matters, except that I was getting used to the pretty view of the deep snow from my window. I am thankful for the warmer weather. It means I don’t have to go out to break ice and give fresh water several times a day to the animals. It has been exceptionally snowy early here, and as much as I complained, it was quite festive… as long as I didn’t have to drive in it. And when we were driving, he white snow covered pine trees along the country roads had us singing “Walking in a Winter Wonderland”… which had me musing… I wonder what the background of the carol was? Did he really walk around in a winter wonderland? Let’s refresh:

Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin’,
In the lane, snow is glistenin’
A beautiful sight,
We’re happy tonight,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Gone away is the bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird,
He sings a love song,
As we go along,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown
He’ll say: Are you married?
We’ll say: No man,
But you can do the job
When you’re in town.

Later on, we’ll conspire,
As we dream by the fire
To face unafraid,
The plans that we’ve made,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
And pretend that he’s a circus clown
We’ll have lots of fun with mister snowman,
Until the other kiddies knock him down.

When it snows, ain’t it thrillin’,
Though your nose gets a chillin’
We’ll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Walking in a winter wonderland,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

The first lyrics were written by Felix Bernard Smith and Richard Bernhard in 1934. Originally it was just a romantic ditty about a young couple out on a romantic winter’s walk. It merged into Christmas-hood later with remakes from the likes of Guy Lombardo, Perry Como and even Elvis. You’ll notice some versions changed Parson Brown to “circus clown” to make the romantic version a little more child friendly. The one above includes both. All in all, just a fun song.

However… the original Mr. Smith didn’t actually get to go a walkin’ in the winter wonderland because he was recouping from another bout of tuberculosis in a hospital Sanitarium. As he stared out the window, dreaming of seeing his beloved wife, Jane, the kids frolicking around in the snow reminded him of his childhood days in Pennsylvania… and the song was born.

It’s actually sad to think about this poor guy suffering with coughing fits, hacking up a lung, with little hope of full recovery dreaming of a white Christmas at home with his new bride. The powers that be say that’s what the reference to the blue bird is… happiness gone and a new bird… sadness, has come to roost. Still, that’s speculative.

Whatever you choose to see in this little song, and even if the rain begins to take away all the pretty snow, I hope you’ll look out the window once and awhile and dream of days gone by and your true love. And be thankful we have modern medicine treatments! Be blessed!

Antiques and Adventures: A Moment in Time

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Whew! Another week has flown by! Yet time is like that, isn’t it? Especially when you get older and you’re moving “downhill”, shall we say. My current update is the same as last weeks: pallets are still on the driveway, coop still needs cleaning, and we have one out of two porch rocking chairs stained. The status of these projects hasn’t changed much in seven days. We did get a few things in the barn and tidied up before the snow flies, but the leaves are still falling. It’s actually quite sunny out today and I’m not really thinking about snow at all yet. It will be here soon enough, though.

Let’s get back to fall, though, shall we? I had a beautiful fall drive the other day through the countryside to pick up our little grand baby. He’s getting so big now… will be a year in a couple months. There’s time flying again. Really flying when you think of all the milestones a little one goes through in a year. From helpless newborn to walking, talking toddler, to helpless teenager again. Did I say that out loud? Ooops. Nevermind. I suppose we can say that time certainly doesn’t stop for anyone on this journey through our earth exsistance.

Anyway… back to my fall drive. The colours were fabulous. Golden hues mixed with brown undertones, a clear, blue sky and a winding road through little rural towns decorated with orange pumpkins and the odd farm stand of weathered wood and hand drawn signs. Post card perfect. Even for the end of the season. Once car seats were switched and snacks were handed out, I headed off home again. Grand baby and I stopped at an antique shop on the way, just to break up the journey. I was a little nervous taking a baby through a narrow aisled shoppe filled with old glass jars and pottery, especially one in an old dairy barn with a cracked (and slanted) floor. He’s a little angel though, and happily ate his cheese bagel in the stroller as I dodged in and out of the booths checking price tags.

Antiques are a funny thing. I don’t claim to be an “antique-r” but I love to look. Why do we pay so much for something so old? I’m a sucker for mason jars, and have a large collection. Still, I stop and look at the price of every jar filled with marbles. I have no idea why. I also wander through such places and think, “if I put that old window frame up on my wall, it is certainly gonnna look weird and not at all like that one in the magazine”. I even have the old century farmhouse now where such things are expected… but my decorating skills are not anywhere near the magazine people. And so I wander through antique barns checking price tags like I know what I am doing.

At the very last booth, however, I did discover two little ceramic birds. I have been craving these for some time now. They aren’t even antiques, likely. I’ve seen similar in those potpourri gift shoppe places. The price tag always deters me. These birdies, however, had a price tag on the bottom of $5.00! So, I hummed and hawed for a second, do I need them? They are a good price, so I wandered off with them to the counter.

My new little “vintage” birdies

I chit chatted with the guy about the weather, these little birds, and how I had been looking for a pair, and how cute grand baby was with cheese bagel stuffed face. He tells me they were $5.56 total. I originally thought they were $5 EACH. So, I am very sorry, nice antique guy, but I didn’t say a single thing, nor question your final price, except that we still had a bit left over for coffee … and I bubbled inside that I now had a great deal (It was mixed with a little guilt I didn’t question him, I’ll admit it! But that’s on the store owner right? The price tags were clearly labelled…)

I suppose at this point, I should muse about being honest. Perhaps speaking truth. Perhaps how our glorious Creator gives us the fall season to rejoice in. Okay, I’ve mentioned all of those things. Yet my thinking originally lead me to “time” for this post. An antique store certainly makes you question time. You literally look at pieces of history from a time past: glass mason jars for canning or marble collections. Movie posters and antique record albums. Rusty farm tools. Real wood furniture, pottery crocks, milk crates and bottles. Baskets, fur coats and license plates. Pieces in time.

My little birds are perhaps “vintage” but likely not real antique. I don’t think they serve any purpose besides sitting on a shelf to make me smile. Still, they will remind me of when a bagel eating grand baby was with me, and how he’s growing so fast. How warm the sun was on that day, and how I need to get going on those porch chairs. How God gives us limited time. Yet, for every waking minute and second of that time, He watches over us, as He does the tiny sparrow. And only He knows when our time is up. When His plan for us is complete and time will move forward with others stepping up to the plate.

Do you love an antique shop, my friend? Or do you love a modern coffee shop and bagel? Either way, it’s an outing with a friend. Or a grand baby. Or a spouse. Or a parent. This week, I’m reminded that time is special. Preserve and cherish it. For not unlike the price tags of antiques, the cost is usually high, but if you get a deal, don’t say too much: Just enjoy it.