It is a rainy morning here on the farm while I enjoy my coffee in the loggia with my Merle wet and lying at my feet. I managed to get the horses fed before it started raining again. Mother Nature truly put on a light show with the heavy rain storms last night and there is a good chance for more today. I am smiling contentedly as I think of the horses and cows on their happy, lush pastures.
Good Friday is turning into another one of those reflective days for me. I mean, it should be a day of reflection already of course with the coming of Easter, but it is even more so for me now. Good Friday was one of my days with H.
I am not sure when it became a tradition of sorts, but it just did. It was one of the days we would regularly try to schedule a ride together. I think it was a day that she always had off from work and she did not feel as bad taking that time away from her husband, other animals, and home. Sometimes we rode with other friends and sometimes it was just the two of us. It just depended on what everyone had going on. In the more recent past, it was usually just the two of us.
I really miss her today and that seems to make me even more grateful that it is raining like this. Like we are not really missing another ride together as the years accumulate.
However, as sad as I feel at the present moment have felt for the past few days at times coming up on today, I have also found myself smiling at the same time. While on the one hand I am not quite sure how I feel about that, the whole dichotomy of feelings I mentioned yesterday, on the other hand I am beyond grateful that I am here. That I am able to look back on all our time together so happily and be glad that we had it. That I can really feel the gratitude that we were even friends at all, even if it feels like her time here on earth and our time together as friends was cut short.
Being in this new and improved and bigger, but hey the same great thing, space of gratitude while I am remembering my H, I am beyond grateful for my life and my time in this earthly world. I know this probably sounds odd and possibly I could have worded it in a better way, but it is true. Case in point being H. We do not know how much time we have and we can not create it or get it back. My point is, this ever repetitive AHA moment, use your time wisely!
I do not know what exactly I set out to write today, but I am grateful. I am grateful that H and I were friends. I am grateful to FEEL. Whatever the feelings may be. Happy, sad, you name it. They are not independent of each other anyway. You can not have one without the other. I am grateful for my grief because I think it makes the joy bigger.
Walk in love, dear readers! Go live your time while you enjoy the memories! Dance in the rain!
Or, ‘The Friday Night Bubbles.’ You choose. Brace yourselves for an evening post…and a Friday night post at that!
I am normally a morning poster. Sue me, I am a morning person, it is my time of day, but the mood struck so here we are. One must capitalize on the mood, right?! That is what it is all about. I remember when I first started this blog, I did a bunch of research on how to create a successful ‘site.’ Much of the advice centered around making sure you post at the most opportune time to get the click traffic. This is decidedly not that time! There is quite a bit of advice I did not follow! Enough about all of that.
I have been baking this fine Friday evening for a Christmas party tomorrow night. A chocolate cheesecake cake with cream cheese frosting. Say that five times fast, I dare you. It will be ‘abstractly’ decorated like a winter forest. You know, since we do not have white Christmases down here. More on the cake later.
This has historically been a very festive and fun weekend to stay in town with all the parties, especially when the weather will be less than agreeable (you know I will make it out the farm at some point or…points, do not worry). I almost wrote about a Texas Christmas because of our very Texas weather, can you imagine?! How boring. Except, really, our weather is very Texas-ey this month). On December 1st I had intentions of posting almost every day with joyful Christmassy things to make everyone happy and joyful. I got as far as a couple fun and festive photo shoots and the rest just did not happen. Sigh. Life happens, what can I say? I apologize for the let down!
These are the only new pictures I have. This is real life. The real faces of Christmas ponies. Covered in molasses protein tub…and a human shadow…
Yes, you see Twinkle Toes glitter. Judge me. I dare you.
You really can not not love a molasses covered horse face.
Anyway, I have been baking and dancing in the kitchen with my Merle while the music plays. I would like to say that we are jamming to Christmas music (which I am sure all of you would have guessed), but in truth, we are listening to music from my ‘college days’ (lawd, so good. I swear, it is still the best music I have ever listened to). That seems a strange statement as university seems like only yesterday…it has been about ten years since I graduated. That is very strange. Again, not the point.
Get on with it. Ya, sorry.
OK, there are a couple of things.
As I sit here sipping some bubbley while the chocolate cake layers cool (the cheesecake layer is already baked, cooled, and in the refrigerator), there are a multitude of things that get my memories and thoughts flowing…and, er, bubbling.
Blame it, all of this, on the bubbley. It would not be the first time the bubbley was blamed for something.
