Monday, December 24, 2012

Daisy Worships

It’s Christmas Eve…and I work tonight and tomorrow. My mind is starting to get anxious. Family will be together on Wednesday. I have last minute things to do. I was fixing my coffee to get my routine going and as I turned to go back to my bed and enjoy it, Daisy meets me at the end of the hallway. With a ball in her mouth. Wagging her tail. I laughed and said, “You silly, it’s too early!” She only walked closer and dropped the ball at my feet. There is a certain plop a tennis ball has on hardwood when Daisy drops it. It’s an authoritative plop. So, I sat my coffee down on the table and begin the hallway ball playing routine we have when it rains. Because that’s what pets do, they please their masters.
When we wrapped it up, I got my coffee and picked up a bone and headed to the bedroom. Having thrown the dog a bone, Daisy lay on the floor exercising her jaw skills  and I in my bed with my coffee, and my laptop of course. All you could hear was Daisy gnawing away.

As I was perusing FaceBook I started singing, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” Daisy stopped chewing and looked at me with her head tilted. “Glory to the new born King…” She sat up and looked like the most reverent canine you’ve ever seen. “Peace on earth and mercy mild…” She then gets on all fours and jumps on the bed and sits and just looks at me as I continue to sing. “God and sinner reconciled. Joyful all ye nation rise, join the triumph of the skies…” and then she moved closer to my side… “with angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem” and as I finished the verse, “Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the new…born…King” she had positioned herself as close as she could get to my left side, sitting up with her head leaning close to mine looking into the room as if she were a part of a worshipful moment. 

The song ended and we just sit there.

Beside each other.

And I think God was pleased.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Dog Days

The past week has been so not what I want outta life…
 I went to the doctor Tuesday and she told me no infections…just Kentucky crud. The horrible coughing, earache, burning throat, body aches and chills have been reported to take two weeks to begin to go away.

 I have things to do here, folks…and besides, it’s depressing sitting at home…lying around. I’ve actually watched 4 movies for crying out loud and started a book!!!

  I know it could be worse and there are many who wish if only you just had a two week virus….

I'm not complaining really...I was just giving you the heads up on the photos I’m posting...
a little back ground.

To let you see...Daisy…she seems to have benefited from this mess.

Friday, September 28, 2012

Daisy Loves Pink Piggie

So I bought a little squeaky pink pig toy about a month ago. You know, jokingly, "I smell bacon," --pig/cop-- pink/female...Daisy apparently has adopted it. Of course, I bought it for her. But expected her to chew it up within a day...and for the longest time, she has been so loving with it. Carrying it outside with us to sit on the porch, always careful to bring it back in with her. Bringing it from room to room. She holds it so gently in her mouth that it rarely squeals squeaks. I told George about it when I first got it, that Daisy was being very protective with it and he even said, "Well, don't leave it out for Autie, it won't last." But even Autumn treats it with respect, and holds it gently in her mouth, too. Daisy is always concerned when Autie has it and as soon as she puts it down Daisy retrieves it.

I thought it was passing so I could kick myself for not documenting the golden history as it went along.

I’m waiting to find it floating in her water bowl…thinking she's watering it.

It’s the gentle mother licks that get me. She is so kind to it.

Last night...when I came in from work, Daisy didn't greet me. Which is unusual but "every dog has it's day," right?

I get in bed. Lights out. She sits up with concern and I'm thinking, "Geez girl. If you had to pee you shoulda got up before I was under the covers."

She jumps up and runs to the bathroom. In the dark. Comes back with pink piggie. Jumps on the bed with it, lying it down in front of her, gives it gentle licks. I shifted my feet and accidentally knocked it off the bed!!! If looks could kill. She jumps off the bed, again, retrieves it and brings it to the pillow to rest. 

      took this this morning...turned over and there she is...She got up this morning and checked on it.

                                                              How to cuddle with a pig

and I truly don't know if my Daisy has become neurotic and if I should discourage the behavior or if it's just passing motherly instincts.

She wouldn't get up this morning, so I went back to encourage her and bless, her furry tail, she had to bring pink piggie with her. 

So, after she eats...she gets pink piggie and lays her by the back door and then goes out and lays in the rain...I'm assuming, the rain is not good for baby pigs.

and keeps a close eye on her. Later, while I'm typing away here and believe me, it feels good to be doing so...Daisy brings pink piggie to me as if it's my watch and goes back to the mat to lay inside out of the rain. So, I'm thinking perfect opportunity for me to photograph and let you see Pink piggie's face.
As soon as I started handling the piggie, she was up and moving toward me to take it away. I'm again assuming but maybe Daisy is not a fan of putting youngsters photos online.

And that's the pink piggie news for the day...I'm going to try not to let my day be consumed by documenting the activities of the day. But thought you might like to know, underneath that beauty, Daisy has a neurotic side and it's not just devoted to "chuckit" balls...I'm thinking about buying her a whole litter.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Possible Law Suit

I use this....
and this...


These, too....

I even burn these....

I'm just not feeling it...*shrugs* Maybe, I need to wash my hair more?

Saturday, May 26, 2012

A Three Dog Night...after night, after night, after night

The day we picked up Hampton and Reggie and started loading their things in the truck, I was determined I would stay on top of things during their week stay. After all I have raised six children; I am fully schooled in the matters of prior planning. I was going to make this easy for me and easy for them.

The crates and food/food bowls, the fact that I brought Daisy with me so she could be a part of bringing them home and not Moma just bringing them in, created a need for more space in my little truck. There would have to be two trips. It’s just a short five miles from their house to mine. Shouldn’t be a big deal, so we rolled with it. Reggie, shotgun, Hampton in the back seat with Daisy, no wait, Reggie in the back seat with Hampton and Daisy, no Reggie, shotgun, and Daisy and Hampton in the back seat. Wait, Hampton and Reggie in the back seat and Daisy, shotgun. That was the trip to my house with the first crate, anyway. On the trip back, Reggie called, shotgun, and I had to call rank, as Reggie thought the driver’s seat would be an even better choice. By the time we arrived back at the Hundred Acre Wood, my right arm was in extreme pain. Right away, I remembered a dog seat belt I had failed to use with Daisy. It was left in the coat closet on Shoreside. Yep, this week, we’re gonna put that baby to use.

My arms were feeling like jello from this entire workout and the thought came to me that I picked a great week to lose 10 pounds. Let’s address this here right now. I know you don’t think I need to lose weight and that’s mighty sweet of you to say to. But since I’m carrying the extra and since I’m feeling the sense of out of control, then I am the one who must make the decisions. Since July of last year, I’ve gained ten pounds. My greatest concern is what happens in another year’s time…at my age you can’t play with this…and I want a healthy heart with only the stress my feeble thinking puts on it, not some nasty food. So there.

