Shipboard Reading

Written with Barb in mind.

Here we are on our first full day at sea heading south to Acapulco. The previous two weeks on land have been rather hectic and quite planned out. So today, I took advantage of a slow morning, sipping my tea, listening to the ocean as it pushed back from the ship's hull and reading one of the books I brought: How to Think Like a Horse.

In a paragraph titled The Spirit of the Horse, the author writes, "Horses have a special sense that allows them to detect our moods....Without physical contact, they can read and pick up very subtle signs from a human."

I stopped reading, closed my eyes and relived an experience I had a few weeks back that attests to this. I was out in the dry lot playing with the horses and had Lola in a halter. We had just gone for a walk and we were returning to our beginning point where I would release her. All of a sudden, from the ranch next door, I, we, heard this alarming call from Blue that said nothing short of "Wait! I don't want to go!"

Without any warning tears just started rolling full stream down my cheeks and I had goose bumps the size of golf balls. I was so caught off guard by this overwhelming emotion it took me a minute to figure out what was going on. Blue was being taken to his new home, not far up the road, but away from us. He did not want to go.

It was simultaneous: as my tears rolled, Greco, Blue's soul mate , was running back and forth calling out to him, his other pasture mates were whinnying to call attention to the fact that someone was taking their friend, and several horses who were gathered around me were calling back to Blue as he disappeared down the road. It was a symphony of heart-wrenching separation anxiety pleas. Ugh. Honestly, it felt like my core was being pummeled.

Next I knew, Lola, who had been standing beside me with her perfect manners and patience, had moved in closer, leaning in to me just enough to let me know she was there. She let her head relax down and she didn't move as I effortlessly cried and loved on her. Her body frame softened, her skin became lithe so my hand could sink deeper inward toward her tender beating heart. This kind, giving gesture just made me weep more.

It was a "clean" cry. No sobbing, just cleansing tears washing over my dusty face as I stood amongst the most beautiful beasts I have come to admire and understand. I felt that pang that they were feeling when one of them, one of us, was leaving. And Lola felt my pang. For that moment in time, I was one of them.

...The Great

I was playing the five videos I had unknowingly uploaded onto my ipod. They are of Yo-Yo Ma recording holiday songs with other artists. As I watched two videos in particular, I was so moved by the greatness of the musicians. It got me thinking...who or what do I think is just great? I mean, stand-out, gotta admire, can't deny their contribution despite politics, personal preferences or otherwise. But just pretty great.

My incomplete list will begin with Mr. Ma:

Yo-Yo Ma
James Taylor
Ayn Rand
Tiger Woods
Tim Russert
The Dictionary

Buddha
Philip Seymour Hoffman
Mikhail Baryshnikov
Ken Burns
Eleanor Roosevelt

Albert Einstein
Cribbage
Ella Fitzgerald
Miles Davis

Frederic Chopin
Confucius
Meditation
Mother Teresa
Frances Perkins

Johann Sebastian Bach
Oscar Wilde
Albert Einstein
Maps

Dreaming in another language
Being in touch with my godmother
Dalai Lama
Blue Moon
Laughter of a Child
Heat

Check it out. Let your mind wander while you create your list and feel the inspiration. It's pretty cool.

The Gift of Neighbors

Of course we can all take care of ourselves--haven't we just convinced ourselves of that?

But neighbors. Let me tell you about our neighbors out in Tumalo. We love our neighbors. We have learned oodles of tricks and tips from them. We have shared celebrations and holidays and lazy weekend days with them.

Larry and I have come to appreciate and enjoy fully the beauty and necessity of knowing your neighbors. A farm setting definitely lends itself to looking out for your neighbor.

Today, a day of extreme conditions, we were enormously grateful for all of our neighbors who despite dealing with their own extremes took time out to look after us.

Our plan was to wake up to our alarm at 5am to leave for the airport by 6am. At 4:55am my cell phone rang and it was Barb calling to be sure we were awake as the power had gone off overnight. Just minutes later, Steve was at the door knocking, "Are you awake? There's no power!"

