A celebration of all things vintage, recycled, thrifted, flea & free!
I found the cutest little basset hound Christmas ornament at Goodwill last year. We are a house of basset lovers so I had to buy him. I found him in the closet a couple of weeks ago, and showed him to my husband.
The next morning, I noticed our nativity display looked just a little different:
I spent twenty minutes yesterday on a project that I'm looking forward to enjoying a couple of months from now. I bought some tulip bulbs in October that I meant to pot in November, but I had to go to Florida and things got a little hectic. I forgot about the bulbs till I found them the other day...hopefully mid-December is not too late to plant tulips.
I guess I'll find out!
Actually, it's been so warm here this month that I'm kind of glad I waited. I've got daffodils coming up all over my yard; I'm always afraid when things start blooming in December or January that they won't return in the spring. But they usually do (as far as I can tell). Do fewer bloom? I'm not sure.
I decided not to plant the tulips in the ground this year, since I may be working at The House of Goodwill and not around to see them - I don't want to miss the results of my efforts! Daffodils and tulips in the spring are something I look forward to every year. Planting them in pots means I can transport them to wherever I am.
So here's what I did yesterday (prepare to be amazed):
I've been thinking about today's post for a while now. And while it's not about thrifting or antique store haunting it most definitely IS about goodwill - in the most goodwill-est sense possible. So I want to take a rabbit trail today - and this post will probably be a bit long, I apologize in advance - but I believe when God does something wonderful for us we owe it to Him to share about it.
So I want to share about it now. It's a story for me: for some time when my future self gets hit with doubts and struggle; because I will remember the time that God saw me, and I knew it.
I am a believer, but there are few times in my life when I would say that I knew that God spoke to me; that I knew FOR SURE that God had spoken to me. I'm often with other Christians who regularly say things like, "God told me this.." or "God told me that..." and it's not that I don't believe that God speaks to us, it's just that if I'm going to tell someone else that God spoke something, I want to be 110% sure that yes, God did speak. And while I sometimes believe God is leading me a certain way, I hesitate to claim God has spoken, because I do believe it's a BIG thing to speak for God. (And I suppose because I also could cite many, many times when believers have claimed God spoke something to them that He clearly had not.)
But this time I know. And I've seen the miracle to prove it.
Let me rewind to the first week of October. I was at The House of Goodwill, preparing to return to Nashville for three weeks of marketing work I had lined up. On the night of Friday, October 22nd, I returned home from work to a phone call from my brother. He said that my father had had a cardiac arrest that afternoon, that he had received CPR from a nurse at the retirement community where my parents live (who upon first arrival had said he was dead), and was rushed to the hospital. Two of my brothers were already planning to go be with my mother.
It was shocking, and came seemingly out of nowhere. I will note here that the cardiac arrest occurred three days after he received his third Covid vaccine booster. (Please note that I am NOT saying that that was the cause, only that it is something worth considering - though I don't believe the cause of his heart attack will ever be determined. One acknowledged side effect of the vax is blood clots, which are what cause heart attacks. My dad had no prior history of heart problems, no family history of heart problems, did not have high blood pressure, and walked an hour a day.) I will also note that I find it frustrating (if not downright terrifying) that the public is not allowed to even question a substance whose bodily injection is mandated by the government - when the manufacturer wants to keep hidden all collected data and research for the next seventy-six years. (Or approximately when the vaccinated generation is dying out.) But enough of that.
When my brother arrived at the hospital the next day, he let us know that my father was being placed in a hypothermic chamber for a couple of days. (This lowers the body temperature in an attempt to save brain function after a cardiac arrest.) When pressed, the doctor gave my dad a 10-20% chance of survival. So it became a long weekend of waiting; it wasn't just a matter of my father's heart recovering, it was also a matter of the brain. If his brain was gone, it wouldn't really matter if his heart worked or not.
It was a LONG weekend.
At this point, we were starting to hear from people. Friends and family all over were praying for Dad. That Sunday I stayed home from church and watched online. It was interesting - every single song that morning had a resurrection theme, of the dead returning to life. And in the middle of the worship there was a special prayer time for healing. The sermon that morning was about the disciples in the boat with Jesus in the middle of the storm; the point being that with Jesus in the boat it doesn't matter what the outer circumstances are.
I felt like God had spoken though the service; I felt hope.
On Monday, my dad was in the ICU; his body back at room temperature. He was intubated, and the doctor was waiting to see signs of life. Aside from opening his unfocused eyes, there were none. The doctor's plan was to keep watching him for 48 hours to see if we would wake up, if he hadn't, at that point (which would be Wednesday) they would run an MRI to confirm brain damage.
