Last night, I made the big decision – well, actually I had already made it, but I made the decision “official”.
I bought my new horse.
Now, don’t get judgmental on first sight, because she’s been in a huge pasture for several years, ungroomed and left to run wild. We are going to play EXTREME HORSE MAKEOVER here. A bath, a couple of hours working on her Rasterferarian dreadlocks and she’ll be beautiful beyond compare. She is a saddlebred (breed) pinto, five years old. I don’t know her “given name” because I’ve yet to check her registration papers. I can call her what I want, but I’m hoping she comes with a name I like.
Mark said, “Name her cow. She looks like one.” (Always the sentimental animal guy.)
I said, “Take that back. She’s beautiful,” (although, now that he mentioned it, she really DOES look like a cow, doesn’t she. But I’ll never admit it to him). “I think she is the one.”
He said, “Lord knows, you’ve done your research. It’s your horse. If she’s the one, and it will make you happy, make the deal.”
It’s true – I’ve been looking at horses, talking to people, riding horses as I shop, checking the internet, reading – doing all I can to determine just what I want. I looked at Missouri Fox Trotters and Tennessee Walkers and Arabians and Thoroughbreds. A saddlebred horse is hearty, sure footed and has a good lineage. This is it.
So, I forgave him the cow comment, even though now I can’t get the name “Moo” out of my head. 
She has light blue eyes – very unusual for a horse, although it does happen in pintos. 
I saw her sister, who had one blue eye and one brown eye. That was unusual. Her sister just had a baby. Here it is:
I show you this as an example of the baby we will most likely be bringing into the world next June. You see, my new horse was put with a fully blood Pinto stud three weeks ago so she is probably pregnant. I thought Mark would be unhappy about this, however, they sold the last baby for 2,100 and made me a standing offer for the new colt. They said they will make a deal now to buy it back for 1,000 when it is 4 months old and weaned. Hummm…. that is nice because it makes me feel more comfortable with the horse’s price – but I think I’ll wait before making any deals. I want to see what we are selling first. And who knows what I’ll want to do with a new quality baby in a ten months.
I get to have a new baby. No, I’m gonna get TWO new babies, because we don’t want to forget my pregnant llama – also due in June. How fun is that gonna be! I’ll be running a four legged nursery!
Of course, there are no guarantees the horse is pregnant. It’s possible the mating didn’t take. That happens on occasion. And sometimes, a mare can lose a colt early on. But considering the breeder knows his stuff, the odds are high that she is pregnant. I am getting not only my horses papers, but a copy of the father’s papers too so I can be prepared to register this new colt if/when it is born.
Either way, I will be happy with this horse. It was love at first sight.
In a field of dozens of horses, she came directly to me. She’s a “people horse”, very interested in humans and personable. Love that. I tried to give her a peppermint, but she wouldn’t take it. She’s never seen one before and didn’t know what it was. Ha – I’m gonna rock her world. I commented that I felt badly taking her from this green wonderland and her life of leisure with the herd, yet the horse trainers reminded me that a horse like this wants to be ridden and likes the care and interaction of a loving owner. Well, if that will make her happy, she’ll be in bliss, for sure.
She will need some serious training, of course. She had 90 days of training and rode well when she was two and with her first owner, but this particular horse seller bought her for breeding. They kept pointing me to the other horses hoping I’d want one of them instead, but I was continually pulled to this one.
They said, “If you want a pinto, how about this beautiful brown one? He is only two and pretty as all get out.”
The horse was awfully pretty, but I kept saying, “What about HER?”
Eventually, they realized I had made my choice and was not to be easily distracted. I can be persuasive when I see something I really want. And I just had a feeling about this particular horse. Kent and Neva agreed. She seemed to like us, and obviously, I liked her.
The horse trainer , Sean, will give her 60 days of intense training, so she will be neck reigned and will have all the basic skills – like going backwards, halting and staying put as you mount or dismount, easy transition between gates, etc.. She will lift her feet for you, load in a trailer, and even step aside when you open a gate. She will be perfect for my uses of trail and pleasure riding and she is of a quality that if I ever decided to show her in Western Pleasure, she can win. (Notice I’m not saying I can win – only her. I don’t kid myself about my horse skills.) I’m not leaning towards competitive riding, but it is nice to know I have that option just in case. After all, I’m planning on this being the last horse I’ll be buying for some time.
I’ve made a deal for Sean to do the training on our land, in our pen and on our fields and trails. This way I’ll be caring for the horse and we will get to know each other. Most importantly, I can watch and LEARN. I am very interested in the horse training process. I’ve taken a horse training clinic at a big equestrian center near our home, and I want to take more, but it can be pretty costly. Now, I’ll have a 60 day home clinic study course for free. Ye-haw. I can go to their clinics for refinement and to train ME. (I need it more than the horses.) Sean said that during the last 30 days, a great deal of the training will involve me. For the best success, he will work with the horse and I, together as a team. I can’t wait.
Then, as if an afterthought, I asked Sean if he’s ever tried to train a donkey.
He snorted and said, “Why would I? ……” Then seeing my disappointed face he said, “Oh Hell, why do you ask?”
“I want to teach my donkey to pull a cart so I can take people around the land in a little two seater. Then, I can ride donkey in dinky parades and such. (Big marketing aspirations from the future coffee shop owner) Sean winced as if even the idea of messing with a lowly donkey was painful.
“I love my donkey.” I pointed out. ‘He’s my FAVORITE.”
“I might be able to help you with that…. if you make me.” he said, good-natured. Just goes to show, that one endeavor often leads you to another, and you never can tell what that might be.
Anyway, today we close on our FLEX building, so in about a week, when finances are in order, I’ll be greeting my new horse – just a week or so before the new barn will be ready to receive her. Gee, it feels like at long last my equestrian pursuits are getting really organized. Lucky me.
As I returned from looking at this horse, Sean and his wife Amanda (who I really like) were talking to a man who was looking for a horse for his kids. He wanted something gentle and smallish, and the trainer looked at me and said, “Actually, I believe this woman here might have just the horse you are looking for. We are talking about a trade, so if she is seri
ous about the horse she is looking at, we might want to look at the one she has at home.” Sure enough, they came to our land to inspect and ride Dixie, and I think she found her new home too.
The man looked nice enough. I said, “I will have to do a background check, ya know. Approved homes only.”
I was kidding, but only kinda.
The man assured me that if he bought her, Dixie would be going to a fine home with a nice pasture and a sweet kids. I will believe that, because it makes this transition bearable for me. For all that she is a simple country horse (too small, without refined training, plus she has no papers or heritage) I do love her. But I love her like a pet that you stroke and adore, not like a trusted mount you want to spend hour after hour exploring the wilderness with – a horse you can count on to keep you safe and securely seated. I do need a better quality horse if I want riding freedom and greater possibilities.
