Mother's Been Gone 4 Years This Thanksgiving Week.

This is my mother and I. She was probably about 27 or 28 and I was 7 or 8. We were both young.

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Family dinners: My mother created the best! She learned to become a great cook and baker as an adult.

She grew up not being allowed in the kitchen, the 3rd daughter of older parents, she was a surprise baby, her mother thought she done having children and in your 40's in the 1930's you were pretty safe to think that, my mother was the exception.

Born in 1933, spending most of her growing up years during World War II, 15 miles south of London.

Her childhood held memories that no child should ever have to have and many beloved memories of her parents patience with her and their protection. She loved sharing memories of her father's victory garden and rabbits, his humor and kindness. Her mother's sternness. She regretted causing her parents heartache during her teenage years. Despite being raised during a war, she had a wonderful sense of humor, loved freedom, was very patriotic as an American who earned her citizenship and never forgot her mother country, England where most of her family remained.

She tried hard and dedicated her life to her family and church, always striving to create traditions that would hold her family together in her new country, so far from her family in England.

We are coming up on 4 years this Thanksgiving week, without her wonderful meals, especially during the holidays. Oh, we try to replicate her delicious pies, English potatoes and gravy, but she still holds the honor of being our favorite cook and baker. She always gave her Aunt Minn credit for teaching her how to make perfect flaky pie crust. Never had a recipe, just went by feel, first putting flour and salt in a bowl, then Crisco, and slowly adding just the right amount of water until it felt perfect, never overworking the dough, just hand kneading it a little so as to not make it tough.

She said some people have a chicken gene, causing them to love chickens. She had the gene and loved her chicken flock. I inherited the gene.

I am thankful for the years I had her as my mother here on the earth. I miss her. I miss going to her home and feeling like a daughter again, no matter how old I was. I miss her English accent that everybody loved and I couldn't discern because she just sounded like my mother, that's what she always sounded like. However, I could hear her beautiful accent when she left a message on the answering machine or in a home movie, and I loved it too.

The world of waterfalls.

I left the stress of every day life by visiting water falls with my friend Teresa Graves. Walking further then we expected, up and down more hills then we bargained for, we were rewarded by these majestic creations of nature. Getting drenched with the spray of the falling waters, having all sounds muted except for the roar of the water and the amazing wind it created transported my friend and I to a different place. We were suddenly stress free, worry free, and feeling the freedom that mother nature offers.

We didn't talk to each other by the waterfalls, the waterfalls did all the communicating. We listened, looked, felt what it had to say. It reverenced our words, no words can really describe the power and wonder of a waterfall.

The white spot to the left of the waterfall about 1/2 way though the falling water is my friend walking along the trail, she's wearing a white coat. This gives a perspective of the size of this waterfall.

A whole different climate was created by the waterfall. With just a few steps towards it, we entered another dimension. We walked behind it and out the other-side. A few steps away from it, the climate we started in, returned. I can only think of a few things that can transform everything you feel in just a few steps or a few moments. If you want a change, visit a waterfall.

Viewing the world of fall colors ranging from yellow, green, orange, red and blue sky with pure white puffy clouds through the waterfall enhanced our awareness of the changing season and all it's beauty.

Wholesome Living: Don't Throw Out the Hush Puppies! Read the Tipping...

Wholesome Living: Don't Throw Out the Hush Puppies! Read the Tipping...: Guarded by the book fairy statue, my reading spot is nestled in the shade of a hazelnut tree with the water of the bubbling mill race percol...

Don't Throw Out the Hush Puppies! Read the Tipping Point and find out why!

Guarded by the book fairy statue, my reading spot is nestled in the shade of a hazelnut tree with the water of the bubbling mill race percolating in the background. Swinging gentle on the garden swing, I just finished my summer book today,

"The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference" by Malcolm Gladwell,

just in the nick of time, I still have the Hush Puppies!

They are not the Hush Puppies I wore in elementary school, they belonged to John's late mother. She had an amazing collection of shoes. I loved her shoes in the Hush Puppy box, and asked if I could have them. She wore a size 6 1/2 and I wear a 9, and sometimes a large 8. No matter how hard I try, I can't squeeze my foot into them. My friend who I thought could use them has an extra wide foot, they don't fit her either.

