For the past 10 days, Jews around the world have celebrated Rosh Hoshanna and Yom Kippur, the High Holy Days. Rosh Hoshanna ushers in the new year on the Jewish calendar. Yom Kippur is the big one, the Day of Atonement. Yom Kippur is the 28 hours, beginning at sundown, of fasting and praying for the all of yours and the world's, sins to be erased. A very intense way to spend 28 hours.
Yom Kippur is the day you stand before God and ask for forgiveness for all your indiscretions throughout the previous year. Most of us ask for forgiveness for things such as using God's name in vain (guilty) to lewdness (most times not guilty). The main theme of Yom Kippur is forgiveness from God and God allowing you to forgive for yourself for doing these bad things. By forgiving yourself, and being forgiven, you can move on with your life until the next time you stand before God.
I am all about forgiving. I can easily forgive an unkind word or action, given time. Jews have long memories. Forgiveness is most difficult when there has been a pain inflicted of such magnitude, that forgiving the evil responsible seems impossible.
Evil is one thing I take issue with regarding forgiveness. Have the Jews really forgiven the Romans for destroying the Temple or the Nazi's for trying to wipe us out? Is forgiveness the outcome of long memories - Never Forget, but forgive?
I had a run-in with pure evil over 15 years ago. I have been forgiven by those closest to me for allowing evil into our lives, but I have not forgiven the evil. Today I realized I must forgive the evil so that I can forgive myself. God has forgiven me, of that I am sure. I don't believe this sort of evil is forgiveable, therefore I will carry this for the rest of my life. I will find myself standing before God on an annual basis, unable to forgive.
Evil got its day in court and will only see sunlight from a cage for the next 20 years. Evil will get its time before God, or in Hell, most likely. I can say that we stopped evil from affecting anyone else and 40 years in a cage is a long time. The cost, however, is enormous and life-changing. I cannot find it in my heart to forgive evil.
I believe in a lot of things. God, a Great Spirit, Mother Nature. God is hard to believe in because he asks so much of you. Only eat certain foods. Light the candles for the Sabbath weekly and bring God into your life three times a day. Mother Nature on the other hand, is God in female form, one who brings harmony and an appreciation of her beauty and her fury into life on a daily basis. There is beauty in birth and death and rebirth. There is no beauty in evil.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Maybe Someday.
Since moving to Montana, I have survived really cold weather, feet of snow on the ground for months, grey skies and being "laid off" or fired from 5, count'em, jobs in the last two years. Two years. I began my career in Livingston at the top of the heap, running a start-up nonprofit, being a professional peer to the City Manager of Livingston, and ending up with a $10 hour job as a receptionist.
Why? is the question of the day. What is is about my work habits, my appearance, my attitude that pisses people off enough to "let me go", thereby taking away my ability to earn a barely livable wage and keep a roof over my head? Anyone who had money riding on just how long it would take me to lose yet another job just hit the lottery. I have managed, in less than 3 weeks, to piss off enough people that they want me gone. In three weeks.
Ask people who know me why this is happening and the answer is always the same: I have a strong personality, and I don't know how to be pond scum. I am intimidating because.... why? I am a leader. I have ideas. I take Initiative. I am dependable, never late, work hard, trustworthy. I see something that might be tweaked to be better, and that is not looked upon with a smile and a nod. I ask questions because I'm interested, not because I want someone else's job. I'm happy to be employed for christ's sake. I don't care what the fucking job title is. Executive Director or Receptionist, I do my job with integrity.
My latest job was to be the front desk person, answering phones, dealing with the public and running interference for the sales people and program directors. Theother part of the job was to input advertising informatiom into a database that I was not familiar with and pick it up within a day, I guess. Learn a new program in 2 weeks, learn everyone's name and job by osmosis because no one was actually telling me their name and where they were in the pecking order as well as hand hand out prizes to contest winners. Not too difficult, hmm? Anyone should be able to pick this up and do an ok job at it.
The problem is an ok job is not good enough for me. You can put the girl in the west, but you can't take the east coast mentality out of her.
I got fired yesterday, less than a month after I started. The HR manager was kind enough to fire me and then give me a ride home, 30 miles to Livingston. She told me I could use her as a reference as I was escorted to my desk to clear it out. I cannot claim unemployment insurance because I was FIRED within the 90 day probation period. Fired.
I've been told I have a "strong" personality and should have kept my head down and not try to take initiatve by saying for example to the GM, "if you'd like me to screen your mail, (because I distribute the mail), I am happy to do it". His answer was a curt no and to basically back off. I should have just answered the phones, learned the database, and not try to streamline processes within my job that didn't make sense to me and would make things easier. I was there to answer phones, be pleasant and learn radio traffic management in three weeks. I am pleasant, and I give good phone.
The sales people hated me. I dropped one call because the front desk phone was screwed up and I couldn't tell which line was ringing when I was on another call. 2 weeks ago. One phone call. That meant that I was losing the company business. I asked a lot of questions because I have never worked in radio and I was interested. The sales people felt that I was after their jobs. The clients loved me, whether on the phone or in person. That didn't seem to matter. What mattered was I was thinking outside of my job to the "bigger" picture and that's not what they wanted.
They wanted someone who doesn't give a shit, doesn't want to do more than what the job description said and someone for whom this was just a job to fill eight hours a day. That has never been me. I did not misrepresent myself in the interview. What you see is what you get with me. I don't make claims or promises about things I don't think I can follow through on. They hired that person and then fired this person because the person they hired, was not what they wanted. Even though they hired me for the qualities I could bring to the job as I presented myself in the interview which got me the job in the first place.
I have worked for over 35 years. I've been working since I was 15 years old. I've lost jobs in the past as many of us have. I have never, in over 35 years, had a 2 year run of such bad luck and bad judgement on my part. My friends tell me its because I am perceived as intimidating. I don't want to be perceived as intimidating. I don't walk into a room and expect my ass kissed. I have worked hard for the person I've become and feel that I have earned the right to be that person. I am not willing to "change" for anyone or anything. I'm not 25 years old and easily pliable any longer. These scars and bruises each have a story.
Smart and capable are bad words out here. I'm speechless. I have enough experience under my belt to figure out pretty quickly what the playground looks like and who the players are. At least I thought so. I must be a glutton for punishment because I am not going anywhere. Montana is home. Jeff & I have a life here in big sky country. We have good friends. He owns a business. And I'm stubborn.
Maybe Someday by Rob Thomas is my new theme song. You want to run me out of here? Good luck with that.
Why? is the question of the day. What is is about my work habits, my appearance, my attitude that pisses people off enough to "let me go", thereby taking away my ability to earn a barely livable wage and keep a roof over my head? Anyone who had money riding on just how long it would take me to lose yet another job just hit the lottery. I have managed, in less than 3 weeks, to piss off enough people that they want me gone. In three weeks.
Ask people who know me why this is happening and the answer is always the same: I have a strong personality, and I don't know how to be pond scum. I am intimidating because.... why? I am a leader. I have ideas. I take Initiative. I am dependable, never late, work hard, trustworthy. I see something that might be tweaked to be better, and that is not looked upon with a smile and a nod. I ask questions because I'm interested, not because I want someone else's job. I'm happy to be employed for christ's sake. I don't care what the fucking job title is. Executive Director or Receptionist, I do my job with integrity.
My latest job was to be the front desk person, answering phones, dealing with the public and running interference for the sales people and program directors. Theother part of the job was to input advertising informatiom into a database that I was not familiar with and pick it up within a day, I guess. Learn a new program in 2 weeks, learn everyone's name and job by osmosis because no one was actually telling me their name and where they were in the pecking order as well as hand hand out prizes to contest winners. Not too difficult, hmm? Anyone should be able to pick this up and do an ok job at it.
The problem is an ok job is not good enough for me. You can put the girl in the west, but you can't take the east coast mentality out of her.
I got fired yesterday, less than a month after I started. The HR manager was kind enough to fire me and then give me a ride home, 30 miles to Livingston. She told me I could use her as a reference as I was escorted to my desk to clear it out. I cannot claim unemployment insurance because I was FIRED within the 90 day probation period. Fired.
I've been told I have a "strong" personality and should have kept my head down and not try to take initiatve by saying for example to the GM, "if you'd like me to screen your mail, (because I distribute the mail), I am happy to do it". His answer was a curt no and to basically back off. I should have just answered the phones, learned the database, and not try to streamline processes within my job that didn't make sense to me and would make things easier. I was there to answer phones, be pleasant and learn radio traffic management in three weeks. I am pleasant, and I give good phone.
The sales people hated me. I dropped one call because the front desk phone was screwed up and I couldn't tell which line was ringing when I was on another call. 2 weeks ago. One phone call. That meant that I was losing the company business. I asked a lot of questions because I have never worked in radio and I was interested. The sales people felt that I was after their jobs. The clients loved me, whether on the phone or in person. That didn't seem to matter. What mattered was I was thinking outside of my job to the "bigger" picture and that's not what they wanted.
They wanted someone who doesn't give a shit, doesn't want to do more than what the job description said and someone for whom this was just a job to fill eight hours a day. That has never been me. I did not misrepresent myself in the interview. What you see is what you get with me. I don't make claims or promises about things I don't think I can follow through on. They hired that person and then fired this person because the person they hired, was not what they wanted. Even though they hired me for the qualities I could bring to the job as I presented myself in the interview which got me the job in the first place.
I have worked for over 35 years. I've been working since I was 15 years old. I've lost jobs in the past as many of us have. I have never, in over 35 years, had a 2 year run of such bad luck and bad judgement on my part. My friends tell me its because I am perceived as intimidating. I don't want to be perceived as intimidating. I don't walk into a room and expect my ass kissed. I have worked hard for the person I've become and feel that I have earned the right to be that person. I am not willing to "change" for anyone or anything. I'm not 25 years old and easily pliable any longer. These scars and bruises each have a story.
Smart and capable are bad words out here. I'm speechless. I have enough experience under my belt to figure out pretty quickly what the playground looks like and who the players are. At least I thought so. I must be a glutton for punishment because I am not going anywhere. Montana is home. Jeff & I have a life here in big sky country. We have good friends. He owns a business. And I'm stubborn.
Maybe Someday by Rob Thomas is my new theme song. You want to run me out of here? Good luck with that.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
22 Acres and a Chicken Coop
We are in the midst of deciding whether we should weather it out going over Bozeman Pass every day in the winter, or move closer to Bozo or Belgrade. We love living in Livingston. We know almost everyone and have good friends here. L-Town is a cool little Montana town and quirky as hell. We have cowboys, neon lights on old buildings and wind.
We love our house. It's got its issues but it has character and we started our life together here. We are outgrowing it because both of us love to collect things. Jeff brings home these pieces of electronic equipment and is happy as a pig in dirt. I can tinker with it he says. And it sits wherever he has put it, and gathers dust. I try to make sure his electronic toys remain in the man cave. We definitly deserve each other but we are outgrowing this house.
All Jeff has to do is mention something, and I'm on it. Mention moving and I get excited about a new place to put my stuff. Yet, this time I haven't felt that excited about moving until I found it. An ad for a house up Trail Creek (Crick) Road. 22 acres and a chicken coop. Then my heart started racing. I'm in Montana, this is how it should be. 22 acres and a chicken coop. And horses. Maybe some goats. A couple more dogs wouldn't hurt either.
The house sounds like it is primarily off the grid and was built by the people who own it. Woodstoves to heat, propane to cook and heat water, a spring and a well. I didn't think to ask whether they have electricity up there. Maybe I shouldn't assume. I want to live Montana, but I do like electricity. Half mile of unmaintained dirt road to the house. The owner told me it wasn't so bad in the winter; you have to have 4 wheel drive, and drive over it enough, and you're good to go. I asked her if the driveway was on a slope and she said not much of one. I think I am a bit worried about that 1/2 mile of dirt road in the winter.
None of this makes good sense for us and we both know it. But I love the idea of 22 acres and a chicken coop and a house that's heated by wood stoves. She said they don't have any curtains up because they are at least a mile from anything and who wouldn't want to scare the critters on a nightly basis? There would be critters: bear, mountain lion, elk, moose. Big critters.
22 acres and a chicken coop. I could do this.
We love our house. It's got its issues but it has character and we started our life together here. We are outgrowing it because both of us love to collect things. Jeff brings home these pieces of electronic equipment and is happy as a pig in dirt. I can tinker with it he says. And it sits wherever he has put it, and gathers dust. I try to make sure his electronic toys remain in the man cave. We definitly deserve each other but we are outgrowing this house.
All Jeff has to do is mention something, and I'm on it. Mention moving and I get excited about a new place to put my stuff. Yet, this time I haven't felt that excited about moving until I found it. An ad for a house up Trail Creek (Crick) Road. 22 acres and a chicken coop. Then my heart started racing. I'm in Montana, this is how it should be. 22 acres and a chicken coop. And horses. Maybe some goats. A couple more dogs wouldn't hurt either.
The house sounds like it is primarily off the grid and was built by the people who own it. Woodstoves to heat, propane to cook and heat water, a spring and a well. I didn't think to ask whether they have electricity up there. Maybe I shouldn't assume. I want to live Montana, but I do like electricity. Half mile of unmaintained dirt road to the house. The owner told me it wasn't so bad in the winter; you have to have 4 wheel drive, and drive over it enough, and you're good to go. I asked her if the driveway was on a slope and she said not much of one. I think I am a bit worried about that 1/2 mile of dirt road in the winter.
None of this makes good sense for us and we both know it. But I love the idea of 22 acres and a chicken coop and a house that's heated by wood stoves. She said they don't have any curtains up because they are at least a mile from anything and who wouldn't want to scare the critters on a nightly basis? There would be critters: bear, mountain lion, elk, moose. Big critters.
22 acres and a chicken coop. I could do this.
Friday, September 16, 2011
The Bestest Dog In The Whole Wide World
On the one year anniversary of losing the bestest dog in the whole world, I am reflecting on our life together with a smile. People would look at him and ask, what kind of dog is he? I'd always respond that he's about 15 different breeds and looks like a big old gateway computer box having a bad hair day. Georgie had hair going every which way. Some unkind people would say he wasn't the handsomest dog they had ever seen, but to me, Georgie was handsome and an old soul.
We met in 2001 in Cortez Colorado. A guy named J-Bear had a large storage unit where he was fostering pups. We followed up an ad for a pup who was part Chow I think and made the 100 mile trip to Cortez to meet him. The original pup wasn't for us, but there was George. I asked J-Bear what his story was. He told me someone had abandoned him in Toac on the Ute Reservation. Georgie was laying around in the sun, not paying much attention to anything. We were looking for a pup to go hiking and camping with. When we asked about Georgie (back then his name was Buddy), J-Bear told us that's all he did was lay around in the sun. Probably wouldn't make a good hiking dog he said. We didn't care. It was love at first sight. When I offered to pay for him, J-Bear turned me down. When I offered to at least give him a donation for dog food, he turned me down again. All J-Bear wanted was a good home for Georgie and he knew we were Georgie's people. We think George was about 2 years old when we became his people.
I believe critters will tell you what their name is. Buddy did not fit. On the 100 mile drive back to Blanding, my son and I bounced names around. At one point Ralph came up however I couldn't name a dog after my grandfather. Then we hit on George. He was the perfect George. George was always calm, and never used his voice. It took me almost a year to get him to eat people food. What dog doesn't like eggs and cheese mixed in their kibble? Georgie didn't know what to make of the good stuff. Once he figured it out though, I'd get the "look" and he always got the last bite of whatever I was eating. How can you turn down a face like that?
Every morning, Georgie and I would go for a hike in Westwater Canyon. We'd see mule deer and rabbits and lovely sunrises. I never needed to keep Georgie on the lead; we had the trail to ourselves and he would run 100 feet ahead, stop, look back to make sure I was still there, and turn around and keep going. There wasn't much grass in the desert, but the building I worked in was surrounded by grass, and that dog would roll around in the grass happy as a pig in dirt.
Georgie hiked the rocks with us at Chaco Canyon. Chaco Canyon is at the end of 25 miles of really bad road and we had gone to see the sun dagger for summer solstice. We couldn't see the dagger because the sky was filled with smoke from the fires outside of Durango Colorado, over 100 miles away. That night we camped. The wind came up and I swear we should have found ourselves in Kansas in the morning, it was so strong. It rained dirt and sand on us all night long. Georgie had the best seat in the house because we put him in the truck for the night. At least He got some sleep that night! J-Bear was wrong about George-he loved to hike and climb and run. Georgie became the VISTA mascot. Everyone loved him, especially me.