So there we were, awake in a mighty cold house in -11 degrees! That is not a hyphen. The faucet water felt warm when I washed my face. Felon, who I've been letting sleep in the mudroom, took an unauthorized tour of the front of the house only to return to the mudroom because it was about 10 degrees warmer in there--everything is relative.

Leaving for the airport on time was easy. No showers, no breakfast, no clean-up. We made our way along the roads and noticed that Richard and April, our neighbors across the way, did have power. What a sigh of relief. Last night we dropped off Pooker to be in their loving care while we are away.

Leighsa texted to check to see if we got our flight okay. Barb and Randall checked that the chickens were still alive and Barb defrosted their water and refilled it. April called to let us know that despite the power outage for some of us, Pooker was doing fine and in fact, she made the room warmer for the little one. We got picked up at the airport, a little later arrival than scheduled, by Larry's office manager and when we arrived at the house in LB, the housekeeper and maintenance engineer met us in the garage with hugs and helping arms.

So to all of our neighbors, city slickers and Tumaloans alike, thank you for caring.

Put a holiday light strand on that and you've got yourself a fine present!

Meet Alibi

Alibi. He is a special horse. An Arabian, CMK, and looks just like the horse you find in your coloring books or a cartoon or a Hasbro play horse. Really.

I was introduced to Alibi last January as a remarkable endurance race horse: one who wins all of his races. Intense 100 mile races, in all conditions, dangerous courses, rider on board, and he wins every time. Everyone at the races knows Alibi. Impressive.

To catch Alibi to get him ready for a race generally required 2 people to corner him and halter him using snacks, ropes, whatever it took. Alibi did not come to the halter and definitely not to the person holding it. "Uncatchable."

Well, Alibi has recently retired from racing due to an injury. He is back on our ranch after spending a couple of months with the neighbors in hopes of rehabilitating him. He came back with just as much intensity, power and determination. Always ready to GO!

For the past 3 months, I have been working with Alibi with the intention of re-languaging people, approach and touch, and in particular people with halters.

It started very slowly. Just standing beside him, not too close or he'd scoot away. The days progressed with touching while he ate to then touching his nose. Our encounters eventually evolved to him coming to me before I feed the horses. He approaches me. He initiates contact. I of course, reciprocate, lavishly so. Kisses and all.

Then we moved to my putting my arm over his neck, the start of putting on a halter. At first he pulled back a bit and then he settled in realizing there was nothing but a hug attached. So we did this for weeks: 15 seconds, 30 seconds, 45 seconds, even a minute of just holding him and him allowing me to do so.

I cannot put into words how significant this was. Not just because Alibi hasn't been known to do such things, except when in a halter, but that he came to me and allowed me to handle him in a very vulnerable way. I have gone to sleep at night with the biggest smile on my face, still smelling him on my cheek.

So, the day came when we both knew he was ready to put his head in the halter. A few weeks ago he actually put his nose in and out of the halter and I just let him play, without buckling it. But this day, it was different.

He came to me, and I had the halter in my hand, and he just looked at me with a definitive message that I was ready to receive. I said, "Alibi, I had a dream that you were in the halter. I think today is the day." There was acknowledgement in his eyes, he extended his neck toward me, twisted his head sideways as he does and breathed a relaxing sigh. I told him, "It's all okay. You will be safe." Alibi lowered his head, I put my arm over his neck, waited for him to slip his nose into the halter and I attached the buckle.

Wow. Tears in my eyes. An ear to ear smile on my face. And more of "good boy!" than one can say in a reasonable amount of time.

We walked around the dry lot where he calls home. Just a comfortable walk. We walked up to the high spot, looked down at the other horses who I just know where equally in awe, we enjoyed the view of the pastures, the blue sky, the mountains. We took it all in, together, trusting each other with our hearts.

We walked back to our departure point and I slowly unbuckled the halter and slipped it off his muzzle. I expected him to turn around and bolt--he didn't. Instead, he nuggled me, and then lowered his head again. Twice? Not only once in one day, but twice! This was such a blow me away moment that we had to call friends to tell them we'd be late to pick them up. There was no way I was passing up this date.