I remember the grey suede lace up Hush Puppies I wore in the 1960's to elementary school. They were not pretty but did come with a cute shoe brush with stiff metal bristles. They were practical and went along with my simple wardrobe including my grey wool skirt, which I loved. Girls only wore dresses, jumpers and skirts at Kamala Elementary school in Oxnard, California in the 60's. Pants and shorts were never worn to school. We changed into our play clothes when we got home from school, which were usually pants or shorts or an old dress. I walked to school like so many children did in Oxnard, it was only a few blocks away and on the same street that I lived on. My address was 1212 West Kamala Street.

Today I like to use the numbers 1212 as my lucky numbers.

My family even had a basset hound like the one on the Hush Puppy box. Her name was Bridget, she was brown and white. When we moved from the city of Oxnard to the country in San Luis Obispo, Bridget and the rest of us suddenly had a new found freedom. My brother Dane and I got our first horse, Big John and my mother purchased chicks which grew up and taught us where eggs come from. Dane was blamed for Bridgett chasing a killing sheep. Dane was blamed for everything that went wrong, so I'm still not sure if it was his fault, either way, Bridget had to go to a new home where there was no livestock to chase.

Gladwell defines a tipping point as "the moment of critical mass, the threshold, the boiling point." The book seeks to explain and describe the "mysterious" sociological changes that mark everyday life. As Gladwell states, "Ideas and products and messages and behaviors spread like viruses do." The examples of such changes in his book include the rise in popularity and sales of Hush Puppies shoes in the mid-1990s and the steep drop in the New York City crime rate after 1990.

It was a fun book to read. The value of the box of Hush Puppy shoes in my bedroom went up from the pile to be donated to the thrift store to,

"Maybe I could sell these on E-Bay."

The tipping point is that magic moment when an idea,trend,or social behavior crosses a threshold and tips into huge influence or popularity. Trends like Sesame Street, teenage smoking, crime, epidemics and much more are discussed in this book.

When I was child I remember my dad, Doug Conklin talking about words that become popular and trying to come up with a word that would catch on.

The words, cool, neat, rad etc. all have their tipping points from ordinary words to extraordinary.

I don't think any of my dads words took off, I can't even remember what they were.

Many people want fame, fortune and recognition. How does that happen for some and not for others? Well, it seems you need: Salesmen, Maverns and Connectors. These are people with distinct personality traits that make things happen.

The Tipping Point discusses these phenomena in great detail.

Wholesome Living: Help from Grandchildren; Farm Life is a Good Life....

Wholesome Living: Help from Grandchildren; Farm Life is a Good Life....: My granddaughter Ruby was eager to carry the grey plastic bucket and pick up apples that had fallen off the tree. It's a good lesson for...

Help from Grandchildren; Farm Life is a Good Life.

My granddaughter Ruby was eager to carry the grey plastic bucket and pick up apples that had fallen off the tree. It's a good lesson for a 2 year old to learn where apples come from. Apples don't come from the grocery store, they come from trees. The good apples are for the people, some of them will be eaten raw, others will end up getting baked into an apple pie, and some will be made into applesauce. The bruised apples are fed to the animals.

Barney the mule and Hasbro the horse were eager to eat the apples that Ruby threw to them. Nana Laura learned recently that it's best to just let the horses pick the apples off the ground and not hand feed them. Horses don't know the difference between your fingers and a french fry, they don't want to bite your fingers, but they easily can bite your finger off while trying to bite an apple. So its' best to play it safe.

Ruby helped me collect eggs. She's always happy to help her Nana Laura. Reaching into the laying boxes takes some courage for a youngster, especially if there is a hen still inside. An important lesson here is to always wash your hands when handling eggs, they carry germs that can make a person sick. Nana Laura had to remind Ruby not to touch her face after handling the fresh eggs. There was soap in the barn, so everyone was off to the barn to wash hands as soon as the eggs were all collected.

Slow Down and Listen to the Bees