After my VISTA tour was over, we headed to Farmington New Mexico, where Georgie became the Downtown Dog. His picture was on almost every piece of promotional material I put out. He would come to work with me, in the office or during any of the many events I worked on while I was there. Everyone loved him.
George has ridden across the country and back with me twice. He loved to load up and go, just like his momma. George wasn't afraid of anything, or anybody. He was 85 lbs of puppy love and hair. He was allowed on any piece of furniture I had, but would not sleep on the bed with me. He would when I wasn't there though. I think he was just warming it up for me. Someone once told me George wouldn't sleep on the bed because he was my "first line of defense", protecting me should somone try to come into the house who didn't belong. George was a large dog with a larger heart and soul. I doubt he would bite anyone, but I also believe he would if he had to.
As we made our way to Montana in 2007, we stopped at a rest stop somewhere in Wyoming. A skeezy guy walked up to me, looked at George and asked does he bite? Only if he has to, I replied. The guy walked away. I believe George saved me from something bad that day.
Dogs are great judges of character. When we met Jeff, Georgie fell in love with him. I am not sure who loved the other more. Everytime Jeff would come home, Georgie would start his happy dance. Jeff would start his loving on Georgie routine, and I would sit back and smile. Love me, love my dog. I seemed to have competition for Jeff's affection with the dog but it didn't matter.
It gets cold in big sky country, and each winter seemed a bit harder on George. He loved the snow and his fur would catch ice balls after a walk. He loved his walks. When it did snow, George would bounce through the drifts and dig his nose ito the snow to find something interesting. The hair I would get off him when I brushed him would fill 2 plastic grocery bags. Georgie was known for his hair. It was everywhere. I would tell people who visit that they would leave with dog hair souveniers all over their clothes. There weren't many people who chose not to come to visit because of the dog hair.
As Georgie got older, his eyesight got worse, his hearing got worse and his teeth were not good. One day I was standing outside when the postman came by to deliver the mail. Georgie was standing right next to me, and the next thing I hear is "shit!" What?!? I asked the mail carrier. Your dog just bit me he said. What?? George has never bitten anyone and I was standing right there. George in fact did bit the postman. Thankfully he didn't break any skin, but it was a sign that he wasn't aware of who or what was going on around him. The mail carrier was such a great guy and I felt horrible about it. When I ran into him downtown a few days later, I apologized again, and he told me "just don't put him down" because of what he did. Put him down?? Are you kidding me? We were doing everything we could to keep the old man happy and healthy. I assured the mail carrier that would not happen.
As Georgie got older, the cold was harder for him to bear. His old joints were hurting and it stays cold for 9 months out here. Towards the end, I had him on some major pain medication. He had became incontinent and I would find him laying in his own poop. He didn't even know he had done it. Jeff and I talked for almost a year about what we should do. We knew what we had to do, but both of us wanted Georgie to make the decision for us. I had George with me every day and could see his health declining. Jeff was in denial. Then Jeff went on a fire for 2 weeks, and when he got home, he finally saw what I had been seeing. I was happy cleaning poop up just to keep that dog around for as long as possible, but at that point, it became a quality of life issue for Georgie. Would you want to sleep in your own poop and not be able to move around easily?
On a clear, Indian summer day in September, our vet, Dr. Lindsay, came to the house to help us help Georgie across the rainbow bridge. He was in my arms, in the grass he loved so much. We knew he would not make it through another harsh Montana winter. I picked at least 500lbs of river rock and we buried Georgie the Wonderdog at our friend Chuck's ranch, in the shadow of a juniper tree, with a view of the Absorkee Mountains.
A bunch of our friends were there as we buried the bestest dog in the whole world and began toasting his life with a bottle of Jack. Ok, I began toasting his life, and kept on toasting until the bottle was gone. I have never been so sick as I was the next day from what I swear was alcohol poisioning. At one point during the wake, I ended up on my butt on the kitchen floor, barely missing a sharp object with my head. All I remember is looking up seeing all these people peering down at me making sure I was still alive. I was, sort of.
The bestest dog in the whole wide world deserved a wake like that one. The bestest dog in the whole wide world will always remain in my heart and bring a smile to my face whenever I think of him. Animal's people are the lucky ones, even if it is only for a short time. Georgie the Wonderdog was at least 11 years old, if not 13 years old. He lived a good, long life in a family that adored him. We should all be so lucky.
God bless Georgie. I know he is running after bunnies or rolling around in the clover on the other side, hopefully waitng for me. The bestest dog in the whole wide world he was.
We met in 2001 in Cortez Colorado. A guy named J-Bear had a large storage unit where he was fostering pups. We followed up an ad for a pup who was part Chow I think and made the 100 mile trip to Cortez to meet him. The original pup wasn't for us, but there was George. I asked J-Bear what his story was. He told me someone had abandoned him in Toac on the Ute Reservation. Georgie was laying around in the sun, not paying much attention to anything. We were looking for a pup to go hiking and camping with. When we asked about Georgie (back then his name was Buddy), J-Bear told us that's all he did was lay around in the sun. Probably wouldn't make a good hiking dog he said. We didn't care. It was love at first sight. When I offered to pay for him, J-Bear turned me down. When I offered to at least give him a donation for dog food, he turned me down again. All J-Bear wanted was a good home for Georgie and he knew we were Georgie's people. We think George was about 2 years old when we became his people.
I believe critters will tell you what their name is. Buddy did not fit. On the 100 mile drive back to Blanding, my son and I bounced names around. At one point Ralph came up however I couldn't name a dog after my grandfather. Then we hit on George. He was the perfect George. George was always calm, and never used his voice. It took me almost a year to get him to eat people food. What dog doesn't like eggs and cheese mixed in their kibble? Georgie didn't know what to make of the good stuff. Once he figured it out though, I'd get the "look" and he always got the last bite of whatever I was eating. How can you turn down a face like that?
Every morning, Georgie and I would go for a hike in Westwater Canyon. We'd see mule deer and rabbits and lovely sunrises. I never needed to keep Georgie on the lead; we had the trail to ourselves and he would run 100 feet ahead, stop, look back to make sure I was still there, and turn around and keep going. There wasn't much grass in the desert, but the building I worked in was surrounded by grass, and that dog would roll around in the grass happy as a pig in dirt.
Georgie hiked the rocks with us at Chaco Canyon. Chaco Canyon is at the end of 25 miles of really bad road and we had gone to see the sun dagger for summer solstice. We couldn't see the dagger because the sky was filled with smoke from the fires outside of Durango Colorado, over 100 miles away. That night we camped. The wind came up and I swear we should have found ourselves in Kansas in the morning, it was so strong. It rained dirt and sand on us all night long. Georgie had the best seat in the house because we put him in the truck for the night. At least He got some sleep that night! J-Bear was wrong about George-he loved to hike and climb and run. Georgie became the VISTA mascot. Everyone loved him, especially me.
After my VISTA tour was over, we headed to Farmington New Mexico, where Georgie became the Downtown Dog. His picture was on almost every piece of promotional material I put out. He would come to work with me, in the office or during any of the many events I worked on while I was there. Everyone loved him.
George has ridden across the country and back with me twice. He loved to load up and go, just like his momma. George wasn't afraid of anything, or anybody. He was 85 lbs of puppy love and hair. He was allowed on any piece of furniture I had, but would not sleep on the bed with me. He would when I wasn't there though. I think he was just warming it up for me. Someone once told me George wouldn't sleep on the bed because he was my "first line of defense", protecting me should somone try to come into the house who didn't belong. George was a large dog with a larger heart and soul. I doubt he would bite anyone, but I also believe he would if he had to.
As we made our way to Montana in 2007, we stopped at a rest stop somewhere in Wyoming. A skeezy guy walked up to me, looked at George and asked does he bite? Only if he has to, I replied. The guy walked away. I believe George saved me from something bad that day.
Dogs are great judges of character. When we met Jeff, Georgie fell in love with him. I am not sure who loved the other more. Everytime Jeff would come home, Georgie would start his happy dance. Jeff would start his loving on Georgie routine, and I would sit back and smile. Love me, love my dog. I seemed to have competition for Jeff's affection with the dog but it didn't matter.
It gets cold in big sky country, and each winter seemed a bit harder on George. He loved the snow and his fur would catch ice balls after a walk. He loved his walks. When it did snow, George would bounce through the drifts and dig his nose ito the snow to find something interesting. The hair I would get off him when I brushed him would fill 2 plastic grocery bags. Georgie was known for his hair. It was everywhere. I would tell people who visit that they would leave with dog hair souveniers all over their clothes. There weren't many people who chose not to come to visit because of the dog hair.
As Georgie got older, his eyesight got worse, his hearing got worse and his teeth were not good. One day I was standing outside when the postman came by to deliver the mail. Georgie was standing right next to me, and the next thing I hear is "shit!" What?!? I asked the mail carrier. Your dog just bit me he said. What?? George has never bitten anyone and I was standing right there. George in fact did bit the postman. Thankfully he didn't break any skin, but it was a sign that he wasn't aware of who or what was going on around him. The mail carrier was such a great guy and I felt horrible about it. When I ran into him downtown a few days later, I apologized again, and he told me "just don't put him down" because of what he did. Put him down?? Are you kidding me? We were doing everything we could to keep the old man happy and healthy. I assured the mail carrier that would not happen.
As Georgie got older, the cold was harder for him to bear. His old joints were hurting and it stays cold for 9 months out here. Towards the end, I had him on some major pain medication. He had became incontinent and I would find him laying in his own poop. He didn't even know he had done it. Jeff and I talked for almost a year about what we should do. We knew what we had to do, but both of us wanted Georgie to make the decision for us. I had George with me every day and could see his health declining. Jeff was in denial. Then Jeff went on a fire for 2 weeks, and when he got home, he finally saw what I had been seeing. I was happy cleaning poop up just to keep that dog around for as long as possible, but at that point, it became a quality of life issue for Georgie. Would you want to sleep in your own poop and not be able to move around easily?
On a clear, Indian summer day in September, our vet, Dr. Lindsay, came to the house to help us help Georgie across the rainbow bridge. He was in my arms, in the grass he loved so much. We knew he would not make it through another harsh Montana winter. I picked at least 500lbs of river rock and we buried Georgie the Wonderdog at our friend Chuck's ranch, in the shadow of a juniper tree, with a view of the Absorkee Mountains.
A bunch of our friends were there as we buried the bestest dog in the whole world and began toasting his life with a bottle of Jack. Ok, I began toasting his life, and kept on toasting until the bottle was gone. I have never been so sick as I was the next day from what I swear was alcohol poisioning. At one point during the wake, I ended up on my butt on the kitchen floor, barely missing a sharp object with my head. All I remember is looking up seeing all these people peering down at me making sure I was still alive. I was, sort of.
The bestest dog in the whole wide world deserved a wake like that one. The bestest dog in the whole wide world will always remain in my heart and bring a smile to my face whenever I think of him. Animal's people are the lucky ones, even if it is only for a short time. Georgie the Wonderdog was at least 11 years old, if not 13 years old. He lived a good, long life in a family that adored him. We should all be so lucky.
God bless Georgie. I know he is running after bunnies or rolling around in the clover on the other side, hopefully waitng for me. The bestest dog in the whole wide world he was.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Getting My Groove Back
Back in the day, I was involved up to my eyeballs in anything musical or event oriented. I was out, a lot. I knew the hot bands. I booked hot bands. I hired hot bands. Now I've scored this terrific job at a radio station, and all I can say is I'm tired, and the idea of going anywhere in Bozo after 5pm only means that I still have a 30 mile drive home. When did that happen?
I tried to be a party DJ once. It didn't take long for me to realize that I hated the music I was playing and I don't care how well you think you do at public speaking, talking through the music breaks at a loud gig is hard. When I was a kid, I used to think the DJs on the radio box actually lived in the box. When I was a kid.
I'm very musical but not the least bit talented. I loved working with the band Hey Norton, managing them. They were a great group of guys who all had "real" jobs, and took their music very seriously. R&B mostly, with sax and harp playing. Loved those guys. It worked out great for everyone. I was single and don't like going to bars by myself, and here I am with the boys who are keeping an eye on me and I'm filling rooms with their great music. Well, filling rooms may be a stretch when there are only 10 tables, but its a gig. A paying gig.
I learned two very important band managing lessons: first, the BAND is the one that brings people in. Our very first gig was at a little biker bar and she wanted to give us a Wednesday night. I tried to get at least a Thursday. Thursday's are always good nights. We got Wednesday because she'd never heard of the band. Gotta start somewhere.
The gig was great, people were happy, the band was happy, I was happy. I am not a drinker, but when I do drink, its tequila. Shots. I decided to buy a round of shots for the band to celebrate. Bar couldn't serve liquor, only beer and wine. OK, a round of beer. At the end of the night, my "take" was $25 while my bar tab was $35. Lesson number two, don't ever buy beers for the band
Here I am, working for one of the biggest radio "conglomerates" and the idea of hanging out with some great music and I'm just not there yet. I know it will come back. I'm back where the music happens which is a very cool place to be. Even if it isn't a really cool box with people inside. I'm excited for my groove to come back. I think it just took a vacation for a bit.
Stay tuned, a live remote coming to a parking lot near you....
I tried to be a party DJ once. It didn't take long for me to realize that I hated the music I was playing and I don't care how well you think you do at public speaking, talking through the music breaks at a loud gig is hard. When I was a kid, I used to think the DJs on the radio box actually lived in the box. When I was a kid.
I'm very musical but not the least bit talented. I loved working with the band Hey Norton, managing them. They were a great group of guys who all had "real" jobs, and took their music very seriously. R&B mostly, with sax and harp playing. Loved those guys. It worked out great for everyone. I was single and don't like going to bars by myself, and here I am with the boys who are keeping an eye on me and I'm filling rooms with their great music. Well, filling rooms may be a stretch when there are only 10 tables, but its a gig. A paying gig.
I learned two very important band managing lessons: first, the BAND is the one that brings people in. Our very first gig was at a little biker bar and she wanted to give us a Wednesday night. I tried to get at least a Thursday. Thursday's are always good nights. We got Wednesday because she'd never heard of the band. Gotta start somewhere.
The gig was great, people were happy, the band was happy, I was happy. I am not a drinker, but when I do drink, its tequila. Shots. I decided to buy a round of shots for the band to celebrate. Bar couldn't serve liquor, only beer and wine. OK, a round of beer. At the end of the night, my "take" was $25 while my bar tab was $35. Lesson number two, don't ever buy beers for the band
Here I am, working for one of the biggest radio "conglomerates" and the idea of hanging out with some great music and I'm just not there yet. I know it will come back. I'm back where the music happens which is a very cool place to be. Even if it isn't a really cool box with people inside. I'm excited for my groove to come back. I think it just took a vacation for a bit.
Stay tuned, a live remote coming to a parking lot near you....
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Four Letter "F" Word
What's the first thing that comes to mind when you read the title? No, it's not that. Could be that, but not this time.
The"F" word I am referring to is FALL. Fall is already here in big sky country, and it's only the first week of September. We had a glorious 6-week summer, once it finally got here. There are two weather settings in big sky country: hot and cold. For six weeks, we had 90 degree temps and sunshine every day. There is a reason people with big bucks buy huge homes on their 20 acres of paradise, and come to big sky country for the summer month(s). When the weather turns, they go back to wherever they came from. Only the hardy stay during the winter months.
It's dropping down into the 30's at night with a real chill in the air in the morning. During our six weeks of summer, the day warmed up by 9am. Lately it doesn't seem to get warm until early afternoon. My sunflowers are drooping their heads because they know their season is over. There is a tinge of yellow in the aspen leaves. My tomatos are trying to turn red, but because we weren't able to plant until mid-June, I am afraid we won't get many of them before the first frost.
During our glorious six weeks of summer L-Town comes alive. You can tell who the tourists are because they are riding really sweet street bikes, rented from Timber Trails. I have a bike that I paid $50 for. An old blue Schwin, with a basket. The basket keeps falling off whenever I hit a bump in the road and I aspire to a wicker basket. I found a wicker basket, but it costs more than I paid for the bike. So I will continue to use my old, metal basket, and hold on to it as we ride around the bumpy streets of L-Town. Gives the old girl character, and I'm not talking about me. During our six weeks of summer, I ride my bike everywhere. Good for the earth. Good for my health. I don't have to feed Louise the truck as often.
