We're Going on a Field Trip

           We’re Going on a Field Trip

I love to sing with children and often include “We’re Going on a Bear Hunt,” using the book for visuals and the body for action.

This morning as I am planning my inspirational field trip, “We’re Going on a Field Trip” resonates in my mind as I ponder the words and melody:

We’re going on a field trip and you echo, we’re going on a field trip.

We’re going to The Empty Cross and you echo, we’re going to the Empty Cross.

Please bring a notebook  (echo…)

Please bring a pen  (echo…)

Say a prayer  (echo…)

sit and meditate (echo…)

then we’ll write  (echo…)

We’re leaving as soon as I get dressed this Sunday morning.

I haven’t been to The Empty Cross for several years. It is a cross built high above Kerrville, Texas by Max Greiner, Jr. who was inspired by God. That is the crux of the story. You can find details on this website: https://thecrossatkerrville.org/

And now to the meat of this essay. I am seeking God’s Direction in finding a place to worship with other Christians. Currently, my husband and I are members of the Hunt Methodist Church. However, it isn’t meeting my needs. 

And just what are your needs, Joan?

That is what I seek to know. 

I was raised in the Evangelical United Brethren Church which was swallowed by the Methodists years ago. Grandpa Hoffner was a Presbyterian trained minister who served during my childhood as a EUB pastor in very small churches in Iowa. I attended weekly Sunday School and church, proudly wearing my string of Sunday School pins for perfect attendance year after year after year.

When I was a teenager I sang in the choir.

All five of my children have been raised in the church.

My husband and I always joined a church as we moved many times throughout our twenty-five years of marriage.

During my divorce and thereafter, I served as a church choir director, church organist, church pianist with various denominations, not large churches. The extra income was appreciated and somewhat needed.

And now, some twenty five years later:

I don’t want to be tied down every Sunday with the job.

I don’t want to be tied down every Sunday with a church-affiliated position.

I have been a “none” for the past many years until my husband and I joined this local church as previously mentioned. 

Being a “none” does not mean I am a non believer. No, no, no!

I believe! Oh, yes, I believe deeply.

With that backstory, let us go on our field trip. I know we’ll be walking so wear comfortable shoes and comfortable clothes. I am wearing my shorts and t-shirt.

I have been told by volunteers who are involved with rebuilding our home that their visits to The Empty Cross were inspiring, maybe spiritually renewing. Let’s see.

Here I begin by standing under the 78’ cross that dominates the landscape and can be seen as one approaches Kerrville from east and west, north and south on I-10 and Highway #16.

There are a few folks on the paths but it’s Sunday morning and churches are where many visitors to this Sculpture Prayer Garden are currently worshipping. I don’t feel guilty. I feel fortunate to have this opportunity.

I pass several boxes where donations can be made. They are tied with green ribbons.

I sit at a picnic table and write. I have difficulty meditating simply because there is music being broadcast through speakers and simply because I have difficulty meditating anywhere. The mind is scattered.

I write a prayer in letter form to Dear God. As prayers are answered, beliefs confirmed, it is You, Lord Jesus, to whom I submit…and then I ask and I acknowledge His Power and His Willingness and His Guidance. Yes, I am praying with my pen and letting words flow.

And now I am ready to walk down the path between the white crosses, many white crosses that memorialize the one hundred thirty-eight lives lost in the July 4th flood. There are markers attached to the wooden white crosses for messages to be written to the deceased, you will not be forgotten, you are loved, you will be missed,  forever in my heart, sweetest family. Several crosses include all the members of one family. Teddy bears and this crocheted doll are at the base of crosses for the children who perished. 

 

I go back to the truck not doubting God read my letter. I did not hear an audible voice as some do. I did not receive a flash of wisdom. I do not know where I am to worship. I do know that I will continue my seeking, my place of worship. I wish it were as clear to me as building the cross was to Max Greiner. His church is down the road from the KOA where we are currently staying. Perhaps, just perhaps, we should pay The Impact Church a visit.

(Originally penned for a Guided Autobiography Class, 10/12/2025)

Journey in June - Part 2

                                                            410 State St., Dysart, Iowa

Memories from youth became my fuel as we continue this road-trip. I had miles and miles to recall events from my childhood as we drove from the middle of Missouri to Central Iowa. When I was a freshman in high school we moved to Iowa Fall, Iowa. Before that welcomed event, I had spent my entire young life in Dysart, Iowa, a small town, population 1100.