Since then, Alibi has come to me and played with the halter. We move in baby steps. And yesterday, I asked him if he was ready to do this again. And he was. This time we went up to the barn, had some grooming time, treats, and put a blanket on him. He hasn't been out of the dry lot since September. Imagine the excitement for both of us! And what a special time that was. Oh how we ga-ga'd over each other with praise and thanks and confident satisfaction.

One thing everyone who knows Alibi says is, "he's a trippy horse" or something else along those lines. "He's smart." "He anticipates your every move." "He knows what you're thinking before you even get to him." And I'll add, "He talks directly to you with his eyes, head and energy." He is no ordinary horse (as if there is one of those.)

I know what we started is just starting, but I am so excited about what has transpired. What happens tomorrow? Who knows. I know what happened this week.

My soul has been touched in an unfamiliar way. And I am giving thanks for that special gift that Alibi gave to me.

The Fine Art of Layering

A clear crisp 34 degree day in Central Oregon is sheer heaven. The snow covered Cascade range pops out like a 3-D image silhouetted by the most pure natural blue sky. The air is light, effortless. The winter sun at 3,500 feet is energizing and soothing at the same time.

Sure, it's 34 degrees. But it's a dry 34. There is no humidity, so no bone chilling effect of the east coast or the southern hemisphere or southern California for that matter. Dress appropriately and everything is just fine, my friends.

It's been years and years and years since I've layered my clothing much beyond a turtle neck under my polar or a tank top under a vee-neck sweater. While 34 degrees is refreshing, one must be smart in survival dressing.

My new favorite Paradox liner pants are worn under my Wrangler ranch jeans, a turtle neck under my cotton jacket under my down jacket, a darling ice blue soft thermal cap to top it all off. And sometimes with the sun, shedding a layer is more than necessary. With one layer, or all 3, I can stay outdoors for hours and be super comfortable.

Now, think back to layering as a child. If you think about it, it's really 3 layers of pants alone. Most of us are used to 2 layers: panties and trousers. So, after a while of drinking water and being outdoors, the call to pee does knock. Try breaking that age-old habit of just 2 layers. Not so easy! That third layer sure does come as a surprise when time is of the essence.

Thankfully, with winter just beginning in Central Oregon I believe I've got plenty of room to perfect the fine art of shedding layers. Now just to perfect my timing....

Tea Bag Wisdom

"Your life is based on the capacity of energy in you, not outside of you."
------Tea bag tag from Yogi

The Cows

For those of us who eat red meat, we may not give much thought as to how it arrives in that neat plastic wrapped package at the super. There is a comfortable distance between the beast and our table. At least it's been that way for me.

Remember those cows at the end of my driveway that I mentioned in a previous blog? They are gone.

So, one day I was pulling out of the driveway and noticed the cows were missing, the ranch gate was wide open and as I looked in my rearview mirror, this oversized, tall, narrow, white, almost unbalanced truck pulled out of the gate and was making it's way behind me. First of all, I caught a glimpse of the side of the truck as it was pulling out: 1-800-MEATsomethingorother. I gulped. Then as it was looming behind me, I could see its logo on the front of the massive white container: a steer's head!

As it turns out, my two cow friends were "collected" right there in the pasture. I have no idea what actually happens or how, but I know while it may be a truck for livestock, it is not for live stock.

I still grieve my cow friends as I pull out of the drive and see an empty pasture.

Today, Larry and I were heading to class and off in the distance, coming toward us, growing bigger and bigger by the second, was the daunting white truck with a steer head. I covered my eyes. Oh, that truck. Brrrrr.

Who Was Expecting That?!

Well, here it is October 4 and what a surprise we had this morning!

No one seemed prepared.

The horses and dogs have not grown in their winter coats, this is the first snow for the chickens and they have no idea what's going on, the quail are soaked and hiding under the eaves, the vegetables are hanging in there under the plastic tarps, the song birds went quiet while the snow fell, the trees still have so many leaves they are snapping off and falling where gravity takes them, the grass is bright green under the junipers where no snow has touched down, and I, I dug out my rubber boots, cap and rain jacket to head out to greet the morning.