Ryder and I go for runs in the morning. Well, he runs, I ride my bike. He is so good about staying on my right side and he knows to slow down at intersections as I look for cars before we cross the street. Typically, cars will slow down or stop for us. Everyone seems to have a smile on their face as they see us; the old lady on a blue Schwin bike and a gorgeous, ginormous gallumpus of a yellow lab running beside me. Ryder carries his own toys when we walk to the river, which also brings a smile to people around us. Smiles are good for everyone. Even if it means its just a teenage dog with an old lady. I'm good with that.
Now fall is in the air, and I need to wear layers and gloves when we go for our run. Gloves. It's barely September. I was just getting used to wearing light clothes, skirts withough leggings and flip flops. Out here in big sky country, everything is big, including transitions in the weather. One minute, it's winter. Boom, it's 90 degrees and summer has arrived! Be careful or you will miss it. Now it is beginning to feel like winter is making its way back. Sadly, I have more sweaters, longjohns, coats and scarves than I do summer comfy clothes. I feel like I've just put the damn sweaters away. The world's ugliest yet best coat ever is just mocking me now.
I miss four full seasons. Springtime usually means flowers raising their heads out of the ground and trees and bushes flowering. Springtime usually means burst of color. Here in big sky country, if we do get a spring, it means months of rain and grey skies and cold. When summer finally hits, its a wake up call to plants and birds and those of us that really need color and sunshine as an attitude adjustment. Summer in most places mean heat, humidity, hurricanes and this year, earthquakes. I'm very happy with big sky's summertime. It's hot, but not unbearable. My hair doesn't turn into an afro because there is no humidity. I like summertime.
Fall is not an "F" word elsewhere. I remember fall to be beautiful with maples and oak trees turning orange and red and the sun being crisp and clear. Fall mean pumpkin picking and carmel apples, in October, where it belongs. I think its a tie regarding winter. The east coast gets ice and lately, lots of snow that no one knows how to drive in. Winter doesn't get really bad elsewhere. Winter does get really bad here.
Yellowstone in the winter is the best time to see the Park and Mother Nature's beautiful work. Snow flies around here and nothing shuts down. Schools stay open, people drive wherever they need to go and the stores aren't left with empty shelves of bread and milk. During the winter I see more soup making and comfort food items in the grocery. Or maybe that's because that's what I'm looking for. What makes winter so different from say, Seattle, is that we get wind. Cold wind. Wind that doesn't seem to stop for days. You haven't experienced cold until you've gone outside to walk and its -10 with a 40 mile an hour wind. It gets so cold that the bike is put away, and I drive the 3 blocks to the gym. That's just sad. I can handle the cold, but the damn wind I can live without. Rural legend has it the wind is strong enough to roll old men down the sidewalk. I'm a beliver.
Going through 9 months of winter makes summer in big sky country magical. It doesn't get dark until 10pm and the night sky is so clear that you want to just lay down on the ground and look up for hours. The critters are out and the birds are lovely to hear in the mornings. Once winter comes, we only get the ravens voice. I don't have a warm spot for ravens. Or magpies. We were lucky enough this summer to get yellow tanagers eating all the suet I could put out in our garden. We had wrens and finches and robins and blue birds, among many others. Now the morning bird song is "CAW, CAW, CAW". The ravens love the old oak tree in front of our house. So lucky.
Weather is a big deal in big sky country. Everyone has a "favorites" site for the weather forecast. Last week we got a hail storm. That's frozen rain. That's never a good sign in summer that the rain freezes before it hits the ground. Next up snow flying. Last year we had 16" of the white stuff in early October. Everyone who is a local is hoping for an Indian Summer. That would be lovely. I still plan on moving my summer happy clothes into storage and getting the winter woolies out this weekend. Having five big sky winters under my belt I expect the cold. I don't have to like it, but I am prepared for it. Until March, when it seems like winter will never leave.
F the Fall word.
The"F" word I am referring to is FALL. Fall is already here in big sky country, and it's only the first week of September. We had a glorious 6-week summer, once it finally got here. There are two weather settings in big sky country: hot and cold. For six weeks, we had 90 degree temps and sunshine every day. There is a reason people with big bucks buy huge homes on their 20 acres of paradise, and come to big sky country for the summer month(s). When the weather turns, they go back to wherever they came from. Only the hardy stay during the winter months.
It's dropping down into the 30's at night with a real chill in the air in the morning. During our six weeks of summer, the day warmed up by 9am. Lately it doesn't seem to get warm until early afternoon. My sunflowers are drooping their heads because they know their season is over. There is a tinge of yellow in the aspen leaves. My tomatos are trying to turn red, but because we weren't able to plant until mid-June, I am afraid we won't get many of them before the first frost.
During our glorious six weeks of summer L-Town comes alive. You can tell who the tourists are because they are riding really sweet street bikes, rented from Timber Trails. I have a bike that I paid $50 for. An old blue Schwin, with a basket. The basket keeps falling off whenever I hit a bump in the road and I aspire to a wicker basket. I found a wicker basket, but it costs more than I paid for the bike. So I will continue to use my old, metal basket, and hold on to it as we ride around the bumpy streets of L-Town. Gives the old girl character, and I'm not talking about me. During our six weeks of summer, I ride my bike everywhere. Good for the earth. Good for my health. I don't have to feed Louise the truck as often.
Ryder and I go for runs in the morning. Well, he runs, I ride my bike. He is so good about staying on my right side and he knows to slow down at intersections as I look for cars before we cross the street. Typically, cars will slow down or stop for us. Everyone seems to have a smile on their face as they see us; the old lady on a blue Schwin bike and a gorgeous, ginormous gallumpus of a yellow lab running beside me. Ryder carries his own toys when we walk to the river, which also brings a smile to people around us. Smiles are good for everyone. Even if it means its just a teenage dog with an old lady. I'm good with that.
Now fall is in the air, and I need to wear layers and gloves when we go for our run. Gloves. It's barely September. I was just getting used to wearing light clothes, skirts withough leggings and flip flops. Out here in big sky country, everything is big, including transitions in the weather. One minute, it's winter. Boom, it's 90 degrees and summer has arrived! Be careful or you will miss it. Now it is beginning to feel like winter is making its way back. Sadly, I have more sweaters, longjohns, coats and scarves than I do summer comfy clothes. I feel like I've just put the damn sweaters away. The world's ugliest yet best coat ever is just mocking me now.
I miss four full seasons. Springtime usually means flowers raising their heads out of the ground and trees and bushes flowering. Springtime usually means burst of color. Here in big sky country, if we do get a spring, it means months of rain and grey skies and cold. When summer finally hits, its a wake up call to plants and birds and those of us that really need color and sunshine as an attitude adjustment. Summer in most places mean heat, humidity, hurricanes and this year, earthquakes. I'm very happy with big sky's summertime. It's hot, but not unbearable. My hair doesn't turn into an afro because there is no humidity. I like summertime.
Fall is not an "F" word elsewhere. I remember fall to be beautiful with maples and oak trees turning orange and red and the sun being crisp and clear. Fall mean pumpkin picking and carmel apples, in October, where it belongs. I think its a tie regarding winter. The east coast gets ice and lately, lots of snow that no one knows how to drive in. Winter doesn't get really bad elsewhere. Winter does get really bad here.
Yellowstone in the winter is the best time to see the Park and Mother Nature's beautiful work. Snow flies around here and nothing shuts down. Schools stay open, people drive wherever they need to go and the stores aren't left with empty shelves of bread and milk. During the winter I see more soup making and comfort food items in the grocery. Or maybe that's because that's what I'm looking for. What makes winter so different from say, Seattle, is that we get wind. Cold wind. Wind that doesn't seem to stop for days. You haven't experienced cold until you've gone outside to walk and its -10 with a 40 mile an hour wind. It gets so cold that the bike is put away, and I drive the 3 blocks to the gym. That's just sad. I can handle the cold, but the damn wind I can live without. Rural legend has it the wind is strong enough to roll old men down the sidewalk. I'm a beliver.
Going through 9 months of winter makes summer in big sky country magical. It doesn't get dark until 10pm and the night sky is so clear that you want to just lay down on the ground and look up for hours. The critters are out and the birds are lovely to hear in the mornings. Once winter comes, we only get the ravens voice. I don't have a warm spot for ravens. Or magpies. We were lucky enough this summer to get yellow tanagers eating all the suet I could put out in our garden. We had wrens and finches and robins and blue birds, among many others. Now the morning bird song is "CAW, CAW, CAW". The ravens love the old oak tree in front of our house. So lucky.
Weather is a big deal in big sky country. Everyone has a "favorites" site for the weather forecast. Last week we got a hail storm. That's frozen rain. That's never a good sign in summer that the rain freezes before it hits the ground. Next up snow flying. Last year we had 16" of the white stuff in early October. Everyone who is a local is hoping for an Indian Summer. That would be lovely. I still plan on moving my summer happy clothes into storage and getting the winter woolies out this weekend. Having five big sky winters under my belt I expect the cold. I don't have to like it, but I am prepared for it. Until March, when it seems like winter will never leave.
F the Fall word.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Girrly Moments
The minute my Superhero and I met and started talking, the conversation hasn't stopped. Four years ago my life turned in yet another direction I never anticipated. I am getting married. Again. For the last time. The excitement! The drama! The dresses! Boy Howdy, does no one over the age of 25 get married in a lovely dress that doesn't make them look out of place? Not many women of a certain age would opt for a sleevless gown. I'll go sleeveless, as long as I have a jacket. Yup, Hello middle age.
At my age, a dramatic, ivory gown is sad. I actually considered a red gown (a lot of red gowns), but then we changed the venue and date. I've colored outside the lines much of my life, and I am not going to be a "typical" bride. There will be no white, or peach or ivory to be seen. Red, you better believe it. Nor is my SuperHero going to be a typical groom. One of the many things I love about him. I had to put my foot down on any hardware on belts, radios or guns for 5 hours on Sunday though. I love Montana. Just the opportunity to use hardware, belts, radios and guns in the same sentence without gagging is worth it.
The planning has begun on the best wedding in the last best place. I love to plan. I love the details of events. I'm really good at details at events. I can handle 10,000 people, 7 blocks of street vendors and two seperate sites for music at each end. I have never planned a wedding, not even my own.
Our wedding has a theme, is DIY from the invitations to the decorations and we are getting married by the Reverend Doctor Drew, a friend who received his title over the internet, and it is completely legal to marry us. I love that!
A dear friend is making our wedding cake. We go back over 30 years. I'm not sure what that means yet, but I know she can handle it as far as suggestions regarding what sort of cake, icing, decorations...all those really DIY creative things I really suck at. I'm starting to really miss working with grouchy vendors.
The entire wedding is DIY, down to the cabins on site. The cabins have a cute porch with a bitching view, a wood stove and 4 walls and a roof. If you don't bring a bedroll, you can rent a twin mattress and sheets. You have to bring your own towls though. And its public restrooms with public showers. I love Montana.
Quirky is the theme. Ok, Rustic Quirky. My mother is not happy that I am considering burlap as part of the invitations. I love the idea. If I can find my creative DIY invitation gene, burlap is what I am going to have.
Thanks for reading!
At my age, a dramatic, ivory gown is sad. I actually considered a red gown (a lot of red gowns), but then we changed the venue and date. I've colored outside the lines much of my life, and I am not going to be a "typical" bride. There will be no white, or peach or ivory to be seen. Red, you better believe it. Nor is my SuperHero going to be a typical groom. One of the many things I love about him. I had to put my foot down on any hardware on belts, radios or guns for 5 hours on Sunday though. I love Montana. Just the opportunity to use hardware, belts, radios and guns in the same sentence without gagging is worth it.
The planning has begun on the best wedding in the last best place. I love to plan. I love the details of events. I'm really good at details at events. I can handle 10,000 people, 7 blocks of street vendors and two seperate sites for music at each end. I have never planned a wedding, not even my own.
Our wedding has a theme, is DIY from the invitations to the decorations and we are getting married by the Reverend Doctor Drew, a friend who received his title over the internet, and it is completely legal to marry us. I love that!
A dear friend is making our wedding cake. We go back over 30 years. I'm not sure what that means yet, but I know she can handle it as far as suggestions regarding what sort of cake, icing, decorations...all those really DIY creative things I really suck at. I'm starting to really miss working with grouchy vendors.
The entire wedding is DIY, down to the cabins on site. The cabins have a cute porch with a bitching view, a wood stove and 4 walls and a roof. If you don't bring a bedroll, you can rent a twin mattress and sheets. You have to bring your own towls though. And its public restrooms with public showers. I love Montana.
Quirky is the theme. Ok, Rustic Quirky. My mother is not happy that I am considering burlap as part of the invitations. I love the idea. If I can find my creative DIY invitation gene, burlap is what I am going to have.
Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Suzy Sunshine is Dying to Get Out!
Many, if not all who meet me, will say I am a character. I take that as a compliment. But being a character, and building character are two very different things.
Being a character is easy. Most of our friends are type A, testosterone and alpha female filled type A's and being timid is at your own risk. You better be able to speak up and stand up for whatever you feel you should, or you're toast. I am renowned for my witty comebacks. And I curse. Getting a testosterone or estrogene filled firefighter to laugh out loud is an achievement. Some people appreciate the witty comebacks and my off-the-wall sense of humour, some don't.
August makes 6 months of unemployment. I never imagined that it would take me six months to find a good job. I've had to ask for an extension on my unemployment benefits. They will be cut in half soon. If I am not working at a good job by September 1, I'll work as a waitress at the truck stop. Rejection cuts away at pride.
Cutting away at pride builds character. I am still very proud of my family and my accomplishments. I would rather use that as a character builder, rather than lose any pride. I've earned my accomplishments.
I should be bitter, and I am on some level. Bitterness builds character, in a negative way. I am trying to keep the bitterness at bay and turn it into an opportunity. Bitterness breeds "suppose I go in this direction, and show them what for?" That's what I keep telling myself. Rejection builds character, and a thick skin. I haven't grown that extra layer yet, so I suppose rejection is still a gaping wound.
Being unemployed for so long is taking on the feeling of being unemployable. I worked for days on one application, submitted it, and waited. And called. And dropped by. And waited. This process began in May. Now it is August, and I still have not heard anything out of them. I sent an email, asking about the status of my application. The very next day, I get a canned thank you for playing response. If I hadn't sent that email, I would still be waiting.
There is a great opportunity out there, to which I've had two interviews, a month ago. I am still waiting for a response. I tell myself that there are a lot of applications for this position and I was the first to be interviewed. But it's been a month.
Does character equal backbone? I am strong but its getting harder and harder to remain upright and functioning. What's the point? I spent all day in bed yesterday, after 2 hours of the gym and sanding more funiture. Yes I was tired, but once in bed, it just didn't feel right getting out of bed. The phone isn't ringing off the hook. The emails are not coming in. My calendar is blank, except for my gym classes.
I've got plenty of character to go around. I know when to keep my mouth shut with a confidence. I am loyal to my friends near and far. I love and respect Jeff more every day and I am blessed by so much. Now if the goal is to re-build my character into something completely different, we are well on the way to that one. I am perfectly fine remaining "Suzy Sunshine" for as long as possible. Suzy Sunshine still has a pretty firey sense of humour.
Thanks for reading!
Being a character is easy. Most of our friends are type A, testosterone and alpha female filled type A's and being timid is at your own risk. You better be able to speak up and stand up for whatever you feel you should, or you're toast. I am renowned for my witty comebacks. And I curse. Getting a testosterone or estrogene filled firefighter to laugh out loud is an achievement. Some people appreciate the witty comebacks and my off-the-wall sense of humour, some don't.
August makes 6 months of unemployment. I never imagined that it would take me six months to find a good job. I've had to ask for an extension on my unemployment benefits. They will be cut in half soon. If I am not working at a good job by September 1, I'll work as a waitress at the truck stop. Rejection cuts away at pride.
Cutting away at pride builds character. I am still very proud of my family and my accomplishments. I would rather use that as a character builder, rather than lose any pride. I've earned my accomplishments.
I should be bitter, and I am on some level. Bitterness builds character, in a negative way. I am trying to keep the bitterness at bay and turn it into an opportunity. Bitterness breeds "suppose I go in this direction, and show them what for?" That's what I keep telling myself. Rejection builds character, and a thick skin. I haven't grown that extra layer yet, so I suppose rejection is still a gaping wound.
