To My Mother

Happy Mother's Day to my mother, Joan.

You are my mother, my friend, my confidante, my vicarious dance competition co-judge, my fan, my weekend call just to shoot the breeze, my weekly call just because, my concern, my lesson in forgiveness, my motivation to always do my best, my audience for my ranch tales, my reason for buying the car I did, my sounding board, my place of truth. 

Every day and night I give thanks that you are here in this lifetime.  Every day and night I ask Divine spirit to watch over you and protect you. Every day and night I feel special and loved when I think of you.

Thank you for supporting me in each and every one of my adventures and passions. Thank you for acknowledging events in my life. Thank you for admiring my writing. Thank you for asking. Thank you for knowing. Thank you for ignoring the human tendency to judge me. Thank you for showing me the freedom of releasing a secret. Thank you for inviting me to show and tell you how much I have learned and continue to learn. Thank you for updating me on your appointments and results. Thank you for trusting me with your thoughts. 

Whenever I say anything that includes "my mother" my heart smiles with deep appreciation.

You are my gift.  

With endless blessings of peace, light, and love.

Noelle.

Life on the Road

For the better part of the two years of 2002 and 2003, I traveled for work and lived on the road.  What does that mean?  It means we worked 80 and sometimes 100 hour weeks and traveled from city to city throughout the country and worked and lived in hotels.  Sometimes we stayed in the same city for a week or maybe two and more often it was two or three cities in one week.  We slept little.

I joined the subcontractor to the TSA in April 2002 just as the organization was taking shape.  It was a very chaotic, stressful, confusing development.  The SOPs were being written and revised daily.  Our roles were changing by the minute.  The instruction was to tell no one in each city who we were working for or what we did, which was sort of silly when a group of 50 of us descended upon the bush in Alaska for example; they knew who we were before we arrived.  We worked and slept under secured floors.  We ate when we could steal the time.

It was an extraordinary experience, both professionally and personally.  It challenged every logical process in our brains and every emotional thread of our beings.

With all the traveling, my packing, airport navigation and hotel comfort skills were tightly honed.  And my bank account and mileage accounts were aplenty.  This was back in the day when an upgrade to business or first was often a handful of miles or another $50-$75.  This is how I traveled, taking advantage of any additional comfort available to me.

Once I left the project for the second time, I needed to travel for myself.  I took a few shorter trips and returned to Argentina each year for the next three years.  All the while accumulating miles and upgrading.  Then I cut way back on travel and used up my miles on the next handful of trips and gave my parents a couple of flights out to visit.

Here it is, several years later and I am traveling, albeit a short trip.  As I move through the airports, I notice I lack urgency.  I listen to those whisking past me, "I'll reach out to an architect on the team," "The program needs some modifications for the client."  The conversations overheard on the hotel shuttle bus are tense and curt.  I climb the bus with spring in my steps and song on my voice and they look at me with a cocked inquisitive head.  There is nothing about what I see that intrigues me or that tempts me back.  In fact, quite the contrary.  It affirms that I am doing what I love just where I am.

What do I miss about that lifestyle?  The upgrades.  Economy is rough.

My Story: Part I

Some ask,

"How come you didn't leave?"

It was a catharsis in the making.  Once the transformation started, it couldn't be stopped.  We see this in the Death card in Tarot. The sailboat is under sail, the new day is dawning on the horizon and the rider is down to bare bones, no battle gear, no spurs but rather an arrow, a red feather of life's passion in the hat, atop a white horse of purity, a front foot raised in motion, moving forward under the benediction of spirit.  It ceased to be about the other person.  It was my awakening.

"Where did you find the strength?"

As soon as my soul agreed to ask for help, the Universe started to deliver and continued to provide me the tools I needed to allow this process to unfold.  Reconnecting with my parents in a most profound and meaningful way was step one in feeling supported.  Finding the spiritual path that resonated with my being and beliefs gave me the grounding and trust I needed to recognize, if only mildly consciously, that this moment in time was critical in my life if I was to fully live as the person I was brought here to be.  




"But he was an a****!"

And that's what it took to call me out on my mastery of the expert level defensive and avoidance game.  My program was so well oiled, so tight, I could run circles around most.  As my experiences started to spark and were leading me toward a path of healing, it was still only a faint flicker. Only a raging beast could outwit the slyest of foxes.  I could not hide, not even from myself.  And when the beast would rage, finally, I would begin to shake out of the years of numbness.  I could still outwit a simple mirror.  My fortress required a fun house.

"Do you miss him?"

No.  The lesson was, and still is, so encyclopedic and truly that of a metamorphosis that my heart has safely stored the hurt and depression under "was useful, but no longer necessary" and the intermittent joy and love has been absorbed into the ability to be compassionate and forgiving, of both of us.  Our relationship no longer looks the same.  It has been dismantled and the various parts are now blended into a greater, higher personal good.

Namaste.

Why Respite Ranch?

When the wind blows in Central Oregon, it's time to redirect and retreat indoors.  Rain? Snow? Cold? No problem.  Wind?  I run for cover!