It is a wet snow, not exactly one for snow angels.

The nice thing about Central Oregon is that it snows, it's a pleasing sight, and then it goes away. Especially if the temps return to the mid-60s as is predicted.

So, if having the irrigation canals turned dry for the season on Friday wasn't enough to convince us of a season change, I think this one did it!

It's Occurring to Me...

"You should transfer your attention from failure to success, from worry to calmness, from mental wanderings to concentration, from restlessness to peace, and from peace to the divine bliss within. When you attain this state of self-realization the purpose of your life will have been gloriously fulfilled."
Paramahansa Yogananda, "The Law of Success"

The 2nd Cutting

We just watched our last neighbor cut, fluff, bale and stack the 2nd cutting of hay. This means something.

The irrigation companies turn on the water in late April. The ranches along the route wait as the water makes it way from the reservoirs down the irrigation ditches, filling irrigation ponds. When your neighbor up the ditch starts watering, you know your turn is next.

In preparation for the incoming supply of water, fields are often burned, turned, seeded, pipes are put out, equipment is emptied of the mice nests that built up over the winter, whatever is necessary to prepare.

Then for the next 2 - 2 1/2 months we monitor and adjust water flow, change the location of irrigation heads to be sure every blade is getting showered, we wait and watch as the hay grows under the sun of the long days here in Central Oregon. It grows by inches in a day. Each ranch shuts off the water when they are preparing to cut; this gives the hay time to dry. Then the first cutting comes, some time in late June/early July. The 1st cutting is a herald of summer--it's officially here. This is exciting! It's summer, it's hot, and everything is alive!

Once the hay is cut, baled and stacked, the watering begins again to grow the 2nd cutting. But then when the 2nd cutting comes, during the weeks of September, it means something else. The days are shorter, the hay of the 2nd cutting isn't as power-packed as the 1st, it doesn't grow as energetically as the 1st. And we all know it means fall is coming. There isn't a 3rd cutting.

The watering begins again, but this time just to keep the grass growing and green and give the horses pasture to eat before it goes dormant in the winter. The irrigation will be shut down at the beginning of October. No more "tick tick tick tick tick" of the water guns as they rotate around in a circle showering feet of green carpet. That is a summer sound.

Who would have thought that there was so much significance in cutting hay? It marks a definite season, for sure.

Just Like a Strand of Pearls

One of the friendly guys at the feed store told me that chickens have a finite number of eggs to lay. He said, "...think of them like a strand of pearls."

What an analogy.

Yesterday, Alice, one of our Barred Rock hens, laid her first egg! I was sick in bed so Larry went down to collect Juanita's daily pearl and came back to tell me we were blessed with two pearls!

I thought it was pretty grand to have hens laying eggs. But now--we have Bend-cultured pearls. Perfect small, brown, smooth, sometimes warm, and laid with love pearls.

Tiffany's ain't got nothin' on this hen house!

The Universe Delivers

Find the good. Notice the good. See the good. Acknowledge the good. Be grateful for the good.

Our hens are now laying eggs--daily!

The sun and the water from the mountains feed our garden.

Our garden gives us delicious vegetables and herbs.

Spending a week with my father.

Satisfaction and enjoyment in teaching--doing something I enjoy.

Friends checking in at the right moment.

The kindness of strangers.

Watching a horse feel better after a lot of TLC.

Having Larry's pack returned with all of his belongings intact.

A busy season for vacation rentals despite the economic reports.

Hearing about family getting together for important events, or just to visit, and that they can.

Coming across people who can heal.

Being surrounded by beauty.

Food on the table.

Late summer snowfall on the mountains to keep water flowing.

Watching the young ones stay healthy and grow.

It's a Dog Eat Bird World

Oh, so much transpires in a day, it's hard to keep count and note the most notable. But this morning's event is blog worthy.

Something has been chewing on the lettuce and beets in our garden. We've been cursing the raccoon family we've seen around at 4am and a bunny we have never seen. Our scarecrow holding a rifle doesn't seem to be doing the trick.