Being unemployed for so long is taking on the feeling of being unemployable. I worked for days on one application, submitted it, and waited. And called. And dropped by. And waited. This process began in May. Now it is August, and I still have not heard anything out of them. I sent an email, asking about the status of my application. The very next day, I get a canned thank you for playing response. If I hadn't sent that email, I would still be waiting.
There is a great opportunity out there, to which I've had two interviews, a month ago. I am still waiting for a response. I tell myself that there are a lot of applications for this position and I was the first to be interviewed. But it's been a month.
Does character equal backbone? I am strong but its getting harder and harder to remain upright and functioning. What's the point? I spent all day in bed yesterday, after 2 hours of the gym and sanding more funiture. Yes I was tired, but once in bed, it just didn't feel right getting out of bed. The phone isn't ringing off the hook. The emails are not coming in. My calendar is blank, except for my gym classes.
I've got plenty of character to go around. I know when to keep my mouth shut with a confidence. I am loyal to my friends near and far. I love and respect Jeff more every day and I am blessed by so much. Now if the goal is to re-build my character into something completely different, we are well on the way to that one. I am perfectly fine remaining "Suzy Sunshine" for as long as possible. Suzy Sunshine still has a pretty firey sense of humour.
Thanks for reading!
Being Suzy Sunshine
Many, if not all who meet me, will say I am a character. I take that as a compliment. But being a character, and building character are two very different things.
Being a character is easy. Most of our friends are type A, testosterone and alpha female filled type A's and being timid is at your own risk. You better be able to speak up and stand up for whatever you feel you should, or you're toast. I am renowned for my witty comebacks. And I curse. Getting a testosterone or estrogene filled firefighter to laugh out loud is an achievement. Some people appreciate the witty comebacks and my off-the-wall sense of humour, some don't.
August makes 6 months of unemployment. I never imagined that it would take me six months to find a good job. I've had to ask for an extension on my unemployment benefits. They will be cut in half soon. If I am not working at a good job by September 1, I'll work as a waitress at the truck stop. Rejection cuts away at pride.
Cutting away at pride builds character. I am still very proud of my family and my accomplishments. I would rather use that as a character builder, rather than lose any pride. I've earned my accomplishments.
I should be bitter, and I am on some level. Bitterness builds character, in a negative way. I am trying to keep the bitterness at bay and turn it into an opportunity. Bitterness breeds "suppose I go in this direction, and show them what for?" That's what I keep telling myself. Rejection builds character, and a thick skin. I haven't grown that extra layer yet, so I suppose rejection is still a gaping wound.
Being unemployed for so long is taking on the feeling of being unemployable. I worked for days on one application, submitted it, and waited. And called. And dropped by. And waited. This process began in May. Now it is August, and I still have not heard anything out of them. I sent an email, asking about the status of my application. The very next day, I get a canned thank you for playing response. If I hadn't sent that email, I would still be waiting.
There is a great opportunity out there, to which I've had two interviews, a month ago. I am still waiting for a response. I tell myself that there are a lot of applications for this position and I was the first to be interviewed. But it's been a month.
Does character equal backbone? I am strong but its getting harder and harder to remain upright and functioning. What's the point? I spent all day in bed yesterday, after 2 hours of the gym and sanding more funiture. Yes I was tired, but once in bed, it just didn't feel right getting out of bed. The phone isn't ringing off the hook. The emails are not coming in. My calendar is blank, except for my gym classes.
I've got plenty of character to go around. I know when to keep my mouth shut with a confidence. I am loyal to my friends near and far. I love and respect Jeff more every day and I am blessed by so much. Now if the goal is to re-build my character into something completely different, we are well on the way to that one. I am perfectly fine remaining "Suzy Sunshine" for as long as possible. Suzy Sunshine has character and a backbone.
Thanks for reading!
Being a character is easy. Most of our friends are type A, testosterone and alpha female filled type A's and being timid is at your own risk. You better be able to speak up and stand up for whatever you feel you should, or you're toast. I am renowned for my witty comebacks. And I curse. Getting a testosterone or estrogene filled firefighter to laugh out loud is an achievement. Some people appreciate the witty comebacks and my off-the-wall sense of humour, some don't.
August makes 6 months of unemployment. I never imagined that it would take me six months to find a good job. I've had to ask for an extension on my unemployment benefits. They will be cut in half soon. If I am not working at a good job by September 1, I'll work as a waitress at the truck stop. Rejection cuts away at pride.
Cutting away at pride builds character. I am still very proud of my family and my accomplishments. I would rather use that as a character builder, rather than lose any pride. I've earned my accomplishments.
I should be bitter, and I am on some level. Bitterness builds character, in a negative way. I am trying to keep the bitterness at bay and turn it into an opportunity. Bitterness breeds "suppose I go in this direction, and show them what for?" That's what I keep telling myself. Rejection builds character, and a thick skin. I haven't grown that extra layer yet, so I suppose rejection is still a gaping wound.
Being unemployed for so long is taking on the feeling of being unemployable. I worked for days on one application, submitted it, and waited. And called. And dropped by. And waited. This process began in May. Now it is August, and I still have not heard anything out of them. I sent an email, asking about the status of my application. The very next day, I get a canned thank you for playing response. If I hadn't sent that email, I would still be waiting.
There is a great opportunity out there, to which I've had two interviews, a month ago. I am still waiting for a response. I tell myself that there are a lot of applications for this position and I was the first to be interviewed. But it's been a month.
Does character equal backbone? I am strong but its getting harder and harder to remain upright and functioning. What's the point? I spent all day in bed yesterday, after 2 hours of the gym and sanding more funiture. Yes I was tired, but once in bed, it just didn't feel right getting out of bed. The phone isn't ringing off the hook. The emails are not coming in. My calendar is blank, except for my gym classes.
I've got plenty of character to go around. I know when to keep my mouth shut with a confidence. I am loyal to my friends near and far. I love and respect Jeff more every day and I am blessed by so much. Now if the goal is to re-build my character into something completely different, we are well on the way to that one. I am perfectly fine remaining "Suzy Sunshine" for as long as possible. Suzy Sunshine has character and a backbone.
Thanks for reading!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Would You Name a Ghost?
There are things that really suck lately: the economy, joblessness, the attacks in Norway. But I don't care about any of that today. Today, all I care about is the fact the sun is shining, and everyone in my house is happy. Including the ghost.
Our house is about 70 years old. It has the creaks an old house makes and the details that you don't find in newer houses, like the woodwork embedded in our staircase. We have the cave, ie basement, which I am terrified to go into. It has a low ceiling and hasn't been finished, so you are literally in a root cellar. Both my guys knew of my fear of the cave, which is how they managed to stash a 5 foot tall box full of pink flamingo's in my house without my ever knowing.
I am convinced that we also have a ghost. I'm not afraid of the ghost at all. I actually think it's pretty cool to have a ghost in our house. Gives the house character. It also gives me a reason for talking to myself. I'm talking to the ghost. Ryder has been acting weird lately and I attribute that to his sensing the ghost as well. He'll run up and down the stairs, run outside, comes back in, sits really close to me and does it all over again. He hasn't done it when Jeff's around, yet.
Last night, I really did talk to the ghost. Jeff was out playing poker and it was just the kids and I. I closed the house down, left some lights on for Jeff and went upstairs to read myself to sleep. Both dogs were downstairs because its still pretty hot at night and they like the cool floor. I am in bed with a great book for about 15 minutes until I hear a crash. Something was going on downstairs and it wasn't something usual.
The dogs were at the foot of the stairs, alert, waiting for me. I checked the living room, and there was nothing out of place, or dead in the middle of the floor. I walked into the dining room and there on the floor, was a picture I had hanging in my kitchen. Face down on the floor. For no apparent reason.
Yeah, I'm a little freaked out by this point. The picture is a charactercure of a woman in motion. Now its face down on the floor. The glass wasn't broken, it just fell off the wall. For no apparent reason. I pick the picture up, brush it off, and I said, I hope you'll let me hang this up again for a little while. I really like this picture. I re-hang the picture and say Thanks. I really appreciate you letting me hang it again. Yes, I am talking to a ghost.
This wasn't the first time something really weird has happened in this house. When my son was out for the holidays, we had another incident. It was really late, and we had all made it to bed. Again, just as we're settling in, we here this THUMP. It sounded like a dead body had fallen down. Jeff and I both sit up and look at each other. Then we ran downstairs as I was yelling Thomas David, GET UP! Thomas David, Get Up! Thomas comes flying out of his bedroom, and we all just stood there looking around. WTF?
I was yelling for Thomas to make sure he wasn't the dead body. We have never figured out what that noise was or where it came from. So we have a ghost. I haven't named him yet, but I'm pretty sure its a him. Everything that belongs in my house has a name, and naming the ghost isn't something I'm going to do. Unless I really do find a dead body the next time.
Thanks for reading!
Our house is about 70 years old. It has the creaks an old house makes and the details that you don't find in newer houses, like the woodwork embedded in our staircase. We have the cave, ie basement, which I am terrified to go into. It has a low ceiling and hasn't been finished, so you are literally in a root cellar. Both my guys knew of my fear of the cave, which is how they managed to stash a 5 foot tall box full of pink flamingo's in my house without my ever knowing.
I am convinced that we also have a ghost. I'm not afraid of the ghost at all. I actually think it's pretty cool to have a ghost in our house. Gives the house character. It also gives me a reason for talking to myself. I'm talking to the ghost. Ryder has been acting weird lately and I attribute that to his sensing the ghost as well. He'll run up and down the stairs, run outside, comes back in, sits really close to me and does it all over again. He hasn't done it when Jeff's around, yet.
Last night, I really did talk to the ghost. Jeff was out playing poker and it was just the kids and I. I closed the house down, left some lights on for Jeff and went upstairs to read myself to sleep. Both dogs were downstairs because its still pretty hot at night and they like the cool floor. I am in bed with a great book for about 15 minutes until I hear a crash. Something was going on downstairs and it wasn't something usual.
The dogs were at the foot of the stairs, alert, waiting for me. I checked the living room, and there was nothing out of place, or dead in the middle of the floor. I walked into the dining room and there on the floor, was a picture I had hanging in my kitchen. Face down on the floor. For no apparent reason.
Yeah, I'm a little freaked out by this point. The picture is a charactercure of a woman in motion. Now its face down on the floor. The glass wasn't broken, it just fell off the wall. For no apparent reason. I pick the picture up, brush it off, and I said, I hope you'll let me hang this up again for a little while. I really like this picture. I re-hang the picture and say Thanks. I really appreciate you letting me hang it again. Yes, I am talking to a ghost.
This wasn't the first time something really weird has happened in this house. When my son was out for the holidays, we had another incident. It was really late, and we had all made it to bed. Again, just as we're settling in, we here this THUMP. It sounded like a dead body had fallen down. Jeff and I both sit up and look at each other. Then we ran downstairs as I was yelling Thomas David, GET UP! Thomas David, Get Up! Thomas comes flying out of his bedroom, and we all just stood there looking around. WTF?
I was yelling for Thomas to make sure he wasn't the dead body. We have never figured out what that noise was or where it came from. So we have a ghost. I haven't named him yet, but I'm pretty sure its a him. Everything that belongs in my house has a name, and naming the ghost isn't something I'm going to do. Unless I really do find a dead body the next time.
Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Random Thoughts, But Aren't They All?
There are breezes. Then there is wind. In big sky country, we've been getting breezes lately and it has been wonderful. As I sit in front of my garden with my coffee, it's early and I can hear the wind by the rustling of the leaves all around me. There is an old oak tree in front of our house and a raven likes to sit there and just caw. That's pretty annoying. My truck has been hit multiple times by bird poo-poo. I don't think it helped that I was enabling them with food.
So begins another day in big sky country. I'm getting into the rhythm of the days lately and I am cautiously optimistic that I will be hearing from some folks about employing me soon. It's like lighting a cigarette while you're waiting for your meal to arrive. No sooner do I get it lit, I put it out because there's food now. I do like my food.
I have to say I am actually enjoying my days lately and I think I may be a bit sad to see it end. I've gotten into my groove and I am a horrible creature of habit. Hopefully it will end before winter. If I'm still in this situation by October, I may have to shoot myself. October brings snow, which initially is really lovely, but October also brings the beginning of 9 months of snow. And grey skies. And more snow. Oh, and wind, not lovely breezes. And comfort food.
I think the term for this response to unemployment during a beautiful time of year is nesting. We're growing things. The dogs follow the shade and its hard to bring them in most days. Lately its been hot, but I am not complaining. We have breezes as compared to the rest of you that have heat and humidity. I get to gloat and not complain for three whole months. Life is good and the food is fresh.
We live in a caldera, it really does get hot. There's not much need to air condition your home, but by 4pm, it is hot. I've learned to keep everything open in the morning to keep the house cool, and close it up around 2pm. It does work and the fan in the window at night keeps us cool with the bonus of the ambient noise of the fan keeps out the neighbors yipping dog, or their constant arguing. I don't want to eat much when it gets hot. What I eat is coming out of our garden, so its healthy eating.
I've tried to bring food into every part of this blog. Not for any real reason. I just began to notice I was always referring to food. Next time, maybe I'll stay focused on pet hair and cleaning up after Ryder eats.
Thanks for reading!
So begins another day in big sky country. I'm getting into the rhythm of the days lately and I am cautiously optimistic that I will be hearing from some folks about employing me soon. It's like lighting a cigarette while you're waiting for your meal to arrive. No sooner do I get it lit, I put it out because there's food now. I do like my food.
I have to say I am actually enjoying my days lately and I think I may be a bit sad to see it end. I've gotten into my groove and I am a horrible creature of habit. Hopefully it will end before winter. If I'm still in this situation by October, I may have to shoot myself. October brings snow, which initially is really lovely, but October also brings the beginning of 9 months of snow. And grey skies. And more snow. Oh, and wind, not lovely breezes. And comfort food.
I think the term for this response to unemployment during a beautiful time of year is nesting. We're growing things. The dogs follow the shade and its hard to bring them in most days. Lately its been hot, but I am not complaining. We have breezes as compared to the rest of you that have heat and humidity. I get to gloat and not complain for three whole months. Life is good and the food is fresh.
We live in a caldera, it really does get hot. There's not much need to air condition your home, but by 4pm, it is hot. I've learned to keep everything open in the morning to keep the house cool, and close it up around 2pm. It does work and the fan in the window at night keeps us cool with the bonus of the ambient noise of the fan keeps out the neighbors yipping dog, or their constant arguing. I don't want to eat much when it gets hot. What I eat is coming out of our garden, so its healthy eating.
I've tried to bring food into every part of this blog. Not for any real reason. I just began to notice I was always referring to food. Next time, maybe I'll stay focused on pet hair and cleaning up after Ryder eats.
Thanks for reading!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Yes, I Do Feel Stupid, Thanks for Asking
It's a beautiful Saturday in big sky country and not a cloud in the sky. Love days like this! We love days like this because the "ok, we can get it done this weekend" list comes out. It's a long list.
Today, all of the best intentions to get something done has hit the dirt. We started at an auction, where there were some great old pieces that I wanted to think about. I love auctions. The auctioneer moves it along and literally does not stop speaking for 4 hours. As soon as something sells, he moves on to the next thing, and the lucky new owner of someone elses junk drags their new treasure out to the truck. The trouble with auctions is you have to be around, because whatever treasure you've set your sights on could sell at any time.
Auctions are like treasure hunts. When we bought our newly refinished vanity, I had my eye on a box of junk that had a really cool windchime. Only thing worth anything in that box was that windchime. So bidding started at less than a dollar and ended at about $5.00. I didn't get the box with the windchime because everything else in that box was crap and I didn't want to go over $5.00.
So what does any self-serving Queen do in a situation like that? I went over to her and offered her a couple of dollars for the windchime. A couple of bucks, but she has all this other great stuff in the box. She turned me down because she had her eye on that windchime as well and offered me the box of great stuff without the windchime. Damn. At least she was stuck with the box.
Deciding the cool things I had my eye on were really not worth waiting around for, we head over the hill to Bozo, primarily to go to the Home Depot. By the time we got to the Home Depot after running around town all morning, we forgot half of what we were there for. Lists? Who needs a list?
Jeff just got a new toy, a Droid, and I got to hang out at Hastings Bookstore, which could be very expensive for me. Having lots of time on my hands and a cup of white chocolate mocha coffee (yummy), I decided I needed some workout music. While looking for workout cds, I decided to start on Thomas' 25th birthday gift. Can you say ADD and easily distracted? 25 tacky plastic items for 25 years. I'm hoping to make up for the 50 pink flamingos he and Jeff planted in my yard for my 50th birthday. There are all SORTS of tacky plastic items at Hastings. Let me add, I hate Hastings. The layout, everything about it bugs me for some reason.