It is very windy today.  The kind of wind that just knocks the wind out of you to make its own force even more hearty.  I thought spending a few hours indoors would be a good time to start on those taxes.  Then I realized it had been a while since I had posted a blog.  Naturally, the priority won out.

The animals and I are in our sixth month here at Respite Ranch.  Everyone has done a beautiful job adjusting to the new surroundings and rhythm.  They are thriving under the blue skies.  It is a lot of work taking care of everyone.  I am still making my own adjustments for what works best for them and being mindful of space and time for me.  They come first.  As any of you with children can appreciate, my business drops when one of them needs something.

Restating the fact, ranch life can be hard, painful--outer body and inner soul--and sometimes cruel.  Yet for any moment of discomfort, there are hours of comfort.

I invite anyone who could use a shift in perspective, a little personal space, a spot of encouragement to find their clouded truth, to come to Respite Ranch and just be.  We are surrounded by trees, countless birds overly generous with their songs, mountain views, fresh air and love.  Lots of love.

If hugging or grooming a horse is not within your comfort zone, just sitting and watching them and absorbing their therapeutic energy is vibe altering.  Of course, I would encourage you to redefine your comfort zone.  They are incredible healers.  Intuitive, giving, grounding, kind, compassionate, and knowing.  Looking into the eyes a horse is like finding the portal to your deepest self.  There is only truth.  There is only love. 

Do you enjoy eggs?  It is an honor to crack a pearl from one of my girls and enjoy the rich flavor of the bright orange yolk, the way an egg is supposed to taste.  Those not accustomed to farm fresh eggs might think the egg is a funny color.  It's the happiness and health of my beautifully feathered hens being shared with you.

They like to follow me around the ranch and they talk as we go along, commenting on what bug they just snatched from a blade of grass or encouraging me to give them a little snack from the house.  They are big fans of yogurt, tuna, rice and all kinds of fruits and vegetables.  We contribute very little trash to the landfill.

While Shadow and Pippin can get rather randy this time of year, observing their antics and their affections melts away any ice walls that serve no positive purpose.  They nap together, sometimes curled into each other.  They call to me in very sweet voices, "ma'aaa" and I cannot resist.  Shadow is so affectionate, it's hard to fathom.  When he curls up at my feet, I'll sit on the ground beside him and he wiggles a bit to get himself touching me or he finds a way to rest his horned head against my body.  And with such tenderness and knowing that he is safe, my angel falls asleep.

He will stand for as long as I will to be groomed.  He likes to extend his front legs, one at a time, and I gently pull on them, move them around, massage his shoulder and his joints and he is genuinely grateful.  Shadow is my protector.  If he hears my voice change as I scold Pippin for his bad boy advances, Shadow will leave his hay in his house and come running to me, literally.  If Pippin is challenging me, Shadow will knock him clear of me.  Then he comes to my side to be sure I'm okay and I thank him and kiss him and he walks away with pride knowing his momma is safe.  Honestly, is there any greater privilege?

Pippin is a handful.

I pray he never stops loving peanuts because that is how I get everything done with him, including brushing his hind legs that look like tattered wool blankets.  Pippin wants nothing to do with a brush so while he is shedding, he has big clumps of wool hanging off of him.  So, I feed him peanuts with one hand while brushing him with the other.  He is smart enough and understands that I get something too.  The poor baby does take his share of bumps and bruises by the head of Shadow.  There is a good 25 pounds difference between them and Shadow does have all the power.  So, when he gets an undeserved pummeling, he comes to me for comfort.  The other day, he managed, as goats do, to get a hook of a cord stuck in his mouth.  Thankfully, I was able to keep him from pulling and Shadow from head butting long enough that I could figure out which way the hook was facing and get it out of his little mouth.  He cried.  I kicked into crisis management mode.  So now we are just watching the little swelling he has on his cheek to be sure it doesn't get worse but only gets better.

They are humorous.  They are fun to watch running around in circles chasing each other or the dogs.  They are clever and you can be impressed by just what they'll figure out.

No ranch stay is complete without the loving companionship of Bodie and Pinkie.  Once you get past their individual manners of greeting you, they are perfect hosts.  You will not be left alone, no need for affection will go unmet, your desire for tactile stimulation will be more than satisfied, and your heart will smile and laugh.  Their love is sincere and endless.  

As wide as you can open your heart, they will fill the space with their loyalty and acceptance of you.  And when they fall asleep on your lap or at your feet and start to twitch, snore or talk in their doggie dreams, it is impossible to hold onto anything that doesn't make room for your greatest good.

Pooker,   the matriarch of Respite Ranch acknowledges you every time you come in.  She is partial to the Y chromosome, so if your gender is not such, she doesn't intend to offend, it's just the way she is.  She is 18 years old and she deserves every treat, kiss, bath, scratch she gets.

The Respite Suite has calming energy for a visitor.  I had the very comfortable queen bed made many years ago.  It puts you on the pedestal you deserve with its pillow top mattress, extra pillows and light down comforter that is cozy in winter or summer.  The windows are adorned in green, from the natural landscape outside.  The lamps are soft, the iPod loaded, a candle and incense ready for a flame, a few books of interest are on the table for when a line of written inspiration can round out your day on the ranch.

