#SongLyricSunday ♪ “Supernatural” by Flyleaf


Yay, it’s Sunday! 🙂 Today, we’re going to be tackling the Christmas decorating. To many, that might seem like a late start, but as much as I love the holidays, I don’t like overlapping them and try to keep them in their respective seasons. Thus, this being the first weekend of December, the month belonging to the new winter season, I will finally get to the task many accomplished over the past two weeks, if not sooner.

In my defense, it will likely take me much longer to get them down and packed away again, because I’m lazy! LOL

This week’s #SongLyricSunday theme is: Courage

Please see Helen’s original post on This Thing Called Life One Word at a Time if you’d like to join in the fun, or read the cute story about her two year old nephew!

Courage covers such a vast spectrum of choices when it comes to music. I’ve had a jukebox going full swing in my head ever since I read what the theme was about, and there are so many great, inspiring songs going on up there. Blaze of Glory by Jon Bon Jovi, A Broken Wing by Martina McBride, Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson…the playlist goes on and on.

Today, I’ve chosen a song about a different kind of courage that we don’t always recognize or even want to discuss, because it makes us uncomfortable. The courage of those who suffer daily with chronic pain or a terminal illness and the courage of their family members who are equally afflicted, if they care enough to be. The courage to hold fast to our faith, no matter what that might be, in the face of so much suffering. It’s a spiritual kind of courage and strength that is most enviable and admirable.

In this Season of Giving, filled with the world’s most iconic and beautiful music, what better than a song to remind us that the most important things we have to give are non-material. Enjoy!

Her headaches
Increasing in pain with each passing day
She can’t even manage to stand on her own
It’s gotten so bad

Now you think of saying
There’s no use in praying
And still she bows her head so she can say,
“Thank you for just one more day.”

Supernatural patience
Graces her face
And her voice never raises
It’s all because of a love
Never let go of
Never let go of

He has every reason to throw up his fists
To the face of his God who let his mother die
Through all the prayers and tears
She still passed in pain anyway

Now you think of saying
There’s no use in praying
And still he bows his head so he can say,
“Thank you for ending her pain.”

Supernatural patience
Graces his face
And his voice never raises
It’s all because of a love
Never let go of
Never let go of

He is teaching me
What love really means

Supernatural patience
Graces his face
And his voice never raises
It’s all because of a love
Never let go of

Yes it’s supernatural patience
Graces his face
And his voice never raises
All because of a love
Never let go of
Never let go of

He is teaching me
What love really means


According to Wikipedia “Supernatural” is unreleased. “Supernatural (Acoustic)” was released in 2007 on the band’s Much Like Falling EP. According to SongFacts.com, the lyrics were written by lead singer, Lacey Mosley about her friend’s mother’s battle with cancer. Lyrics found on AZLyrics.com and corrected by me.

I do not own any rights to this song, video or lyrics. All rights remain with the artists and their respective agents. No copyright infringement intended.

Winters Deep

(an Ode to Yule) Yule2Dry the berries and pop the corn
There’s boughs of Pine hung to adorn
In darkening days and snow felled form
Melted candles and hearths doth warm

The harvest is stored and meat be cured
Our long laboring days have granted award
Of Holiday so loving and blessedly shared
We forgive of our foes, wrongs they once dared

Traditions have passed from eldest to young
In tales ne’er told, but carols doth sung
How the Mother she slumbers in Winters Deep
While legendary brothers sentry her keep

One golden Oak and one sable Holly
These fabled Kings are not for folly
For twice a wheel, the Solstice doth come
The fate of seasons can crown only one

‘Round trees of presents and Yule logs bright
From elder’s mouths for childrens delight
The battle unravels, on this longest of nights
As they cheer for a victor who’ll hasten the light



Trudging Forward


When all I feel like doing is hibernating…

One of the downfalls to this time of year.  Thanks to the end of Daylight’s saving, it always feels later than it really is and the mama bear in me just wants to cozy on down with the kiddos and not budge until Spring.  Unfortunately, that’s not how books get written!  I got sidetracked for a moment with the genealogy stuff, which has already become frustrating again, losing its appeal.  Does anyone here watch the show “Who Do You Think You Are?”

I love that show, but it also grates on my nerves, because like most family historians, I don’t have the money or means to just cruise across country and meet with a professional genealogist – whom, by the way – requires a retainer and charges by the hour like a freaking lawyer!   The minimal retainer for an Ancestry.com professional is a hot Grand.  Sorry, I must of left that wad of cash in my other pants….

Anywho, I’m kind of kicking myself in the keister for not partaking in NaNoWriMo this year.  I have a few stories outlined that I could have put to the test this month.  Of course, that doesn’t mean that I can’t still work on them, I just think it’s the psychological momentum of NaNo that makes it seem like your accomplishments are that much more spectacular (when we all know that writing is a major accomplishment in and of itself!)  Becauuussse, we’re human and therefore, mostly masochists who work better under pressure?? Yeah, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it’s just the word counter thingy!