Off to a good start on Thomas's stuff, which was way too easy, I start looking for the workout music. By gosh, there isn't even a section of cd's for workout music, or even good dance music. I don't know if I'd recognize good dance music. Plenty of DVDs of beautiful people not even breaking a sweat. I thought, well, I love compilation discs, they have to have some of those. And by gosh they did.
Let me tell you, I scored. Big. Two 3-cd sets for $3.99 each! Two 3-cd sets!! One was all flashback 70's music, and the other was "summer" music. As I study the back of the disks, I'm thinking, Wow, this is exactly what I was looking for! Sheryl Crow, Peter Frampton, The Eagles, I was one happy bargain shopper. Jeff comes to pick me up and I'm so excited to put the first of 6, count 'em, 6! cds in the player for the ride home. The first was an Eagles song. We listened. And then we REALLY listened.
That's not the Eagles Jeff says. Sure it is, I reply. Don Henly, right? Ok. Then I start to really read the list of songs, and damn if in small, white print, was something like The Original Artist. I expected that to mean if Sheryl Crowe's name is beside a song, I expect to hear Sheryl Crowe. Hit the 3rd track I asked him. We listened. Hit the 7th track. Same thing. We could sort of identify the song, but it certainly wasn't Sheryl Crowe or Don Henly.
Who knew that there really IS a group called The Original Artists? Seriously? And they are really, really bad. I scored, 6, count 'em, 6 cds of crap music because I didn't read the fine print at the top of the list. I was pissed. I felt like an idiot. Now that's great marketing. Whoever came up with The Original Artists as a group of musicians, were genius.
Thankfully we weren't out of Bozo yet, so we turned around and I walked in with two 3-cd sets, TWO! that I wanted to return. I was not in the mood to hear no. I don't know who I was more pissed at: Hastings just for being Hastings, or the people that put out this kind of crap that people like me will jump on based on the list of SONGS by The Original Artists.
Damn, wish I'd thought of it.
Today, all of the best intentions to get something done has hit the dirt. We started at an auction, where there were some great old pieces that I wanted to think about. I love auctions. The auctioneer moves it along and literally does not stop speaking for 4 hours. As soon as something sells, he moves on to the next thing, and the lucky new owner of someone elses junk drags their new treasure out to the truck. The trouble with auctions is you have to be around, because whatever treasure you've set your sights on could sell at any time.
Auctions are like treasure hunts. When we bought our newly refinished vanity, I had my eye on a box of junk that had a really cool windchime. Only thing worth anything in that box was that windchime. So bidding started at less than a dollar and ended at about $5.00. I didn't get the box with the windchime because everything else in that box was crap and I didn't want to go over $5.00.
So what does any self-serving Queen do in a situation like that? I went over to her and offered her a couple of dollars for the windchime. A couple of bucks, but she has all this other great stuff in the box. She turned me down because she had her eye on that windchime as well and offered me the box of great stuff without the windchime. Damn. At least she was stuck with the box.
Deciding the cool things I had my eye on were really not worth waiting around for, we head over the hill to Bozo, primarily to go to the Home Depot. By the time we got to the Home Depot after running around town all morning, we forgot half of what we were there for. Lists? Who needs a list?
Jeff just got a new toy, a Droid, and I got to hang out at Hastings Bookstore, which could be very expensive for me. Having lots of time on my hands and a cup of white chocolate mocha coffee (yummy), I decided I needed some workout music. While looking for workout cds, I decided to start on Thomas' 25th birthday gift. Can you say ADD and easily distracted? 25 tacky plastic items for 25 years. I'm hoping to make up for the 50 pink flamingos he and Jeff planted in my yard for my 50th birthday. There are all SORTS of tacky plastic items at Hastings. Let me add, I hate Hastings. The layout, everything about it bugs me for some reason.
Off to a good start on Thomas's stuff, which was way too easy, I start looking for the workout music. By gosh, there isn't even a section of cd's for workout music, or even good dance music. I don't know if I'd recognize good dance music. Plenty of DVDs of beautiful people not even breaking a sweat. I thought, well, I love compilation discs, they have to have some of those. And by gosh they did.
Let me tell you, I scored. Big. Two 3-cd sets for $3.99 each! Two 3-cd sets!! One was all flashback 70's music, and the other was "summer" music. As I study the back of the disks, I'm thinking, Wow, this is exactly what I was looking for! Sheryl Crow, Peter Frampton, The Eagles, I was one happy bargain shopper. Jeff comes to pick me up and I'm so excited to put the first of 6, count 'em, 6! cds in the player for the ride home. The first was an Eagles song. We listened. And then we REALLY listened.
That's not the Eagles Jeff says. Sure it is, I reply. Don Henly, right? Ok. Then I start to really read the list of songs, and damn if in small, white print, was something like The Original Artist. I expected that to mean if Sheryl Crowe's name is beside a song, I expect to hear Sheryl Crowe. Hit the 3rd track I asked him. We listened. Hit the 7th track. Same thing. We could sort of identify the song, but it certainly wasn't Sheryl Crowe or Don Henly.
Who knew that there really IS a group called The Original Artists? Seriously? And they are really, really bad. I scored, 6, count 'em, 6 cds of crap music because I didn't read the fine print at the top of the list. I was pissed. I felt like an idiot. Now that's great marketing. Whoever came up with The Original Artists as a group of musicians, were genius.
Thankfully we weren't out of Bozo yet, so we turned around and I walked in with two 3-cd sets, TWO! that I wanted to return. I was not in the mood to hear no. I don't know who I was more pissed at: Hastings just for being Hastings, or the people that put out this kind of crap that people like me will jump on based on the list of SONGS by The Original Artists.
Damn, wish I'd thought of it.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Waiting for the phone to ring
I'm going on being unemployed for five months now. In that time, I have submitted countless applications, made countless phone calls and have had 3 interviews. In five months. I've responded to positions where I've been told to my face that I am over-qualified for the position, and asked why I was even bothering. The question is not finding the perfect job. The question is why NOT me?
I know I'm in good company when the unemployment rate in this country is over 9%. There are news items on almost a daily basis about people like me: unemployed for over six momths or more or underemployed and grateful to be working, Without exception, these people are my age, with my experience and background and have no health insurance or pension to fall back on.
It is my choice to live in a smaller community where the jobs are fairly limited. Quality of life matters to me and I am happy with my choice, however I am not satisfied with my options. The sad truth is I make more on unemployment than I would taking a $10/hr job. I'm humbled by this experience.
I could have taken a job at a guest ranch, where I would live on site for 5 months as a housekeeper. I thought of it as a paid summer camp. I would have jumped on that one, except I am in a relationship that would not survive a 5 month break. Jeff is my priority and needs me and that option was not a good one. I could have sold insurance door-to-door, and I actually gave that one some significant thought. The idea of going door-to-door however made my decision for me. I could have taken a temporary position in Big Sky for a 2 week conference, but I would have to commute, and 130 miles each way was out of the question.
So I sit in front of my computer each morning and scan the available positions in and around Livingston and Bozeman. If I were a roofer, I'd be working now. If I were a server, I could look forward to $7/hr with tips, but who wants to have a middle age woman coming to their table taking drink orders? I am no longer young and cute and frankly the idea of serving people I used to be professional peers with turns my stomach. I still have some pride left.
I am blessed to have a man in my life who is incredibly supportive. He doesn't want me to settle. We are making it work, even though I have my moments, if not days of depression and lack of self worth. I know I have a lot to offer. I know I am a hard worker. I know that I am smart and reliable and capable. These are my truths.
My reality, on the hand, hits me on the head on a daily basis. I run into people who ask how I am and how the job search is going. I tell them I am a lady of leisure these days. I garden and I go to the gym and keep the house straightened up. I take my dogs for long walks and do yoga and pilates and clip coupons. On really good days, I head to the ranch for pony time.
I keep waiting for the phone to ring. I keep my fingers crossed that the applications I've submitted have been well written and will come to the attention of someone, anyone, who wants to talk to me about a potential job. I keep on hoping and being the Queen of eternal optimism, I know something will come through. I can only hope its before I settle for the job opening at the dry cleaners in town and running pizzas as a second job.
Thanks for reading!
I know I'm in good company when the unemployment rate in this country is over 9%. There are news items on almost a daily basis about people like me: unemployed for over six momths or more or underemployed and grateful to be working, Without exception, these people are my age, with my experience and background and have no health insurance or pension to fall back on.
It is my choice to live in a smaller community where the jobs are fairly limited. Quality of life matters to me and I am happy with my choice, however I am not satisfied with my options. The sad truth is I make more on unemployment than I would taking a $10/hr job. I'm humbled by this experience.
I could have taken a job at a guest ranch, where I would live on site for 5 months as a housekeeper. I thought of it as a paid summer camp. I would have jumped on that one, except I am in a relationship that would not survive a 5 month break. Jeff is my priority and needs me and that option was not a good one. I could have sold insurance door-to-door, and I actually gave that one some significant thought. The idea of going door-to-door however made my decision for me. I could have taken a temporary position in Big Sky for a 2 week conference, but I would have to commute, and 130 miles each way was out of the question.
So I sit in front of my computer each morning and scan the available positions in and around Livingston and Bozeman. If I were a roofer, I'd be working now. If I were a server, I could look forward to $7/hr with tips, but who wants to have a middle age woman coming to their table taking drink orders? I am no longer young and cute and frankly the idea of serving people I used to be professional peers with turns my stomach. I still have some pride left.
I am blessed to have a man in my life who is incredibly supportive. He doesn't want me to settle. We are making it work, even though I have my moments, if not days of depression and lack of self worth. I know I have a lot to offer. I know I am a hard worker. I know that I am smart and reliable and capable. These are my truths.
My reality, on the hand, hits me on the head on a daily basis. I run into people who ask how I am and how the job search is going. I tell them I am a lady of leisure these days. I garden and I go to the gym and keep the house straightened up. I take my dogs for long walks and do yoga and pilates and clip coupons. On really good days, I head to the ranch for pony time.
I keep waiting for the phone to ring. I keep my fingers crossed that the applications I've submitted have been well written and will come to the attention of someone, anyone, who wants to talk to me about a potential job. I keep on hoping and being the Queen of eternal optimism, I know something will come through. I can only hope its before I settle for the job opening at the dry cleaners in town and running pizzas as a second job.
Thanks for reading!
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Being Queen: My Pride and My Joys
Being Queen: My Pride and My Joys: "It goes without saying that being a mother is the most incredible ride of a lifetime. I am obnoxiously proud of my son. He has weathered m..."
My Pride and My Joys
It goes without saying that being a mother is the most incredible ride of a lifetime. I am obnoxiously proud of my son. He has weathered my divorce from his father and has become a man with a golden heart, goals that he wants to achieve and a groundedness about him that warms my heart. I like to think that I helped him find that balance that we all look for in this life. His father is as conservative as I am liberal. Somewhere in the middle, my son learned from both of us and found his center.
I took my son to his first demonstration. He was under two and slept thru it all, however we were there to demonstrate to save the whales. His father stayed behind. I took my son to a gay pride demonstration when he was 8 years old. The guy on stilts scared him, but we were there and he understood why. We went to a Pro-Choice music festival that featured Gloria Steinman, Jackson Brown and Bonnie Rait in 1994. During intermission we saw baskets of condoms everywhere. My son asked me what they were. I said "you dad hasn't talked to you about this?" When he said no, we went back into the theater and I explained the facts of life to my 11 year old. The hardest, most uncomfortable conversation I've ever had with him, but we got through it. We marched in a Pro-Choice rally when he was 12. We were downtown for the swearing in of Bush II. It was a miserable, cold, rainy day and he asked me why we were there, because he knew I didn't vote for the guy. I explained that our American democratic system works, and even though the voters made a bad choice (in my humble opinion), the process works, and in four years we can vote him out. Didn't work out that way, but I still believe in our process and so does my son.
When he was 16 years old, I got a phone call about a "friend who was in trouble". We discussed their options for over an hour. I knew the "friend" was him, although I never let on that I knew. Turned out to only be a scare, but a scare nonetheless. His father raised him in the Catholic faith, for which I am grateful because I firmly believe all kids need a moral compass, no matter the faith. We were having dinner one night, and my son announces he wants to be a priest when he grows up. He was 11. I am open-minded to a fault, however this one threw me for a loop. We discussed why he wanted to become a priest, and I have never been prouder to hear his reasons: he wanted to help people. Ok, that's fair and I let it drop for a few weeks.
About a month later, again at the dinner table, I asked him about the whole priest thing. He replied, I'm not going to be a priest anymore. Why I asked? Because priests aren't allowed to have dogs he replied. We have always had four legs and fur underfoot and I asked him why couldn't priests have dogs? He replied, the parish supports the priest and he didn't think it was right to ask the parish to buy dogfood therefore he was no longer going to be a priest. I sent a prayer up in thanks and gave my dogs big hugs. He came to this conclusion on his own and I am grateful that he made a choice that was the best for him, and my Jewish family.
When I became a VISTA volunteer, my son came out to visit numerous times. This was where the rubber hit the road. Living with his father, my son had access to the best private school education, a car, a nice house and everything a kid could want or need. I could not offer him any of that, especially as a VISTA volunteer living under the poverty level.
During his visits, my son saw poverty and different cultures through clear eyes. He met a Navajo girl, who at 24 had lost her children because her husband killed them and then tried to kill her. She had come home to find her children dead and her husband waiting for her. She escaped out a window. He is in prison for a very long time. That is a harsh thing to hear when you are a teenager. He worked with me at the Edge of the Cedars Museum, helping keep the grounds in shape. He met Morman girls who fell in love with him on sight (he is very handsome, if I do say so) and I talked to him about the Morman culture and told him if he wanted to be married by 18 and have 4 kids by 23, he could take an interest in some seeing some of these girls. That worked like a charm, because I have instilled in him the idea that he doesn't get married and have kids until he's 27 years old. Where 27 came from I couldn't tell you, but he obviously listened to me and we have not converted to Mormanism.
While in Utah, my son and I visited Hovenweep, an Anazasi "fortress", the Four Corners monument, Monument Valley and the dirt mall as well as swimming holes in Bluff. During my first year, I hosted all the VISTAs for Thanksgiving and my son was there for the holiday. I've never been known for my ability to cook, but we all contributed to the dinner and fixings except we forgot one thing. The rolls in the oven. They had turned to charcoal and could be used as rocks to hurl a great distance. Those rolls still come up in conversation with a chuckle.
My son and I have gone camping, horseback riding and kayaking. He has always been my "little man" taking care of Momma, except now he is 6'2 and still looks out for me. During our camping trips he'd get the tent up and the fire started. He made sure we had everything we needed. I bought a small grill one summer and my son was going to make burgers. Except that we couldn't get the grill hot enough and those burgers kept falling through the cracks. He gets his cooking skills from his Momma.
There have been very tough times for my boy, but we have gotten through them. When necessary, Momma Bear comes out and no one gets the upper hand when Momma Bear is in the vicinity or 2500 miles away. My son has grown up seeing great material wealth and extreme poverty. He has experienced the evil in some people and the goodness in most. He has a good moral compass and empathy for those with less than he has.
Now my boy is a grown man. He is earning is Masters Degree from George Mason University after graduating from Radford, where he was the President of his fraternity. When he told me he was joining a fraternity in his sophmore year, I about had a fit. I didn't raise you to be a frat boy! I told him. I visited him on campus and he gave me a tour of the frat house. There was not one surface, including the floor that I wanted to touch. It was disgusting, even for me. He didn't live there, and his apartment was clean, which made Momma happy. In the end, he partied like a rock star, and built that fraternity up by raising money and membership. I couldn't be prouder of him. My kid may have been a frat boy, but he was focused, not necessarily on partying but on buiding a better organization for the group. Go figure.
Now the tables are turning in our lives, sort of. My son was here and helped Jeff pick out my engagement ring. My son will walk me down the aisle when we get married. He insists he's going to wear a suit, while I keep telling him "its Montana, jeans and a nice shirt are fine". No he tells me, I'm wearing a suit because you're my Momma and I am going to look good escorting you to Jeff. Be still my heart.
Life is full of joy and sorrow. Both have come our way, but the relationship I have with my boy will always and forever remain one of great joy and obnoxious pride. Next up, grandbabies, to which I intend to be Nanna. Sadly, he won't be 27 years old for another two years.