We live a short ride from a national forest with miles of horse trails. I plan to go on day long horse trail rides. I want to pack a lunch and take off, sometimes alone, and sometimes with a friend. It can’t be Mark, because we’ve discovered he can’t ride with his bad hips, but I can take Neva as she gets older, or other friends. Both of our horses will be solid, well behaved, good natured horses now, perfect for long trips. Anyone can ride them. My kids can saddle up with friends and enjoy an afternoon riding. As I get more and more plugged into the horse culture, I hope to meet friends that would also like to join me in riding adventures on their own horses. Fun.
Anyway, when my new horse arrives and she is all cleaned up and looking spit and polished, I’ll post another picture. You will be impressed. And I’ll share some pictures of her in training. I won’t be the only one learning about horses for the next 60 days, ya know, because like a good blogger, I’ll take you along for the ride.
Author Archives: Ginny East Shaddock
Horse Sense
The good book (well, one of them)
I am always amazed at how much people like me (born with advantages, like education and exposure to society’s progress) take for granted when I compare my understanding of the world with someone like Kathy’s. For example, this week, I bought her a dictionary; a Webster’s Youth dictionary, because I didn’t want her wrestling with anything too intimidating. As a non-reader, Kathy didn’t know what a dictionary was.
Spending a day exploring the dictionary wasn’t as much a drag as it sounds – it was actually kind of fun, like a game. Years of trying to make dance education entertaining taught me to camouflage learning in interesting game-like exercises. I try to introduce what could be droll repetition in ways that are more fun. We actually have a good time in our lessons.
Anyway, we spent an entire lesson on the dictionary. It was harder than introducing her to basic cooking or the newspaper. Dictionaries are BIG, (and very wordy, if I say so myself.)
Egad – what if she discovers e-bay? Her husband will never forgive me!
So, that is the big Kathy news. She has learned to read enough that she is ready to go on-line. I’m gonna show her the world, one click at a time. Wow.
Chicken Pranks
My mind reals with contemplation of revenge.
This morning I went to do my morning rounds with the animals, and checked the chicken house. There were only two eggs there. I thought, “What the heck. Where’s my windfall?”
Then I went outside and there is Ronnie (who is building our barn with his two sons) grinning at me.
“I guess Mark didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?” I really didn’t want to know. From that smile, I had a good idea of what was coming.
Apparently, he bought a flat of eggs and HE was the gremlin putting them in my chicken house for the last two days. He said after the day at the flea market, he couldn’t resist. I’ve been so “enthusiastic”. (A nice word for “naive”, I’m thinking.) I have been complaining about my chickens not laying, true, which dangled an irresistible opportunity to toy with a city slicker.
The story he told me about Guineas making chickens lay more was a set up.
He laughed and said, “I never dreamed you’d really fall for it. You seem a smart girl most of the time . . . for a city gal. You didn’t really believe a game bird would effect the laying of regular chickens, did ya? That don’t make no sense.”
“Who me think Guineas inspire laying? Of course not. I’m a chicken expert. I wouldn’t fall for such malarkey.”
What can I say? I fell for it hook line and sinker. And apparently, this amused Ronnie to no end. And Mark, who was in on it, didn’t bother to tell me last night as I went on and on about the eggs I collected that day, even as Neva and I tried guessing which eggs came from which of our beloved chickens. Well, there you have it -I married a rat fink.
Of course I fell for it. My chickens are six months old and they are SUPPOSED to be laying by now. Beside which, it isn’t often you expect outright poultry deceit from a friend WHO IS A PREACHER!
Now, I didn’t just tell you about my eggs. I told everyone I came in contact with yesterday. I was proud, don’t ya know. It was BIG news in Hendryville.
So, I went to the coffee shop to tell Denver the trick Ronnie played. I had boasted quite a bit to her yesterday, and even brought her a half dozen eggs as a celebratory gift.
She thought this a hoot – practically rolled on the floor laughing and said, “Well, I’m glad to see you have a friend who can a little right back at ya.”
So much for daughterly devotion in the form of empathetic outrage over my loss of innocence. I vowed I wouldn’t give HER any more eggs …. especially since I won’t have any to give.
So, if you come to my house, I won’t make you eat eggs. And those eggs I do get are already spoken for. I’m gonna THROW them at Ronnie.
He said, “I hope you aren’t mad. I was afraid you might get mad.”
“Me mad? Over eggs? Couldn’t happen. But do be afraid Ronnie.” I looked at him out of the sides of my eyes, “……Payback is a bitch.”
“Uh Oh,” he said with a chuckle.
So, I will have to put away my quiche recipes until another time, now that I have egg on my face rather than in my chicken nests. I guess it is all a part of the learning curve…. Speaking of curve, since an egg isn’t exactly round, does that effect aim?
Eggstravaganza!
Come to my house. Quick. I’ll make you some eggs.
What I really mean is, I’ll MAKE you eat eggs.
You know how I was complaining that I have bunches of chickens, yet I only get two eggs a day? Then, I got the Guineas and viola, I had seven eggs yesterday. Cool beans! I was pretty excited.
Today, I go to the hen house and find 19 eggs! One chicken was in there laying as I visited. She wouldn’t budge, and had a onery look in her eye, so I left her alone. This doesn’t take into consideration several of my chickens slept outside last night because I got home too late to scoot them into the pen, so all my green egg layers are not included in this quota. They are probably laying under the chicken house with two other chickens who have taken to hiding under there. By the way, none of the eggs collected today are guineas.
Um……. I think I’m gonna be getting two dozen or more eggs a day now until winter when the days get shorter and the hens lay less. And this doesn’t count my Guineas and my six new game chickens and my spastic leghorns who will not be old enough to lay for another six weeks. Then, I’ll be getting 36 eggs a day or so.
You hungry?
Quick! I have to run to the mall to get a quiche recipe book. I’m gonna feed the kids Eggs Benedict for dinner tonight, I guess. And a meringue pie for dessert – that uses only the whites, but lots of ’em.
Actually, that won’t use nearly enough to keep up on this windfall. Humm………..
I think I have to start making lemon curd or some other kind of egg based thing that can be canned and kept as a gourmet treat. Yep, I’m on a quest. Actually, I don’t know if eggs are in lemon curd, I’m only guessing. But I can certainly find something eggish to make.
Of course, there are always alternate uses, like letting them rot and then throwing them at people I don’t like. Better than letting them go to waste, don’t ya know.
All I know is, my dogs are gonna have the dreamiest fur coats, my husband’s cholesterol is going to go through the roof, and I have new kitchen challenges to conquer. And every day now, visiting the henhouse will have an element of thrill.
Gee, chickens are fun.