My arms were feeling like jello from the lifting, tugging, pulling, pushing, and fighting the happiness of a 70 lb dog who wants to roam the cab of my small Tacoma truck, in addition to taking them to the back yard and introducing them to the cables. I’m bound and determined Hume Road will not have a change to claim the attention of these city fellows, who rumor has it, runs and jumps into UPS truck, looking to see what “brown can do” for them. It would have been a sight for you to see Hampton and Reggie, literally drag me into the back yard as if they were introducing me to the scene. They should have been sled dogs…well, if you didn’t mind them taking you for a ride, instead of you guiding them. Flip Flops and potential sled dogs are not the combination needed for a situation of such. I introduced them to the cables that were staked into the ground, strategically placed a distance to the porch so I could take them in and out with no problem. See, that was the misconception I had started with, lining things up so they wouldn’t present problems…getting my ducks in a row so it would go smoothly. How in the world can ANYTHING go smoothly when adding two large dogs to your one?

My ankles began to burn and bruise as each dog, so excited about the new adventure tried to helter skelter all over the back yard, on a fifty foot cable. I couldn’t move fast enough to keep it from wrapping around my feet, getting tangled in my flip flops, raking my skin off, tripping me up. I’m telling you, if you had been here…and stood there laughing or even smiling like you are now, I probably would have lost it. BUT, because, dogs don’t understand, my patience meter was on “superdealwithit” mode.

Dog smiles..Despite the rude awakening they got from the length of the cable while running full force. Despite wrapping themselves around the trees and each other. There were dog smiles, from Daisy, Hampton and Reggie.

Of course, the anxiety was still present and exhibited itself though…let’s say, in keeping with the subject matter, “the back door trots.” I began to imagine the runny presents, getting streaked across the cables…and each other and my hands. Well, you get the picture. So I promptly retrieved bags and removed as much of the brown soup as I could.

Daisy loved having the two male dogs that cables kept at bay. She was smiling and wagging (which in itself is the same, cause even if dogs don’t have a facial smile, they still smile with their tails). Hampton and Daisy had only met a few times. Heck, maybe, just once? But they have a special relationship…like love at first sight. Hampton stands a good two inches taller than Daisy, and it is the sweetest thing to see him gingerly lick the top of her head and she smile as if to say, “I love a man who knows what I like.”

I had anticipated a bit of moping…like a “Gee Mom, WHY!?!” Kinda mope and even accepted the possibility of having to get counseling for Daisy girl after this due to a depression, a feeling of detachment, or like she just didn’t measure up to what Moma wanted. But just like the feeling of, “this is going to go smoothly” I was wrong about this one, too. To see Daisy, in the first hour, chest pounding both Hampton and Reggie, it was apparent she had welcomed them with open paws.

Time for Expectations

Reggie quickly picked up on meditation
Then, we went in. Right away, the list of expectations were made, as I watched Reggie and Hampton blitz through my little cottage and counter surf, chase my cat, jump on every couch and bed, and basically throw their weight around. Hampton, would probably defriend me if he knew I told you this, but I feel safe he won’t find out. Secret Squirrel: he leaks…Yep, he has a leaking problem, and anyone who knows Hampton knows he’s a big dog and so it stands to reason, when he leaks…he leaks big. Daisy would stop by the leakage on the carpet, smell it and look at me. Immediately, the baby gates were broke out and my furry visitors were confined to the hardwood. I was a few moments shy of getting these up before Hampton was able to lovingly lick Pika on the head, nervously and vigorously until she hissed at him. I walked in on this in my bedroom, with Pika on the back of the chair and Hampton’s back paws in the seat, his front paws on the back of the seat, one on each side of Pika, licking the top of her head, like it was an ice cream cone. She may be the one who has to go to counseling. She’s so catty.

I left for work, anxious, but not to the point of bowel distress…relieved a bit as I had left 3 dog shadows safe and comfortable…I was anxious that the guys would bark and whine for hours, that I might get on a call and not be able to come let them out to pee, that when I did let them out to pee that they would drag me around the yard…or the worse possible scenario, bowel distress…yes, in the cages of both, walked through and smeared all over themselves and the confines of their crates.

Again, my fears were put to rest as I came in to let them out…all was well. By the completion of my first “Three Dog Night” I was dog tired.

2nd day

“Early rise, Ma’am!!! I gotta peeeeeee!” I woke at 6:30 am to hear both Hampton and Reggie calling from the living room. Daisy, standing at the side of my bed like a child waiting for Mom to get up on Christmas morning. I talked to them as I let them out…and then I stopped as I noticed the “leaker” was voice activated. As they got outside, I explained that, yes, I realized I had left the wake up time off of the list of expectations given the day before, but 6:30AM was not going to work. Getting in at 2AM and finally getting to bed after tending to their needs…6:30AM was not going to be acceptable. I think Daisy was off taking care of her needs when I announced this and I was certain I would regret her absence during the announcement.

At the Hundred Acre Wood Bed and Breakfast, sometimes we enjoy our meals out of doors and I figured the boys probably don’t picnic often so, first meal on vacation, I happily presented to them outside in the fresh air. Hampton looked at me like I had not gotten the memo. I heard him mumble something about eggs and bacon as he dumped his nutritious bits of canine morsels into the short grass. Down on my knees, as I picked the small bits from the grass, and as Reggie was jumping at the cable to get to Hampton’s share, I developed a vague idea regarding the comment his master made about Reggie’s weight gain. Ole Reg, I believe, was way too familiar with Hammy’s food.

After breakfast was consumed, the morning constitution commenced to take place all over the yard. Of course, the urgent need to get these dropping up so that I don’t have to “handle” them later…made me run in the house to get bags. I scanned for my coffee as I zipped in. Oh, yeah, that! I hadn’t had time yet to even start coffee. I zipped back out and begin the clean up. The bag I had started yesterday, I had sat off to the side of the house. As I put the gatherings into the “poo bag” I had a revelation. If anyone calls you, “hot shit’ OR a “shit bag” take great offense to it…them there, should be fighting words!

Housecleaning came through the bed and breakfast as the occupants were out of their rooms and decided to wash their beddings. All in the washer, housecleaning moved onto, Grace.

Yes, this was my day for Grace…and yes, if there was ever a day I needed Grace…it was after a three dog night. Precious as always, she would walk to the back door and view the dogs. “Hi, dogs!” she’d said. I brushed the three as Grace swung. Push, brush, untangle legs, push, brush. Eventually Grace was insistent with, “Up, Mimi” “Walk? Walk?” I held her off as the Landlord, who had showed up at work, and viewing all the canine activity, walked over to the fence to say hello. The dogs barking, wagging, dancing all went to greet him…even Hampton who was staked further from the fence than Reggie. Hampton? Yes, he comes running and greets the landlord…with his cable…with the stake…right up out of the ground. Who was I fooling, right?

Around the tree the cable went,” pull the tree up, Hammy, honey, let’s see ya do that.” He just smiles and wags and stays oblivious to the fact that he was loose. Grace comes out of the swing to walk, walk…and goes directly to Daisy.They stand beside each other and gaze into the field. Daisy has that effect on those around her. Even Reggie and Hampton have been meditating since they arrived. Hampton was a bit more difficult to catch on and Daisy worked with on a close personal basis. He was so distracted though, bless his doggone heart.

