Gently Please

Some weird energy has been creeping around the past week and I'm trying to get in touch with it.  I'm trying to understand my role in it and what it is I am to be learning from it.

After teaching last night and again today, the nag to go inside was too strong to resist.  The sun was just setting and the moon had risen.  I went to my yoga room, turned on my salt lamp, frankincense burning, set out my mat and my folded blanket and went down with the blanket supporting my spine, chest and heart open, arms splayed, soles of my feet together.  Looking out my window, there is the moon, flooding my room with clearing energy.

In anticipation of the next Chopra meditation series, I hit play on The Medicine of Love, one of the guided meditations from a previous series.  Settling in, I tune in.

Word choice is of particular interest to me.  When the speaker said, "Gently, close your eyes."  off I went.

How else would one close their eyes in preparation for meditation?  Is it necessary to request a gentle closing?  What would happen if she just said, "Close your eyes"?  Would the devotees hastily squeeze their eyes tight so much that their nose scrunched up?  

She mentioned surrender.  I'm pretty sure she was talking directly to me.  So I did.

Chill Factor

Now, I understand how you might be thinking this is in reference to the weather, but it is not.

Chill Factor is a 48 count line dance that has very few repeating steps.  I used to dance it years ago with my friends in Long Beach and I've been itching to dance it again up here.  After a few frustrating starts of getting reacquainted, it came back to me.

Tonight, I taught a class strictly on Chill Factor.  It is a challenge.  It can make you stomp your feet--not part of the choreography.  It can get your head turned around so much that you have no idea which way you're going.  And when you get it, it can make your legs fly and your heart sing!

The dance floor was crowded tonight.  The dancing was on.

I like my Friday nights.

New Rules #212

This morning was the day to open a new jar of ground cinnamon to complete my bowl of yogurt with honey, walnuts and blueberries.  A delicious combo.  Trying to open the jar; however, required a tool other than my own two hands.

The plastic seal around the outside of the cap did not have a handy perforated strip; scissors were sought in order to remove it.  It seems those who jar this precious cinnamon felt that the unbreakable plastic wrap was not enough to protect me from the unstable individual wanting to harm me via a ground spice. 

As an added security measure, they put a foil lined paper seal over the top, and under the honey-combed pour top.  Some of these seals, as you know, have a gratuitous tab with which to pull---off, because they inevitably come apart from the seal itself thus requiring, once again, the aid of additional means with which to enjoy a much anticipated breakfast.

If I have to go through this much trouble to open a jar of cinnamon, why can an 18 year old walk into a gun show, make multiple purchases and walk out without so much as a question?

The new rule is: let's get our priorities, fears, morals, beliefs, paranoia, defenses of the Constitution, what and whom we are ardently protecting in line with one another. 

You know the adage: You can't have your cake and eat it too.

The Sweetest Kiss

My right arm over Hy Note's back, my left arm cradling his chest, I am resting my head on his withers.

  

As he chews hay out of the feed cart, I gaze up.  

The night is perfectly adorned with magnificent stars dancing around the waxing moon.  

Quiet. Pure. Precious.  

Holding him tight, dreaming I disappear into his nobility.

I inhale deeply, the corners of my mouth turned up, 

so glad that I know the earthy candy-like smell of a horse.  

Holding him tighter to move with his breath, I close my eyes.

This is my sweetest kiss goodnight.

Can a Rooster Count?

One of my baby hens, Honey, is in my chicken special care unit for tonight.  With much hope she will pass the remainder of a bound egg.  My special care unit is so flexible, it changes names depending on which animal is in there.  But, to my point.

In the early evening, I walked down to the hen house to collect any pearls the girls may have left for me.  Two.  The other 10 hens were inside their high rise, settling in at dusk, but Red was pacing outside.  He was looking around, under the big juniper and back out again.  I believe he was looking for Honey.

Red is one very gentle, respectful Rooster.  He is loyally protective of his girls.  He tries to mount them every now and again and if they scoot out from under him, he just goes around in a circle almost a little embarrassed that he even tried.  So, here it was, time to head in to safety for the night and one of his hens was missing.

In my best gallo speak, I explained that she was with me and assured him I was looking after her for the night.  I hope he understood me.  The last thing I would want is for Red to think he lost a hen on his watch.

Sweet dreams, Red.

Utterly Foul

My favorite part of coming home a little before 1am from a good night of dancing was to realize that that utterly foul smell that was tracked in by one of the dogs earlier in the evening remained.

I had already cleaned up the spots that ran up the stairs.  What else?  Then I discovered the source.

Even before getting my coat off, I had Bodie between my knees as I brushed, washed and cut out a serious collection of pooh on his furry little butt!  It was some intense mouth breathing.  I wiggled him over to the sink so I could wet another paper towel.  When it became obvious that more serious measures were called for, I wiggled him over to the scissors.

Pinkie would have no part of this circus.  She was tucked in under my bed.

After Febreze room spray and then Febreze fabric spray,  putting the "green" wipes back and pulling out the 409, the malodorous air lingered.  I found some remnants around the carpet and in the kitchen; it was easy to track where he had been over the course of the evening.

He may be fierce when someone approaches the gate but my little Bodie has the most gentle heart.  He's sound asleep beside me--I'm such a good mom--and before passing out, he looked up at me a few times with soft eyes and a titled head as if to say, "I'm sorry I have a smelly butt, mom.  Thanks for cleaning me up."

Pee-ew!

New Rules #107

If you're going to take a horse off the property for a walk, you must be sure to lock the goodles in the dry lot before setting out.

