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 his 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 facetious 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 things 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


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

FYI....
Twenty seconds....is 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…

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Christmas inspired Thoughts

Thinking...that I will continue to search...for peace...for understanding...and for acceptance. Acceptance of the here and now...of the past...acceptance of who and where I am...Guess, one might say, "that's an awesome Christmas wish."


Cause..."Life just happens, can't be explained or figured out." Why fight it?


You know Mary and Joseph were searching for a place to rest...the wise men were searching for the majestic...Herod was searching for his rival...we're all searching...maybe we don't give ourselves whole heartedly to the search, maybe it lays dormant at times...but we're searching.

I believe we each are searching for meaning... for peace within...and we focus differently but the trek is the same. And some "wander" while others "wonder." ...and that's what Christmas brings...a gift of peace ... A babe innocent ...that with time (time being what most see as an enemy) with time becomes the substitute for worry...for weakness...for shear strength...the answer to the mystery.


Because the mystery is impossible for our human minds to solve...God provided a focus point...Jesus...who can BE the ultimate gift if we let Him...providing everything we need so that we don't have to figure out the mystery...taking the "whys" and giving us meaning. Providing peace if we rest in what He offers.


I guess that's why wise men still seek Him.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Happy Mind = Happy Body?

She felt raggedy and puny. The days wore on and she visited her physician. The tests were run and symptoms diagnosed, antibiotics to be taken, calls to be returned upon results. The world literally spun around her and she fought back the only way she knew how. Sharp stabbing pains in her side would cause her fight to seem of minor effort.

Four nights straight she went to sleep at insanely early hours. She napped during the day. And still she felt dizzy, raggedy and puny…the dishes piled up in the sink, the dog hair floated around the floor in tumbleweed style, and toys littered the floors in every room. Had she showered? She knew she hadn’t but took pride in the accomplishment of having brushed her teeth.

He said, “Happy mind=Happy body”…and she felt as if she were slapped. Now, her mind started playing tricks on her. “Are you so crazy, girl that you have conjured this up?” “Have you made your body sick?” Only the day before, another had said, “Antibiotic? And they don’t even know what is going on?” And the reminder of “stay in the driver’s seat” rang clear in her mind. As the room spun and the symptoms created distraction, she was keenly aware…

Aware of what had to happen. Aware that therapy was essential to her survival efforts. So she commenced to clean…the three days worth of dishes, removing the dust cover from articles all through the house, sucking up the tumbleweeds, wiping, cleaning, moping, renewing. Renewing faith in her, proving she can conquer the lingering darkness her mind had placed on her body. And she cleaned from early evening past her recent early turn in hours and into the midnight hours.

As she showered she felt she washed off the negative dust that was clinging to her, the shadows of doubt flowing down the drain along with the bubbly wash. Drying off was more of a finish she placed on her happy body. The lotion simply created a barrier for future invaders.

She had completed her “therapy” and was ready to sleep. Her mind so busy with thought. The once exhausted mind was revived and ready to think…think…think…but as in any situations she had choices…choices to calm her spirit and sleep…of stay awake pondering until duty called early the next morn.

The dark room was quite except for the gentle sound of the piano music…and she smiled as her head lay on the pillow…cause she knew…she knew sleep is always sweeter if she smiles as she drifts off.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Fresh Christmas Trees


So, meet my Christmas tree...a little on the under dressed side but she'll clean up good...






I got her at the Christmas Tree lot my super duper friends own...






Located on the side of Meijer's on West Reynold's...









Their trees were freshly cut unlike those of the chain competitors that had their's cut in October.




Great prices...the lowest in town....and discounts for LEO's




There is a suprise character you will never meet unless you go check out their site...





Cut and wrapped




Daisy recommends their trees...and wants to work on the lot with The Willis'




Go check out their trees...and their deals.








Daisy says come on out ya'll...(being female, none of the trees were defiled)

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Project Coffee Cup

It was suggested by an important person in my life to make a collage...cause I like doing that kind of project...and sometime after she suggested it, I saw a travel coffee cup at Starbucks (my BFF) that was made to allow you to collage things and preserve it...carry them around with you and your brew...