Ginny’s Guineas
Yesterday, we went with friends to the flea market in Dalton (an hour’s drive). Mark had gone the week before with his good friend, Ronnie, who had let it slip that they had guinea hens for sale for only 4.00 a piece. That is a remarkable price for game hens, so I asked Mark to be sure to buy me some. It rained that day, so very few vendors showed up and alas, no poultry was for sale. Mark came home with 2 1/2 huge flats of strawberries instead, for a grand total of 20.00. This isn’t like Jack in the beanstalk, when the mother sent jack to sell a cow and he brought back beans. I actually have been wanting a ton of strawberries all summer, if only we could find them for an affordable rate. The strawberry gift eased the disappointment of “no-birds today”. But I was determined to go back later and see for myself if there were birds to be had.
I made 4 batches of jam from those strawberries, two different strawberry cordials, and even ended up freezing a few pints for our health smoothies. I already have strawberry wine in the works -(I KNOW that announcement has Boonsfarm quaking in their boots.) Having exhausted my strawberry exploitation, I was back on the quest for game chickens.
So, we decided to try the flea market again yesterday, and I got lucky. I bought 6 young traditional guineas for a song, and spent a bit more on three additional silver adults (one rooster and two hens – to reproduce). I took a picture so you know what I’m talking about – above.
Guineas are rather ugly, looking like a vulture in face with a huge round body. They have horns on their head, and what looks like red gills. They have white faces, like the joker in Batman. Mark looked over my shoulder as I was downloading my camera and said, “Those pictures don’t do them justice. They are FAR uglier than that.”
What does he know? I think they are cute. The babies have been pecked so much in their small cages at the market that they are bare on the backside and they look the worse for wear, but what do you expect for 4 bucks? At our feed store, these same birds are $10-20 a pop, and that adds up if you want to buy a half dozen or more. In time, my scraggly babies will feather out and look healthy. I have a way of bringing out the best in animals.
The guineas make a weird sound, like a raspy flute. They are loud- the female makes a two syllabus sound and the males only one. They lay eggs like a chicken, only the eggs are smaller and pointier and these birds will usually lay in the bushes, so I’ll have to hunt the eggs down if I want to cook them. I’m more interested in the birds reproducing anyway.
Why, you may wonder, do I want ugly birds that make a loud annoying sound?
Does the fact that I’ve never had a guinea chicken and they are interesting to observe sound reason enough?
I also know that they eat bugs with remarkable efficiency. They say people with guineas don’t ever get lime disease and their dogs come home clean because the birds clear away all the ticks for a mile. Yippee. I already adore my chickens because they spend every day in the pasture eating the fly larvae, and this year I have almost NO flies near the horses. That is amazing! Last year, I couldn’t stand being near the horses in August because the flies were so thick. Fly control alone is reason enough to keep chickens. Guineas will top off the job perfectly.
Guineas also are game birds, so they can stay outside and they will fend for themselves and stay alive despite all the wildlife around hunting my birds as fast as I can raise them. They also make a racket when a dog or other danger comes around, so they are considered “watch birds”. They are hearty, so they can handle the winter well. You can eat the eggs (or the birds, if you are into that kind of thing.) The only problem that I may encounter is if the guineas discover my bee hive, some distance away. Apparently, guineas will park themselves at the entrance of a hive and eat all the bees as they fly home. They can gobble up your entire bee population in a few days if you don’t watch it. I figure winter will soon be here, and my bees will be hibernating. My guineas will not be interested in an inactive hive, and if they ever do wander towards the bees, I can build a fence around the hive or something. I’ll cross that bridge when (and if) I come to it.
The point is, I think the guineas are fascinating and as you know, I like learning about new things. I’m set up for a variety of livestock now, why not explore different creatures?
The hardest part about raising guineas is keeping them around after they are let loose. They say it is best to keep them in a pen for a week, then let only one out each day (flock birds want to stay together, and this keeps the loose one close by) Through this process the birds will learn where home is and stay. The way I see it, I spoil animals so badly with food and treats, few would ever wander far, so I am confident they will hang around when I finally let them go. For now, they are cooped in the chicken pen. I let the chickens out in the day, then put them all back together in the night. They get along famously, although they stare at each other a great deal- it’s fun to watch them interact.
I also bought 6 game chickens, just because they were available and I was in a chicken buying mood. I didn’t know this, but Ronnie taught me that you can always tell a game chicken because her legs are green. It is odd looking. Sure enough, the top of them looks like a chicken, but down below, it looks like Dr. Seuss had a field day. They are rather ugly as chickens go, sort of lean and wirey and they run fast, but they add diversity to the flock. I’m all into mixing it up for a lively, interesting show each time I pause to watch them go about the business of chicken living around my barn.
Which reminds me, I promised pictures of the progress – here is the current state of the barn as it is today — the upstairs looks roomy and nice, but I have no stairs to get up there to get all excited about it yet:
When we got home from the flea market, Ronnie made arrangements to pick up April, our baby horse. He did decide to buy her and will finish the task of raising and training her. I know she is going to a good home and a great, green pasture (and I can visit her) so I am happy with this arrangement. He anticipted needing some help (and rightly so), because April is young. She was born here and has never been loaded into a trailer. Sure enough, she put up quite a fight. I was heartbroken watching her struggle to remain home with her “herd” – even if that herd is just her mom, Peppy and some reject members, (donkey and two llamas). The fact is, they are a happy group and this is a happy place for an animal to live.
Ronnie asked a horse trainer/breeder friend help pick her up, and this guy commented that she looked like a great young horse (my heart went pang) and when he found out I was selling Dixie ,he said he could find me a buyer or would take her himself and might be willing to trade if I want to look at a few of his better pintos. (I almost couldn’t take anymore of this horse selling stuff- it was so heart rendering a thought to cold heartedly trade up)
. I told him I’d let him know. True, I am shopping now for a higher-end horse to take the place of the three I’m letting go, but still, I want to make this transition graceful and kind to all the animals involved. This is harder for me than you know.
Anyway, it was a day of big changes.
The flea market was interesting too, with miles of vendors selling everything you could imagine. They had produce by the buckets going for so reasonably I wanted to buy a car full. I was enthralled – touching everything, asking questions. Most of the vendors were Mexican growers -selling things like cactus leaves and aloe and all kinds of fruits I’ve never seen before – things that look like it grew in Jurassic park. I kept pausing to ask what these different plants were and how to cook them, but because of the language barrier, I couldn’t’ grasp the answers. I am planning to do some research, then go back another weekend to shop for all those things I am totally unfamiliar with. A cooking experiment, so to speak. Ronnie kept laughing at me, saying he will be wary if I bring anything down to feed the boys at the barn (he and his sons are building it for us, and I tend to like to feed unsuspecting people – especially when my family has run screeming from the kitchen.) Ha – I just won’t tell them what it is they are eating.