Grace then walked to Reggie who was surprisingly gentle with his greeting. Grace was thrilled. “Hi, dog!” She went to Hampton, remember he’s big, real big. She was not intimidated. Hampton flopped and rolled to his back placing his head in Grace’s lap…gentle Hammy. Grace giggled but kept her defense up. She’s pretty good at that you know…keeping her defense up around big dogs. Her face lines right up with the height of Daisy and Autumn’s tails. There’s been times when she senses the overwhelming knockdown and will sit down to prevent a knockout.

As we return into the house, with all the craziness that creates, “housekeeping” remembers the bedding that was washed while the crates were unoccupied. My washer had in no time developed hair loss. Handfuls of Hampton hair were everywhere and well, left for a better time, as it was lunch time for Gracelyn, who just wasn’t yet ready for the “hair of the dog.”

Meanwhile, the three are playing, Grace safely in the highchair. Hampton, I’m learning is such a gentle lover, as he takes the time to lick Daisy on top of the head, or on the side of her mouth. Reggie, is a grab the girl by the neck, kinda guy. Daisy responds to both. I’m more and more pleased each day as she shows attention and affection to the guys instead of jealously.


Gentle Giant

Here, fishy, fishy

And the missing puzzle pieces…oh, did I not mention those? Grace is learning her colors so I got her a wooden puzzle with fish and colors on it. She and I were sitting in the floor of the guest bedroom earlier that morning. I got up and checked on the laundry and found her at the gate in the hallway. The two puzzle pieces I left her with nowhere to be seen. OMG!!! “Grace, baby, where is the pink and white fishes?” and felt my heart drop as she pointed over the gate, where Reggie stood. The panic I’m certain stemmed from the rumor that Reggie ate a blanket and had to have emergency surgery. I wouldn’t’ put it past him to eat two puzzle pieces. I was stressing. I retraced every possible step she could make in that minute or less moment. Nothing. If he chewed them up, they would go through. I think. Oh, geez, is he gagging? The two hour agonizing that took place was brought to rest as I pulled the play pen into my room to contain all of my Grace and take a shower. Yes, in that very short minute, she had dropped the 1 fish 2 fish into the playpen and they had fallen in with the side of the blanket, hiding, testing my character. I was thrilled to find them…there’s some quote…I’m trying to remember…like…”teach a child where to put fish and you will never feel like making the dog vomit?” Something like that…maybe, I should Google it.

“Off!”…”Off!”, I say in my police voice to dearest Reggie, at least 50 times a day, using hand signals, too, of course.

Oh, Garsh, I love the country air!

3rd day

I guess where Daisy was taking care of her toilet needs the day before, her missing the announcement of a rise and shine times, couldn’t be held against her, as she stood at the bed whining at 7AM. “We have guests,” she reminded me, “I haven’t heard them this morning. We must go check.” Oh, yes, Daisy…

It appears, that Reggie is learning the “art of cabling” as this morning he avoids several possible entanglements. Even running over Hampton’s cable to keep it from tying him up. It might have something to do with the morning before when Hampton woke up stupid and blamed it on Reggie. Weaving in and out of Reggie’s space and then as Reggie couldn’t move, Hampton, yes, loving gentle Hampton, attacked Reggie pinning him on his back to the ground. I couldn’t set the water bowl down quick enough and by the time I did it was over. Maybe, he was just missing his Moma and had to act out a bit.

Reggie, for some reason, thinks he has some authority over blackbirds. His commands, of course, are ignored, but do not go unnoticed by Hampton and Daisy. So sympathetic barking kicks in. With one totally focused on birds, the others just throwing out “barks” cause the leader is.

Poor Pika, hasn’t been out of the house since Thursday. Terrorized. Simply put. If she steps out into the living room during the night, Hampton and Reggie bark and throw themselves around in the crates. As I lay in the bed jolted from the few minutes of sleep that I do get..I imagine from the sound of things that Hampton and Reggie have busted holes through the bottom of the crates with their feet and are packing them on their backs like turtles, chasing my poor cat around the living room…probably Tom and Jerry influenced, huh?

4th day

I’d like to say, that every morning I wake up feeling like a new person. But I can’t. Today, I’m truly hurting. Hurting for sleep. My expectations are out the window. Hampton will wake me at 6:30 AM if he pleases. And if I don’t respond he has this snooze button that doesn’t even allow 10 minutes in between alerts. From the moans and barks and whines, I made out, “Woman! Woman! Come on, come on, get up. I’m awake… I know you are, too. Awe, come one, I wanta get outta this crate….”

And so operating on 4.5 hours of sleep now starting my Friday, I feel like a train wreck. Cause I have a schedule today. Lunch with a friend I’ve not seen since 7th grade. I realize that is a long time ago. Like back when we had to stand in front of the car and crank it up to get it started. I also want to get these friendly fellows back to the dog park before I do go to lunch so they can work some ya-ya’s out.

Maybe, it’s the exhaustion…but after I fed Hampton, I hadn’t had my coffee and being sleep deprived, I just took him off the cable and thought like, you know, he would stay there beside me. Never, never trust a male all dressed in black…that smiles at you with a toothy grin, showing you his tongue. Cable removed, he bolted and Daisy with him…and for a short, brief, short moment, I thought of unleashing Reggie, too…Run…little doggies, run free…but that passed as I used my police voice, clapped my hands, whistled and basically made a spectacle of myself. (I’m not sure though it might be one of those analytical situations where we ask if you act like a spectacle and no one is around than are you really a spectacle.) Well, the blitzing went to every inch of my yard, me telling Daisy, “Keep him away from the road!!!!!” Around the front of the house where I could not see them, around each side, back around the back, helter skelter, (yes, Reggie watching with envy), until finally Daisy came to me as I “spectacle-ized” and Hammy bolted into the field, as if my voice was background music for his adventure. I am stressing like none other. He’s going, going, deeper, deeper until suddenly he stops, swats and drops…morning constitution complete, he turns around and comes back. I confused him as he approached and ran at a distance from me. Instead of calling him to come, which obviously, I am clueless as to what language he responds to regarding the word “come” ... I yelled “SIT! Hampton, SIT!” He mumbled something about "geez you can’t just tell a fellow to cut the motor when it’s running top speed" and did his best to comply immediately to the command. Course, my having Daisy standing beside me might have assisted in the reigning in of the male in black. Lured by a blond…confused by another. Women rule.

This day, George remembered the seat harness I requested four days ago…so the trip to the dog park was not a battle of wills between Reggie and I. The ride was pleasant, his window opened about 5 inches and he enjoyed the ride instead of worrying himself the whole drive. Hampton, Reggie, Daisy and Autumn absolutely love each other and the park. I wish I could take them everyday. They are all excellent with the other dogs. I so enjoy seeing them running with ever direction they want …with no danger to worry about or cables to wrap around each other OR my ankles. But…I was mean to George…and apologized over and over. Lack of sleep, I am certain played a big part. But the growling and snarling…just because I woke up stupid didn’t mean I should blame it on him.