I FINALLY got around to applying the photos I cut out of magazines and all to it...I like it...Pikachu supervised...I think she approves, too. In a catty sort of way, which by the way, carries a lot of authority!








It's probably going to make me drink more coffee...and smile more...and well, ain't nothin wrong with that.














They say coffee makes your mind sharper...this might just assist with that in several ways.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Triggers

The other night at work, I was on a call to assist Hospice. Apparently the narcotics prescribed to the dying mother were being used by a family member. She was out of medicine again, experiencing great pain. Hospice didn’t feel safe entering the house alone. I went there twice that night with them. The house was dirty and cluttered, too small for the five that were living there. Not a home I would want my mother in to slowly watch her life pass away.

The patient probably weighed 85 lbs. Her eyes protruding as her flesh was shrinking. She was frail as frail could be. And I thought of Moma. I live with what could I have done better. What if I had taken her to a specialist out of state. I am sure I am not the only child of a cancer victim that feels that way.

Moma had more fight in her in the last days than I had seen in her the entire time I knew her. I think she was able to have this fight because she leaned on people she loved instead of pulling away.

I believe it is easier for me to pull away, as I don’t want anyone to see or know my weaknesses. But I’ve yet to master that “not thinking” trick and so it stays with me and keeps life’s trauma’s in my face.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Who Wears The Collar

Daisy stands on her back legs beside my bed, raking my face with her sandpaper paws. The sun is up, she tells me as she licks my hand and refuses to let me sleep.

Who Wears The Collar?

Dragging myself out of bed, the air is chilly outside; I haven’t even had time to get coffee in a cup. She somehow gets me out into the yard to play ball.

Who Wears The Collar?

I know she just went out as I get busy around the house, but this is the fifth time she stands at the back door whining. She is NOT in need of relieving herself.

Who Wears The Collar?

I can gather my stuff, to work on something, placing everything on the cocktail table. It become inevitable, I must choose a different seat as Daisy now occupies the area she decided I was prepping for her.

Who Wears The Collar?

Workout on the floor means I am in her territory. Pushups and such become an act of play…try to move with a 75 lb dog sitting on your stomach.

Who Wears The Collar?

Leaving to run errands can be tricky. If the truck door is open and I turn my back, Daisy loads herself in. I come back to the truck to find her proud and ready for travel. And the struggle begans.

Who Wears The Collar?


She drops the ball at my feet as I get dressed for work reminding me we’ve only played ball 10 times today. She sees her chances slimming for more. The uniform means Moma is leaving. She rests her head and her ball on the window sill and the pout goes on.

Yeah, Just Who Wears The Collar?




Who Wears The Collar?


Daisy stands on her back legs beside my bed, raking my face with her sandpaper paws. The sun is up, she tells me as she licks my hand and refuses to let me sleep.

Who Wears The Collar?

Dragging myself out of bed, the air is chilly outside; I haven’t even had time to get coffee in a cup. She somehow gets me out into the yard to play ball.

Who Wears The Collar?

I know she just went out as I get busy around the house, but this is the fifth time she stands at the back door whining. She is NOT in need of relieving herself.

Who Wears The Collar?

I can gather my stuff, to work on something, placing everything on the cocktail table. It become inevitable, I must choose a different seat as Daisy now occupies the area she decided I was prepping for her.

Who Wears The Collar?

Workout on the floor means I am in her territory. Pushups and such become an act of play…try to move with a 75 lb dog sitting on your stomach.

Who Wears The Collar?

Leaving to run errands can be tricky. If the truck door is open and I turn my back, Daisy loads herself in and
She drops the ball at my feet as I get dressed for work reminding me we’ve only played ball 10 times today. She sees her chances slimming for more. The uniform means Moma is leaving. She rests her head and her ball on the window sill and the pout goes on.

Yesh, Who Wears The Collar?