I also fell in love with some dwarf goats (and I promised Neva she could get one after we sold the buildings… by the way, we sold the second FLEX building this week. Big, relieved sigh.) so now I’m swaying in that direction.
Anyway, that is the update on animals at the Hendry preserve. One less horse. 8 new guineas and 6 game hens. A goat, maybe, on the way. 5 peacocks in the making. No partridge in a pear tree as yet, but then, it isn’t the season for that yet, now is it?
By the way, the ducks I hatched myself have finally fully feathered out and they are a delightful addition to our creek. Here is what they ended up looking like. Pretty, hun? The white one just got whiter.
Three hours later:
As I was writing this, I saw someone had pulled up to the driveway. It was the very same fellow who transported our horse yesterday and he knows I am shopping for a new steed. Uh oh.
He brought me a chicken. He heard me complaining that my chickens just don’t lay much, so he wanted to give me a gift of a good laying chicken. Uh oh. A bribe.
He took me, Neva and Kent to look at some horses. Just happened to show me some PINTOS – one of which was the sweetest mare I’ve ever seen, a fully registered Pinto Saddlebread with light blue eyes. A very arresting face, and the most personal horse I’ve seen in some time. Uh Oh. out of 20 horses in the field, I pick the one that the trainer was going to buy for himself. What can I say? I fell in love.
Then, they hit me with the fact that she is probably pregnant because they bred her just three weeks ago, and so I’d be getting a two for one. Uh Oh. (Mark would KILL me – this is supposed to be about getting RID of horses not accumulating more.) They did say they’d purchase the baby back, because it’s father is another high end pinto and it is pretty dang certain the baby will be drop dead gorgeous and I can register it too. They then offered to take Dixie in a trade to make this affordable for me. And if I sold the baby, I’d probably be about even with what I got from selling the others. Convienient. Uh Oh.
I said I have to sleep on it.
Like I can sleep now.
Some Friendships Float on Forever
My best friend, Jody, from Sarasota, has come up to visit. Her eldest son, Lee, moved up to our area when we did – actually sooner. He came up with Mark to help with our dilapidated vacation cabin when we first bought it to help with the remodeling project, then fell love with the area and a girl, and decided to stay. We ended up moving here some time after him when FLEX sold so shockingly fast and we found ourselves with the rug pulled out from under our feet before we knew what was happening (another story).
Lee and his girlfriend have a new baby –convenient for me because it motivates Jody to visit despite her busy life as a single mother/hard working school social worker. She is my age, yet a grandmother three times over now – and considering we’ve been friends since our sons were two, that is really weird to get used to. When did we get so old?
When Jodi comes, up she stays a night or two with her son, but then moves to our house for the remainder of the trip. She sees her son, grandchild and his family every day when they are not working, but it is more comfortable for her to stay with us, because we have more room, great comfy beds, I cook, have laundry facilities and an unlimited supply of wine (ahem)…. Furthermore, she always comes up with her son, Kyle, and 6 year old grandson, Seby, and three guests are a lot for a young couple just starting out with a new baby. So we end up having a nice casual visit where she can come and go without feeling weird, and yet we can plan some fun for us too.
Her son, Kyle has been Kent’s best friend since they were in diapers. I always get such a kick out of seeing them together. They are seventeen and sixteen respectively, but when together, they seem like the same bumbling toddlers they were fifteen years ago, cracking jokes and doing silly, foolish, weird, boy things. They share a common understanding of the world having had similar experiences growing up, and they share a rich history of friendship and memories. This means there is always something to crack a joke about.
I listen to them talk, their voices growing deeper every year, their bodies getting broad shouldered and muscular, and I’m intrigued. The dynamics of their relationship seems the same as when they were two, and yet they are so obviously becoming men. They are more laid back than ever, and now their conversations occasionally slip towards subjects like college and the things they want to do in life. They will both get their license in the two months, so they also talk of cars. I couldn’t help but think that the next time we are together, these boys will just be able to take off in a car to go whitewater rafting or whatever, seeking innocent (or not so innocent) trouble to amuse themselves. Eeesh.
Mark and I have made some good friends here – couples we enjoy having over for dinner or going out with. But when Jody is around, I realize how starved I am for intimate friendship. You know what I mean…. The kind of friendship that sparks talk about serious things, with someone who asks sincere questions about your world and actually cares about the answers. In most cases the talk between casual or new friends is more polite, with the probing questions inspired by casual curiosity and in hopes to keep a conversation lively. That is nice, but not the same.
Jody doesn’t ask me how things are going with my reading student and say “Gee, it’s great you do that. She is lucky.” She asks me how this project has impacted me inside and how I feel changed. She asks questions about the process of teaching an adult to read, and where I think it will go, and what I have learned about literacy and its role in our life. She is curious about how I am preparing to teach the new literacy tutors (I do the training at the college August 19th). She is fascinated that there are so many people who can’t read in the world today, and this springboards our talk to bigger social issues. Shoot me, but I like to talk about issues that stretch beyond the daily personal stuff.
We talk about books, and I push her to read “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle” since it has had a profound impact on how I view food. (It has changed how I shop and eat and cook and explains a great deal about how and why I am reinventing my life.) Intrigued, she vows to pick it up, and then tells me all about what she is reading.
We talk about our dreams of retirement, how we will fund those dreams (we both have our sites on a tiny secondary place in Italy to visit regularly) the new business Mark and I are planning to open, my masters experience (she has earned two masters as an adult student, so she really “gets” this. I typed half her term papers, so I know far more about psychology than my little brain can handle) and my current book project (she adored my first book and I had nag to talk her out of giving it to her dad now, since I am rewriting it to make it a better work.) Like all friends, we talk of our children and family and work and the basics. She is curious about what makes me happy and if I am pleased about living here and what I miss. As I talk to her, I see her mind spinning, as if she is contemplating what her life would be like in a quiet rural place like this, even though she has never longed for this kind of lifestyle before.
Of course, I am curious about her world, and I ask questions about her work etc… in return. She is a remarkable person who cares about others on a proufoundly inspirational level.
I can’t tell you how much I miss good “real” conversation. Not that I don’t have some rousing conversations with my donkey, but really, Jody has better responses (and she doesn’t crap and chew while I’m discussing important world issues.) It is very rare to find a friend that you can relate to on a soulful level. You must cherish and preserve that kind of thing if you are ever lucky enough to stumble upon it.
Anyway – the visit was fun. We rented a boat one day and spent the day on Lake Blue Ridge, tubing, swimming and exploring. We tried every combination of people on the tube, the kids alone, then in groups. Kent and Kyle did daredevil stunts looking like Cypress Gardens Ski rejects. It was a crackup. The lake, with green mountains all around and a national forest taking up more than half the banks (assuring no houses or people for miles on end) is such a beautiful area – can’t believe it took us so long to take advantage of it (we’ve stuck mainly to the rivers)– but we will be going out on the lake often now, you can bet.