Lunch with my friend was delightful, but, too short as I had to get home and go through the routine of freeing them from their crates, peeing them and getting ready for work. I almost forgot to stop by Pet Smart and pick up a special treat for the buds. I promised them I would when I had left. Situated on their cables outside in the yard, they all enjoyed their special treat. No one tried to take the others, everyone finished around the same time. Ode the Joy….

When I brought them back it…I sat on the couch (BTW, I might sit on the couch once a week). That in itself was too much for the accumulating amount of sleep deprivation. Okay, I rarely take naps cause I can’t shut my brain down. On this day, however, with just a few minutes before I had to get dressed, I had a shockingly overwhelming urge…and the remedy came as I set my iphone alarm for ten minutes. Awaking to the alert…the canines did too, we all spun into action.

Day 5

Awe, yes, my weekend has started…unfortunately at 6:30AM. I give up. That’s okay, I say…cause I can nap all day long…whenever I want to after felony prelim and after my 11:00 appointment…and then…I get a text from Becky…”I have a job tonight I can work, can Emily come visit today instead of tomorrow?” SO…….. Today, Emily gets to meet the guests. After court, after my appointment, I’ll go pick her up from day care. The napping will have to wait. 

In between court and my appointment I let the doggies out. After the appointment…around 12…I think I might drop…like really just fall out. You know how you are so tired your mind tells you that you are awake but your eyes have closed? Well, there I was leaving one place, to go pick up my Emily girl, and I got to thinking…not only is this not safe but I will probably not enjoy Em’s visit like this, so I called George…”Dilemma,” I say, “I need a nap.” “I think that’s a good idea,” he says. “No, you don’t understand, I need a nap and a place to nap.” “I can’t nap at my house, I have three dogs.” And so, he prepared his room, and I drove straight there, greeted George, the boys and Autumn and zonked…for an hour. Please don’t tell the dogs.

I advised Emily all the way home, of the guests, their names, how to identify each, and to function in a house with three large dogs. She was not afraid, but excited to meet her new friends. She played out in the backyard with both and learned the cable distance quickly. She also learned to take them by their collar if they got out of hand and give commands. Emily is like her Daddy was as a child. Nothing stopped him…they have unlimited energy, unlimited adventure seeking and unlimited attitude, yes, well, they do. She started getting close to the end of Hampton’s cable and sitting down. I was a bit concerned…cause it only takes a second for something to go wrong. But she rolled around with Hammy…and it was a very familiar scene. She turned to me and said as if reading my mind, “We can call him Winston, right, Mimi?” You know, maybe I’m too soft, but just typing her words makes me tear up. Winston, a hound lab mix, was 14 when he passed…a month after Moma did. Emily loved him so…everyone did. He was the most easy, loving dog ever. So many grandchildren, neighbor children, friends and acquaintances loved Winston. Just seeing and loving on Hampton had reminded Emily of her long lost friend. Bittersweet.
Reggie had dug his second hole today, this time with Emily listening as I scolded “No, no, Reggie, no digging, Reggie” about the uprooted mess…his nose caked with dirt…I’m holding his collar putting the dirt back in the hole as best I could, Emily leans in and says, “Dogs have brains, too, right?”

Remember how I mentioned Reggie’s rumored weight gain was probably associated with taking Hampton’s food? Well, he hasn’t had one bite of Hampton’s food since he’s been here. He has not taken one of Hampton’s treats. My police presence has a lot to do with it, I’m sure. It does present a problem though as Hampton grazes. I’m learned he eats it all if I stand right there with him as he does. But this morning I had to be in court. So, some of his food was left in the bowl and the bowl placed on the table…in the middle of the table…to discourage the infamous Reggie surfer. Well, at 6PM, Hampton, KNEW it was his and he walks to the table and all around it and in no uncertain words asked me, “Hey, food cop, could I get the rest of that now?” So, I took it down, opened his crate door, he steps in, I set the food down, close the door and he goes right to …with Reggie standing at the side of the crate looking defeated. Hammy finishes goes to the door I open and let him out and again, dinner and justice was served.

Just watching Hampton get taken advantage of and seeing Daisy, too…makes me think how unfair life can be that the sweet loving ones get taken advantage of. Why can’t Alpha’s appreciate peaceful goodness?

Day 6

This morning is no different than any other. You know exactly what time we got up without me even telling you. However, it was apparent as through the night Hampton shook his ears which shook his crate, what seemed like hourly, due to an ear infection…it was apparent, yes, that I had to get him some relief. Emily, who is a late sleeper, awoke at the same time. Hampton is not showing any other signs of distress except for the ear shaking. I believe he must have a high tolerance to pain.

Wow, it’s an even bigger production getting them out for morning pees with a four year old in tow, the grass wet, the air chilly. She tells me she wants clothes on and starts taking off her PJ’s…”Oh, no, baby, Hampton is top priority here…his “pee is to PJ change” as is “scissors are to paper.””

Everyone fed, watered peed and defecefied (Spell check says that’s not a word, HA! Got one on them!)…when suddenly the fox is observed by ALL trying to be sneaking crossing the field. Hampton and Reg on cables, which left my Daisy. With Emily and I beside each other at the edge of the field, Daisy shot off, and we commenced to yell our fool heads off. For this is not the small fox that went through the cat door on the work barn an few days ago and ate the kittens; this is the big fox that from a distance looks almost as big as the coyote that frequents the field. I’m not sure what a fox thinks about Daisy’s and I don’t want to know…I just want her to turn back. She doesn’t. and disappears into the tree line behind the fox. And we wait. I want to grab a weapon and just go save Daisy. She may either get attacked by a fox or somehow make it through the fence in her mad rush and find a way through to Hume road and the inevitable will transpire. I can’t leave though. Common sense tells me, I can’t leave a child behind and run after a dog and a fox. So, we wait. No sounds of squealing tires, no blaring horns, no vicious slinging back in forth movements in the tree line…and then there she appears. Smiling like she saved us or something. Unharmed and running back. Emily is relieved. I’m relieved. Daisy is totally oblivious as to what she just attempted. It all sent us into a big conversation about coyotes and foxes; how if Emily ever sees one in the field she is to run in and tell me. We look at images on the ipad to confirm her knowledge. It was all discussed and I began breakfast, as all the Shepherd’s know, buttery oatmeal pancakes can cure any anxious mind.

Our guests are somewhat bothered by the “road roar” that occurs on a constant basis. Daisy and I got used to it after the first night we slept here. For our guests, I’m not having such luck. It’s all good if the windows are closed, the jumping up in a fit of barking is at a minimum. But the weather … is so nice…and the dog gas is so strong.