Following our Sedalia musical highlight, we traveled north through the hills of southern Iowa, crossed Interstate 80 and headed to Dysart. Mom told me repeatedly, “I would never live south of 80.” I smiled, never asking why.

Dad owned a Coast-to-Coast hardware store in Dysart. We ate lunch in the same building and as expected, it seemed so small to me. Two doors down was Wuest’s drug store where I could buy long ropes of black licorice and Katy Keene comic books. The storefront appeared the same, but closed up to any type of business. The new library is across the street, in the middle of this block-long downtown. I am proud of it being in such a prominent spot! 

The next check-in was the house that Dad built in the 1950s where we lived prior to our move. It’s for sale, $159,900! What a shock that would be for Mom and Dad. I checked Zillow to peek inside the house, discouraged by its presentation. Mention was made of vintage kitchen cupboards which means Dad’s skilled workmanship is still intact, but the glorious pink and turquoise kitchen has been redone.

410 State Street is now the address. We had PO boxes uptown where we procured our mail, no street address. One current unusual Dysart phenomenon was the presence of golf carts, on the streets, two parked in front of the restaurant, other carts transporting folks around town.

We visited the cemetery and my plot is waiting for my arrival. One Christmas I received a deed to the plot next to Mom and Dad, a very practical gift.  I’m planning to have my urn buried there with those wishes recently written in the will!

We then traveled north to Hubbard where a dairy farm listed on Harvest Hosts was expecting us. Harvest Hosts is an online system of various establishments where one can boondock, sometimes electricity hook-ups are available. Purchases are anticipated and we bought milk, ice cream and cheese. We came within five miles of Iowa Falls, but I had no desire to visit there this trip. 

(to be continued)

Journey in June - Part 1

                           Beginning of Our Journey in June                                             

Perhaps I have over-booked on this trip.  Perhaps we are covering too many miles.

"Heck no," I say. "We just have to pace ourselves....rest...don't plan so much each day."

My husband and I are journeying now, June 2025, to points far into the Northwest, including British Columbia. We have traveled in a recreational vehicle every summer to the Northwest where we each have family. We did not meet in Coeur d' Alene, Idaho, but that is our destination annually. It is coincidental, both of us from CdA meeting in Palomas, Mexico. Another story, another blog.

As I type, we are in the fairly new fairgrounds rv park, Coeur d' Alene. Hubby is having breakfast with his son. I am reeeeeeee-laxing this cool morning as my daughter works half of the day. 

The journey to this point has been a bit stressful but we are able now to decompress. I have driven many miles. I choose to be the primary driver.

The trip began in Hunt, Tx. with Night #1 at Inks Lake State Park, a wonderful park where we have been several times. It was about an hour to my daughter's home near Austin where we had been invited to spend Memorial Day. The next morning we traveled to another favorite state park in Arkansas, Queen Wilhelmina. It is the second highest point in Arkansas, atop Rich Mountain. https://www.https://www.arkansasstateparks.com/parks/queen-wilhelmina-state-park   A repeat visit for us, but we ate in the lodge for the first time this visit. It was a very delicious evening meal made special as the couple at the next table was extraordinarily generous. The waitress spoke after they left, "They paid for your meal." We must pay it forward soon, don't you think?

Day #3 already! We traverse Hwy 65 north to Sedalia, Missouri, birthplace of Scott Joplin. An annual ragtime festival is held on the last weekend of May with the best of the best performers on piano and various instruments.  https://www.scottjoplin.org/ragtime-festival-performers. As a pianist, I play ragtime music daily and am always motivated following my attendance at this festival. In addition to the amazing pianists, I found a favorite band, the Lovestruck Balladeers. Their CDs were sold out. Believe it or not, they have created a 78 rpm record, but alas, no record player in my possession. How nostalgic would that be!

Three days of pure ragtime on venues and stages throughout downtown Sedalia. Parking is easy, the crowds are minimal, ragtime enthusiasts are primarily older folks like us although it is always rewarding to hear a younger person tickle the ivories. We left with smiles and Joan saying, "I am going to the San Antonio ragtime meeting when we get back to Texas. This is definitely my delight!"