Thought I’d share a few pictures. Unfortunately, there are none of me (somehow they got deleted while Mark was clearing space in the camera) but Jody took some and will send them to me – so you may get a pix of me as a speed demon mermaid on the tube yet. Yes, I was quite the daredevil, holding on for dear life, my knuckles white, my hair flayed back to show off a sunburnt face, deep in concentration as I sucked up water from the wake (I KNOW Mark was trying to dump me by making sharp turns and heading for wakes, even if he batts his eyes innocently and denies it) I tried to impress my kids with a touch of water ballet by sticking my legs up in the air. That failed miserably, by the way. 
This driving is serious business to the Dad ya know. “Onward, that ‘a way, young captain!”
All my friends MUST share a sense of adventure, or they aren’t any fun.This picture doesn’t do justice – you need sound so you can hear Jody’s squeeling to get the full effect of the moment.
Life is measured in the small moments that count.
Auctioning my heart and soul? (And it comes cheap.)
Egad! someone is selling my work on e-bay. A friend sent me the link.
I always thought one of these day’s a book I wrote would be featured on Amazon or e-bay. That is the world of commerce and the great frustration for publishers today, and a sign that you are at least still in circulation, but it never occured to me someone would be unloading my dance materials in this way. I guess I thought they would be kept forever like all precious heirloons – considering how valuable a resource they are to anyone teaching dance (Ha – how’s that for humility). At least “greenmuffy” (the current high bidder at this moment) appreciates me.
Ah well, you know you’re getting obsolete when you are going cheap on e-bay. Pitty. I guess I retired just in time….
Lots ‘a Lamas
She is black like Dali, with a white mask. Sort of looks like a negative of the lone ranger.
Our mare is lovely, but she is rather petite and a simple country horse. Not as well trained as I’d like for our use. Her baby, April, is a year away from being old enough to train, and it will be a costly investment for a simple country horse. So, I’m selling all three, hoping to purchase a higher quality quarter horse with manners and training. I’m hoping to find an eight to ten year old pinto (love the way they look) with some horse showing experience. I feel we need two bomb-proof, well mannered horses that I can put kids or guests on without fear, that way Neva can ride alone with friends, and I can be relaxed when riding with her, focused on her instead of my unsteady mount. Anyway, that is the master equsterian plan.
The hardest thing about selling a horse is the fear that you are sending it to an unhappy home. I took one look at this fellow’s (his name was Rick) pure green pasture (looks like a golf course – ha, won’t look like that for long when he puts horses out there) and found out he is opening the new organic food store for pets, and KNEW I had to sell this guy a horse. The horse will be fed well, taken care of, and loved. You simply can’t be sad about that.
I asked why the llama was so reasonably priced. He wanted to be honest and told me that she had a baby last year, and refused to nurse it. The owner (a breeder) got mad so he sold her cheap. he used her for a guard llama, but Cayotes killed his two baby lambs, so she wasn’t perfect in that capacity either. He doesn’t know what to do with a llama now that his sheep are gone, so he just wanted to get her out of his pasture. I knew at that moment I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Yippee!
I asked Mark what he thought of our having a llama baby if it is possible the mother won’t do her job. He said, “Neva will be thrilled to bottle feed it. I don’t care, if you don’t. It will be interesting.”
He saw her come into the pasture, made a loud grunting sound (llamas don’t usually make sound) and came running. We were all like, “Wow, he sure is interested…” Then, he jumped right on her and they began doing the nasty – which really isn’t nasty at all. Sort of sweet, in my opinion. But there was no “hello”. No “nice to meet you.” Just instant carnal animal love. I figured it was love at first sight. An instant soul mate sort of thing.
I thought Neva might be upset by the changes, but she was accepting of it all. She is mostly worried that if baby goes, donkey will be lonely. They are best buds. But she is excited to get a replacement horse, and the idea that we will have a baby llama seems to sweeten the deal. I seem to be the only one sad over the natural evolution of our hobby farm. Guess I’m not as “country” as I pretend, because I take all this to heart and worry so much about these animals and their happiness.
Meanwhile, one of the guaranteed female chicks I bought grew up to be male. There is one chance in 1000 of that happening, I’m told. My luck. It is like the universe sends me chicken boys – ahem – I mean boy chickens. So one of my Rhode Island Reds, formerly named Lucy, is called Mr. Lucy now. We have a new rooster, and as yet, he isn’t a mad, attack rooster. Knock on barn wood.
Here is the skeleton of the barn… I’ll show you it in each level of progress so you can experience a true modern era barn raising….
His chicken buddy is never far from his side. She looks like Cruella Deville (thus her name). She is hyper and not so very loveable. Ah well – not all poultry personalities are created equal.
Anyway, to finish the llama tale. . . I thought perhaps the llamas, having discovered their passion for eachother, might be going at it on and off – like rabbits or something. I imagined them snuggling together in the field, basking in friendship or love or what have you. I took my camera up there a few hours later to see if I could get a picture of them together (I thought mating llamas would make good blog fodder to keep everyone from getting bored.) But alas, they were at two opposite sides of the pasture. Hun? I was flabergasted. Was this a one night stand thing? How mortifying. Not like they can go their seperate ways, stuck together in a field.
I haven’t seen them acknowledge eachother even a tiny bit since that first moment they met and got it on. In fact, Dali sort of stays far away from Pualani, and when it is dinner time, he will walk all the way around the pasture, as far as he can, to avoid going near her. She presses her ears back and hisses if he even looks at her, and he lifts his eyes to me as if to say, “What have you saddled me with, Gin?” I guess, the real Pualani is a bitch, but she waited to get what she wanted to let it show. She used him for llama sperm, and she is done with him. Sad.
This is the closest they’ve been to eachother since that first day, and it takes a half hour for Dali to venture this near to her. They sure look like a matched set, don’t you agree? I would have prefered a white mate for my black llama, hoping the babies would be multicolred, but beggers can’t be choosers. And the offspring still may turn out any color. You never know what will come out of past breeding and Paulani does have some white in her coloring.
I hope time will make them more congenial and better friends. Otherwise, what was the point? But I am a romance writer, so no one knows better than I that the relationships that start off rocky and full of distain (yet with smoldering passion underneath) are the ones that become the fantastic love stories that make you sigh in the end.
I’ll keep you posted, and I’ll keep my camera on hand . . . just in case something “interesting” occurs.
I’m behind on blogging – oops
Kent was at Band camp all week from 1:00-9:00. He’s getting to be a dynamite drummer and this year he has been moved to the quads – the position where they place the better drummers. He says the quads are heavy, but fun to play because they can make a lot of noise and they are the backbone of the marching band –I’ll be able to hear him up in the stands at the football games even if I am wearing ear-muffs. Yeah . . I think.