This morning as I walked to the garden to water, I shooed away a menacing Magpie. We have a troupe of them--up to 15 or so. While they are very pretty, they are big, dominant and scare away all of our smaller bird friends. I digress...so, in defiance, he just jumped from the garden to perch on the barrel of the scarecrow's rifle. I gave him another shoo and he went up into the tree. Felon, one of our resident bird dogs, was accompanying me as usual for my morning tasks.

I didn't see the Magpie land down on the grass behind the Poplar tree, but Felon did. As I turned around, I caught Felon catching the Magpie--the bird never saw it coming and didn't have a chance.

While we do our best to discourage the dogs from bothering the birds around our parts, I must admit there was a hint of pride in my reaction. Good dog! What a catch! Just 14 more to shoo from my beets!

Felon paraded around the entire 20 acres with her catch, showing Larry and me her accomplishment for the day and taunting Jess, her co-hunter, with her possession.

But an interesting thing happened. The other Magpies mourned their loss. The entire flock swarmed down around her, cawing like I've never heard them before, landing, flying, crying, swooping. Felon was a little stunned by the sudden intrusion, then curious, and then took on the challenge. She darted around trying to snag herself another trophy. And what a good effort she made. The Magpies have retreated, for now.

Here it is well over an hour later and she is guarding her prize. She is spread out in the sun on the grass napping beside her kill. The victorious captor rests.

Life on the ranch can be harsh in some ways. It is just that---a dog eat bird world.

Inspirational Thought for the Day

I really enjoyed this quote. Something to keep in mind always.

"Don't concern yourself with the faults of others. Use the scouring powder of wisdom to keep the rooms of your own mind bright and spotless. By your example, other persons will be inspired to do their own housecleaning." -----Paramahansa Yogananda

Transitions

Transition is good. It's like getting the death card in Tarot; the end of one thing and opening the door for something new.

Transitions can be hard too. Ending a relationship--ugh. Leaving a job, particularly when it's not self-initiated. Moving to a new area--post office notices, documents, maps, new people. And the list goes on.

I look at transitions as a natural progression of one's life. Not everything is meant to stay the same. With change we are challenged. Our comfort zones squeek, the confidence meter flickers, "like the back my hand" isn't a daily possibility. How refreshing to find ourselves with new choices and decisions to make. The possibilities just keep coming.

After almost 20 years in human resources, I'm done. I've had many jobs during those years; each a transition in its own right. But now, it's the big transition and I am more than ready. I don't care to see another resume, read another change in employment law, listen to another grievance, play another HR political dodge. Done.

So a couple of weeks ago I was pulling out of the driveway and as I usually do, rolled down the window to yell hello to the 5 cows that generally hang out down by the road. On the way down the drive, I greeted the horses as I passed them and then the dogs as they ran alongside the car. When I returned home, it was the same in reverse. Then I walked down to the chickens to see how they were doing and checked out the birds flying around on my way. Then I went back inside to work on a dance I was going to teach in my class the next day.

It dawned on me. Transitions make sense.

I've had so much training in behavioral interviewing, reading between the lines, watching body language for that unspoken message, anticipating patterns, noting changes and discrepancies, teaching line managers how to interview candidates and how to conduct a performance review or disciplinary counseling. I may be done with HR, but these tools are engrained in me and are making my new experience even richer.

I notice a change in a horse's behavior or walk and know something isn't quite right, I pick up on the tired energy of an aging dog, I can tell the difference between 2 chickens that look almost identical because I've observed their personalities without realizing it and I can make a complicated line dance come across as easily attainable so everyone gets it.

So, when one thing ends, it's not because it was a failure or didn't work out. That's cheating yourself. It was good for what it was. Hopefully we made the best we could of it. Everything we learn and do will come in handy on another day--maybe years later, maybe tomorrow.

If we welcome transition and know we're being set up for it because we are ready for it, we can trust it and all will be well. If we fear the transition and look at it as a second chance or a Plan B, it will always feel like that: sub-par.

Hug change. It can be great!

Photo with Gingerbread Man after an amazing ride on a beautiful June Sunday afternoon.