It was Faramir's turn for a good walk around the neighborhood.  The goats were out tearing through my nicely stacked hay bales, the dogs have learned to sit by the corner of the fence until they see us coming back up the rise, the hens were scratching in the softening earth.

As we head out on my road, the dogs run along the fence to the furthest corner they can and then sit and wait for our return.

Faramir and I got about 1/4 mile out on our walk when it dawned on me that when the dogs run, the goats run.  And what's in that furthest corner where the poodles wait?  The hen house.

"Argh! Come on Faramir!" I blurted as we did an about face and attempted a respectful jog back home.  As we came up the rise in sight of the hen house, I called out and I could see Pippin outside the hen house, which only meant Shadow was inside.  Goats are definitely not supposed to eat grain and once they get a taste it's good luck momma trying to get a 180lb horned goat to give it up.

We made it back, heart in my throat, Faramir wondering what that fuss was about, got the gate unchained, convinced Pinkie not to nip at the horse, chained the gate again and breathlessly stumbled our way to the hen house.  As predictable goat behavior would have it, I made a really scary sound and Shadow came bolting out eyes wide open looking for that big monster.  I lunged forward and quickly closed and latched the door. "Whew." I let my breath catch up and turned for Faramir who had walked off to take in his own moment of exploration.

All was well.  All secured.  Faramir was a bit disappointed that he didn't get to meet the neighbors I had told him about but Alibi sure was glad we were back early enough for him to get out for a walk.

I followed my new rule and delighted in an easy pace until the sun set with my horse.

Bodie and His Ball

Pinkie and Bodie with the "other" ball.

The dogs have this yellow ball, just about a hair bigger than a baseball.  Truthfully, I cannot recall where it came from but it has outlasted all but one other ball, both of which have been run over by a tractor.

Well, the obsession with this yellow ball has arisen again.  You may recall my recent cruel joke on Bodie where I lifted it from him without his seeing and then I proceeded to watch him return to the same spot over and over, just certain that is where he left that ball.

He brings me this ball at 7am, at midnight when I'm washing up for bed, after dinner when he believes it is prime ball time.  The latest trend is rolling the ball under the sofa and then whining as if it's a life or death matter until I get down on the floor and retrieve the ball.  Both Bodie and Pinkie are guilty of this charade.  Hmmm, as am I, I suppose.

When I tell you that the ball must have a tracking device implanted, I do not jest.  Bodie can leave that ball in a particular place, which is no place in particular, and he will go about the business of a dog day or a night of sweet doggie dreams and when it's time to play ball, he knows just where he left that oversized rubber lemon.

Today, for example, he continues to impress me.  I saw him with the ball around 8am when he took it outside with him for his morning piddle.  In he came to eat and then we went out to feed the other animals.  We had a full morning of chores, played fetch with the rubber frisbee (in a safe place of its own, I'm sure.)  I did an hour's worth of work at the computer.  We ran errands, came back for an evening walk and then completed our evening chores.  After dark, Bodie, Pinkie and I came in the house, they ate, I ate.  And then it happened.

Around 8pm, Bodie started whining.  It's a very definitive whine, one that clearly suggests he is going to die if he doesn't get his fix.  But this time, he was not at the sofa.  For a moment, I thought I misread his whine; it seemed as if he needed to go out to go pee-pee.

"Arf!" he said in his high-pitched drama queen tone.  So I opened the slider and out he went.  He didn't go to the lawn to tinkle, no, he went to the opposite corner of the deck and picked up that rascal of a ball!

Now, amongst our activities for the day, was a dog fight in the back of the car as I was driving on the Parkway.  We had stopped at the feed store and picked up a chewy for each of them and there appeared to be a serious dispute over who was getting what.  I actually had to pull over on the side of the road, screaming at the top of my lungs as I saw bodies gyrating and the dog barrier shifting from its fastened place against the roof.  They stopped.  I scolded.  They sulked.  They took their corners in the back and didn't make a peep for the rest of the ride home.

I share this because they are giving each other space this evening.  Still a little mad at each other, blaming the other, yet fighting their instinct to love each other.  Bodie is not over it yet.

He didn't bring that ball in the house.  He sat out on the deck, a place Pinkie only goes if I go, with his ball between his front Panda paws.  When he came back in, an hour or so later, I looked...he had put the ball back in the same place on the deck where he picked it up earlier, out of Pinkie's path to the lawn in the morning.

And tomorrow morning, I assure you, just as those Cascade Mountains are going to shine under the eastern rising sun, he will yelp for me to open that door and he will aim straight for that ball.

Thrive on the Vibe Thursday

As I was rinsing away the evidence of a good night sleep, I looked out my bathroom window, as I do every morning, to see who else was stirring.  In between the trees by the canal, I caught the white tail end of a mule deer crossing through properties.  Then another, and another.

This is their path in the mornings; I see them often.

Shortly after, I was out feeding and I heard a sound.  It wasn't a crack of a branch or a bang of sorts.  Really, I cannot recall very well or describe very well what it was.  But I looked up.  And there he was, a medium sized buck with only one antler looking straight at me.  I'm not convinced he didn't call me.  Just as I know their travel through here, he must know who I am.

Instead of standing frozen still as deer often do, or jumping off in flight, he moved his head in acknowledgement as I greeted him "Good morning, angel!"  There was very much an interaction between us.  I loved it!

After we were certain we understood each other, he put his head down and casually started off over the rocks of the canal.  I called out after him, "Thank you!"

The sun is now setting and I'm still thriving on that vibe.