According to the doctor, it was "very unlikely" that my dad would wake up, since he hadn't already. And the doctor's sole concern was his brain. It wasn't looking hopeful at all.
I went to bed Monday night with a heavy heart, and prayed long into the night. I woke up very early Tuesday morning, and lay in bed for an hour praying till I finally decided to just get up. "Please restore my father's brain function," was my constant prayer.
As I walked downstairs with my dogs, I glanced up at a digital picture frame we keep on a table at the bottom of the stairs. There in the frame, was a photo of my dad. Just my dad, sitting alone at a table. He was wearing a t-shirt, and the words on the shirt read, "Sign of Intelligent Life."
Wait, what?
I don't know how to describe it, but it was as if the words were lasered into my brain. There was my dad. And the words "sign of intelligent life." I froze, and stared at the photo till it disappeared.
Wait, what?
In the frame were about 600 photos from 2017. It was a photo collection of everything our family did that year. (Ok, so I've been a little busy and haven't gotten around to updating it. But if I had...) I didn't know that particular photo was in there, and I don't recall ever seeing it before that moment, despite the fact that I'd been seeing all the same photos for years. That moment after I'd spent an hour praying for restoration of my father's brain function.
What was the chance I'd see that photo (of hundreds) at that moment? What was the chance my dad even owned a shirt with the one message I needed to see? What was the chance he'd be wearing it in one of the six pictures (of hundreds) that he was in in the frame?
Sign of Intelligent Life.
The image was seared in my brain, and I had the strongest feeling that it was a message from God.
The sign of intelligent life would be there. Keep praying, was my message.
When my husband came downstairs, I told him what I'd seen. "This has to be God," was his response.
But should I tell my mom? My brothers had been texting that they were worried my mother was in denial about my dad's condition. Should I give her encouragement? I really believed that God was telling me He was going to heal my father. But what if I was wrong?
Around midday I got a text from my brother that a doctor had squeezed my dad's hand and he "might" have squeezed back. The doctor wasn't sure. I decided to call my mom. God was going to heal my dad; this I believed he told me. "Keep the faith," I told her.
But as the day wore on, there were no more hopeful signs. The doctor wasn't hopeful either.
If there was no damage to the brain, he should have "woken up" by now - this seemed to be the medical expectation.
Talk on the family text thread turned to end of life wishes, conversations about contacting my parents' lawyer, and encouragements to help my mom "be realistic." I didn't engage; I couldn't. There were no signs of hope. There was only the message I believed God gave me, and it was feeling very hard to believe.
Wednesday was the same. The cardiac arrest had happened on Friday, five days later (other than two possible hand squeezes) there were no signs of life. The tests had revealed 10-20% heart function.
It is hard to describe how long this week felt.
I went for a long walk in the afternoon. "Why?" I asked God, "when my dad is lacking brain function, would you give me what seems like an obvious sign of encouragement, if you are just going to let him die?" It just seemed too cruel. Either God was going to do a miracle, or He is truly unloving. I just couldn't believe that.
"Keep the faith," I told my mom, though I was struggling myself. "He's still here. Until he's gone, pray for a miracle."
I went to bed Wednesday night with the heaviest heart yet. I prayed long into the night again. "God," I prayed, "if that photo was a sign from you, please let it be the first thing I see again when I walk downstairs in the morning." Honestly, it was hard to pray that. I just didn't want to be disappointed. What were the chances I'd see the photo again?
The next morning, I got up, and headed downstairs. I glanced at the digital photo frame. It wasn't my dad. It was just a vacation pic. I waited. Another vacation pic.
My heart sank. Of course. To see it again was asking too much. So now what? Was my seeing the photo the first time and taking as a sign from God just wrong? If it wasn't, why didn't God show it to me again? What was I supposed to think now? Had it just been a coincidence? I was so confused.
I started to pray my frustration. "God, I don't know what to think now. God, why did you show me that photo in the first place? Was it even you that showed it to me, or did I just think it was? Was I wrong to think you were going to heal my dad?" All of these prayers poured out as I turned on the coffee pot and opened the back door to let my dogs out.
I was still praying as I opened the door to the garage to get the dog food. As I swung open the door, out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of the digital frame. And there it was again. The picture of my dad. Sitting in his t-shirt with the words, "Sign of Intelligent Life." I ran to the frame and stared again.