By now, those who know me well, know I’m an over achiever and for the most part go easy on me in reference to such. Hampton is real laid back…well, when he’s not excited. One of the times we went out into the back yard this afternoon, I had him on the cable and he began to pee, so I decided while he peed I’d fill the water bowl at the outside spicket. Well, the cable was only so long but I thought it was longer and when it wouldn’t move, without turning away from the water, I yanked it…and it still didn’t move. I turned to see what it was hung on…and Hampton, still peeing, with this look of, “are you serious! I’m trying to pee here,” quickly made me realize I was trying to do too much at once.

Because of my exhaustion, I have limited my weekend to adding only Emily’s overnight and my overtime. No parks with friends, no dinner dates…no additional cleaning, or spontaneous volunteering. I feel like I’ve grounded myself. So far, it’s not cured the sleep issue. Wonder if I went to bed at 8:30 if they would let me sleep till 7:30 still. It’s worth a try.

Day 7

I woke up at 6:50, yes, me…without any dog-aid. Daisy came to the side of the bed, Reg and Hammy started whining. You know, if you have dogs, and you want to lay in the bed for a bed just acclimating to the morning…KEEP YOUR EYES CLOSED!!!! According to George, dogs can smell your eye juice…and as soon as they do, your quiet moment is gone. But since I went to sleep around 8:45 last night I figure after ten hours of blessed sleep it’s perfectly alright for me to get up at 6:50. (Notice how the dogs have “trained” me to accept 0630, amazing) George and I discussed it last night through text…they sleep during the dark hours…so to bed as soon as it gets dark. Today I run Highway Safety from 10PM to 2AM…then Grace will arrive at 7:30 AM…two steps forward, three steps back.

There is something about my camera that rocks Reggie. I try to take a photo and he’s like trying to lick it over and over. Probably cause it’s up close to my mouth and he thinks I’m getting something he’s not. You think I jest. It’s the dumbest thing to hear myself say, “Stop licking my camera!” Repeatedly…he just doesn’t get it. I can’t lay it down in disgust either, cause I’ll turn around and he’ll be licking my camera…”Geez, Reggie, stop licking my camera!”

Whenever I stand up, or walk into the room, Hampton and Reggie stand up…I find myself saying “Awe, now, you don’t need to get up for me, boys.” I know it’s a game I play with myself…cause when I sit down they try to sit in my seat before I do. Manners, spanners, I say.

Another day at the dog park…I wish I could take them all everyday…maybe even sit up a tent…camp there…be confined within the approximate 8 acres…so the dogs can run free. I’m lost my every loving mind.

Finally making it home on a dinner break…I take Daisy, Hampton and Reggie into the field. Have I mentioned what an incredible task this is? Tonight, I felt extra guilty because I had to start work at 2 and these guys have been in the crate for seven hours and still have three hours to go…and I hate it. It’s nothing like the caged bird…and yes, I’m clear on why the crated dog barks.

As I came back up from the field, feeling like it just wasn’t enough, I decided I could set the boys up so I could throw ball while they were on the cables. This has been the only withdraw Daisy has shown throughout the visit. It worked well…until the dance steps with the cables were interrupted by each other, and I stepped in to redirect. About that time, Little Ms Manners, jumped at the ball thrower in my hand and the ball was knocked out of it, falling to the ground. Somewhere around MY feet…Hampton and Reggie already in a tangled mess, Daisy in her “BALL!!!!” mode, Hampton in his “I got this, I’m the man!” Somewhere in the blur of it all, I went down hard. And you know what gets me, is not the pain I’m experiencing in my right wrist as I struggle to get my Class A’s off the grass from under three large dogs fighting over a BALL, it’s not that, but the fact that NOBODY cares that I went down! Unappreciated, I manage to arise to a safe height, detangle them and get everyone settled…back off to the street. Break over. Break? I must have missed something. What I’m not missing is that smell as I drive down the road. I get to the nearest pull off and check my shoes, nothing…There is no ignoring it. Somewhere in the struggle I must have well…I don’t want to even think about it. Not being able to locate the contributing area…I called George. “Honey, I’m gonna need you to smell me…yes, smell me.” Which after explaining the situation he understood my dilemma. Autumn must have overheard the phone conversation because when I stepped in his front door. Bam! She was on it. Smeared into my gun belt like a nice leather softener, her nose went right to it.

Day 8

Again, at 0630, my day is ahead of me and I am crazy with it as I sort and juggle in my head what will take place today. I’m exhausted before an hour as even passed. Grace arrives and the 100 Acre Wood is alive with activity.

I think about all the interesting tidbits I want to mark throughout the day but I just can’t seem to find the time to jot the notes. Today photos get past me, too. Reggie really likes lavender. Wish I could have captured him smelling the lavender blooms…Yes, Reggie…lavender is a very soothing plant…helps calm you…smell all of it you want.

George had promised to pay a morning visit, today. Grace is a lovely child. Daisy, Hampton and Reggie can be a tremendous amount of work, and you would think adding Autumn to the mix would have just increased the load. Sometimes, you just need an adult to be there with you…Reggie and Hampton like him, too. Reggie is enthralled with his goatee. But that’s another picture I missed. So, George does visit, and his addition to the mix was very helpful. Grace always enjoys visits from Papa, too. On day 8, I am barely moving. My neck is stiff, I’m certain from the fall. My wrist has shots of pain when I have to use it…which, is all the time, so, I’m eating ibuprofen.

This is the last full day…I can do this. No complaints from any of the dependants. I’ve managed well. (I’ve learned positive mantras like this)

The dinner break today, Ms Bright, took the dogs back into the field. Tonight I leashed Daisy despite the desire to let her run free. As we came up toward the road that the hay fellers use, passing the tall grasses, I hear the most gosh awful scream. There in the path, we have come up on the fox…the big fox…the fox Daisy likes to chase…and that Reggie and Hampton have yet to have the chance to chase. Evidently if you spook a fox they just stand there and scream like a girl and then take run. You know exactly what happened next. To describe it would be a disappointment, cause I know you are seeing the big black dog digging in his front paws as the sled runner, Daisy in her flight that looks effortless, Reggie with his quick reflexes all pulling me like a flapping kite behind them. But remember I was in Class A’s…My police demeanor was intact and the pulling and fighting was at a minimum as I shouted, “Stop resisting!! Stop resisting!!” I was so not going to go back to work stained by the field and unable to use my right arm. Three big dogs. One officer. Who’s “superdealwithit” meter was falling below the mark so the long arm of the law had to step in. I was back to work on time, without the “tales of the dogs” or the products there of…on my person.

Day 9

Snoopy Dance!!! At 0630…Hampton dear. This is all you. The time to have the dogs home was worked out with their master via text the night before and I tell them so as I pee, water and feed them. 10:00 boys, and it’s Moma time. Reggie looks at me inquisitively, and Hammy stand there with one ear lower than the other and reminds me of the medicine. Hampton sees the ear antibiotic and immediately assumes the position…I haven’t even seen him shake his ears the past few days. He doesn’t like the drops but he’s smart enough to know there is something good about them. And the morning is going really well…until…that dog-gone fox!!! Runs from the barn into the field and Daisy, the field guard spots it right way and takes flight.