Could She Be a He?

Black Top. Esperanza. Alice. Peep Peep. Baby. Juanita. The names of our 6 chics, now 9 weeks old, and soon to be egg laying hens.

I was out watering the vegetable garden and I heard a call of some sort, something along the lines of the horn of a Model T Ford. "Well, that was weird" I thought to myself. And then I heard it again, sounding like it was coming from the chicken pen.

As I walked toward the pen, I saw Peep Peep, named so because she was the most vocal peeper at 2 days old when we picked up the chics, standing tall up on top of the water tower, neck stretched, tail straight up, wings pulled back, honking like a Model T Ford.

Not quite a cluck. Not a cock-a-doodle-doo. But definitely not a peep.

Okay, so we noticed that Peep Peep is a bit larger than the other 5 chics. She tends toward the bossy side. The beginning of her crown seems a little redder than the others, but is that really significant? We've been wondering.

Could it be? Could there be a cockeral amongst our pullets?

Stay tuned.

What Calls Your Attention

This one is dedicated to my mother who asked today.

It is worth noting what gets our attention. On a given day we may go about our business, routine or not, and only see what is put directly in front of us--what we have to see. Then there are the glory days when we are in touch with people and things not right in front of us, the not so obvious.

What are we doing, or not, that we do not always see the not so obvious?

This is weird, but an example. We were watching Paul Blart, Mall Cop (that is weird but not my point) and boy oh boy was I transported to the Burlington Mall in Massachusetts! I suddenly lost sight of what was going on in the movie, and sure as the hay is growing high, I knew that odd little misplaced ramp in the middle of the walkway that the mall cop slid down was in the Burlington Mall. I have walked around that ramp, up and down it, countless times wondering "why on earth would someone put a ramp here?"

In another scene, again being drawn to the Mall itself and not the movie characters, it was as if I was walking out of Lord & Taylor, passing the Rainforest Cafe and heading toward the center escalator to hit Talbots. Quick camera flashes, full of action, but I was standing in the Mall. So familiar. The last time I was in the Burlington Mall had to be some 8-10 years ago. Weird.

A week or so ago I woke up and my dear friend Milagros in Argentina was screaming in my head. Not literally. Oh, I could deny it if I really tried, but I paid attention. So I dropped her a quick note to tell her how much I missed making her salads and that I loved her. She wrote me back that just as my message had come in, she had lost a much loved uncle.

I had this very elaborate dream about my niece Jocelyn. Strange details. Left a message for my sister and she called me back. Yes, Jocelyn was behaving in these particular ways.

So what does it mean? To me?

There is so much going on around us all the time. With cell phones and texting and Bluetooth, it's nearly impossible to get away. I think we get so caught up in 300+ channels, immediate response and satisfaction and downright overstimulation that those delightful subtleties and intuitive callings can get overlooked.

I find so much joy in listening to my heart, sitting with my dreams for a bit in the morning and meditating while standing in the middle of a pasture. When I allow my emotions to get chaotic, all kinds of messages get missed. When I focus on being calmly active and actively calm, all kinds of messages get my attention.

It feels good. It feels real. I feel alive and grounded. I am connected.

And I know my malls.

What a Glorious Day

It's just a beautiful day. I can't get over it. I can't help but want to write about it.

Sun, blue sky, snow-covered mountains, water spraying over all the greening pastures, fresh fresh air, loyal dogs keeping me company, horse whinnies, smell of horses--the good stuff, an impressive variety of birds and their songs, birds flying through the irrigation sprayers and robins taking baths in the overspray. Green, Blue, White all over. It's all so pleasurable.

Working outdoors is the way to go today. My laptop battery is ready for a recharge. Time for a lunch break and a horse grooming. Not necessarily in that order.

There is No one Quite Like a Mother

It's Mother's Day.

Pleasant wishes to all biological, adopted, sister, step-, surrogate, friend, in-law mothers. Mothers spark a constant flair in our lives, regardless of our age, the era, or the time of day. They make their mark on our hearts. Let's celebrate them!

As for mothers, I think we all should celebrate as mothers. Aren't we though?