I enjoy my space.  I enjoy looking out onto my animals and hearing my hens cluck up a storm when they've left one of their pearls for me to find.  I enjoy how the physical work keeps my body strong and allows these magnificent beings to exist in harmony and respect of each other, knowing they will be cared for and provided for, nurtured and appreciated.

I think about my previous homes in city landscapes.  What different lives I've led.  I'm going to stick with this one for a while longer.  More lessons have been learned in the past 5 years than in the previous 40.  What a gift.  I am very happy to live this gift and share this gift, and I am not ready to tuck it away in the closet to be cherished as just another memory.

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.

The Death Card

In life there are cycles.  Two obvious ones: life and death.  And life, as I understand it, is not exclusive to the human form, or animal form for that matter, but to all living creatures, beings, matter, space.

The ranch seemed lifeless when we first arrived over two years ago.  The apple tree did not blossom, I didn't even know it was a lilac tree outside the kitchen door, the pastures were dried and yellowed, there were no visible creatures calling the ranch home, the air felt stale and still.

Then, the next spring, the apple tree had so many blossoms I wondered if the delicate branches would be able to support the fruit.  One crisp morning I got a faint scent of lilac and saw so many buds on the tree.  And look! A pear tree beside it.  Then the families of Mallards arrived.  The Canada Geese came. The feral cats started poking out here and there and then claimed the hay shed and the barn as their homes.  The wild birds sang and darted about.  This place was alive and so vibrant.

With any life, the next cycle has rolled in.

The negativity, anger and vindictive actions of late have permeated and choked the life energy here.

The apple tree had no blossoms this spring.  The lilac tree was bare.  The pear tree made a grand effort.

My little Negrita, my sweet sweet cat, was hit by a car.  I still cry when I look in her bed just hoping it wasn't her.  Her absence has forever altered the patterns of the cats.  I used to look out my bedroom window in the morning and see Negrita, Lynxie and Graysin stretched out on the hay soaking up the rising sun.  At night, I would turn on the light and catch them playing a literal cat and mouse game.  Now, I look out and all I see is hay.

Lynxie and Graysin stop in here and there, but the less than feral attitude has diminished.  I hardly see my Rayito, Little Grays and Twin who call the barn home.

The pond has taken on this incredible algae.  It has covered the pond surface like a bad color choice of carpet from the late 60s.  As it crept in, it pushed the Mallards out.  Now, the pond is surrounded by very tall prickly weeds, and topped with a chartreuse cushion.  Lifeless.

The Mallards used to follow me out to the pasture or up to the dry lot, "quack quack quack," they'd tell me.  Always saying they were ready for food.  It's remarkable to go from 50+ ducks throughout the day to none.  Not one. Not one true duck quack.

The pasture started drying up and browning because the water had been cut off.  Pickings were slimming down for the horses and goats.  The good blue grass was being overtaken by the noxious weeds.

The raised beds of the former vegetable garden became a garden of assorted weeds and undesirable grasses.

The round pen is Pippin's favorite place to escape to at night because his height falls just below that of the weeds and he can browse in stealth mode.  No horse activity in that pen.

Thankfully, the water was turned on again a few days ago and I started watering vigorously.  It's impressive how the combination of a little water and the bright Central Oregon sunshine can make anything grow in no time.  The growing season may be short, but it grows!  The pasture is greening.  The goats are wandering more.

With the rotation of water, I noticed the algae is shifting.  You would be stretching it to say it is going away; however, there are a few open spaces of water on the surface.

This evening as I was out feeding, I saw one Mallard hen sitting on the plank to the duck house in the center of the pond.  She had no companion.  Just her.  I called to her but she didn't respond.  A decoy? Her mood rang nostalgic.  It was as if she came to visit her former home just one last time.  As if she couldn't comprehend the "Do Not Enter" vibe of the abundant green foam.

I put out some food for her, and the chickens who followed me in.  I never saw her swim to the shore.  I never saw her fly away.  I looked and she was gone.

The Wisdom of Patty

This morning I was at my Sunday meditation circle and prior to commencing service we were chatting about how some people, no matter their age, are full of life and health and vitality. And how on the contrary there are those who at 35 seem old or heavy or unhealthy.

Patty, who will be 76 next month and reminds me a lot of my mother, said she doesn't pray for people to get well. She prays for people's highest good.

She said, paraphrasing, "I can't judge. I don't know their history or their life story. I don't know their previous life story or why they are here in this life. Maybe they are supposed to be how they are. So, I pray for their highest good and potential, that they fulfill what it is they are here to do."

Interesting.

Speaking of age, Wes, who will be 87 in March, was part of this conversation. He is full of kindness, light and life and just had cataract surgery and his blue eyes sparkle again. And Regina, who will be celebrating her 88th birthday in our Line Dance class this Wednesday, isn't picky about cake. But she is particular about her collection of fashionable cowboy boots for dance.

May we all reach out toward our highest potential. May we be inspired by those around us. May we accept each other as who we are as we truly don't know from where we came.

Om. Peace. Amen.