Just for the record. I’m gonna get a trap…and I’m going to catch that fox and I’m gonna…well, take photos of it and cart it far far far away. And a stern fussing from me AND Daisy will take place. The story of the Fox and the Hound will never be the same. If I am feeling really mean I might have it stuffed and give it to Daisy for a chew toy. Teach that screaming little troublemaker. Just saying.

Some say “Life is a shitty business.” I agree. Especially after a week of picking up somewhere in the area of 40 piles of it. But it’s been a good experience. Hampton and Reggie vacationed at my house instead of a kennel. Daisy had two boys hanging around to wrestle with. Autumn was like a teen at a summer camp with the “boys, boys.” Emily and Grace thought they were a wonderful addition to their visits. George now calls me the Dog Whisperer. I’ve accomplished something that aided their master in enjoying her vacation and built more character in myself. Yeah, you might think I’m already a character, but you haven’t met Hampton and Reggie. Oh, wait…now you have.'s been an hour or so since I posted sister called and asked me what I was going to do special today...and I remembered...I was going to make this posting a tribute to Moma...this being her birthday...and remembering her love for writing, journaling. Happy Birthday, Moma...we would have celebrated your 69th birthday...and teased you about soon to be 70. Miss've been on vacation too long.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Mother's Day! The Best Days of My Life....

The field at the edge of my yard needs mowing. It stands a good four feet or more. Daisy walks the edge of it with her head held high sniffing for the right place to go in and then enters slowly, disappearing into the world of green as if she sees an imaginary trail. This perplexes Autie, who sits beside me watching the golden child vanish into the unknown. Then she bolts with no restraint into the field…back out in seconds, her face reading, “Oh, My Gosh, you can’t see a thing in there!” She does that repeatedly never finding Daisy who casually exits eventually, from the field of dreams, as if she were walking into the other life.

The desire to record observations like this either by photo or written word is overwhelming these days. I wish I had recorded / documented events better as my children were growing up. But there was so much that photos and words couldn’t have captured then either…but, oh, the vivid, in color scenes I have in my mind. I pray I never forget.

Like the summer of 1984 when George picked me up in his black work van, from Turfland Mall, where I had completed my shift at Cooper’s Fixery. We were in the first week of seeing each other and it was his weekend to have to the girls. Megan had “the eye” on me. At eight years old she was already making certain I was not a threat to her little unit. Remembering the question of trust in her eyes and face makes my years of knowing her so sweet, as now at thirty five, she reminds me she loves and appreciates me. Years of trust built upon that shaky foundation. Nothing that a camera can capture or words can say to allow the film strip of life that began that day to accurately unfold so as to share with you the journey, with which, I have been blessed. We needed each other and were so unaware at the time.

I hope when I’m ninety my mind is sharp. I hope my focus is clear on what has made me who I am. For being a mother has shaped me into who I am today. The joys of raising six children can mold you; create in you the importance of life. It gives you knowledge if you pay attention to the “teachers.” I think I am a unique combination of all six. You might scoff and that's fine but I see each one of them in my everyday thoughts and ways.

Craig’s reckless abandon to activity as a child was overwhelming at times. He had energy that surpassed the “natural average.” He had a love to explore and go. His heart for the misguided and misunderstood was apparent at an early age and yes, was tapered by his mischievousness. He always wanted a “sickle, sickle.” Finally at twenty eight he now has a motorcycle and is on yet another adventure.

Megan, although self sufficient, knew what she wanted. She has taught me to better myself and look far beyond my limits, to question but answer true to myself.

I’ll reiterate there is no way I could play back everything to share with you all I’ve enjoyed, learned and experienced. It’s like this field in front of me, that Daisy now sits from a distance in survey of. So rich in treasure, the hidden birds she knows she can flush out, the many butterflies skimming the surface like fluttering thoughts of the times, the beauty on the faces of the wild flowers…my life as a moma------a field of dreams.

Did they ever aspire me to be the best moma I could be? Ariel’s thirst for knowledge, for education, for vocabulary…her passion for reading all created in me the drive to do more, teach more, answer more questions. Her dream of being a mommy inspired me to be a mother she would want to emulate.

Anna hasn’t always played the piano. She decided in college to take it up and she attached herself to her desire and ran. The music she writes, the melodies she sings are fruits of never giving up. Although all of my children loved animals, to see Anna pet the cats made me want to receive the love she gently stroked onto those furry creatures. Unlike Ariel, as a child, with attentions to cats being some strange love attack. Anna’s hands on the cats as a child were as gentle as her hands are now on the piano keys.

I caught a bit of rebellion from my Rosie. Don’t’ take that in a factitious way. She did go against much growing up. I remember requiring her to at least sit “outside” as she read to get fresh air. She rebelled against kindergarten and she rebelled against bedtime. She was a sweet golden curly blond that would “tiger up” in without a moment’s notice. Sometimes she wasn’t even aware of what she was rebelling against. As a teen, there for a while, you never knew what color her hair would be the next time you saw her. I’m certain her spirit of going against if you don’t agree probably influenced her stepping out to home school her children. Blessings come in interesting packages…when I’m on the street and other officers insinuate I’m too nice….I think of Rosie, how sweet and precious but had the ability to “tiger up” on seconds notice.

William shares my nonsense, although his can be deeper than mine. He’s allowed me to learn that value is not who people say you are. It’s who you are that makes the real statement. He, like Ariel, had a thirst for knowledge and nonsense. Through horrible circumstances he developed the ability to allude the moment. All his life he brought me lessons in tenacity. I seriously should be certified.

Daisy is staring off into the field again. Maybe she’s the one who taught me to reflect today. Reflect on how I am the mother I am because of the children who allowed me to grow along with them.

These were the best days of my life.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

I'd Rather Be Writing

As I listen to Sarah Mclaughlin sing “in the arms of the angel, may you find some comfort here.” I’m reading from a Woman’s Health Magazine, May 2012 issue…I don’t think I’ve ever picked one up before but it’s very early in the morning and this goo on my head requires some distraction. The topics are pretty interesting and yes, I did read the whole article of how to have better sex. I admit at 46, I wondered while I read the tips…how can there be article after article written about this? But they continue to be written, and continued to be read.

I question my haircut EVERY month that I enter Michael’s Hair Studio. He knows it and has over the years learned to just take the lead and basically tell me to come in, sit down, and shut up. He started cutting my hair in 2006 (?) When it was down below my waist, entering my forties, I was having trouble with “my image” as I attempted to go through the hiring process with the Lexington Police. At one point I decided, because of the length of my hair, they viewed me as matronly. No one objected to that line of thought, and Michael being a hair stylist probably was very happy that day as he got to recreate my image. It wasn’t until a year or so later that as I attended my daughter’s wedding and was able to see how my hair was almost completely grey, that I decided to start wearing this goo on a monthly basis. I went home from her wedding and my friend colored my hair, and I’ve been donating to the Michael’s Beauty Fund for years now.

