Stick Horse Cowgirls

Excuses, excuses. Sorry there has been no post! First the holiday bustle, then my home computer crashed. I've always heard of these "crashes" but this is a first experience for me--not good! Anyway, after delay, let me give you the lowdown promised on my "big girl sleepover!" We had a great time! This is going to be an annual event, I'm certain. We had two "newbies" in the crowd, so the evening meal and activities were a bit surface. Boy, by breakfast time had that ever changed! There's just something about a sleepover and arriving at breakfast table sleepy-eyed and with bed hair that breaks down walls. We sat--and this is quite literally--for three hours, making pot after pot of coffee and listening to the conversation deepening. Several in our midst were going through "stuff" (including yours truly). There was no contrivance to the conversation, no steering, it just went. What happened was healing and helpful. Those of us who were i

V and I have a wonderful group of friends with whom we regularly meet and swap commiseration. The core of this group is five of us who have known each other in excess of twenty years. I cannot tell you what a blessing this group is to me. About five years ago we decided to meet regularly as a "book club," and we did, in fact, read for a while. Then the bottoms fell out of our lives, one by one. It is uncanny, really, how each of us experienced some pretty wrenching times, kind of all in a row. We abandoned literature in favor of tequila and beer, and we started meeting every couple of weeks at a local Mexican restaurant. Last year I hosted all these girls, plus a few, in my home for a slumber party. We had such a good time, and it lasted well into the next day, so loathe were we to part company after such a time. We determined to make it a habit and here, a year later, we will meet next weekend for the "Second Annual." I can hardly wait. No real preparations are req

When John Denver wrote/sang, " Life in the farm is kinda laid back.. ." I'm afraid he did not know what he was talking about. Surely the only person who could intone these lyrics is a singer who can hire stuff done and then lie back around his country home, enjoying only the relaxing part. Believe me, there is another side... In my own country world, there is always something that has been left undone: fences need mending (or the horses lead one on a harrowing chase), grass needs mowing, and electricity is sometimes missed. But it has its many, many moments of beauty. Just look at my horse, Bill, gazing out over our country place. In this picture, he embodies the nobility and serenity and peace of my life in the country. And then there is Chili, the Belgian Malinois pictured above. He is my constant companion when I am home. Oh, he can be noble, too. Sometimes. But then there is today. See that picture of him? That little item lying just next to his crumpled rug is a fres

I love animals; I love all kinds of animals! If you read this blog long enough, you are sure to see a lot of conversation about my cat, my two dogs and the two horses I have remaining from my herd of seven a year ago. Besides my domestic menagerie, I have a penchant for African animals. My dream trip would be safari in Africa, seeing the great herds scattered across the savannah. Of course, I want the kind where the white-coated servants have the wine chilled when you return from photographing, and where there is turn-down service and hot water for a shower. Truthfully, any safari for me will likely remain a dream. I love other wildlife, too. I read about grizzlies, I love tigers, and I think the American Bison is truly magnificent. The many times I visited Yellowstone, I never got jaded about Bison. They thrilled me no end every single time I came across them--which is a lot when you're in the park. Now, this is going to feel like a change of subject to you, but bear with me: I am

My son (my conscience) has me working out at the "Y" five days a week. Those of you who know me personally know what an accomplishment this is, as I hate physical exercise! I must admit, however, that it is making me feel better and better both physically and from that emotional lift of accomplishment. With the exercise has come a decreased appetite for junk food and overeating ("they" told me this would happen, although for me it is counterintuitive), and that has felt good too. Why, oh why, then did I stuff myself crazily yesterday? Can't I enjoy Thanksgiving with family, be thankful and not overeat? Apparently not. After eating turkey, ham and all the trimmings plus two kinds of pie yesterday, my son and I climbed into the car bloated and sluggish as we have not been in months and slunk off from my brother's house. By the time I left the feast scene (leaving every scrap of what I had brought, knowing how dangerous leftovers are), I felt like I was flee

First, the disclaimer: The women pictured to the right are not the "us" to whom I refer in this writing; they are professional models. In fact, they don't even remotely resemble most of us, who are life-worn rather than sleek models. But they appear to be girlfriends, and this is what the story is about. And, if I am going to illustrate while you can't really see me, I may as well plant a pleasant picture in your mind. Now, on to my story... Last weekend on Sunday afternoon I threw what my mother calls a "hen party." This is rather pejorative-sounding, "hen party," but somehow it seems the right thing to call it. It refers to a gathering sans roosters, I suppose; a girlfriend party. We had a blast. We rimmed our glasses with pink (!) sugar and made Bellinis out of fresh peach puree and champagne--strawberry puree for those who prefer (or want both! Why not?). We ate fancy, calorie-laden food that men eschew (pomegranate seed garnish, brie and

I have been plagued with pink eye for about four days now. I've been working through it, explaining to clients that my refusal to shake their hands is out of consideration for their own eyes; trying to convince them that, no, I have not been on a three-day drunk. If that were the case then, surely, both eyes would be equally bloodshot. It's been okay, but certainly I have not been working up to par. In addition to having a watery, itchy, sore, unsightly left eye, I am also feeling very like flu coming on. It is that achy feeling riding just beneath the surface of the skin. Still, duty calls, and I have gamely persevered through work--until yesterday. Yesterday morning I had a short hearing in a court two counties away which means a little over an hour's drive. When I arrived, the usual schmoozing lawyers were gathered in the judge's chambers to preview the docket and glad hand and gossip. I walked in and "Whoa!" was the exclamation. Someone said, "Who cl