It has been a busy week, but productive in its own way.
Denver and I are big weenies who share a deep sensitivity towards the hardships of others. It is a personality trait that is sometimes admirable, but usually, laughable. For example, we go to this big pep rally sort of event and see a tent set up with a light glowing from inside. It is there as a celebratory thing- last year’s memory tent placed in public to get people focused on why they are walking. Each year, a blank tent is erected at the campsite for walkers to sign. It gets filled up by the end of the three days with inspirational messages.
The rally taught us what to pack for the three days of walking/camping. It helped us understand how to train. And it reminded us how important it was to be creative in your fundraising attempts. Now, we are making wonderful gift baskets filled with Appalachian crafts and goodies to raffle off as a fundraiser. We are raffling off a piece of beautifully framed artwork, one of some 50 works of art that we inherited when FLEX closed (don’t get me started on THAT one.) Denver talked to local businesses near the train station and they offered to let us place the baskets where many tourists come by and we have them in stores frequented by local residents. I am filling baskets with homemade pickles, blackberry jam, some homemade cordials (the wine isn’t ready), candles and (soon) homemade soap. I’m including my glass and clay jewelry, and Denver has made hand beaded jewelry as well, including some inspirational earrings featuring a beaded breast cancer logo. Very nice. We are trying to finagle some of Mark’s handiwork too, trying to convince him to donate one of his gorgeous baskets or turned bowls for a good cause.
Once we close on our building in Sarasota (in about ten days) Mark and I will be buying a lot across from the train station in McCaysville for our future coffee shop/art gallery. Denver and I plan to set up a booth there to have a bake sale a couple of weekends to raise money too. I will cook for two days straight and fill the table with muffins, brownies and other fun snacks for the tourists – and we will sell jelly and pickles for fun too. I plan to write an article about our activities for the local paper, to bring awareness to our projects and to stir up some donations. Then, when people see us walking they can toot their horn and wish us luck (small town etiquette, ya know.) It is fun working together at this project for a variety of reasons – beginning with spending time with my daughter, and ending with feeling as if I am doing something worthy to make the world a better place for the women of the future. I think of all the kids I’ve taught over the years, innocent little girls in pink leotards who made me look at the world as an exciting place. Considering the national odds, I know more than a few of them will battle breast cancer in their lifetime. So, I walk in honor of my mom, a breast cancer survivor, but I walk for them too.
The next day was Mark’s birthday. I gave him a brick. (I know, he thought it was weird too). This happens to be a brick with the words “Mark Hendry” that will be placed in the walkway of the new multimillion dollar performing arts facility, the Cobb Energy Center of the Performing arts in Atlanta. (considering how upscale this facility is, I wonder why they needed to sell bricks out front… hummmm……) Now, everyone can walk all over my husband for years to come. How’s that for a unique present. I also bought him tickets to see the Broadway tour of Dreamgirls at the Fox Theater. We were floored when we went, because this theater is more striking and bigger than any Broadway theater I’ve ever been in (and I’ve been in most of them). It was remarkable. The ceiling is cast in blue light with pin points of light like stars, and the walls are castle – you could swear you were outside at a Roman coliseum. Thus far, we’ve always gone to the Alliance (another big theater in Atlanta) and hadn’t discovered this one. Wow. As we left, it occurred to me that I have access to more “New York lifestyle” here than I ever did in Florida, and yet within an hour and a half, I am home in the wilderness. It is like the best of both worlds at the end of my fingertips. We are lucky.
We went to a fantastic restaurant/bar before the show where all the tables are set in small booths with couches. Sort of bohemian and holistic in decor, with some interesting art on the walls. We ordered wine and hor de erves and had a ball watching the other patrons and discussing the design of the place. Someone very artistic, or very weird put that place together.
Earlier in the day, we had gone window shopping in a quaint, artsy area filled with unique stores -about as far removed from your typical franchise shopping as possible. I hate shopping UNLESS it is in original, individually owned stores, because then you see novel merchandise. I could browse for hours in unique stores. I have an earnest dislike of malls and generic shopping where you can look at stores in Atlanta or Boston and it is all the same – Victoria Secret, Clares, Express or Macys. Yuck.
We had homemade Italian Gelato from a local chef with wild flavors like Vino and Viagra (didn’t try that one). We sampled dips and salts made by a renowned Atlanta chef who opened a small store for his special sauces and rubs. But mostly, we marveled at the antique and art stores. One store had odd décor items for sale. For example, they had a trashcan hanging upside down on a chain with a light bulb inside and they called it a “urban chandelier” .It went for 2 grand! They had 5 rusty disks on a wall as an art piece for 3 grand. I swear, you couldn’t PAY me 3 grand to hang that junk on my wall.
Mark lifted one eyebrow and said, “Honey, take me to the junk yard, I’m gonna make us rich.” No kidding.
We stared, trying to see the “chic” or “artistic” quality in this stuff, but honestly, it was simply ugly, simplistic, and a sad commentary on people striving desperately to be different . Next, we went to a holistic store and sampled pillows filled with buckwheat. Ouch. This may be organic, but it sure isn’t comfortable. They had robes made of bamboo too. I’ll stick with cotton, thanks.
I guess art is in the eye of the beholder, but honestly, I couldn’t imagine anyone paying for, or wanting to live surrounded by these unattractive, dismal items. And yet, while we were there, someone came in and paid 350.00 for an old glass bottle. Our eyes bugged out and Mark looked at me and said, “We moved to the wrong place if we want to open a new business.”
I thought of what he could do with that very same trashcan and light bulb, create something truly striking and worthy of hanging, no doubt, and agreed. Ah well, who wants to sit around selling trash all day, regardless of what you title it. A rose by any other name……
The next day, we drove to visit Cades Cove, a national park in the Rockies with another couple that we are good friends with. We went looking for the black bears, which are usually everywhere, but we kept missing them. A fellow would pass us on a trail and say, “Watch it, there are six black bears up ahead 50 feet. Too many for me with the kids.” And we’d run on ahead, but they’d be gone. I was disappointed. Happened about three times. We did see lots of deer, however, including one that was only about two hours old. The mother sprinted a safe distance and we went up close to take a picture. Didn’t disturb the baby, of course. That sweet thing hunkered down into the grass trying to be invisible, his legs too wobbly still to follow mom. It was so beautiful.