We play the mothering role starting with conceiving the many events that keep our life in motion. Dreams, goals, career moves, learning, relationships, passions, religion. The list goes on.

Who tends to those significant concepts as they evolve in our life?

We do.

We nourish them, we fantasize about our life with them, we write about them, we talk about them, we anticipate them, we share their birth with others, we often take pictures. They make us laugh. They make us cry. And we are forever responsible for them, no matter how old they get.

So let's take a moment to celebrate ourselves. For without us, life would not be the same.

Happy Mother's Day to All.

What are we Doing Wrong?

The interest in the western channel started sometime around Thanksgiving with a Cheyenne marathon--but that's beside the point.

Have you noticed that in western movies, except for the bad guys everyone else is pearly white clean? They travel by covered wagon across the wilderness, they don't bathe or change clothes for days and yet they are still so clean! Riding across their Ponderosa to check the fence line, rushing off on horseback to find someone lost from the trail, hoisting the lost soul up on the rescue mare for a safe return home, no matter what, they mount their horse or carriage and they arrive...yes, you guessed it, clean. Crisp even.

We walk out to simply say hello to the horses, no feeding or riding or rescuing involved, and we come back dirty. If it's not being instantly covered in horse hair because it's the time of year for shedding, or mud on our jeans or jacket because we were greeted with a dirty muzzle, surely it's just some run of the mill dust from the ranch. But it's something, I assure you.

Are we still ranch green? Or are we just bad guys?

East Meets West

A couple of weeks ago I came back from a quick trip to Boston with two live lobsters in hand. I told Larry that the next day we needed to go out and pick up lobster crackers. We talked about which stores might possibly carry them--here in Central Oregon. So, the next day we set out to do a few errands and our conversation went like this:

Me: "Hmmm, I'm not sure where the best place is to find lobster crackers."
Larry: "What about Food for Less?"
Me: "No. They wouldn't carry something like that."
Larry: "Would Safeway or Trader Joe's?"
Me: "Doubt it. I'm not sure Target would even carry them. Maybe back east, but not out here. I think we need to find a gourmet kitchen store or something like this."
Larry: "Really? Are they that hard to find?"
Me: "Out here I imagine it might take a few stops."
Larry: "Oh. What's the difference between lobster crackers and oyster crackers?"
Me: "You don't crack oysters. You shuck them."
Larry: "Are you talking about the little salted crackers you put in clam chowder?"

After quite a bit of laughter and cultural appreciation, we opted for the easy option...a new pair of pliers and a new dental pick!

Music to my Ears

Here it is, one week and one day since arriving back in Bend, Oregon. Much has transpired in the past week, not to mention the drive up from Long Beach with my sister Laurie and Pooker, my bird. Happy to report in, all is well.

I woke up this morning to a cloudless blue sky with bright sun and fully snow covered Cascade views of Broken Top and South Sister. Despite being groggy from an overly eventful day yesterday, I just had to get outside and greet the morning.

Leighsa and Randall, the ranch owners, went away overnight so I am caring for the animals--a much enjoyed responsibility.

I fed Alibi, Farimer and Tripper--3 Arabians, and then Pippin a jumping Thoroughbred. All greeted me with horse smiles and morning whinnies. Then I walked up to the paddock on the far end to feed Slammer and Mia--an Arabian and Saddlebred mix and a white Arabian. Ruby, an 8 year old Thoroughbred with the longest legs ever and just beautiful doe eyes, is in the middle paddock and she accompanied me from one end to the other.

On the way back, I stopped in the barn to let Felon and Jess, the hunting dogs, out for their daily patrol of every square inch of this 20 acre ranch. They gobbled up their food, said thank you and dashed off.

The morning is so incredible, I wasn't quite ready to go back in the house. Besides, Ruby needs some encouraging to eat. I climbed between the fence posts and walked out to meet her. Pippin, in the neighboring paddock, walked along the fence with me. The three of us hung out for quite some time. Ruby was grazing on anything resembling the color green and giving me an occasional nuggle and Pippin was lapping up a morning scratch while his eyes drooped and his breathing deepened. Horse nap time. It's magic. This enormous head weighted in my hand.