I took my son to his first demonstration. He was under two and slept thru it all, however we were there to demonstrate to save the whales. His father stayed behind. I took my son to a gay pride demonstration when he was 8 years old. The guy on stilts scared him, but we were there and he understood why. We went to a Pro-Choice music festival that featured Gloria Steinman, Jackson Brown and Bonnie Rait in 1994. During intermission we saw baskets of condoms everywhere. My son asked me what they were. I said "you dad hasn't talked to you about this?" When he said no, we went back into the theater and I explained the facts of life to my 11 year old. The hardest, most uncomfortable conversation I've ever had with him, but we got through it. We marched in a Pro-Choice rally when he was 12. We were downtown for the swearing in of Bush II. It was a miserable, cold, rainy day and he asked me why we were there, because he knew I didn't vote for the guy. I explained that our American democratic system works, and even though the voters made a bad choice (in my humble opinion), the process works, and in four years we can vote him out. Didn't work out that way, but I still believe in our process and so does my son.
When he was 16 years old, I got a phone call about a "friend who was in trouble". We discussed their options for over an hour. I knew the "friend" was him, although I never let on that I knew. Turned out to only be a scare, but a scare nonetheless. His father raised him in the Catholic faith, for which I am grateful because I firmly believe all kids need a moral compass, no matter the faith. We were having dinner one night, and my son announces he wants to be a priest when he grows up. He was 11. I am open-minded to a fault, however this one threw me for a loop. We discussed why he wanted to become a priest, and I have never been prouder to hear his reasons: he wanted to help people. Ok, that's fair and I let it drop for a few weeks.
About a month later, again at the dinner table, I asked him about the whole priest thing. He replied, I'm not going to be a priest anymore. Why I asked? Because priests aren't allowed to have dogs he replied. We have always had four legs and fur underfoot and I asked him why couldn't priests have dogs? He replied, the parish supports the priest and he didn't think it was right to ask the parish to buy dogfood therefore he was no longer going to be a priest. I sent a prayer up in thanks and gave my dogs big hugs. He came to this conclusion on his own and I am grateful that he made a choice that was the best for him, and my Jewish family.
When I became a VISTA volunteer, my son came out to visit numerous times. This was where the rubber hit the road. Living with his father, my son had access to the best private school education, a car, a nice house and everything a kid could want or need. I could not offer him any of that, especially as a VISTA volunteer living under the poverty level.
During his visits, my son saw poverty and different cultures through clear eyes. He met a Navajo girl, who at 24 had lost her children because her husband killed them and then tried to kill her. She had come home to find her children dead and her husband waiting for her. She escaped out a window. He is in prison for a very long time. That is a harsh thing to hear when you are a teenager. He worked with me at the Edge of the Cedars Museum, helping keep the grounds in shape. He met Morman girls who fell in love with him on sight (he is very handsome, if I do say so) and I talked to him about the Morman culture and told him if he wanted to be married by 18 and have 4 kids by 23, he could take an interest in some seeing some of these girls. That worked like a charm, because I have instilled in him the idea that he doesn't get married and have kids until he's 27 years old. Where 27 came from I couldn't tell you, but he obviously listened to me and we have not converted to Mormanism.
While in Utah, my son and I visited Hovenweep, an Anazasi "fortress", the Four Corners monument, Monument Valley and the dirt mall as well as swimming holes in Bluff. During my first year, I hosted all the VISTAs for Thanksgiving and my son was there for the holiday. I've never been known for my ability to cook, but we all contributed to the dinner and fixings except we forgot one thing. The rolls in the oven. They had turned to charcoal and could be used as rocks to hurl a great distance. Those rolls still come up in conversation with a chuckle.
My son and I have gone camping, horseback riding and kayaking. He has always been my "little man" taking care of Momma, except now he is 6'2 and still looks out for me. During our camping trips he'd get the tent up and the fire started. He made sure we had everything we needed. I bought a small grill one summer and my son was going to make burgers. Except that we couldn't get the grill hot enough and those burgers kept falling through the cracks. He gets his cooking skills from his Momma.
There have been very tough times for my boy, but we have gotten through them. When necessary, Momma Bear comes out and no one gets the upper hand when Momma Bear is in the vicinity or 2500 miles away. My son has grown up seeing great material wealth and extreme poverty. He has experienced the evil in some people and the goodness in most. He has a good moral compass and empathy for those with less than he has.
Now my boy is a grown man. He is earning is Masters Degree from George Mason University after graduating from Radford, where he was the President of his fraternity. When he told me he was joining a fraternity in his sophmore year, I about had a fit. I didn't raise you to be a frat boy! I told him. I visited him on campus and he gave me a tour of the frat house. There was not one surface, including the floor that I wanted to touch. It was disgusting, even for me. He didn't live there, and his apartment was clean, which made Momma happy. In the end, he partied like a rock star, and built that fraternity up by raising money and membership. I couldn't be prouder of him. My kid may have been a frat boy, but he was focused, not necessarily on partying but on buiding a better organization for the group. Go figure.
Now the tables are turning in our lives, sort of. My son was here and helped Jeff pick out my engagement ring. My son will walk me down the aisle when we get married. He insists he's going to wear a suit, while I keep telling him "its Montana, jeans and a nice shirt are fine". No he tells me, I'm wearing a suit because you're my Momma and I am going to look good escorting you to Jeff. Be still my heart.
Life is full of joy and sorrow. Both have come our way, but the relationship I have with my boy will always and forever remain one of great joy and obnoxious pride. Next up, grandbabies, to which I intend to be Nanna. Sadly, he won't be 27 years old for another two years.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Family - Love 'Em or Let 'Em Be
I've been blessed with good health, an amazing son and incredible people in my life that I've met along the way. Family isn't in that blessing. Family is hard and you're pretty much stuck with who your family is. Some believe that you chose your family before you are born. I have a hard time with that concept, except to say that maybe my karma sucked and I have to make amends somehow.
My idea for the ideal family is taking interest in each other's lives. My family has never been one of great communicators. I'm actually the touchy, feeley one, I believe, because I've been surrounded by Virgos and Scorpios who don't believe in touch feeley anything. Interestly, my father was a Libra. All my dearest friends seem to be Libra's, but my father was not a typical Libra. I always thought he was a Virgo and that's why our relationship was the way it was. After he died, I realized that I inherited my wanderlust from my father, the Libra. And because the doctor's got Thomas' due date wrong, I have another Libra in my life. I was praying that he make it to the end of September and be a Libra, rather than another Virgo in my life. Maybe that's the good karma coming through. I've earned an incredible best friend, brilliant thinker and living up to his potential son. Maybe I'm on the right track to earning karma points back.
Virgos, from a December baby's perspective are tough and stand-offish. There is no sense of being part of a family unit between the two Virgos in my life and myself. When my father died, his wife moved the day of the memorial service up a day, and I could not get there in time. They did it anyway, and I never went. No one stood up and said, "hey, know what, Karyle was his only daughter, don't you think we should wait for her?" Nope. Never happened. I forgive them, but my relationship with his wife is irretreivable. I'd like to retreive it, but its easier sometimes to pick your battles, and this one is too personal. I can live without her in my life. My brothers on the other hand, are my brothers and I can forgive them. I don't think they have any cajones for not standing up for me, but I do forgive them.
And here's the thing, it doesn't really matter to any of us. I'm 2500 miles away for a reason. The Cohen clan has always been very distant with each other. Honestly I think it is a trust issue, but I can't imagine what started this behaviour in all of us. Out of sight out of mind should not be in the family equation. I keep expecting a different reception and everytime I come away disappointed that I don't have the type of family that sticks together and sticks up for each other and actually talks to one another. You've got your life, we've chosen to keep ours out of yours. I love being the black sheep of the family. At least I give them something to talk about, although I wouldn't know that for a fact.
I checked out of my family a long time ago. We had some great adventures, camping and river rafting and horseback riding and boy scouts and music. Somewhere along the way things changed and everyone shut down to each other. I feel closest to my youngest brother, yet he didn't want his picture taken with me at our nephew's Bar Mitzvah. My middle brother has had his issues and I think the last time we truly talked one-on-one for any length of time was back in middle school. Everyone has a damaged family at some level. Mine seems to be damaged at all levels.
Then there is my mother, the Scorpio. One of us had bad karma to get the other in our lives. My mother has always been beautiful, smart, athletic and a real piece of work. Somehow we start at a nice place (most of the time) and next thing you know, hurtful things are being said to each other. I would stand in front of a bus for her, but I can't help but wonder why we are so abrassive to each other. The day she told me that I would be the one to care for her in her dottage (my family lives to 100), because I was the only girl only had me thinking are you kidding me? That whole mother/daughter dynamic is not pretty. God bless her and keep her, far away from me.
I love my family and am very, very proud of them. I just need to accept them as they are and let 'em be.
My idea for the ideal family is taking interest in each other's lives. My family has never been one of great communicators. I'm actually the touchy, feeley one, I believe, because I've been surrounded by Virgos and Scorpios who don't believe in touch feeley anything. Interestly, my father was a Libra. All my dearest friends seem to be Libra's, but my father was not a typical Libra. I always thought he was a Virgo and that's why our relationship was the way it was. After he died, I realized that I inherited my wanderlust from my father, the Libra. And because the doctor's got Thomas' due date wrong, I have another Libra in my life. I was praying that he make it to the end of September and be a Libra, rather than another Virgo in my life. Maybe that's the good karma coming through. I've earned an incredible best friend, brilliant thinker and living up to his potential son. Maybe I'm on the right track to earning karma points back.
Virgos, from a December baby's perspective are tough and stand-offish. There is no sense of being part of a family unit between the two Virgos in my life and myself. When my father died, his wife moved the day of the memorial service up a day, and I could not get there in time. They did it anyway, and I never went. No one stood up and said, "hey, know what, Karyle was his only daughter, don't you think we should wait for her?" Nope. Never happened. I forgive them, but my relationship with his wife is irretreivable. I'd like to retreive it, but its easier sometimes to pick your battles, and this one is too personal. I can live without her in my life. My brothers on the other hand, are my brothers and I can forgive them. I don't think they have any cajones for not standing up for me, but I do forgive them.
And here's the thing, it doesn't really matter to any of us. I'm 2500 miles away for a reason. The Cohen clan has always been very distant with each other. Honestly I think it is a trust issue, but I can't imagine what started this behaviour in all of us. Out of sight out of mind should not be in the family equation. I keep expecting a different reception and everytime I come away disappointed that I don't have the type of family that sticks together and sticks up for each other and actually talks to one another. You've got your life, we've chosen to keep ours out of yours. I love being the black sheep of the family. At least I give them something to talk about, although I wouldn't know that for a fact.
I checked out of my family a long time ago. We had some great adventures, camping and river rafting and horseback riding and boy scouts and music. Somewhere along the way things changed and everyone shut down to each other. I feel closest to my youngest brother, yet he didn't want his picture taken with me at our nephew's Bar Mitzvah. My middle brother has had his issues and I think the last time we truly talked one-on-one for any length of time was back in middle school. Everyone has a damaged family at some level. Mine seems to be damaged at all levels.
Then there is my mother, the Scorpio. One of us had bad karma to get the other in our lives. My mother has always been beautiful, smart, athletic and a real piece of work. Somehow we start at a nice place (most of the time) and next thing you know, hurtful things are being said to each other. I would stand in front of a bus for her, but I can't help but wonder why we are so abrassive to each other. The day she told me that I would be the one to care for her in her dottage (my family lives to 100), because I was the only girl only had me thinking are you kidding me? That whole mother/daughter dynamic is not pretty. God bless her and keep her, far away from me.
I love my family and am very, very proud of them. I just need to accept them as they are and let 'em be.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Big Sky Fourth of July
Here we are, almost to the July 4th holiday weekend, and I can't believe its the middle of summer already. June has been a bit damp (ie really soggy) and the Yellowstone River is running above flood stage. Great for rafting, but I would second guess putting into the River when there are whole trees floating by at 30mph. I've been successful at keeping Ryder out of the river. He's a strong swimmer, but no match for the Yellowstone at flood stage.
The trees have all greened up, and L-Town is gearing up for the big July 3rd Parade. If you aren't in the parade, you are watching it and its a wonderful community event. People set up chairs on the parade route literally the night before to get a good spot. Last year the Parade Grand Marshall was Ted Turner. A lot of people were unhappy about that because he has a huge ranch that is a refuge for buffalo and wolves. Them's fighting words in big sky country.
This town turns out for a parade! Horses all decked out in leather and silver, classic cars and floats all made by hand. The Rodeo is also in town over the holiday weekend. I've lived here 5 years, and still have not attended a rodeo. I can get on my own bucking horse, thank you very much. It's fun to see real cowboys (like we don't already have those) strutting around downtown. You can tell they are rodeo cowboys by the big hats and wranglers tucked into knee-high boots. The Rodeo is a community event, however I don't feel compelled to attend to watch horses and bulls with ropes around their tender spots forcing them to buck. So I stay home and keep my mouth shut. I LIKE living here. Folks still think of me as the liberal from back east, so I know when keep my mouth shut about things like a rodeo.
Summertime in L-town brings the tourists, which is a gift for everyone who has a business, guide service or hotel. You can really tell who the tourists are. They are the ones with the cameras around their necks, craning their heads to look up at Sleeping Giant, or the neon lights and the historic facades of downtown L-town. Traffic is a problem during tourist season. You have to actually wait at stop signs and the three traffic lights we have are always busy.
I bitch and moan about 9 months of winter, however for the three months of summer we get, L-town is Mayberry. Kids playing, I ride my bike everywhere and it doesn't get dark until 10pm. I guess after 9 months of winter, Mother Nature takes pity on us and gives us crystal clear blue skys, high temps - it was 90 yesterday but the wind kept it cooler - and every reason to get out of the house.
The kids love our walks in the morning and evening. Ryder be-lines it to the lagoon and jumps in as soon as he sees water. Thank goodness for the lagoon-the river is running way too high for him and I wouldn't want an unhappy teenage Lab underfoot without access to water. Princess Lucy dips her tiny feet into the water and calls it for lack of interest. She does urge Ryder on when he is swimming towards the bank after fetching the ball I have thrown with that high pitched happy yip of hers. She wants to be part of the party, but hasn't figured out that means getting wet. And she is above fetching.
Thanks for reading!
The trees have all greened up, and L-Town is gearing up for the big July 3rd Parade. If you aren't in the parade, you are watching it and its a wonderful community event. People set up chairs on the parade route literally the night before to get a good spot. Last year the Parade Grand Marshall was Ted Turner. A lot of people were unhappy about that because he has a huge ranch that is a refuge for buffalo and wolves. Them's fighting words in big sky country.
This town turns out for a parade! Horses all decked out in leather and silver, classic cars and floats all made by hand. The Rodeo is also in town over the holiday weekend. I've lived here 5 years, and still have not attended a rodeo. I can get on my own bucking horse, thank you very much. It's fun to see real cowboys (like we don't already have those) strutting around downtown. You can tell they are rodeo cowboys by the big hats and wranglers tucked into knee-high boots. The Rodeo is a community event, however I don't feel compelled to attend to watch horses and bulls with ropes around their tender spots forcing them to buck. So I stay home and keep my mouth shut. I LIKE living here. Folks still think of me as the liberal from back east, so I know when keep my mouth shut about things like a rodeo.
Summertime in L-town brings the tourists, which is a gift for everyone who has a business, guide service or hotel. You can really tell who the tourists are. They are the ones with the cameras around their necks, craning their heads to look up at Sleeping Giant, or the neon lights and the historic facades of downtown L-town. Traffic is a problem during tourist season. You have to actually wait at stop signs and the three traffic lights we have are always busy.
I bitch and moan about 9 months of winter, however for the three months of summer we get, L-town is Mayberry. Kids playing, I ride my bike everywhere and it doesn't get dark until 10pm. I guess after 9 months of winter, Mother Nature takes pity on us and gives us crystal clear blue skys, high temps - it was 90 yesterday but the wind kept it cooler - and every reason to get out of the house.
The kids love our walks in the morning and evening. Ryder be-lines it to the lagoon and jumps in as soon as he sees water. Thank goodness for the lagoon-the river is running way too high for him and I wouldn't want an unhappy teenage Lab underfoot without access to water. Princess Lucy dips her tiny feet into the water and calls it for lack of interest. She does urge Ryder on when he is swimming towards the bank after fetching the ball I have thrown with that high pitched happy yip of hers. She wants to be part of the party, but hasn't figured out that means getting wet. And she is above fetching.
Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Middle Age Rant
I woke myself up snoring. I know, embarrassing isn’t it? There are so many embarrassing things that happen when you become “over 50”. Farting. Yes, I admit, I fart, or toot when I walk as a friend told me once. I’m finding hair in the drain and I know its mine. What’s with the hair loss? I thought that was going to be my son’s cross to bear, but genetics don’t lie. Hair in places it has no right to be. As a woman, to contemplate shaving over plucking because it doesn’t take as much time is just sad.
Back in the day, oh, when I was 40, things were beginning to make sense. I had this body and I could shape it any way I wanted. Now in my early 50’s, after 2 years of rigourous gym visits, I’m a bit firmer but still 10lbs overweight. Back when I was 40, I could do anything and go anywhere. Everything had adventure potential, due in part to the fact I had to do something to shake my life up. I left my home, family, a good job, friends, and pointed my little Toyota Celica west, with my big german shepard, Kia, in the back seat. No fear. A lot of anticipation, but no fear.
Today I am 51 years old. There is something about the virtual approach of middle age that I can’t get my brain around. I need to start to acting in my 50’s right? What does that actually look like? My mother at 50 was (and remains) stylish, thin, in fantastic shape and active. I, like my mother and my grandmother, refuse to go quietly or without style. Style has become a big issue for me lately. I’m in my 50’s-what exactly is my style? Finding the answer to this very important question of the universe has become very important to me in my encroaching middle age.
I’m classic, with a bit of hippy chick thrown in under all the heavy coats with colorful scarves that I have to wear during 9 months of drab winter. Function over style. I hate that. I want to wear the cute things I could get away with when I was 40. Tight jeans. Tank tops. Big belts and cute shoes. There is no cause for tank tops when its below 10 degrees 9 months out of the year. Plus the hips are spreading, the stomach is pouching and the thighs are rubbing. Ouch.
I appreciated my 40’s. I came to terms with the fact I was smarter than the work I was doing. I wanted to make a bit of a difference in this world, so I took off to work in economic development in Blanding Utah for 2 years as a Vista volunteer. Blanding Utah, population 3,500 souls, didn’t have as many people in 17 sq miles, as the building where I worked in Fairfax Va. What a life experience. I never doubted I could do it, and do it well. I never doubted that it wouldn’t work out. There is a lot of power being 40 years old.
As I approach being over 50 however, my options seem to become more limited. To think about packing up and moving somewhere else is no longer an interesting idea. I find myself wanting to be grounded. I want a house with my stuff in it, as compared to a space that I occupy for a little bit. I’m afraid that I’m reaching my expiration date with job opportunities, men and energy. I feel like I’m at the top of my game professionally, but yielding points in looks. Ok, I am vain enough to be concerned about my looks. Overnight the eyes seemed to get creppie, laugh lines more pronounced and turkey wings that I am blessed to have will forever be my nemisis.
There are things that work with being over 50. I don’t take any crap from anyone, and all of a sudden I find myself being the oldest one in the room, rather than the other way around. With age comes wisdom, one hopes. If you ask my opinion, I will tell you and even if you don’t ask, I’ll probably tell you anyway. I am confident in this body that it will keep me healthy for many many years to come. I just want to look good getting there.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Do Your Dream
When I was a poor VISTA in Utah, I found a bumper sticker that said "Do your dream". I love that and find it very empowering. Taking some responsibility for your life with all the good and bad choices that have been made, makes it all about intention.
I would like to think I live a life of good intentions. I have screwed up royally on more occassions than you can count, but like riding a horse, I lick my wounds and come back with a bounce. And scars.
I rode in the DC AIDS ride in 1999. That was a turning point for me, and the beginning of doing my dream. Raleigh NC to DC, 375 miles in 4 days. Two of those days were a century (100 miles). My personal best was 75 miles a day. The great thing about that experience was that I set out to do something, and maybe didn't do as well as a lot of people, but I completed the ride. Kicked my ass but I finished. The lessons I gained from that experience are priceless, with the most important lesson being I can do whatever I set my mind to. My mantra during that ride was "the road ahead, the power within".
After the Ride, I began to re-evaluate my life. I was turning 40 and this was my mid-life crisis. I didn't go out and buy a Porsche, I left my life and started over again as a VISTA in bet you can't find it on a map, Blanding Utah. The day I had everything I owned in front of my house for a yard sale was the scariest day of my life. Well, one of the scariest days. My girlfriend came to help out and I hardly recognized her. She said I looked like a deer in the headlights. I made enough money to make the trip with my german shepard, Kia, to middle of nowhere Utah so I guess it's true that one persons' stuff is another persons' treasure.
Everyone thought I should carry a gun for my trip across the country. I don't like guns and at the time had never come close to one. I just replied Look at this dog! Who is going to mess with me with this german shepard in the shotgun seat? Kia is one of my life's tragedies. I had no business owning a german shepard. She came from a backyard breeder and was so anxious that she was fierce. I never had her off the lead around other people. No one was going to mess with me with that dog on the end of a lead.
In Utah I had a little bit of a house with a lot of space around it. One day I was sitting in a plastic chair, reading, with Kia on the end of the lead attached to the chair. I got up to get a glass of water, and heard the chair move. A very kind Morman lady had come by to visit, and Kia bit her. For no reason at all. I was horrified. She went to the doctor, he had to report it and the cops came by for a visit. They gave me two options: either I get her out of town, or they were going to shoot her. I couldn't in good conscious give her to someone else because I knew it would happen again. So I took her to the vet, who was really a big animal vet, and had her put down. My VISTA friends were amazing to me throughout the whole ordeal.
The absolute worst part was my boy was coming to visit and I had to tell him what happened to Kia. Two of my VISTA friends went with me to pick him up at the airport and about 5 minutes into the ride back to Blanding, he asks about Kia. I pulled off the road, took him for a walk, and told him what had happened. Three days later we got Georgie the Wonderdog.
After living under the poverty level for 2 years, I needed to find a sustainable job. Utah was out of the question, so I went to New Mexico where I talked my way into a Main Street position. I had never heard of the Main Street program before I applied for the job. I talked my way into it, and once again, was doing my dream. I was running a program that meant something to a community and I was living and working near the Navajo Reservation. I was still feeling connected.
Now that I have made my way to Montana, it occurred to me that when I was younger, I wanted to go to MSU and live in Montana. I am still doing my dream only this time, my bumper sticker says "well behaved women rarely make history". Try using that as an example when asked "What made me think I knew what I was doing?" to a group of Shriners, all over the age of 70 and 4th generation Montanan's. I was there to present the City's streetscape program to them. That was a tough room.
Thanks for reading!
I would like to think I live a life of good intentions. I have screwed up royally on more occassions than you can count, but like riding a horse, I lick my wounds and come back with a bounce. And scars.
I rode in the DC AIDS ride in 1999. That was a turning point for me, and the beginning of doing my dream. Raleigh NC to DC, 375 miles in 4 days. Two of those days were a century (100 miles). My personal best was 75 miles a day. The great thing about that experience was that I set out to do something, and maybe didn't do as well as a lot of people, but I completed the ride. Kicked my ass but I finished. The lessons I gained from that experience are priceless, with the most important lesson being I can do whatever I set my mind to. My mantra during that ride was "the road ahead, the power within".
After the Ride, I began to re-evaluate my life. I was turning 40 and this was my mid-life crisis. I didn't go out and buy a Porsche, I left my life and started over again as a VISTA in bet you can't find it on a map, Blanding Utah. The day I had everything I owned in front of my house for a yard sale was the scariest day of my life. Well, one of the scariest days. My girlfriend came to help out and I hardly recognized her. She said I looked like a deer in the headlights. I made enough money to make the trip with my german shepard, Kia, to middle of nowhere Utah so I guess it's true that one persons' stuff is another persons' treasure.
Everyone thought I should carry a gun for my trip across the country. I don't like guns and at the time had never come close to one. I just replied Look at this dog! Who is going to mess with me with this german shepard in the shotgun seat? Kia is one of my life's tragedies. I had no business owning a german shepard. She came from a backyard breeder and was so anxious that she was fierce. I never had her off the lead around other people. No one was going to mess with me with that dog on the end of a lead.
In Utah I had a little bit of a house with a lot of space around it. One day I was sitting in a plastic chair, reading, with Kia on the end of the lead attached to the chair. I got up to get a glass of water, and heard the chair move. A very kind Morman lady had come by to visit, and Kia bit her. For no reason at all. I was horrified. She went to the doctor, he had to report it and the cops came by for a visit. They gave me two options: either I get her out of town, or they were going to shoot her. I couldn't in good conscious give her to someone else because I knew it would happen again. So I took her to the vet, who was really a big animal vet, and had her put down. My VISTA friends were amazing to me throughout the whole ordeal.
The absolute worst part was my boy was coming to visit and I had to tell him what happened to Kia. Two of my VISTA friends went with me to pick him up at the airport and about 5 minutes into the ride back to Blanding, he asks about Kia. I pulled off the road, took him for a walk, and told him what had happened. Three days later we got Georgie the Wonderdog.
After living under the poverty level for 2 years, I needed to find a sustainable job. Utah was out of the question, so I went to New Mexico where I talked my way into a Main Street position. I had never heard of the Main Street program before I applied for the job. I talked my way into it, and once again, was doing my dream. I was running a program that meant something to a community and I was living and working near the Navajo Reservation. I was still feeling connected.
Now that I have made my way to Montana, it occurred to me that when I was younger, I wanted to go to MSU and live in Montana. I am still doing my dream only this time, my bumper sticker says "well behaved women rarely make history". Try using that as an example when asked "What made me think I knew what I was doing?" to a group of Shriners, all over the age of 70 and 4th generation Montanan's. I was there to present the City's streetscape program to them. That was a tough room.
Thanks for reading!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
For the Love of a Cold Nose
Ryder, the ginormous gallumpus of a yellow lab has trained us perfectly. I'm the early riser in the family. I'd like to think that's by choice because I love the early morning, however lately it's become Ryder's choice. Princess Lucy of Livingston is more than happy to stay at the foot of the bed, warm and cozy, until one of us is ready to move. When Ryder's ready to go, he can be very persistent.
It starts around 5am. Every morning, 5am. This morning, he was off by 10 minutes and it was actually 4:50am. Trust me, I looked. A little bit of light is coming out, but its still Oh-Dark Hundred when he is ready to go.
Both of us are bone tired, and sleeping thru the entire night has become a daily challenge. When Oh-Dark Hundred comes around, its by way of a slight snuffle, and a cold nose gently nudging me. And its always me. He doesn't go to Jeff's side unless he's really frustrated with me. Ugghh, really? So I tell him to go lay down, which he does using all his 100lbs and flopping on the floor, loudly.
So, we're all up, but not moving anytime soon. Just a few more minutes, which Ryder graciously gives, until he's back with his cold nose nudging me, this time with a sloppy puppy kiss. Now I have to move, because he's doing his happy dance and knows slobber will get me moving every time.
Downstairs we go, and the two of them go out in the semi-darkness. Lucy will keep up with Ryder until she drops. I buy bones larger than her head, and she will get it away from the big guy and not let it go until she's good and ready. They make their early morning outting quick, because they know Mom will have breakfast ready for them. I seriously feed the dogs before I even get coffee started. There's a lot to be said of being a pup's human.
Lucy is a very delicate eater. She doesn't slurp or slobber. She neatly picks out the good stuff and licks the bowl, quietly. Ryder on the other hand, has no manners. None. It drives Jeff crazy that Ryder slurps, loudly, whatever he is inhaling in his bowl, or a bowl of water. He sprays water everywhere and snout still dripping, will come for a head nudge. Now that its getting warmer, the water bowl stays outside in the hopes that when he comes in, he won't be dripping. Ever the optimist.
When it rains, its a good day in our house because Mom has a TOWEL, and isn't afraid to use it. They both love the towel rubbing after they come in from a steady rain. Princess Lucy doesn't swim, and sorta minds getting wet, but she loves that towel. I swear they go outside during a downpour, just because they know the towel would be waiting.
Georgie the Wonder Dog was smart, but Ryder, the Ginormous Gallumpus, is really smart and learns real quick what works for HIM, like the whole morning ritual. He can be annoyingly happy. The front paws start his happy dance, the tongue comes out for puppy kisses, and get him near a body of water, and you have puppy heaven.
Lucy, on the other hand, loves feet. She is the perfect footstool. So long as you keep gently rubbing her back with your foot, she will stay there for hours. If you get tired of rubbing her back with your foot, and bring the other foot up, she will move to reposition herself under said foot. And she groans with pleasure when she gets a foot rub back rub. I think she'd purr if she could.
Princess Lucy is maybe 20lbs and Ryder the Ginormous Gallumpus comes in close to 100lbs They both have voices and they are pretty good about not using them. Ryder has a woof, a big, loud woof. Lucy on the other hand, only speaks when she gets excited, which is every time a walk or car ride is involved. Her voice will make you turn on your closest friend. Lucy's happy voice is high and yippy. Once she's gotten things sorted out and we're on our way, she's quiet and running between the two back windows, head out, with a smile only a schnauzer can have. Ryder usually has the other window, head out, tongue wagging. I love looking in my side mirrors at them; what a duo!
I am not even close to the perfect housekeeper because of the animals in my life (Jeff included). I can live with dog hair and boot/paw prints on my kitchen floor. Yes, we do live in a barn. I just don't have the fight in me to keep up with everyone. Sweeping/mopping a couple times a week is such a boring chore. I do it because even I have a point of enough dog hair and dirt. I have also learned to love the smell of lemon oil on furniture. Shoot me now please.
Thanks for reading my blog! I'd love to know what you think; am I boring the universe to tears? I must say I'm having fun doing this. Journaling through technology where anyone can read it. That's my goal though. Get my writing out there. It's been on "the list" forever and now I can cross it off.
It starts around 5am. Every morning, 5am. This morning, he was off by 10 minutes and it was actually 4:50am. Trust me, I looked. A little bit of light is coming out, but its still Oh-Dark Hundred when he is ready to go.
Both of us are bone tired, and sleeping thru the entire night has become a daily challenge. When Oh-Dark Hundred comes around, its by way of a slight snuffle, and a cold nose gently nudging me. And its always me. He doesn't go to Jeff's side unless he's really frustrated with me. Ugghh, really? So I tell him to go lay down, which he does using all his 100lbs and flopping on the floor, loudly.
So, we're all up, but not moving anytime soon. Just a few more minutes, which Ryder graciously gives, until he's back with his cold nose nudging me, this time with a sloppy puppy kiss. Now I have to move, because he's doing his happy dance and knows slobber will get me moving every time.
Downstairs we go, and the two of them go out in the semi-darkness. Lucy will keep up with Ryder until she drops. I buy bones larger than her head, and she will get it away from the big guy and not let it go until she's good and ready. They make their early morning outting quick, because they know Mom will have breakfast ready for them. I seriously feed the dogs before I even get coffee started. There's a lot to be said of being a pup's human.
Lucy is a very delicate eater. She doesn't slurp or slobber. She neatly picks out the good stuff and licks the bowl, quietly. Ryder on the other hand, has no manners. None. It drives Jeff crazy that Ryder slurps, loudly, whatever he is inhaling in his bowl, or a bowl of water. He sprays water everywhere and snout still dripping, will come for a head nudge. Now that its getting warmer, the water bowl stays outside in the hopes that when he comes in, he won't be dripping. Ever the optimist.
When it rains, its a good day in our house because Mom has a TOWEL, and isn't afraid to use it. They both love the towel rubbing after they come in from a steady rain. Princess Lucy doesn't swim, and sorta minds getting wet, but she loves that towel. I swear they go outside during a downpour, just because they know the towel would be waiting.
Georgie the Wonder Dog was smart, but Ryder, the Ginormous Gallumpus, is really smart and learns real quick what works for HIM, like the whole morning ritual. He can be annoyingly happy. The front paws start his happy dance, the tongue comes out for puppy kisses, and get him near a body of water, and you have puppy heaven.
Lucy, on the other hand, loves feet. She is the perfect footstool. So long as you keep gently rubbing her back with your foot, she will stay there for hours. If you get tired of rubbing her back with your foot, and bring the other foot up, she will move to reposition herself under said foot. And she groans with pleasure when she gets a foot rub back rub. I think she'd purr if she could.
