Stick Horse Cowgirls

Look at this cover of Vanity Fair magazine.  Has there ever been a more beautiful human?  I was strolling through the store and spied it.  I was young when Liz and Richard Burton were heating up, but I know they were legendary, and the cover piqued my interest.   I bought it. Sure enough, I turned right to the Taylor-Burton Romance article and began reading about the steam that was generated on the set of Cleopatra , and all the ups and downs of these “lovers.”  The article characterized the “affair” between these two already-marrieds as “ scandalous for the times.”   I guess the implication is that it would be no scandal today… I never made it to the end of the article,  however.  It became clear that Liz and Dick were in love alright, but only with themselves.  These shallow people soon became boring, extremely one-dimensional.  And they don’t come off as particularly smart.  I turned to see if there was anything of real interest in this expensive magazine. I found it.   T

Yeah, it’s French.  And, yeah, I’m faking it—I can’t speak French, at least not yet, but it’s the phrase that came to mind this morning.  See?  I know a little… I found myself wanting to write.  But about what?  Those of us in Blogdom know that one way to get a post done is to sit at the keyboard and let our fingers do the walking…mine just seemed to take off. I thought about taking off on a comment that Vickie of Sand Flat Farm made on my last post on cussing, no less.  Her point is that we are growing “numb” to things…yes, that’s a post all right.  But this morning I don’t feel like soap box ranting (do I hear a collective sigh of relief?).  Vickie’s inspiration will wait on another day.  No, I think I feel like just reporting.  On life.  When V first dragged me into blogging and we were considering names for our blog, one of the first names my cynical mind came up with was “As if You Care!”   But I find that I do care about your mundane little life details, weird as it see

Earlier I was checking in on Debbie at www.dcwisdom.wordpress.com .and enjoyed her funny post about an experience in Wal-Mart. I "commented" to Debbie about how I've become friends with a woman, who works the evening shift as a clerk at Wal-Mart. Her day job is in an office at a hospital nearby, and she works the second job to help take care of her aged (Alzheimer victim) mother and often has one of her adult kids and grandkids living with her. When I was taking an evening class a while back, I got into the habit of stopping by Wal-Mart to pick something up on my way home. I always park near the garden center because I like to check out the stu ff and it's not nearly so congested as the rest of the store! She would often be working there alone in the not so busy garden center area, so she usually was the one who checked me out. Often we'd get into a little conversation if no one was waiting, and that's how I learned that she also had a mother with this terribl

Do you ever say “bad words?”  I admit it, I occasionally lapse.  But, then, I run with a rough crowd—lawyers.  We hear it all and see it all.  Sometimes, try as we might, we pick some of that up. There are times, I must admit, when a “bad word” is the only thing that seems to fit.  My son told a story recently that just illustrates it: Three of his friends (fine, church-going, Christian friends—none of them known to swear) were playing basketball at the local Y.  One of them took a flying fall and grabbed his leg, yelling “ X@#&#!! ” ( very bad word).  The two other guys rushed over, “shsshing” him and saying, “ Don’t say that!  There are kids around !” Then they looked down at the leg he was holding to see his foot dan gling, his ankle clearly broken.  Simultaneously, they both let out a “ X#$%#@!!”   (same very bad word). The manager of the gym came running over,  “ Guys !” he scolded.  “You will HAVE to tone it down…we have families here!”   Then he looked down at the

Reading V’s recent post about our childhood sure stirred up memories.  She’s right.  Summer was divine.  While school was always enjoyable for me, summer was the zenith of the year.  We never went to school into June, and we did not return to school until the day after Labor Day, so we had a full three months off.  Summer had a whole different rhythm of life than the rest of the year.  Now that I am an adult, I don’t get to experience that change in beat (although V does, being a school employee). My passion for reading dates from my early childhood; I’ve been reading since before I went to school.  There came a time when I could not find anything in my school’s library to read because I had read everything that was of remote interest to me.  For sure, I had read all the books on horses, dogs and native Americans, both fiction and nonfiction.  When I was a child there was no such thing in our area as branch libraries.  The library downtown was the only library, and it was  housed

I've always loved summer! Here it is mid June and I don't have to go back to work til August! I love to putter around the house and garden, try new recipes, go the Farmer's Market, etc. Eldest daughter is expecting her baby daughter very soon, so I am taking granddaughter to horseback riding camp this week! I would have loved the opportunity to attend a camp like that! "C" and I would play outdoors and get so dirty that the sweat and dirt would accumulate and make grimy rings in the creases of our necks--we called them "sweat beads"! I love my memories of summer growing up in the South! "C" and I are old enough- ahem- yes, I'm afraid we are are old enough to remember the days before air conditioning ! We played outdoors from sunrise to sundown--even after sundown some days and we had no neighborhood pool to go to cool off! Of course, with no air conditioning in our homes we were somewhat acclimated to the heat. We spent many afternoons run

In the early 1960’s my father took a civilian attorney position with the Air Force, which maintains a base about 20 miles north of our home.  He worked on contracts and other legal matters for their Titan II Missile Program, which I suppose is no longer “classified,” especially since one of the silos blew up in Damascus, Arkansas in 1980. Naturally, my father rubbed elbows with the Air Force brass, and he loved to linger at the Officer’s Club.  Although I never met any of them, my brother and I became vicariously acquainted with these guys, hearing stories of “Colonel” this or “Major” that.  There was one colonel who was not a p articular favorite of my father’s and, I gather, others in the office felt the same way.  We would hear tales of this man’s arrogance and boasting.  One day the Colonel came in with a new boast.  He had purchased a Volkswagen, later called a “Beetle.”  These little cars were a rarity to us,  and I am sure the guys at the office gathered around to inspect i

Do you think that most of us have some primal, unrealistic fear of wolves ?  As a child I did.  As an adult I have grown to love reading and learning about wolves, but that interest also has heavy overtones of some vague fear not so far in the back of my mind. When I was about five years old my father, fresh from law school, was an insurance adjuster.  This job kept him traveling all over our state.  I vividly recall one evening over supper his recounting of a trip he had made to a small town about sixty miles south of us.  “ A large pack of wild dogs are on the loose down there, ” he said.  “ The entire community is on the lookout, and kids can’t stay out and play until they round them up .” “ Why can’t the kids play out ?” I asked, wondering how a group of dogs could be a problem. “ C, these are wild dogs ,” he replied.  “ They’re dangerous.  The kids can’t play out because they could be snatched and dragged off by the dogs.  They are like wolves when they get in big packs li

Some of you have asked for more of the story of Cassie, Barney and my childhood farrier, Bud, after my previous post on Cassie.  Indeed, that post spurred lots of memories for me, and my brother and sister have chimed in their own, bringing up that long unplowed memory ground.  If you haven’t read it, that previous post would give you a back story to this one.  It came to me as I was writing this that “Bud’s” real name was “Jesse James ‘S.’”  I had forgotten that, having become so accustomed to calling him “Bud.”  I doubt  that many knew his real name.  My brother was surprised when I mentioned that to him, saying, “ You’ve got to be kidding!”   I worked for our father some, and we did some legal paperwork for Bud, so his real name was required. I can’t tell you how fittin’ it was that Bud was also “Jesse James!”  Why he had a buckboard, wore cowboy boots everywhere he went (which wasn’t far, mind you) and he lived a very “Old West” lifestyle.  All he lacked for a complete costume wa

Well, Tipper and Al Gore are kaput!  What is the world coming to?   After that kiss at the convention!  After 40 years! This morning on the way to try a divorce case, I was listening to NPR’s Morning Edition discuss the Gore situation.  The conclusion of the article is that, basically, the Gores have “grown apart”  (what I call “drift”), and  that this is a common evolution of a relationship.  The narrator indicated that the Gores fit in the category she refers to as “the second wave of divorce,” referring to couples who have lasted in a marriage more than twenty years and their increased risk of divorce.  Her take?  “ Let’s not call it a ‘tragedy,’ but celebrate it as a part of life… ”  So, marriage-for-life seems kaput, too. As all this was unfolding, I was asked to write a post for an organization composed mainly of “family scientists.”  I am the lone attorney in this group of professors, counselors, etc.   The request was for a post giving my view of the reasons people divorce.  T