I marvel at Ronnie and his wife, Louise’s, attitude. They have a deep reverence for nature, taking pictures and commenting on how beautiful the deer are. And yet, they are both hunters (he uses a gun, she hunts with a bow and arrow) and in a month, they will be out killing deer just like these. It is a sport, true, but they eat the meat – always. I find it fascinating that the same people who hunt deer have such deep respect for them. You’d think the opposite would be true. But their attitude is not far removed from Indian philosophy, to respect what you eat and to honor the earth for it’s nourishing gifts. They also raise their own cattle, garden, etc…. I’ve learned a great deal from them, and I admire their connection to nature and food. Talking to them always makes my mind spin, challenging what I’ve been taught to believe and accept as right and true.
We shot over to visit some of the shops in Pigeon Forge since we were right by there, and on the way home, we visited a workshop where a man makes art out of trees. I was enthralled by what he can do with a chainsaw and knife. I want to put these kinds of things for our coffee shop when we finally get around to designing it, but Mark said, “Only if you can sell enough coffee to pay for it.” Harrump. I might be better off trying my hand at making a totem pole myself – one more excuse to get my pink chainsaw (or is it gonna be green and purple….)
The rest of the week was filled with winemaking, and gardening and a few other adventures, but I’ll save them for subsequent entries. Some news deserves a blog all its own.
Ladies who Lunch
My mother in law, Sonia, has been lonely since her husband died. Luckily, she’s made a few new, widowed friends (also in their 80’s), and they go out for lunch at least once a week.
Eve is from Scotland. A few years ago, she flew to London to have lunch with the queen. English people who happened to be born on the same day as the Queen’s 80 years ago, were invited to a rare and special lunch in the palace as part of a grand celebration. Since Sonia is also English, this impressed her mightily, and they became instant friends. Eve is very independent, vivacious, and likes driving nice cars. She keeps buying new cars so she can give her old ones to her grandchildren when they get their license. Cushy deal for the grandkids, I’d say.
Titine, is Belgium and even though she came to America 50 years ago, she has a thick lolling accent when she talks. She makes wine from scratch and happens to drive at least 40 miles over the speed limit everywhere she goes. When officers pull her over, she says, “What did I do wrong, darh’ling”. She invites them to her home for chocolate cake and coffee and tells them she has lived here 50 years…. all alone since her poor husband, God rest his soul, passed on. She says, “My son bought me this car a while ago, and I told him it goes faster than my old one. Isn’t that horrible. I’ll tell him to take it back!” Naturally, they let her go. She and her friends find this hilarious and tell rousing stories of how she gets pulled over all the time but she bats her eyelashes at the nice young cops and they wave her on. Yes, being old and seemingly innocent has its perks.
Titine happens to ALWAYS wears lilac. Sonia ALWAYS wears pink. It is funny to see these elderly women all decked out in pastels making their own kind of fashion statement though unyielding single color commitment.
I think it’s remarkable that in a quiet country place like this, three relocated Europeans found each other and sparked a friendship. They meet for tea and talk about British royalty and such. They also like to frequent thrift stores. They love a bargain, not because they need one (for they are all well enough situated) but finding a good deal is a challenge they find entertaining. Sonia doesn’t like thrift stores, however. She misses Target. Every opportunity she gets she complains that the problem with living here is the lack of civilized shopping.
I say, “What do you need?”
“Nothing. But I like to shop everyday anyway.”
Shopping for me is a drag, certainly not entertainment, so I just can’t relate to her misery. I let Diane take over the necessary one hour drive trips to malls and Target to keep her happy. I find different ways to spend my time with my Mother-in-law if possible.
Considering this, I decided it would be nice to invite Sonia and her friends to our house one day for their weekly lunch and yesterday, they came. I wanted to organize a fancy, English Tea, so I set the dining room table with white linen, candles and flowers, and set the table with the English China my mother-in-law gave me when we moved to Georgia- a symbol of family heritage that I didn’t necessarily want, but I do appreciate for its family significance. Sonia has always been an avid English china collector, and she has several complete sets of expensive china. She gave a set to Diane, one to me, and still has several sets at home. Funny, considering you can only eat on one set at a time, and she really never did much entertaining other than the traditional holiday dinners. Ah well, I suppose more than a few people think my interests are impractical too. Anyway, while the china certainly doesn’t fit this rustic cabin house, it makes a very pretty table and I was glad to finally have a reason to use it. Just as I guessed, it impressed the white-haired trio for they felt they were being treated as special guests.
I cooked chicken in a creamy mushroom and broccoli sauce poured over a puffed pastry, like a fancy smancy chicken pot pie. I served this with honey sautéed carrots and rice pilaf, two types of homemade bread (buttermilk and whole wheat cottage cheese bread – sounds weird, but it is earthy and great) and for good measure, threw in some zucchini muffins (because I must cook zucchini every meal, don’t ya know, due the fact that it won’t stop growing and I’m on a quest to use every thing that comes out of that blessed garden.). I diced watermelon and cut fresh lettuce from our garden too for a homegrown fancy salad. First time I’ve used any of our own lettuce- exciting. This meal was served with some local Georgia peach wine, a very fresh luncheon wine (I’m all into buying local now – besides which, I am checking out the competition and setting benchmarks for flavor since I am making wine from produce grown in the same kind of soil as these small vineyards are.) I topped off the meal with a chilled rainbow fruit pie, made from diced fruit in an orange glaze, poured into a homemade crust. And, of course, tea.
The ladies spent three hours at the table, swapping stories and enjoying their leisurely, fancy meal. I learned all about Titine’s style of making wine (she uses fruit varieties or muscadine grapes, which she crushes herself). She told stories of how her mother taught her the craft, and how once she was transporting gallons and gallons in the back of her car in this bible-belt dry county, and of course got stopped by a police officer because she was (naturally) speeding again. She thought she would be arrested but sweet talked her way out of it, feeling like a liquor runner. Ha.
Titine also makes cordials. I showed her my blackberry cordial tucked in a dark cupboard, working its magic. This gained me total approval. She convinced me to try peach cordial next time. Titine makes wine without yeast – don’t quite understand how, despite her lengthy explanation, and she doesn’t measure her ingredients. Considering the highly sensitive nature of wine in the fermenting stage, I was surprised. Can’t wait to try some to see how it differs from the batches I’m make. It was interesting to talk winemaking with someone who has done it for years and years, having learned it in the “old country”.
We talked history and books and cooking and how to best buy a car. And sitting there, watching these elderly faces filled with animation, listening to them share their vast experience and intriguing lives, I was impressed. They are wonderful conversationalists, far better than many people my own age who seem to have lost the fine art of intimate communication, talking more often of the latest movies they’ve seen, or what cell phone gets the best reception – subjects that are far more generic and surface oriented. There is something to be said about growing old, for if we are indeed the sum of our life experience, growing old really is the equivalent of evolving into a more complex, interesting person. A few wrinkles and brittle bones is a small price to pay for a mind swimming in wisdom and personal stories.