Friday, November 4, 2011

Daisy Days

The other morning I let Daisy out and didn’t notice Pickacu had left a little field mouse lying on the patio. The little grey thing lying there on its back, legs in the air, white belly showing. I did noticed though as Daisy flipped to her back putting her legs and the air and looking to her side where the little mouse lay in the same position. How could I miss it…

This morning she found a dead mole. She flipped it up in the air, rolled on it, and desperately attempted to entice it to play. She has carted her friend all over the yard. When she brought it to the back door to gain entrance to my home, sweet, home…I said, “at-at, Daisy, you aren’t bringing that in here.” She gently laid it down and came in without it…I think she said, “ah, Mooooom,” under her dog breath…which by the way I probably don’t need to mention is tainted by rodent germs.

She stood by the door a bit later, barking and growling at a blue heron in the field, sparked and wanted to ensue attack on this long legged creature who dare approach her domain. Honestly, after the groundhog incident I don’t want to under estimate her ability so I opened the door in such a way to alert the heron that “something wicked, it’s way comes.” Daisy lit out offer it! Its five to six foot wing span was incredible and did not seem to intimidate my furry child. She pranced all about attempting to establish her authority over the terrain…and “blue” flew away.

She loves cooler temps…I love her.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Because I'm a Giver....

There's only a few stars

And it's a little eerie out here.

I can't see daisy but I can hear her collar.

She's blitzing through the field.

Even though darkness covers the view, it's really awesome out here.

The feathery clouds over the dark sky with patches of clear and starry sky behind the layers.

the glow from a far away house.

And the trees with their limbs reaching out in the darkness.

The hum of the world going on around me.

The air is nice.

Crisp against my face…

The fields are alive…come walk with me.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

A Daisy Filled Morning





So, Daisy lost her ball...and this morning as soon as the day began, after the routine morning wake up, she brings this rope to me, (as depicted in the first photo) and says, "You know, Moma, me having to settle for this rope instead of waking up to my ball is like you having to settle for a glass of tea instead of your treasured coffee."


I have to say, I felt her pain.


So, we went on a hunt for her beloved ball and found it under the bed. She eagerly followed me to the laundry room to retrieve the broom, saying, "Now, we're talking, Now we're talking!" (You know when dogs get real excited, they repeat themselves).


Ball from under the bed, I bounced it a few times for her to jump up and catch and then posted in the bed with MY morning treasure and began to sip.


Daisy jumps in the bed...and of course, gets in my face and has a total different expression from 10 minutes before (as depicted in the second photo). I was vaguely reminded of the importance balls play in life (click on the link later and read). I remind her it's Moma's "me time" and so as the last photo captures, she posts waiting again for "her time."


*Click on the photo to get a larger version...her expressions are pretty freaking adorable.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Keeping my Head Above the Clouds.

I was able to tread water yesterday…barely keeping my head above the waves, looking for any passing object that I could grab a hold of to steady my struggle…

And eventually the day ended. I went to bed with a smile. (You should always smile when you lay down for the night…it makes your sleep sweeter).

This morning, as I prepare for an extremely busy day, Daisy told me it was safe for me to toss ball with her so we ventured outside with “the ball” and “the coffee.”
She’s right you know I am able to throw ball without it hurting. Daisy is so doggone smart! Of course, as she runs through the field on her retrieve and return mission, I am left to sip my coffee and absorb the morning.

Big grey clouds were blowing across the skies, presenting a chance of rain, but blowing by so quickly the chances were slim. Huge grey clouds tossed by the wind, hovering; threatening to make for a gloomy day.

But if I shifted my gaze…cause it was like a 3D picture…and looked beyond the threat of gloom, I could see the baby blue sky with virgin white summer clouds, that look like puffy cotton. One sky, two views. Today I think I’ll focus on the promise that hangs in view behind the grey.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Living...breathing...

For the past week, Pikachu and Daisy has experienced great difficulty in relaxing outdoors. The heat hasn’t been a problem, mind you, it’s Heckle and Jeckle. Two mockingbirds with major territorial issues. Suddenly this land belongs to them and they are willing to “flight” to the death to establish the fact with my precious pooch and my goddess kitty.