As I read this magazine I came up on a “Ask the Guy Next Door” column. The first question, as I smell of the dreaded goo and embark upon my ump-tenth time of getting the cut that is will create the me that I can’t find…, the first question jumps out at me: ”Do guys really hate short hair”

He says, "Hate is a strong word; I prefer to say men really love long hair." “Short hair requires and signals to a guy---confidence, strength and determination." (Ah, that was what I was looking for six years ago.) Then he goes onto say, “Think about it, you’re willfully foregoing one of the most obvious things that visually differentiate men and women.” Just so you know, I’m now, after reading that, thinking I might want to start wearing a pink bow in my short hair so at first glance my gender will be obvious to the male freaking species. As I read, my thoughts are ricocheting around causing ultimate chaos….even though a short hair cut signals, confidence, strength and determination, the males, “love” long hair…and long hair signals…(?) the opposite? low self esteem ,weakness and easily swayed from goals? And if so, what does that say about the guy?!?!And if the long hair is what is the most obvious thing that differentiates men from women than how come males seem to connect with the chest of a female and the curvature of the lower regions? Hair? Are you serious? Of all the things I overhear the males in my world discuss about the women they “observe” NEVER have I EVER heard them say, “She really has nice hair…OR…I just love her long hair!” But back to the male prefers the opposite look of what the short hair cut portrays… are you freaking serious? Yes, I’m afraid you really are. Geez.

Disclaimer: I know MANY long haired women that are confident, determined and strong.

You know you always learn things in a hair salon. Either I’m not awake enough to sort this lesson or I am just so aggravated by what I think I’ve learned that I have closed my mind.

Either way, I’ve lost my grey again…I’m walking out of Michael's with confidence, strength and determination and less in my bank account.

It’s all good though….You know, “Youre only as good as your last haircut.”---Fran Lebowitz

In The Arms Of An Angel

Spend all your time waiting

For that second chance

For a break that would make it okay

There's always some reason

To feel not good enough

And it's hard at the end of the day

I need some distraction

A beautiful release

Memories seep from my veins

It may be empty

Oh, and weightless and maybe

I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of the angel

Fly away from here

From this dark, cold hotel room

And the endlessness that you feel

You are pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

You're in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort here

So tired of this straight line

And everywhere you turn

There's vultures and thieves at your back

The storm keeps on twisting

Keep on building the lies

That you make up for all that you lack

It don't make no difference

Escape them one last time

It's easier to believe

In this sweet madness

Oh, this glorious sadness

That brings me to my knees

In the arms of the angel

Fly away from here

From this dark, cold hotel room

And the endlessness that you feel

You are pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

You're in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort here

You're in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort here

Saturday, April 7, 2012

The Unfinished Pot

by Donna Shepherd

The potter cleared his work area, washed his hands and proceeded to prepare to go home. After a long days work, it was time to go home to his family. One would think the shop would sit in silence till he returned the next day. But as the door closed and locked behind him, a faint whimpering filled the air. Coming from the far table sat the makings of a medium size pitcher.

" I can't keep going through this. The constant pounding, I felt I wouldn't make it through and now I find out I will be put in a fire. I've had all I can take. Please, let me be."

Others sighed as if to agree, while another without any emotion at all replied, "Oh, get over it, we all go through it-you'll be no different."

"I won't, I can't take anymore. I just want to be okay, I want it all to stop."

Out of the shadows came a much older voice. Much older than any voice heard from all of the pottery.

"Do you realize what you're saying?"

Not a real deep pot but a good size, his height not any more than most pots, at first glance you'd of thought he was ordinary. If you caught a glance at one side of him you would see the makings of a fine pot. Very intricate markings had been started, with such fine detail you knew he must have been special ordered. But you could see plainly it just stopped abruptly, leaving him with an unfinished look.

With sad, gray eyes he asked again, "Are you aware what stopping the process means?"

"To me," the whimpering pot answered,"it means no more pain, no more ugly pain, a resting, so to say."

"But my dear friend, it means so much more."

A quietness fell across the storage room. For this pot seemed to have a heaviness in his voice yet a caring concern and they waited for him to expound.

"As you are, so once was I," he began. Ordered for a family that wanted a priceless heirloom to pass down through each generation, the potter felt an excitement he'd never felt before, being assigned to such a meaningful creation. He drew up many ideas. Going only for the best, the finest detail, of which he would be proud to sign his name to at the completion.

At first, I felt the excitement, too. As he chose me for the finer clay. I knew he
was going to make me special. I was very eager, until, well, he started

Sittting here, I've seen lumps of clay transformed into useful pots and vases. They all have meaning in life, but me.I stopped it all. It was as if I jumped to the floor and shattered to pieces. Life as it was meant to be for me, ended.
It hurt to much. I felt it took so much out of me so one day as the potter sat putting the finer details on me, I folded. After days and days of complaining I had gotten his attention. He left the decision up to me and I called it off.
I had become so unworkable that he couldn't take me any further.

Listen to an old pot, don't complain and quit. Remember the potter is working to make you strong, durable and useful. A vessel to be proud of. What seems like harshness if just intricate designing. If you stop now you stop the whole process only to be out of the race. Just to sit on this shelf left to wonder how things would have been if you had lived the life of the vessel that endured the hard times.

You know, all the vessels have went through the same pain. But I hear their owners come in and give such good reports of how well made they are and how useful. The vase that was made for the hospital having accommodated so many bouquets and cheered so many as they were sick. The cup that was made for a special father, he used it every morning and when he died, is now priceless to his son. What joy would have been lost had they folded under the pressure.

So stand still and be strong. Try to remember the potter is only doing what is necessary to take you further to be useful. Trust him; as he knows his business.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Find Me in These Fields

The majority of my childhood, the house we lived in on Route 1 was backed up to a field. It was another world for me. I played up and down the length of the street behind everyone’s houses. I remember tics having to be tweezed out of my scalp, burrs on my socks. I took blades of grass and made the greatest sounds as I blew on them taunt between my thumbs.

Great treasures were found in those tall grasses…butterflies, wildflowers, lady bugs, “money stealers” and let’s not forget the snapping turtle that came out of the field…so big and scary but I wanted to keep it. The “money stealers” I think now might have been milkweed, but I would take them in the house and keep them as pets…in my jewelry box with the musical ballerina. I’d let them out to fly around the bedroom and place them back into captivity. A bit of the field in my own bedroom.

All kinds of role playing went on in the field…including Charlie’s Angels. We had only seen a few of the episodes … but Scarlet, when she played was Farah Fawcett, Melanie was Kate Jackson and I was Jaclyn Smith. And to be quite honest….I think I played my role by myself a lot of times. :O) The only time I really remember them playing was in the foundation of a house way back in the field where a new subdivision was springing up.