It's June 1st and we leave Sedalia saturated with good vibes and head north to Iowa where Joan was raised. The Missouri greens are lush out the truck windows towing our 22' Winnebago Micro Mini travel trailer.

Life is good at 70 miles per hour. 

(to be continued)

joanconnor 06/06/25

Bad Art

Bad Art

(penned to NaPoWriMo’s prompt Day 8 - 

write a Ekphrastic poem using link to Museum of Bad Art)

no need to travel to the Museum of Bad Art

i have created my own!

just step out to the patio and view hangings 

on the side of my home.

it’s a mere collection not a gallery

showing  to questionable applause

six originals available for viewing

in house artist proud because….

each painting reveals a memory

each painting represents trust

step by step following the teacher

while sipping dipping the brush

“no, not in the wine,” we laugh

and smile our way to create

the masterpiece of the moment

sipping dipping and learning 

           to appreciate….

the better art of Monet and Van Gogh

the hours true art requires

my masterpiece is definitely bad art

but only took two hours.

(the one top right was done 

a night out with Daughter Maureen)

years ago was our first attempt

to drink paint and follow along

the bonding far surpasses

the reality of artwork done wrong.

with Louise the bumblebee I created 

hers was proportionately done right

reminds me of a best friendship

Louise has passed into the “night.”

more memories from artwork

i cannot conjure up

have not done it for awhile 

but you can be assured 

there’ll be a space to hang my bad art

if given another chance

to create the very best memories 

with    just     one     glance.

Nature Journaling

I struggle to even sketch a leaf! 

When asked to draw a piece of observed nature, I cringe.

I have never enjoyed drawing.

I follow a successful artist using stick figures and am motivated.

When I try to emulate, I fall flat.

Why would I sign up for the above class, you ask?

😵‍💫

Because I would like to teach “Nature Journaling for Non Artists” at the senior center.

My only credential is that I am a master gardener recently certified.

Also, I am a writer. 

I am going to attempt to become a successful non artist/nature journalist.

🤗

I heard of this course through a blog I now follow. 

It was highly endorsed. 

Although I avoid zooming, I thought that this experience would be beneficial. 

The fact it occurs on Sunday afternoons appeals to me. 

🌺

So I am “in” and donating money weekly.

I will keep you posted regarding all progress.

And most importantly, I will attempt to incorporate what I learn into my weavings.

🥰

Tapestry Turmoil

Tapestry Turmoil and Solution Sought with Many Cliches!

What to do? 

What to say? 

I am discouraged and dismayed that this weaving project is not a success-in-the-making for me.

I am working with a mentor through American Tapestry Alliance on a project to weave a self-designed tapestry. 

I am “over my head”. 

I am “out of my comfort zone.”

What to do?

I want to weave as I go - - create as I weave - - and this is NOT the proper process for beautiful tapestry weavings. Perhaps it is the process for enjoying The Journey and not allow The Destination to control my experience.

For me, The Journey is prime consideration. 

My Saori loom is waiting for my next row, my next unplanned amusement, my next insertion of a twig or a ribbon. 

And so what shall I do?

My mentor is an award winning expert. I am a beginner, having to read and reread Rebecca Mezoff’s book to “meet and separate” my yarns, a basic technique.

“Honesty is the best policy.”

This is Truth and Wisdom. 

I shall be honest. I shall explain that I am ready simplify my loom

       simplify my weaving

             simplify my creativity energies

The Journey becomes my reason to weave.

Waking up in the middle of the night and looking at my ill-formed attempt on my Big Sister loom with a flashlight is not a positive. Lying in bed and wondering what flashy yarn I can weave with in the morning, what object I can attach, what one new technique I can incorporate…..that is my dream.

I am thinking of selling Big Sister to a weaver with different dreams…..

….to a weaver who will appreciate the extra heddles I ordered because I didn’t know what a heddle was.

….to a weaver who will not have lice every other row because she will know how thick a weft to use with her warp.

….to a weaver who will coddle Big Sister as her BFF and not as a “thorn” (you know that cliche).

It’s possible that I can still be a weaver.

The photo above is my current project. It is not what my amazing mentor is expecting. I don’t want to disappoint. I just want to weave freestyle and enjoy my mistakes. 

….and that’s my weave wrap-a-long today!