Ok, so maybe it wasn't the first thing I saw that morning, per my request, but as I was raging my frustration to God, it showed up again. So, technically it was the third photo I saw that morning. (And just for the record, I have not seen the photo since, and now it's December. I have seen it in the frame exactly twice that I am aware of, and it was at these two times.)
It was all that I needed. God was going to heal my dad. God was going to restore his brain function. I felt peace.
Later that morning there was a video on the text thread. It was my dad, still intubated, eyes still closed, and wired to a million machines, clearly squeezing my brother's hand on command and wiggling his toes when requested. The sign of intelligent life. It was definitely there. "Keep the faith," I was able to confidently text my mom.
In the interest of not writing a novel here, I'll summarize what came next. I finished my final week of work, then flew to Florida for fifteen days to accompany my mom to the hospital almost daily. The first afternoon I was there, my father was finally extubated. He suffered from severe ICU hallucinations, and he was very physically weak at first. The day before I returned home, my father was finally transferred to the nursing home section of my parents' retirement community, still not strong enough to stand up on his own.
It was a very stressful period, and I have been amazed at my mother's strength.
My father's progress has been two steps forward, one step back. But it's been continual. As of now, he can stand up on his own and walk with a walker (though officially he's not "allowed" to do either due to his weakness, he still does). My brother texted the other day that upon arrival to visit Dad, Dad informed him that he had done "50 laps between the door and the window" in his room with his walker because he was bored. (Apparently whenever he is spotted in the hallway, he's sent back to bed by the staff, so he pretends he's forgotten they've told him to stay in his bed.)
In another small miracle (if there is such a thing), my father's vision was suddenly restored two days ago. As he recovered from the cardiac arrest, we didn't realize how bad his vision was. Before the heart attack, it was fine. But afterward, it became clear that he couldn't see anything. He was unable to read or watch tv. Because of the hallucinations, the vision problem wasn't obvious. But apparently it was frustrating him greatly. Two days ago, my brother went to see him after lunch, and suddenly my father could see again. He had read all the cards people had sent, and he was wanting to email. Just like that, he could see again. We don't know why.
Just yesterday my brother sent a photo of a little workstation my dad set up for himself in the nursing home with his computer. Apparently, Dad couldn't sleep last night, so he got up at 2am and worked on writing until 4am, when he went back to bed.
I picked up my phone this evening, and there was an email from Dad:
So, as I've mentioned before, I've never been able to celebrate the blended two-month holiday of Hallo-thanks-mas (as my husband calls it). One reason? Once the ghosts and jack-o-lanterns are put away, it's time for turkeys. And over the years, my turkey collection has been slowly growing. November is their season to shine!
Toward the end of October, my father had a heart attack, and instead of spending most of November working at The House of Goodwill, I ended up making a 15-day trip to Florida to spend time with my parents as my father began his recovery.
It was intense, as my dad was given just a 10-20% chance of survival at first, and almost every day for two weeks my mom and I were at the hospital. But in the two week span I was there, he went from being intubated in the ICU to talking, eating and beginning physical therapy at the retirement community where my parents live. It truly was miraculous, and we were extra thankful this Thanksgiving for all that God has done.
I arrived home a week before Thanksgiving, and honestly, I just wanted nothing more than a peaceful, quiet holiday like last year's. We spent so much time coming and going this year - all enjoyable activities - but the three of us were ready for a stretch of relaxed time at home.
And it was. There were no plans to do anything. It was quiet and relaxing and wonderful.
A few new turkeys from my thrifting trips joined the flock this year:
It's been a while since I've posted. In September, I was contacted by several event and marketing companies I occasionally work for and requested to take on a few projects. By the time I finished saying yes, I had three straight weeks of work back in Nashville. So I had to put my work on The House of Goodwill on hold. My plan was to return in the beginning of November for three last weeks of work on the house before the holidays.
But life does not always go as planned, does it?
A week before Halloween, I got home from work to find out that my father had a heart attack. Two of my brothers were immediately making plans to go be with my mom - and dad - so I waited to hear more. Long story short, my father began to recover and I finished my last job. But now, instead of returning to The House of Goodwill, I'll be heading to Florida for a while to see my parents. (More on this story to come.)
For now, I thought I'd share a few pics from Halloween last year at The House of Goodwill, since we're not doing much this year.
It was the middle of July when I received one of those phone calls that every homeowner dreads. The call was from our friend in Tennessee who mows our lawn at The House of Goodwill; we were in New York.