I continue to watch their behaviors and think to myself that I am gonna grab my camera and I never do. I just watch. I watch the sorry bird brains chase my cat in doors with her ears laid back, looking like she’s trying to get away from a fire where the flames are about to lick her furry pajamas. I watch Daisy try to protect her kitty, despite the realities of the relationship and how it is so similar to Odie and Garfield. She chases the mouthy mockingbirds away from Pika and watches them intently from the ground as they sit in the tree or on the wires and mock, yes, that’s why they are called mockingbirds, and mock they do. I watch and I listen to their constant thug like dribble. I listen to Pika chatter back at them…and they just mock back. I never get to my camera. I never catch her lying on the back patio rolling onto her back teasing them to try and come peck her so she can with one swipe of an out stretched claw remind them of the furry pajama goddess and her reign. I never catch them swooping down and pecking her behind as they chatter something about cats are not wanted here. I guess it’s just something you’d have to see for yourself.

This morning…I sat on the front porch as Pika and Daisy were on the back patio with Heckle and Jeckle. The constant chatter takes away from the morning coffee experience. So while they discussed things I sipped my liquid life in semi quiet on the front porch. Then Heckle showed up…I told him if he kept bothering me I’d send his feathers flying through the air in an unattached way. I ain’t playing this crazy game. He got quiet and I watched as he flew to the big pine in the front circle. He landed on the ground and assessed, yes, a baby. He flew to it and flew away. I think he was sizing up the situation. Poor bird brain…there is no situation to size up. Once they have fallen…it’s a no win situation. Well, it would be win for Pikachu if I shared the finding. I thought, “Ha! Serves you right!”

Then I went out and looked at it. Innocent…brought into this world by nature without asking. Lying exposed and vulnerable on the ground making itself flat as it could to be less noticeable to prey.

…and my heart…doesn’t feel the hate anymore…it feels compassion…

I located the nest in the tree…geez, so high and I am so short. I know I can’t touch it or the parents will peck it to death. So I gather my equipment, latex gloves, my camera (just in case I get a chance to shoot it), a small pail and my truck keys. I size up how far back I can back up. I line my truck up under the nest. Oh, I haven’t mentioned how Heckle and Jeckle are as angry as wet birds…

I rub my latex gloves on the ground and on the tree limbs to eliminate as much human odor that I can. And I get little baby in the pail. She jumps and runs. I chase her and put her back in the pail. Heckle and Jeckle are out of their minds. I climb the truck and stand on the bed cover. When I go to dump the lost soul into the nest, its siblings think I’m there to feed them and all lean up with their mouths open…lost Nikon moment there, by the way. I dump her in…Heckle and Jeckle start dive bombing at me. I turn to fight them, and the lost soul jumps out of the nest!!! What the freaking heck!!!

So the whole thing happens again…but this time I bring Daisy out to fight Ma and Pa while I perform my firewoman like service. And all goes well…I shove baby into the nest and smash her down so she stays this time…well, it didn’t quite happen like that, but I do like to tell a good story.

I secretly know this will probably not work. She’ll be rejected by her parents, probably won’t get food from them and if she makes it, will suffer through her life with serious emotional issues. But my conscience is satisfied. And that’s what I have to live with, right?

I just wish my instructor would accept this writing for the two page essay on how poverty affects the crime level. I mean I can see it in this, can’t you? That and poor housing…why would the bird brains build a slanted nest anyway!






























Thursday, July 7, 2011

We Said Goodbye, a Year Ago

It's been a year since we said goodbye, Moma...

So thankful for the time I had with you during your last days. So thankful for all the memories...so thankful you have a new body now and are dancing with the angels...no more pain...no more worry...You are greatly missed.

Today,I'm getting stuck in my blog...I ran a search on Moma in it and found quite a bit I wrote...Moma's last day is always hard for me to read but I'm thankful I took the time to write it late that night when I couldn't sleep. I wish I had more of the conversations written down. Like the one sitting around the kitchen talble in Sharpsburg discussing what would happen in our adult years...I see butterflies everyday. Molly and Emily have a love for them...Daisy has, shame on her, been trying to catch them...I was taking a report the other day on a missing juvenile whose birthday was 05/26 and had to stop and breath...Moma speaks to me sometimes and it takes me a second to maintain my composure. and with every butterfly I see...it's as if she lives in flight...reminding me she's dancing with the angels. Free.

So much has changed since you left us, Moma. Time does not go backwards