When my husband and I married, he was 20 and I was 18. Like almost everyone that age, we were full of dreams and ideas about what life would look like for us in the upcoming years. None of these dreams and ideas looked bad--we had only "good" dreams of success. No one plans to have failures. One element of our initial plan was that we would have no children. We were wildly in love and very ambitious. We were both in college, working a full-time job. We were busy, mainly with school and carefree fun--unfettered by diaper-changing or trying to arrange babysitting we could not afford. Both of us had our eyes on prizes. I knew graduate school of some kind was in my future (although the law school idea came on me about the time I graduated from college). My husband never finished his degree, but plunged into the entrepreneurship which would become his hallmark. He was successful at it in the sense that his whole adulthood he was able to work at things about which he was momentaril

I felt sad when the news anchor broke in to announce that Paul Newman died a few weeks ago. Shortly after, my youngest daughter called to be sure I had heard the sad news. "He reminded me of grandaddy", she said. Yes, he reminds me of my father too. The same coloring, silver hair, blue eyes, handsome features, and athletic grace. My dad was pretty "cool" too. He was a pool player extraordinaire who had played with the best of them - Minnesota Fats and Fast Eddie of The Hustler movie fame. Fast Eddie was the best according to my authority! He loved that movie and even more the Paul Newman/Tom Cruise movie, The Color of Money . When my dad passed away, there were people lined up wanting to buy his custom made pool cue, which of course my mother would never sell! I'm exaggerating just a little ! lol Now it may sound contradictory to say that someone who hung out at the pool hall was a gentlemen. I conjure up imaginations of a smoky, sleazy atmosphere, and it is de

Bear with me, here: FYI, I have learned to bushhog!! It was great fun, although the pasture does not look as good as it did when my wayward husband used to do it. I must say that, while it was fairly easy, I had a moment on a hillside when I thought I was going to tump over and realized I could kill myself in a heartbeat on this thing... must not go on hills horizontally! I am working on my farmer's tan, too. To be fair to myself about how the job looked, I must say that the grass had grown over my head in places and I am not yet skilled in getting around trees, etc., although I am getting there. I think the next bushhogging will make the place look decent. I was running low on fuel and have to get diesel before continuing. I can't believe I'm buying diesel--this is way out of my bailiwick, but I'm adapting. I also have learned how to air up the tractor tire with a compressor ( !!!) and, when I found the tractor battery was dead, I charged it up all by myself!!! Of c

So we fifty-something cowgirls had just turned three-years old when we first met. Alas, I am the older, by exactly one month! My parents had built a new house in a new neighborhood, like so many neighborhoods of the mid-fifties fashioned for World War II veterans with growing young families. Both of our dads were members of that "greatest generation," Navy veterans of the South Pacific theatre. I remember our parents were visiting at the edge of our adjoining properties as C's house was still in the building phase. Her mom was holding her baby brother and somehow we both ended up on my new swingset. There began a lifelong friendship so unusual today as neighbors move off and lose touch in our fragmented society. We galloped all over that neighborhood, because it was some years later that people began putting up fences. Red haired Randy lived up the street and we all played together, although I do not recall that the boys in the neighborhood ever rode stick horses. Seems t

This morning was take-out-the-trash day. This is a chore that I have been accustomed to leaving to hubby or my son. Since neither of them is here any longer, it falls to moi ! I was determined to do my duty! Of course, duty can get in the way. I had a 9:30 a.m. appointment—no problem; I had plenty of time. That is, no problem until you factor in my “dutiful” (new) exercise regime. I got out and did a brisk walk. It was invigorating! It ran me late… I dressed in my lawyer clothes, congratulating myself on remembering the trash, a task I normally manage to repress. I went out with the first bag (yes, there were multiples, being the trashy person that I am) and stowed it in the “way back” of my little SUV. I left the back door open and went in for more. As I returned, my heart warmed; there was my Chili (one of my dogs, a Belgian Malinois), laid up in the back of the car. “Awwww,” I thought. “Poor Chili wants to go for a ride! How sweet!” Then I noticed the bottle. Lying on the ground beh

A few days ago a good friend e mailed me one of those questionnaires. You've seen hundreds of them; I usually pass them by. But this was a good friend sending it to me, and it was one of those days. I "bit" and answered the questions, forwarding it on per the instructions. It turned out to be great fun as all my "forwards" sent their answers right back, and I enjoyed reading them. One of the questions was, " What was your favorite childhood toy ?" I did not even hesitate: mine was my stick horse! From age three to about ten (probably older!) I had a whole stableful of stick horses. I had the luxury models with the plush on the outside, and I had the plastic-headed kind (these "mid-levels" were usually either white or red, as I recall). Those two models had reins: a distinct plus! These were the days before stick horses came with sound capability; all our horses' whinnies and snorts had to come through our lips! But the stick horse that fl