"There's a water leak coming from the house," I was told. My heart almost stopped; no one wants to hear about a water leak in their home when they are sixteen hours away!
So, long story short, it turned out that the water leak "coming from the house" was actually a water leak outside the house (still not great, but MUCH better than inside!). There is a hose faucet in the wall outside the house that had quit functioning before we left town. The hose knob no longer worked; you could only make the water come out by turning a screwdriver in the hardware somehow. (I say somehow because I don't know how it worked, my husband was the only one who could do this.)
Anyway, we never did figure out what made it start leaking in July, but it did. Apparently it had been leaking for a while, we were told the garden bed along the wall (with all the bulbs I had planted in it) was flooded with water.
At least it wasn't in the house, right?
So my husband called and explained to our friend how to turn it off with a screwdriver, which he did.
Disaster averted. (I sure love my Tennessee friends!)
So when we came back to the house in September, we called the plumber for an estimate to fix it. We figured they could replace the knob that afternoon, problem solved.
But it's NEVER that easy, right?
"$2200," the plumber told us. $2200! To fix a knob! How?
Well, as it turns out, the genius who originally plumbed the hose faucet, mortared the pipes into the rock wall next to the house, five feet below the ground.
And as it turns out, the part that needed to be replaced (because the original was put in almost fifty years ago) is no longer made. We didn't need just a new knob, we needed a whole new pipe section. Therefore a six foot hole would have to be dug down to access the pipes on the back of the wall, and the pipes would have to be somehow chiseled out of the rock they were mortared into.
"We don't normally see plumbing situations like this," the plumber said wryly.
But $2200?
The house is built into a hill, so the other side of this fence is all earth. To access this hose knob, a five-foot deep hole needed to be dug on the other side of this wall. Of course, I was concerned about the shrub and peony over where the hole needed to be.
"I'm going to do it," my husband said determinedly. "I'm not paying $2200." He figured if he could figure out how to install an irrigation system - which he did back at our home/house, and which taught him some basic plumbing - he could handle this repair.
I love it when my husband is the cheap one! ('Cause usually it's me.)
Ironically, often when my husband declares he's going to do some big project himself that he's never done before (to save money), I'M the one dragging my feet, and wondering if it's worth spending the money for a professional.
But at the end of the day, I'm cheap. I'm not going to say no.
So here are some pics of how my husband (and my son who assisted), spent the weekend:
Did I mention this man makes dinner for the family almost every night too? I won't. It would just be too much...
A couple of weeks ago, we returned home to the home/house in Tennessee after a few months break in New York. When we left, I asked the neighbor kid who was going to mow the lawn each week, if he'd use the weed eater in the front yard only. In the back, I've almost always had some small plantlings that I was trying to grow along the fence, that were often overlooked by zealous landscapers - my son included - who either mowed them down or "weedate" them. Every year I lose a few this way.
(For years I have tried to grow different shrubs - for both beauty and privacy - along our 6' fence, with mixed results. I've lost quite a few to the intense summer heat or winter freezes, others to the weedeater, and still others to random factors I don't understand [like the beautiful weigela I had for years that suddenly shriveled up and died within three days. Maybe it was underground moles?] Of course, our frequent coming and going doesn't help, since I'm not there every single day to nurture them; though we do have an irrigation system. This is why I'm always continually trying to grow at least a couple of new little shrubs.)
Anyway, I figured we could just weedeat the back when we returned (no one sees the backyard behind the fence anyway); that way my little plant babies would have their best chance to succeed.
So the neighbor kid did just as I asked (and he did a great job!); therefore, this is what we returned home to in the back of the house:
This is my final post with old house pics from New York; when I saw something interesting last summer I tried to take a photo if my phone was convenient. (I saw a lot of beautiful old houses while I was running, and I never run with my phone. By the time I was done I'd often forget what I saw where, and on which street.) But here are the last few I managed to get some pics of.
One of my summer highlights this year while staying in New York were my in-town runs. I joined the YMCA this summer, and after spending an hour there, on many days, I would pick a neighborhood in the town where I grew up and run a few miles.
It was fun; the different scenery kept things interesting. And since I love old architecture, there was plenty to look at and admire.
As I was running one afternoon down a street I had never been on before (that I can remember, anyway), I came across a house that made me stop in my tracks for a minute. It was a very large, old brick house on a big lot in town. It had the most beautiful flower gardens. I had to pause and just enjoy the view. I returned with my phone later on for a few pics. This house inspired me.
Let me share:
