Dead Tired. More Later

I went. I ran. I ran for Levi. I ran for Jody. I ran the whole way.



I crossed the finish line.

Details another day. Today.... I'm studying the inside of my eye lids. It's hard work and is taking a lot of concentration. I'm finding that it is taking me hours....

Ready or not, here I come!

On your marks, get set, GO!

Bitterroot Tri-athalon here I come.....

Praying they have a backhoe at the finish line to scoop me up in because I'm bound and determined to make it to and across the finish line..... I just don't know what is going to happen after I cross.

In years past I've wanted to do this. I've wanted to do this tri and do it by myself. Proving what? I don't know.

I've not been able to.... by myself.... so this year, my team mate for life and eternity is going to help me.

The SM will be doing the swim and bike part for me, I'll do the run, and knowing The SM, he'll just keep on going and run next to me encouraging me as he does daily.

To all my family participating this weekend, GOOD LUCK!! It's not been easy for any of them. They all have stories of triumph getting to where they are in their training.

It's an all day thing. A day of calling out and encouraging each other on, and I'm so excited to be a part this year!!

Bow-log-na

Bologna. Does NOT look like it sounds.

Yesterday I wandered into the kitchen. My stomach was doing that thing. You know, where it has waited long enough and if you don't hurry and feed it NOW it will throw itself out of your throat onto the nearest edible calorie ridden forbidden item it can find.

I opened the fridge and saw a package of bologna in the crisper. I was delighted! I snatched it up and was instantly back to when I was a kid and peanut butter and jelly on homemade wheat bread was pretty much the daily special for lunch. Reeeeal special. I got tired of special.

Every once in a blue moon, mom would splurge and buy bologna. I loved bologna. One day, I decided to use my super sneaky wonder kid skills. I kyped the bologna and hid it! I hid it under the foot stool in the family room. No one would find it there. The stool had a skirt around the base, I was small enough to fit under the stool and so that is where I hid with my bologna.

I took out a slice and slowly pulled off the red plastic from around the sides. This was my favorite part! Some of the bologna always stayed stuck to the plastic and if it didn't, well, I made sure it did! I would then put the plastic in my mouth and slide it through my teeth pulling off the stuck bologna.

Heaven! Until mum came looking for me. I left my hiding place and found my mom sporting a look of innocence on my face. I was sent off to do who knows what. All I know, is the bologna that was secretly hidden under the footstool......was forgotten....

Until, one fine morning, one of my sisters moved the footstool....

Fuzzy green stuff covered the precious buried treasure! How could I have forgotten? And who knew that stuff was supposed to be refrigerated??? I was devastated. No thanks to my sisters who howled with laughter at me either.

I remembered this yesterday, as I took out a slice, pulled off the red plastic, making sure some of the bologna stuck to it, and held between two fingers, I tilted back my head and pulled the plastic through my teeth pulling off the bologna.

Heaven!

The Pond/Spa Retreat

When I was 19, Dad and Mom sold the home where I'd spent 18 and a 1/2 years of my life. I was away at college. The house was packed up, my stuff with it, no good-byes. When I returned to visit my parents it was to my grandmother's house where they were living while the new house they were building was being built.

Every time I'd drive past my old home on the way to my parents new place, my heart would yearn for what once was and dreams that somehow, someday, I'd be able to buy back the place, never letting it leave the family again.

Years passed and the dream became a nightmare as the new owners divided up the land and sold some of it off and took the home that held so many memories making it into a bed and breakfast sort of place. A new garish addition was added, the barns, sheds, shop, and garage were made into apartments. What once was, could never go back.

A few years ago the place went up for sale. My family was having a family reunion at the time. We persuaded the realtor (a family friend) to let my mom and all of us girls go through the place. For old times sake.

It was tremendous fun. The owners hadn't changed much since we'd lived there. (Except the hideous addition that stuck off the side). Most of the wall paper was the same, things that dad had built were still there...my old room still had the wall paper on the wall that I hadn't let mom change. It had been my brother's room. I adored him. I loved the nautical wall paper. I didn't want frilly girly paper.

I'd hammered in huge nails into my walls and had hung a hammock at one point. The holes I'd gouged in the walls were still there.....

Outside as we looked around, our attention was drawn to the pond up the back behind the barn. What we saw put us all into hysterics! Who were the new owners trying to kid? Placed around the pond were lounge chairs...... and fake deer placed strategically here and there. As if this were some sort of a spa/oasis!

This was the pond! The pond whose waters came down the draw. The waters that carried cow poo and who knows what all with it down to our pond and then on through our pasture then onto the neighbors! The pond that the sides and bottom were so sludgy and muddy, the water so thick, you couldn't see anything in it!

This was the pond whose waters were so filthy we'd learned at a very young age that bathing suits were pointless! When you got out, the amount of dirt caught between our skin and the fabric of our suits made it look like we still had a suit on when we peeled our bathing suits off!

No, it was much easier to just strip off your sweaty hot clothes and jump in buck naked. (You knew this right mum? You knew that your daughters would drop their chores and their drawers for a quick dip before sneaking back to our posts? You just turned a blind eye right?)

And now the owners were trying to make the pond scum look like a pool side retreat! In a country out in the middle of nowhere sort of way.....

The funny thing was, as kids, this was exactly how it looked to us! We didn't care that it was filthy, slimy, and disgusting. It was our very own backyard swimming pool. Our spa. Our get away. Our retreat......... till mum bellered out our names making us return back to what ever chore we'd tried getting out of, pretending we'd just gone to the bathroom or some other excuse we'd cook up, not realizing that our sopping wet hair running muddy rivulets down our backs was a dead give a way as to what we'd been up to.

It's All About The Hair

I grew up with the misconception that men didn't care a lick about their hair. It was a girly thing to be vain about your hair. Then I got married.

In the church that I go to, once a month, there is a meeting that the women can go to to learn new skills, gab the evening away, swap recipes, run away from the house for a few hours....... It was at one of these meetings that I learned to cut hair! I was so excited to try my new skills on my husband. He was going to be so proud of me! We were newly married....... I was going to save us heaps of money..... anyone could cut hair, no problem! I'd just sat through a half hours worth of instruction on the trade.

I sat my sexy unsuspecting partner down in the kitchen, put a drape cape around his neck, and pulled out the clippers I'd just purchased informing The SM all the while that the money I'd spent on those clippers and supplies was going to save us down the road. He asked me if I knew what I was doing. No worries! I'd learned everything I needed to know in my homemaking skills class. Besides, he was a guy. Guys don't care about hair right?

Ten very short minutes later I was in my room in tears pulling the sheets over my head while The SM stood in front of the bathroom mirror asking me how in the world he was supposed to go out in public with the mess I'd made of his hair!

What did he care? He's a GUY! Guys don't care about their hair!!

Guess what? Guys do care about their hair. They are just as vain as we are ladies. The SM refused to take off his baseball cap for about two weeks after that episode....... and I vowed I'd never cut a head of hair again in my life!

This amusing memory came to my mind last week, as I sat for two hours cutting 7 heads of hair..... all boys..... all with an opinion of how their hair should look and would I cut it this way or that.......

Mr. T is 15

This is Mr. T. Before he was born I was worried that I wouldn't be a very good mommy to him. I had Mr. B and wondered how in the world I could love another as much as I did my first. Then Mr. T came along and as all young and new mommies learn, the heart is an amazing thing. It grows and you love the next baby as much as you do the first. That was fifteen years ago.



He came to this world as a fighter. He needed to since 'that thing' which should have been nourishing him in my body wasn't doing it's part. He entered this world pretty tiny. He survived having crayons shoved up his tiny nose, into his ears, and in his mouth by his older brother weeks after he came home because older brother thought he was hungry. Older brother doted on baby brother.



Mr. T is a very bright being in our household. He radiates joy and laughter. You can't keep a straight face around him. He's brilliant, funny, smart, tender, passionate, and a hard worker.

He's having a party this evening. He wants a tye die party. He showed me his invite list. Local kids he hangs out with, and older elderly folks he loves. I don't know of too many teenagers who ask their elderly neighbors to come to their birthday party.... That's Mr. T to a 'T'. Happy, colorful, loving.

Connections

I really don't know how to explain what I am about to write. It's a connection. A connection that unless you have it, I am sure to others may seem childish. Silly. Maybe everyone has these types of connections with 'something' mine just happens to be with a horse. A horse that I no longer own but lives close by and I am able to see and ride him often. But he's not mine anymore. I had to sell my horses because of the WNV.

This summer has been pretty close to great. Not what I've wished it to be, meaning like I was before WNV but in spite of WNV it has been great. I've had a lot of really good days and as always when this happens...... I start to hope. Hope that WNV was something of the past.

Monday night I went down fast and hard. I haven't had a seizure in a very long time. I was angry. I was frustrated.

Tuesday I had things I needed to do. We had a scout court of honor that I was in charge of all of the awards for. 85 merit badges and close to 20 rank advancements. I was dizzy, weak, and tired but spent the entire day running back and forth to the scout office making sure I had everything ready to go for the evening. It was a difficult day but I know that my Heavenly Father gave me the strength to get done what needed to be gotten done. I know this without a doubt.

Wednesday, I couldn't get out of bed. I tried several times but wasn't able to.

For over a week now my heart has been aching to spend time with my horse that is no longer mine. Yesterday it was all I could think of. If I could just get out of bed and go to him. Just stand next to him, I know I could feel better! As I said, I know this doesn't make sense unless you've felt this but it is what it is. It's more than just a little girl dreaming of her pony.

Finally, last night I was able to get out of bed. I had enough strength to get dressed, brush my teeth, and head out to the pasture. Should I have been driving? No. But I did it anyway. I drove with a prayer in my heart that my horse would be there, no one would be riding him, and I could have him to myself for a little while. (He is located where horse riding lessons are given.)

I walked up to him as he sat with a hip cocked, sun on his back, and I wrapped my arms around and sobbed into his neck. He didn't move, he just stood there and let me lean against him. I breathed in the night air, I breathed him in, and I felt stronger. Arms that could hardly lift themselves started to brush him and all this time, he sat there with his head quietly over my shoulder. It lasted for about an hour or more. Who knows. We watched the sun go down and then the stars one by one come out.

I am trying to once again be positive even though I am devastated that once again I have to pick up and dust myself off again. I am grateful for children who take care of each other while I am down. I am grateful to our piano teacher Mike Carson who can come in and see past the mess and chaos and continue business as usual teaching The Native's to play music that soothes my soul and heart. I am grateful for The SM who after working all day and commuting for hours comes home and takes such good care of us all and who doesn't say a word or hold me back when I tell him I'm going to the pasture. I am grateful that even though I had to sell my horse that he is somewhat close by and I can see him often. It's not the same as owning him and having him near me, but it is better than the alternative which is what happened to my other horse.... so I am grateful.

I am grateful for a nice bed to rest in. I am grateful The Native's aren't starving and for stores that put cold cereal on sale. Even the youngest can pour a bowl of cold cereal...... I am grateful for children who come and sit on my bed and talk to me and tell me about their day. I am grateful for the internet which connects me to all of you. I am grateful to a loving Heavenly Father who is watching over me and my little family and blessing us each and every day and the knowledge that if my horse has to be sold far away, my connection with my Heavenly Father is stronger and will heal and make all things good and well again in my heart.

Crossing my fingers it doesn't come to that....... A person can hope right? I'm hoping for the fairy tale ending where I can go and bring my horse back home again and I can say, "And we all lived happily ever after!" Then again, to make it a perfect fairy tale..... my horse wouldn't poop. Have you ever seen a horse poop in a fairy tale? Yeah. Me neither.

Bragging Rights.

This is my oldest. He's a punk. He won't let me take video of him while he works with the horses. He won't even let me get a decent picture of him.

He's like his daddy in that regard. Doesn't want me to take photos of him or brag on him. Embarrasses him. Like I would embarrass somebody!

It's no secret I love horses and I think when I work with them I do okay. For the most part. I just have this small little hang up that keeps me from being really good at it. It's called emotions. Yeah! Go figure. A horse starts to act up and my mouth starts escalating like a siren and I'm giving the horse a what for!

"Don't you run over the top of me. You wanna see Alpha? I'll show you Alpha! You just signed a deal with the Devil donkey!"

I've said that before. True story. When you see a horse acting like a donkey and it hurts one of your kids, I tend to get a wee bit emotional. Just a tidge mind you.

Mr. B on the other hand. Corny though it may sound is a natural. A horse whisper if you will. A riled horse goes calm around him because Mr. B oozes calmness.

I love watching Mr. B train and ride horses. I could watch him for hours. He doesn't say much. He doesn't need to. The horses read his body language kinda like, duh, they do other horses. Unlike me who is very vocal. I can just see the horses in the paddock swishing their tails saying to each other, "What's that biddy yappin' bout today? Always yappin' that one."

Did you know you can dance with a horse? It's a beautiful dance when you have someone like Mr. B working with a horse. The eb and flow of their movements, working together. It's truly a beautiful thing to watch.



His hands. Watch his hands. So light always. Everything done with his body language, his eyes, and his legs when he's up in the saddle.

As I've watched Mr. B over the years working with horses I have come to a very solid conclusion. Mr. B is a lot like his daddy which means only one thing. He is going to make a great daddy someday.

I can tell, by the way he works with horses...

All in a days work.....

Now I'm gonna go and shower. A nice long cold one since the rain only washed off some of the dirt.

Storm Watch

Photo Credit

Growing up I loved a good storm. When the thunder and lightning would crackle and boom. I'd sit and watch for the lightning and then count, waiting for the thunder. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand.....

It always seemed like it would take forever for the sound of the thunder after the lightning would split across the sky. We were taught to watch the sky and to count. Lightning far away is beautiful.

I loved running and dancing in the yard in the rain. My hair plastered to my back in dripping wet ringlets. I would scream and laugh as the thunder would roll across the skies.

One day, I was taking a nap and a summer storm passed through. I was awakened with a jolt as a huge boom of thunder shook the house. The house was dark, I was disoriented, and I couldn't hear any of my siblings or mother. I ran through the house in hysterics crying and looking for my mom. I was scared because the last memory I had had was of her outside putting the laundry on the clothes line. When I woke up, I'd not realized that time had lapsed and I thought my mom was still outside doing laundry in that storm.

Moments later I was consoled in my mother's lap. She was fine. It was just a really big boom! Nothing to be afraid of.

This past week and today we've had some fantastic thunder storms. Some have awakened us in the night with big crashes of thunder. This morning as I sit blogging, a flash of light and then with no time lapse, an ear splitting crash of thunder and then screaming and crying.



I race upstairs to console my baby girl. She has been awakened by the thunder. She is terrified. The house is dark. She is disoriented. She is shaking. I pull her into my lap and pull up the blinds so that she can see it is a new day. Everything is okay, and then we see the smoke start to rise above the trees. Everything is not okay. The smoke is too close. It is by neighbors. Loved ones.



I do what any idiotic person would do. I jump in my car with my camera and go and check. The emergency people hate people like me. We just get in the way. As I walk out the door, my baby girl says, "Let's hope no one is hurt".



With a sigh of relief after seeing that our neighbors are okay and that the lightning struck some trees in the yard, no one's home is burning to the ground... Another bullet is dodged.

Nature. It's beautiful. It's powerful. I'm grateful I was taught to love nature. To love a good storm. I don't run and play in a storm with the abandonment like I used to. I have to be the mom. I realize now that mother was never far away when we were frolicking in the storms. She was always on the porch watching the skies as I do now. So that my little ones can dance in the rain with abandonment not worrying and fearing and as the electrical storm gets closer, I bring the children inside to continue to watch the storm from the safety of our home. Like my mother did.

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things.....

A son who works hard and has integrity and scrubs the shower when he's done washing all of that dirt off at the end of a muddy dirty day.



A son who plops down beside me when I'm sitting on the front porch.



Just because he wants to keep me company and because he is still at that age where he loves me and I don't have cooties yet like the girls at school and his younger sister.

Gospel by Rachel

Everyone blames Eve for weeds.



I'm here to tell you it wasn't Eve's fault. She knew full well what she was doing!



It is Adam who is to blame. He couldn't stand the thought of being celibate for eternity. And that is all I'm gonna say!

Garden Musings....

I've been outside weeding all day. It's been a messy job. All day in the hot sun with lots of time to think.

Not feeling well and letting gardens go for several years has made ideal circumstances for weeds to flourish. Two weeds in particular. Grass and bind weed. Hate em' both.

They both fascinate me though. As much as I hate them growing in my gardens and flower beds their root structure fascinates me. Especially grass. As I pull the weeds and the long white tubular root slowly pulls out of the ground, further down you will see a blade of grass start to disappear into the soil and then magically appear at the end of the root you just pulled out. The stuff is like a mess of wires connecting this way and that going in all directions. It made me think of family and the connections that run deep. Connections to ancestors that I've never met yet when I read about them, I feel immedietly bonded to them.



And then I thought about bind weed. How you can dig all you want but you'll never get the entire root and as the plant grows, it chokes what ever it has taken hold of. Usually, another healthy plant. I thought of bind weed and how it is a lot like gossip and even as strong as grass and it's root system can be, even bind weed can eventually take hold and choke it out killing it off......

And then I thought about how thirsty I was and that I'd not eaten lunch so I threw down my shovel and came in for a Cost-co chocolate muffin. My thought process is so sophisticated I amaze even myself.