So, now that I’ve wasted 20 precious writing minutes here, it’s time to go make a decision.  SciFi or Supernatural?  Hmm, the damage I could cause on other planets… GrinningDevilEmoticon

The Oddest Gift

image from bergoiata.org

image from bergoiata.org

Killian pulled the trigger and waited. Watched the Mountain Lion sway and then drop into the blood-stained snow. Winter smothered the world as far as the eye could see. An occasional “Swoosh” broke the silence when an evergreen bough grew too burdened and dropped its sleeve of snow. The Cougar’s adrenaline-inducing laments had cleared the area of all other wildlife, leaving Killian alone with his own pounding heartbeat. His own breath gushing out in clouds of steam. Checking his watch, he finally closed the distance between him and the blood. Dropping to his knees right in the midst of it, he pulled his other glove off and carefully pried the cat’s eyelids open. Shined his penlight across the pupils to check dilation.

“Sorry, I had to do that, girl,” Killian said quietly, rubbing his numbing fingers into her warm fur. “I couldn’t have you taking my face off, when all I’m trying to do is help.”

So saying, Killian set to the task of freeing her back leg from the bear trap. The only thing that had saved the Cougar’s foot from getting lopped off by the spring-loaded metal was the fact that it was old, rusted and frozen. It hadn’t triggered all of the way. Or not nearly with the force it had originally been designed for. It was a difficult chore. Not wanting to lose his fingers nor cause more damage to the Puma, Killian finally pried the trap open and locked it, before carefully removing the cat’s leg. The snow was a blessing, keeping the cat’s wounds from instantly swelling, but Killian’s hands were quickly becoming useless.

image from pinterest.com

image from pinterest.com

After releasing the trap with a stick, he carried it back to his snowmobile and secured it to the side, then lifted the cargo seat and grabbed his first aid kit. He was less concerned with the tranq wearing off, than with predators smelling the blood and moving in. After bandaging the cat’s leg, Killian pulled the makeshift sleigh over that he’d crafted out of heavy, thick evergreen boughs and rope. Finding an old beach towel buried under the first aid kit, he folded it lengthwise a few times and used it as a sling under the Cougar’s front legs in order to pull her up onto the sleigh. Tunneling his hands into the snow, he then used it to secure the cat in place. It was nearly too short, the Cougar being an easy hundred pounds of efficient, hunting muscle. The trek back was slow, Killian keeping the throttle at its lowest speed so the sleigh would hold. Exhausted and numb, he finally saw the eaves of his rustic cabin looming ahead with blessed relief.

For a week, Killian tended to the Mountain Lion he kept secured in the small trapper shed behind his cabin. Using a narrow window near the top of the building, he was able to drop raw, sedative-loaded meat inside and wait for them to kick in, before entering to tend her wounds, refresh her dish of water. He talked to her constantly, while feeding or healing her, though he knew she didn’t understand. Would never appreciate his efforts. He didn’t mind. He’d worked with wildlife for as long as he could remember, always volunteering at the closest refuge wherever his travels had taken him. Now, Killian was trying to write a book about his adventures. The reason why he’d rented the mostly isolated cabin in the first place.


image from m.flikie.com

Upon returning from his weekly day trip to the nearest outpost for supplies, Killian discovered the shed door standing open. Cougar tracks led away from it and right into the forest. His temporary companion was gone. Feeling a clash of happiness and sorrow, Killian simply closed the clawed up door and went about carrying his supplies into the cabin. Two nights later, a loud noise startled him out of deep concentration. Abandoning his typewriter, he slowly crept toward the back door. Peering outside, he couldn’t see anything, because the moon was still behind the trees, in the process of rising. Grabbing his tranquilizer gun and flashlight, Killian slowly opened the back door and nearly stepped on the rabbit lying across the old mat there. The smell of cedar and pine filled his nostrils from the firewood he kept stacked to the right, but Killian also smelled the sweat of animal fur. Shining his flashlight, he eyed the Cougar tracks leading up and down the back step and through the snow, returning the same way it arrived.

Stunned, Killian stared down at the dead rabbit that was completely intact, its neck broken and knew. Knew that his patient had brought it to him as a gift. A very domestic cat thing to do. Unable to stop himself, Killian laughed, as he carefully lifted his present and walked to the edge of the porch, holding it up.

“You’re welcome, my sweet girl!” He called out.

Taking the rabbit back inside, Killian understood that he couldn’t discard it. Couldn’t risk pissing off whatever nature gods had just presented him with such an unbelievable night, so he tried his hand at rabbit stew. Unfortunately, he was no chef and it came out as rabbit soup, but it was filling all the same and Killian decided he’d never had a better meal in his life. He never saw or heard from his Mountain Lion ever again, but she became the highlight of his book, and the one story most speculated over by critics and fans alike.

Settling in California, Killian gave up traveling in order to dedicate his time to the Mountain Lion Foundation in Sacramento. He still took two weeks out of every winter to return to his isolated cabin, though. There, an old trapper shed with permanently claw-scarred walls held his annual collection of confiscated traps alongside a shabby, makeshift sleigh, an old beach towel and the soft pelt of the oddest, most meaningful gift he would ever receive in his life.