Princess Lucy is maybe 20lbs and Ryder the Ginormous Gallumpus comes in close to 100lbs They both have voices and they are pretty good about not using them. Ryder has a woof, a big, loud woof. Lucy on the other hand, only speaks when she gets excited, which is every time a walk or car ride is involved. Her voice will make you turn on your closest friend. Lucy's happy voice is high and yippy. Once she's gotten things sorted out and we're on our way, she's quiet and running between the two back windows, head out, with a smile only a schnauzer can have. Ryder usually has the other window, head out, tongue wagging. I love looking in my side mirrors at them; what a duo!
I am not even close to the perfect housekeeper because of the animals in my life (Jeff included). I can live with dog hair and boot/paw prints on my kitchen floor. Yes, we do live in a barn. I just don't have the fight in me to keep up with everyone. Sweeping/mopping a couple times a week is such a boring chore. I do it because even I have a point of enough dog hair and dirt. I have also learned to love the smell of lemon oil on furniture. Shoot me now please.
Thanks for reading my blog! I'd love to know what you think; am I boring the universe to tears? I must say I'm having fun doing this. Journaling through technology where anyone can read it. That's my goal though. Get my writing out there. It's been on "the list" forever and now I can cross it off.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Oh Montana!
This has been one long, bitch of a cold, grey and snowy winter. Nine months of winter make you second guess what seemed like a great decision to move from a place of sunshine and flowering trees in April to the Northern Rockies.
Then there are weekends like this past one, where it all makes sense. Mother Nature smiles at us for two consequetive days in a row, on a weekend no less, and being in Montana is magical. The sun came out on Saturday and our garden is now planted and taking root. I have the daily pleasure of looking out my window into the garden and knowing that I am feeding it as much as it feeds me. It's a REAL garden this year. Rows rather than clusters. I learned alot from my attempt last year to grow things. For the next three months, I will sit in front of my garden with my morning coffee and revel in the fact I am growing something and it feeds my soul. This is Montana. Mother Nature and all her wonders and sometimes bad attitude lives in Montana.
Then there are the horses. And cowboys. And enough testosterone to get me through meopause. Sunday we herded horses. With vehicles. Not a saddle pony or cowboy in sight, just the four of us: Jeff, Chuck, Monica and myself running a herd of at least 50 head of horses off 2000 acres and into 90 acres. Holy guacamole toledo what a ride! This is Montana at its most believable. Montana is where the rubber hits the road and you'd better be able to shake it off and get 'er done.
Monica drove the truck, Jeff drove Louise and Chuck and I rode the buggy. At 50 miles an hour over rises that you know are a straight drop down. You have to go fast; gettimg caught up in a wash or gopher hole makes for a very bad day. It reminded me of flying in a hot air balloon over Valley of the Gods in Monument Valley. I got to crew as a volunteer, which means you can fly for free. It also means if that balloon goes down, you're carrying that Gondola for miles to the closest road. I never had to carry a gondola out, thank goodness and the flight was breathaking. I didn't want to deal with Chuck if that buggy got stuck, so I hung on for the ride and boy howdy, it rocked!
Literally, it rocked. Riding in that buggy with Chuck was like flying in an airplane; I know I am personally willing that plane to take off safely, and then willing it down safely. I was willing that buggy to stay upright as we took the washes at full speed with no sense of what's coming up. Well, I had no idea of what was coming up. Chuck was been working this land for years and knows where every wash and gopher hole could be. He was merciless with the gopher holes. Hit one of those at 50 mph and that makes for a bumpy ride. He did listen to me a couple times when we climbed a wash that was straight down and straight up that it might not be a good idea to give it a go. Whew. I was riding that buggy like a bike or a horse-lean into it, hold on and go.
And then we found the herd. 50 head with at least 5 foals. Running. Full on galloping across acres and miles. All in the same direction. A white mare (or the bitch as Chuck refers to her), has her own ideas of where she wants to go and why, and she just pisses Chuck off. She did fine yesterday and stayed with the herd. She pisses him off, but she's been pissing him off for years. I think he keeps her for just that reason. Chuck is the horse whisperer and likes to act pissed off. Gotta love a guy who threatens the cannery one minute and then goes on and hands out cake the next.
Seeing those ponies running as we are driving paralel to them, was fricking unbelievable. The sound of all those hooves, at full speed over the sound of that buggy being floored to keep up with them, was full on Montana without the preconceived cowboys, sorta. 50 head running on a ridge against the backdrop of the Absorkee mountains with snow in the high country, and a crystal clear blue sky almost made me cry because of the beauty and moment.
I'll always be the "east coast girl", but Oh Montana, I can't believe this is my life. It's hard and its wonderful. I am living an adventurous life and holding on with both hands!
Thanks for reading!
Then there are weekends like this past one, where it all makes sense. Mother Nature smiles at us for two consequetive days in a row, on a weekend no less, and being in Montana is magical. The sun came out on Saturday and our garden is now planted and taking root. I have the daily pleasure of looking out my window into the garden and knowing that I am feeding it as much as it feeds me. It's a REAL garden this year. Rows rather than clusters. I learned alot from my attempt last year to grow things. For the next three months, I will sit in front of my garden with my morning coffee and revel in the fact I am growing something and it feeds my soul. This is Montana. Mother Nature and all her wonders and sometimes bad attitude lives in Montana.
Then there are the horses. And cowboys. And enough testosterone to get me through meopause. Sunday we herded horses. With vehicles. Not a saddle pony or cowboy in sight, just the four of us: Jeff, Chuck, Monica and myself running a herd of at least 50 head of horses off 2000 acres and into 90 acres. Holy guacamole toledo what a ride! This is Montana at its most believable. Montana is where the rubber hits the road and you'd better be able to shake it off and get 'er done.
Monica drove the truck, Jeff drove Louise and Chuck and I rode the buggy. At 50 miles an hour over rises that you know are a straight drop down. You have to go fast; gettimg caught up in a wash or gopher hole makes for a very bad day. It reminded me of flying in a hot air balloon over Valley of the Gods in Monument Valley. I got to crew as a volunteer, which means you can fly for free. It also means if that balloon goes down, you're carrying that Gondola for miles to the closest road. I never had to carry a gondola out, thank goodness and the flight was breathaking. I didn't want to deal with Chuck if that buggy got stuck, so I hung on for the ride and boy howdy, it rocked!
Literally, it rocked. Riding in that buggy with Chuck was like flying in an airplane; I know I am personally willing that plane to take off safely, and then willing it down safely. I was willing that buggy to stay upright as we took the washes at full speed with no sense of what's coming up. Well, I had no idea of what was coming up. Chuck was been working this land for years and knows where every wash and gopher hole could be. He was merciless with the gopher holes. Hit one of those at 50 mph and that makes for a bumpy ride. He did listen to me a couple times when we climbed a wash that was straight down and straight up that it might not be a good idea to give it a go. Whew. I was riding that buggy like a bike or a horse-lean into it, hold on and go.
And then we found the herd. 50 head with at least 5 foals. Running. Full on galloping across acres and miles. All in the same direction. A white mare (or the bitch as Chuck refers to her), has her own ideas of where she wants to go and why, and she just pisses Chuck off. She did fine yesterday and stayed with the herd. She pisses him off, but she's been pissing him off for years. I think he keeps her for just that reason. Chuck is the horse whisperer and likes to act pissed off. Gotta love a guy who threatens the cannery one minute and then goes on and hands out cake the next.
Seeing those ponies running as we are driving paralel to them, was fricking unbelievable. The sound of all those hooves, at full speed over the sound of that buggy being floored to keep up with them, was full on Montana without the preconceived cowboys, sorta. 50 head running on a ridge against the backdrop of the Absorkee mountains with snow in the high country, and a crystal clear blue sky almost made me cry because of the beauty and moment.
I'll always be the "east coast girl", but Oh Montana, I can't believe this is my life. It's hard and its wonderful. I am living an adventurous life and holding on with both hands!
Thanks for reading!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Balance and Pony Life Lessons
There is a lot to learn about yourself when you are around big animals, especially horses. I'm a Sag baby, half horse, which means I am drawn to the ponies. All horses are ponies to me, just as all dogs are pups, no matter how old.
As a kid, I spent all my free time at the barn; it was my escape from being the geek kid at school and the problem child at home. I would shovel stalls to get an hour on the back of a horse. Riding is like using chop sticks; you have to pay attention and small movements matter.
When I lived back east, I would go to a barn near Marshall and rent a horse to ride for an hour. There is nothing like being on the back of a pony to put things in perspective. If life was difficult, staying on the back of that horse made me realize I could keep up with whatever difficulties I encountered. Being in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the fall on the back of a horse was magical because it seemed God took a paintbrush of yellows, reds, browns and golds to the hillsides. I would always come home after a good ride with a smile on my face and sore thigh muscles.
Balance has always been a challenge for me, both mentally and more often lately, physically. How do you find balance in a life that is full of pitfalls, bad choices and having people depend on you? I'm still working on that, and probably will be for the rest of my life. I'm learning, through working with the ponies, that balance is key to being a happy person. If I am unbalanced in the saddle, I'm eating dirt. If I'm afraid of being unbalanced in the saddle, I'll never get on and find out differently. If I continue to look and work for balance on all levels, I find that I appreciate things I never would have noticed before such as a perfectly blue sky, a gift of flowers just because or the most important things in my life: my son, my fiancee, my friends, my house and the fact I wake up every day wondering if I'll fall today or not. Balance is a goal, a hard goal, but in my life, the gold ring I keep aspiring to reach for.
So, here are some of my pony life lessons:
1. Be aware. Don't take for granted your surroundings, whether its in a round ring or out on the trail or life in general. Years ago, I signed up for a Ride-A-Thon to help raise money for an organization that worked with kids and adults with disabilities and horses. I raised a lot of money, but had no horse to ride. I had met an older lady who was happy for me to clean out her stalls and my son and I would spend weekends working around her horses. I asked her if I could "borrow" one, and she agreed. So I had a horse, but no way to trailer her to the site. I rented a trailer and away we went. This pony was supposed to be a Tennessee Walker, but had the worst gait ever. Walkers are like sitting in a rocking chair; this girl couldn't figure out what gait she wanted to do. The course was a 5 mile trail ride through Great Falls and we had a wonderful time. We finished early and I wanted to go around again. The first time around, we passed a ginormous concrete post sticking out of the ground. No worries. The second time around, since I'd already been familiar with the trail, my feet were out of the stirrups and I was enjoying the day and the ride, not paying attention. Damn if that pony didn't buck at the concrete post and the next thing I know, I'm flat on my back on the ground. Thrown at a walk. Seriously.
2. Patience is a virtue. Patience has never been one of my strong points, but working around horses forces me to learn patience. Ponies are smart and sometimes loco, but I digress. Good, wonderful things happen when I slow down and appreciate the work I am doing with a horse. A head shake, a nuzzle, bright eyes and ears forward are all rewards for the human involved. Patience with people may get you a head shake, but at least you've given them time to think about it.
3. Never take anything for granted. When the pony listens to your commands on a lunge line, its a huge success, but that doesn't mean those same voice commands will work once a saddle is on. Working with ponies is like interacting with the people in your life. You start taking them for granted and bad things happen, relationships fade away, trust is broken and resentment sets in and you find yourself in the dirt wondering what just happened?
4. Building a relationship from the ground up is worth the patience it takes to sustain one. Starting from scratch, without bringing your baggage into the ring or the relationship is worth the time. Horses are very sensitive to moods and attitudes. They know when you're having a bad day, and will make sure you have a REALLY bad day if that's the direction you are headed. Leaving the attitude at the gate will turn things around and make it a really great day. Holding on to bad stuff will only make things worse.
5. You may be old and be a little grey, but you still got attitude. And like a good rub-down. My current pony, Diamond is a bit older and wiser than Loco Luna and myself. She understands what I need from her and knows that when all is good in our world, a good rub-down at the end of an hour of lunging is worth it. I may be older and greyer, but attitude has gotten me this far. And I will purr for a good massage!
6. Don't get too close or you might get stepped on. If I'm having a bad attitude sort of day, its very easy to leave myself open to being stepped on and my feelings hurt. Personal space people! Hanging around the ponies offers the same risks and rewards. Body language speaks volumes and the ponies are the best readers of body language ever. You make them mad, well, you didn't need that foot anyway for a couple of days, right? That'll teach ya about attitude.
7.
Thanks for reading!
As a kid, I spent all my free time at the barn; it was my escape from being the geek kid at school and the problem child at home. I would shovel stalls to get an hour on the back of a horse. Riding is like using chop sticks; you have to pay attention and small movements matter.
When I lived back east, I would go to a barn near Marshall and rent a horse to ride for an hour. There is nothing like being on the back of a pony to put things in perspective. If life was difficult, staying on the back of that horse made me realize I could keep up with whatever difficulties I encountered. Being in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the fall on the back of a horse was magical because it seemed God took a paintbrush of yellows, reds, browns and golds to the hillsides. I would always come home after a good ride with a smile on my face and sore thigh muscles.
Balance has always been a challenge for me, both mentally and more often lately, physically. How do you find balance in a life that is full of pitfalls, bad choices and having people depend on you? I'm still working on that, and probably will be for the rest of my life. I'm learning, through working with the ponies, that balance is key to being a happy person. If I am unbalanced in the saddle, I'm eating dirt. If I'm afraid of being unbalanced in the saddle, I'll never get on and find out differently. If I continue to look and work for balance on all levels, I find that I appreciate things I never would have noticed before such as a perfectly blue sky, a gift of flowers just because or the most important things in my life: my son, my fiancee, my friends, my house and the fact I wake up every day wondering if I'll fall today or not. Balance is a goal, a hard goal, but in my life, the gold ring I keep aspiring to reach for.
So, here are some of my pony life lessons:
1. Be aware. Don't take for granted your surroundings, whether its in a round ring or out on the trail or life in general. Years ago, I signed up for a Ride-A-Thon to help raise money for an organization that worked with kids and adults with disabilities and horses. I raised a lot of money, but had no horse to ride. I had met an older lady who was happy for me to clean out her stalls and my son and I would spend weekends working around her horses. I asked her if I could "borrow" one, and she agreed. So I had a horse, but no way to trailer her to the site. I rented a trailer and away we went. This pony was supposed to be a Tennessee Walker, but had the worst gait ever. Walkers are like sitting in a rocking chair; this girl couldn't figure out what gait she wanted to do. The course was a 5 mile trail ride through Great Falls and we had a wonderful time. We finished early and I wanted to go around again. The first time around, we passed a ginormous concrete post sticking out of the ground. No worries. The second time around, since I'd already been familiar with the trail, my feet were out of the stirrups and I was enjoying the day and the ride, not paying attention. Damn if that pony didn't buck at the concrete post and the next thing I know, I'm flat on my back on the ground. Thrown at a walk. Seriously.
2. Patience is a virtue. Patience has never been one of my strong points, but working around horses forces me to learn patience. Ponies are smart and sometimes loco, but I digress. Good, wonderful things happen when I slow down and appreciate the work I am doing with a horse. A head shake, a nuzzle, bright eyes and ears forward are all rewards for the human involved. Patience with people may get you a head shake, but at least you've given them time to think about it.
3. Never take anything for granted. When the pony listens to your commands on a lunge line, its a huge success, but that doesn't mean those same voice commands will work once a saddle is on. Working with ponies is like interacting with the people in your life. You start taking them for granted and bad things happen, relationships fade away, trust is broken and resentment sets in and you find yourself in the dirt wondering what just happened?
4. Building a relationship from the ground up is worth the patience it takes to sustain one. Starting from scratch, without bringing your baggage into the ring or the relationship is worth the time. Horses are very sensitive to moods and attitudes. They know when you're having a bad day, and will make sure you have a REALLY bad day if that's the direction you are headed. Leaving the attitude at the gate will turn things around and make it a really great day. Holding on to bad stuff will only make things worse.
5. You may be old and be a little grey, but you still got attitude. And like a good rub-down. My current pony, Diamond is a bit older and wiser than Loco Luna and myself. She understands what I need from her and knows that when all is good in our world, a good rub-down at the end of an hour of lunging is worth it. I may be older and greyer, but attitude has gotten me this far. And I will purr for a good massage!
6. Don't get too close or you might get stepped on. If I'm having a bad attitude sort of day, its very easy to leave myself open to being stepped on and my feelings hurt. Personal space people! Hanging around the ponies offers the same risks and rewards. Body language speaks volumes and the ponies are the best readers of body language ever. You make them mad, well, you didn't need that foot anyway for a couple of days, right? That'll teach ya about attitude.
7.
Thanks for reading!
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