Trying to keep Ruby interested in food, the three of us walked down to her hay piles and I gave her her power snack of oats of some sort. She devoured this, and the dogs sat in wait for any morsel she dropped. I just stood there. What magnificent beauty.

Long gone were the sounds of the sirens, buses, laborers, loud cell phone talkers and noisy engines of Long Beach.

It is nature at her finest. Two red tail hawks dancing overhead--could they be mating? A few of the horses were chewing hay: first the sound of hay straws rubbing against each other followed by a wet smack as the horses wrapped their lips around a mouthful and then the slow methodical crunching. Each one took their turn drinking water which starts as a juicy slurp to get the siphon going: a beginning to the approximate 5 gallons they'll drink in one day. Then their great exhalations which vibrate their nostrils and full lips. In the background, countless birds announcing the impending spring. And just in case this wasn't enough, several times I heard the neighboring chimpanzees squeal as only chimps do. All absolute music to my ears.

The air is fresh and light. The sun is warm. I can't wait to get my new lounge chair to bring out there so I can just sit, bathed in the warmth and doused in the perfect surround sound system.

Life is Unfair--Not Just a Cliche

"That sucks." Two words that I do not utter often seemed to capture the sentiment I felt when my mother called to tell me that Uncle Ed's neck and throat cancer which had touched down to his ankle was now in his lungs and liver. "That sucks."

For just about a year now, my Uncle Ed and his wife Kathleen have been giving their all to get the best of this insane disease. Radiation, chemotherapy, tracheotomy, feeding tube, doctors, tests, labs, waiting, updates, tests, updates, more waiting and doctors---and hope. Lots and lots of hope. Never giving up on hope in fact. Uncle Ed enduring the disease, Kathleen attached to his hip enduring the disease as a loving caregiver does.

Hope of cure. Hope of getting the tubes out to enjoy a meal in the traditional sense of eating. Hope of going back to church and not coughing too much. Hope of driving back to Florida to relax in a second home honestly earned. Hope of life back to normal.

So how is it that two people who have done everything, every little thing, that has been asked of them, who have shown us nothing but strength and courage and love, who despite such a negative diagnosis have been eternally positive, how is it that they get dealt this crappy hand?

Life is unfair.

Not always is it unfair but with a round like this it is so difficult to comprehend. I am one to take what comes, generally operating without a Plan B. It's natural for me to see the fullness of the glass despite it being only half full. For me, maybe the reason isn't immediately apparent, but I always trust the reason. Somewhere in there is something I am supposed to learn, so maybe I'm down for a day but I find the diamond and move on.

I've got to be honest, this one isn't so.

To all of you who have seen this reckless dealer before, wow. The impact is far and wide. It's not just my glass, but it's a china cabinet full of crystal, all different shapes and sizes, some easier to see into than others, some with a lid making the task more clumsy.

Ugh. That sucks. Life is unfair.

But there was comfort. Larry knew what my mother had told me before I hung up the telephone. His energy soothed me. We sat on the garden patio surrounded by trees and plants he himself planted many years ago, watching the tens of, twenties of, maybe a hundred birds dip down onto the feeder and the agave leaves and the geranium to feast on a western bird seed mixture. They sang to me. I am certain. They multiplied in number and the song got stronger. I am certain. They looked right at me with a cocked head of understanding. I am certain.

My Uncled Ed has a heinous disease. He fights it like there is no tomorrow. In that there is a lesson. I am certain.

Long awaited thought becomes

Welcome to my new blog space. I am so excited to have finally found out how to blog--thank you Chris.

Many of my friends have received my periodic essays, written thoughts, free-falling brain train of babble and have commented on them. Graciously.

So to my friends who have read my mails on just about anything, thank you. You have inspired me to continue writing. Rather than send emails, which at times seem imposing, I have this space to write as it comes and I invite you to read and comment as it suits you.

I make no claim as to the quality and quantity of content. Some days the filter works better than others. But it will be honest--that, I can assure you!

Thank you for dropping in.

xo
N.