The Birds…I loved the birds…the songs, sometimes I gathered feathers and always felt lucky to find one. And these birds, well, hanging out with the birds for years…I hear…earned me hystoplasmosis. It’s one of those things you can have and not have any symptoms or you can be real sick from it. I found out I had it about 19 years ago when I went to the Chiropractor and after Xrays he showed me lots of little spots on my lungs…I was told I developed antibodies that encased each spot and protected me from infection…crazy, huh? But I’ve seen them on the X-rays…I hate to blame it all on the birds…I think the fugus grew in the mold on the basement walls of the church I grew up in, too.

Anyway…the birds shouldn’t be solely to blame…and whether they are…or not…I have so enjoyed their songs…their flight…in fact one of my favorite Bible verses growing up reads, “Oh, that I had wings like the dove, I’d fly away and find rest.”

So, I’m reminded today as I walked through the field behind my house…of my childhood field and the joys and trauma’s I experienced in them. Trauma? Oh, yea…Melanie jumped off the fence onto a cattle ramp…and onto a rusty nail…that went right up into her foot. The way home was so long…and other trauma’s we won’t mention here.

It’s funny, as I walked today, I started singing a song by Phil Keaggy, that I heard a good 20 years ago…and honestly hadn’t heard it since, that I can recall. “Find Me In These Fields.” The lyrics are very soothing…the melody reminds me of Paul McCartney’s work.

I have a field loving partner, too…My Daisy, girl…she loves the field…the tree line, the creek, the hay barn, the groundhogs. She was chasing a hawk today…little does she know the hurt that mighty hunter could have put on her.

The breeze couldn’t have been any finer than it was today. Neither one of us wanted to turn back. I took self portraits in the yellow flowers. I’ve wanted to have pictures taken in them…cause my grand kids and Daisy look so awesome in the midst of them. Of course, on the edge of 47, I cannot even come close to their striking photos, but I’m documented now…in yellow flowers…just like they are.

The yellow flowers up close are so full of imperfections. I tried to do some close ups the other day and they resemble nothing but weeds. But if you stand back and see them from a distance in a grouping... they are vibrant. ...Maybe analyzing (close up) takes the beauty out of the here and now.

That being one of the thoughts I had as I walked the “Hundred Acre Wood.”

To sit in the midst of the field…and see the tallest trees framing the sky at it’s bluest…to have the flowers and the grasses blowing around you…the songs of so many different birds, but the “Conk-a-reeeee” of the red winged black bird…dominate…I don’t even remember hearing the highway…I never noticed the traffic some distance off…and flutterbys flitting here and there. I’m telling you…I am at rest. My mind can actually drift away from worries.

I escaped to the fields as a child…for pleasure…and here, teetering closer to another year…I am again…finding pleasure in this God created sanctuary.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Beyond My Ability

There are somethings I can't capture on film...

Like the bed of nature lain miniature violets sprinkled around the perimeter of the blooming dogwood tree...with their little faces to the sun contrasted by the greenness of the spring grass and the sun lit white blooms on the limbs reaching up toward the sky...with a gentle breeze causing the petals to sway in the wind while casting petal shadows on the purple dotted earth...

No matter how many pictures I take, I can't capture that. And so...I no longer try.

Addition to the "Huggy" Post

Twenty very freaking awkward...simple hugs I'm sure will suffice. Just saying.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Reading Into Things

It was one of those images that stay with you even though it was only in your view for seconds. Driving the interstate back from North Carolina, to my right, in a field where there the terrain was hilly. There were cattle at the bottom of the hill grazing. There were cattle at the top of the hill moving slowly as if to make the trek to the base. The whole scene for seconds had a tranquil taste to it. And then there was the calf. Black with white markings on his neck and feet, he was running around the group at the top of the hill, he was running down the hill, he was running back up part way and running back down again.

I thought to myself, what a wonderful children’s book displayed before this fearless traveler’s eyes. “The Calf That Ran Everywhere He Went” would be a suitable title as I explored the plot that revealed a happy but anxious calf that came to learn the essence of grazing and slowing down to absorb life. “Ferdinand the Bull”, was quite the opposite of this frocking lad, and had learned there were treasures missed if one moved too quickly through the day. This little guy had a rush, rush to him that would have created motion sickness to Ferdinand.

Of course, my thoughts drifted off to other things as the hum of the highway counted down the miles to home. Thoughts of not slowing to enjoy life. Thoughts of wondering what’s next. Thoughts of I have to, I have to…do, do, do…this, this, this. Only to arrive home and see the lonely tractor that sits unmoved for almost a year now in the back field. There’s a children’s story, in that scene, too. “Nobody’s Tractor” reminds me of opposite of what I am striving for. Turned out to pasture, no longer needed, no longer looked after, just a silent reminder that one is useful for only so long.

I know it’s easy to think, geez, girl…you went from frolicking to abandoned…and this has slowing become depressing. Well, that’s where you’re wrong…enters Daisy. God has allowed Daisy to interrupt those deep thoughts…with events such as rolling in wildlife dung and getting sprayed by a skunk in less than a 12 hour period. Yes, when she came in the back door with her head hung, and globs of the most god awfully smelling feces dangling from her ears like a new set of earrings, it was just before I had to leave for work. So an emergency bath took place…only to come home at 2 AM, let her out and her whole face get sprayed by a smaller in size “Pepe Le Pew.” So then the title, “The Dog Who Likes to Get Sh**faced” changes my writing genre and shakes any depressing thoughts. Somehow, cleaning poo off of my Daisy gives me purpose…I’m not for sure what that says about me. In any case, it makes me smile.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Waking Up to Sunshine

Although some will argue that every day the sun comes up…I will insist that sunshine is not always a factor. However, on the days when the sun does shine brightly across the floors of the house, the yards, gets tangled in stained glass or areas of water, streaks across the ceilings as I drink my liquid life, I am inclined to know this day has all the main ingredients of a recipe for a good day.

Recipes…ever had that day were you had to make a cake…look in the frig and no eggs to be found? With no time to run to the store you hit a search engine to locate a possible detour. You might even run over to a neighbor’s and borrow their (sunshine) eggs. Some cooks store a (sunshine) egg substitute. Whether it is cupcakes you need for your child’s class or a birthday cake; the task is at hand you and are without. The search for an alternate route takes place.

I have found that sunshine is an important variable in my every day equation. I want to be able to work with variables. With variables the equation is solved and I move onto the next problem. With sunshine as a constant variable the problems are always easier for me to solve. Believe me; it has a constant value in my world.

Sometimes I think too much…yeah, I’ve been told that once or twice. So, I won’t put all the ingredients I could into this creation, skipping the red velvet and keeping with a simple white cake. I’ll just stand and hold my face to the sun…feel the warmth on my face, know there are no promises that I will face it tomorrow and be thankful, that this day began with sunshine. Days with sunshine make this tart sweeter…