I’ve spent a lifetime with kids (which I still adore). Somehow, this makes spending time with the elderly now a poignant and novel experience for me. I really am fascinated by people in the advanced stages of life. In fact, I’m planning to organize a writing class for older people – memoir writing, so they can leave stories behind for their family. I’m talking to the local college about it now. I want to put my degree to good use in a way that gives something back to the art I love. Mostly, I think it will be wonderful for retirees seeking an interesting activity that isn’t physically challenging, and a learning experience for me too, but this is subject for another blog.
Anyway, after lunch, the ladies wanted a tour of the house, so we went from room to room, viewing the house Sonia has told them so much about. We held hands as they maneuvered the big log stairs, and I realized for the first time this is not a house for the feint of body. It occurred to me that we better enjoy it for the next ten or twenty years, because eventually, we will get old and find it cumbersome too. The tour was perfect after-lunch entertainment. These ladies notice details and ask earnest questions. They were curious about how and why Mark did the things he did as he planned and built this home. I suppose people in their 80’s have seen a zillion homes in their day, and they’ve owned more than a few, which helps them appreciate the artistic and original facets of the house. They certainly thought it was beautiful and different.
We’ve had younger friends walk through the house and express appreciation. They whistle under their breath and say, “Nice digs. Cool. Where’s the beer?” But with these women, it was different. They would walk up to the mantle, adjust their glasses and stare up close at the wood work, asking what kind of tree it was made from. They’d make guesses determined by of the grain and color, then shake their head and say, “of course” when Mark revealed the true nature of the wood. They’d ask how long it took, and why he chose one particular design or tree over another. Looking at the geodes in the rock of our fireplace, they’d ask if we’d thought to get some original stone from the copper mines (we live near Copperhill where they had working mines up until the late 70’s and for years, big chunks of natural copper could be found in area stones). We were sorry to say we didn’t think of that, a shame considering the historical significance. But we promised we would try to find some for the fireplace in our new rustic coffee shop/art gallery that we are building, and Titine told us where to go and who to speak to when we were ready to find some. Gee, old people are a walking wealth of information. They pointed out the different crystals saying, “What is that, I’ve forgotten the name.” And Mark would say, “This is amethyst,” or quartz or what have you.
The ladies noticed the turned wood bowls on the mantle and the antler baskets and the furniture Mark has made, and asked about these too. Mark stood about, answering their questions, receiving their heartfelt praise – I don’t suppose he ever never felt so appreciated! They noticed my spinning wheel, and this spurred a conversation about llamas and spinning. They peered into my incubator to see my Peacock eggs and marveled at our “diversity”. They also kept commenting about the windows and how everywhere you looked you saw trees and birds – so serine.
They said, “You have your own estate here! How wonderful for your children!” I thought it particularly sweet that they saw our home not as a “good investment” or a sign of success, as people our age tend to do, but as a precious haven for family rearing. I guess after 80 plus years, you tend to remember what is enduring and important in the big scheme.
The funny thing was, I think this was the first time Mark’s mother really looked at the house closely or saw it as something special. Seeing it through her friend’s eyes made her suddenly see the house as an accomplishment, something remarkable created by her son. She said over and over, “You know, this really IS an amazing house. It’s not as dark as you’d, think being made of wood and all, and the view is nice even though it is just trees.” (Before this, she was always saying, “Why anyone would want to live in a log house the wilderness is beyond me. You could have a pristine condo in Florida right by the beach! I’m sick of trees and mountains. That is all you see around here.”) And we’d say, “Yeah, trees and mountains. Hum-bug. Who’d want to be here instead of Florida, with neighbors living practically on top of you? The problem is, where would we put the donkey?”
She’d give us that, who really needs a donkey? Look.
It was a nice afternoon. It ate up the entire afternoon, true, and I was exhausted by the end, but I know how appreciative Sonia was to be able to show-off to her friends. She is now the gal with the great daughter-in-law, who cooks and is a gracious host, and the son with the amazing building talent etc.. etc.. Laying claim to successful, thoughtful offspring seems to count big in the 80 year old sect.
Mark later thanked me for making the luncheon for his Mother a big deal.
I said, “Anytime. It sure beats spending a day at the mall or driving her 2 hours to Sam’s to stock up on toilet paper (her other favorite pastime).” You see, it is not that I’m such a great daughter-in-law. I’m just maneuvering my way out of doing things I despise – replacing them with something I like doing. Cooking and good conversation is more fun than driving and shopping for un-required things – at least for me. It’s a win-win situation.
I think the most important thing about a day like today, is what it teaches my own children. My son, who was only there for a few minutes before being whisked off to band camp, kept smiling and saying, “I feel like I’m in England having lunch. Grandma must be out of her mind happy about this.” He gave me thumbs up for the meal (having snagged a plateful in the kitchen.) My youngest daughter got all dressed up and joined us at the table, sipping orange soda from her fancy wineglass and delicately eating her lunch. To her, this was nothing more than an exciting grown-up tea party and she was thrilled to participate. She stuck with the conversation for as long as she could hold out, then went off to play, returning a bit later with some of her original poetry to recite. (She is constantly writing poems and they are spectacular). Couldn’t have hired a more perfect, young participant to add flavor to the afternoon. Almost seemed staged, but it wasn’t.
The point is, my children were gracious and polite to these elderly guests. And they witnessed their parents going out of their way to do something nice for older people too, which will be important when I am an old broad wearing the same color everyday and I have friends who need an afternoon’s entertainment. I hope I’m teaching my children how to behave when they become adults – to be caring individuals with patience for the elderly, not so self-involved that they can’t pause once in a while to give time and attention to people who are lonely and not “useful” to their lives in obvious ways. I think it’s important to be the kind of person you want your children to be. And this involves the big stuff, like working hard for what you want and always trying to improve your mind and living an authentic life, but it includes the small stuff too, like being kind to others and pausing your busy life once in a while to do something that doesn’t have any measurable returns for you personally.
It’s the things you bother to make time for, even when they “don’t do it for you”, that often will resonate and impact your existence long after the moment is over. In the end, will any of us close our eyes for the last time remembering all that laundry we did, the great deals we closed at work, the money in we accumulated in the bank, the movies we sat through or the chores we thought were such a priority? While all this feels so important in the moment, it isn’t. I believe what counts is the people we impact, the moments we share, the non-material things we leave behind, even if they are sometimes invisible, subtle influences on the lives of others.
Yesterday, I fell behind on my chores, fed my hungry, ornery horses in the rain later than scheduled, missed my hair appointment (oops) and spent half a day pulling out (and later putting back) a ton of china from awkwardly high, inconvenient shelves, even though I had perfectly good dishes a short reach away that would have sufficed.
And yet, this was all a part of creating what was really a very good day. Nice surprise. And an important lesson to remember.
Heart of Ginny 