It occurred to me at some point today that I have purchased almost zero presents. Yikes. Although, these days we have generally all agreed to only really get gifts for the kids, but those are the most important ones! I have a couple of things that I purchased months ago, but that does not cover the need. I have some work to do! It reminds me of my Pops’ approach to purchasing gifts. He always seems to buy ALL of his gifts the week of Christmas. Yes, I know. I do not know how he does it either. Do not ask. I have always wondered, do other fathers do this? I think this is just a man thing?
When I was younger, there were times I would go with him that very week of Christmas to purchase and then deliver his gifts after I wrapped them. It was a marvel to me, and I wondered if all dads did that. One time, I was with him when he purchased my Christmas gift. It was most likely all three of our gifts. We were at REI and he pulled several high quality wool socks of the shelf and had me carry them as we shopped and then checked out. After we got home, he had me wrap them, as per usual. All of them. Side note, I have always liked to wrap gifts. Cousin H and I used to wrap all of my Grandmother’s gifts for her. We discovered that she would unwrap my cousin’s wrapped presents and have me rewrap them because I was better at it. Anyway, back to the story, I am not quite sure how I never realized it, but my Pops had me wrapping my own present! I remember myself laughing so hard when I opened that present and then Pops having a good chuckle. I have always liked the socks he got me. They have certainly come in handy over the years. I have always thought that a dad should buy their children good wool socks because you just never know when you will need them. I have needed them quite a bit. He gave me more when I went off to college. One birthday while I was away at school he messaged me to tell me happy birthday. I thanked him and told him I was wearing a pair of the socks he gave me. He said he was happy I was warm.
My Eldest Sister A has done this too, except I did not have to wrap this one. She was purchasing Breyer model horses for me and for a barn kid she was babysitting. She took me along when she was shopping to try and get a feel for which one I would like best. Well, I remember that Breyer pony she ended up giving me quite well to this day. She was a pony. A very refined and fine boned specimen. She possibly had some Arabian blood. You could tell by the profile of her head. All my Breyers are packed away in a closet upstairs, but she was like a greying, flea bitten chestnut in color. So loved by me, at least one of her legs had to be glued back on, likely two legs. You did not love your Breyer horses unless you broke a leg or two.
I digress. I am clearly following in the footsteps of my forebearers and utilizing the dad approach in the present buying. I have some work to do!
What really has all the memories and thoughts flowing is that I was smacked in the face today when I got home. I love this time of year getting Christmas cards in the mail. One of the cards I got today took my breath away before I even took it out of the mailbox. The handwriting on it looked just like H’s. I just stared at it for a long while and could not breathe for a bit. I almost swore that it was her until I saw the return address label which actually caused some great confusion in my brain. I took a deep breath and snagged my mail like a thief before a neighbor thought something was amiss. The card was obviously not from H, but she would always send a Christmas card with their Border Collies on it. I just loved that she did that and that I always got one from her and M. She was also so good at sending people cards in the mail in general, whether or not it was a special occasion. Just because. She had reason to hate this time of year, but she did not. This was H’s time of year and she brought us all such joy. I also used to talk to her while I baked or cleaned. I do not have anything else to say about that other than I just miss her. Still. Always will. I look forward to when I see something like that and I just smile.
Thanks for being here for me and for reading to the end of this Friday night holiday ramble. What is this holiday season bringing to your mind?
Walk in love, dear readers. Have some holiday fun this weekend!
What words does one find and use for a man that stepped up when he didn’t have to? There really are none. Sometimes I really do wish I was an animal so I wouldn’t have use such a measly form of expression. I have been wracking my brain and avoiding this ever since I was asked to put some words down. The truth is, my Grandmother would not have chosen a different man. Harry was that man. Harry was my Grandfather. He was our Grandfather even if blood did not make it so.
My Grandfather Harry went to his Heavenly home last week after a long and blessed life. He was almost 99 years old. It was not that long ago that he was still mobile and independent and his mind was his pretty much until the end. He is now whole and free. There is no more of the pain and suffering.
He lived quite a life. He was a decorated war veteran. He was a career man. There is much that can be said, but more importantly than all of that, he was a family man. A Son, a Brother, a Husband, a Father, a Grandfather, a Great Grandfather.
We were blessed with and by him. He was ours and we were his. I always felt this. Sometimes when I would call them and he would answer the phone, he would immediately say, “Hold on, I’ll go get her.” My response would always be, “Harry, I want to talk to you too.”
There is a picture somewhere of him that shows him. Him. Who he was to the core to all of us, if I can be so bold as to speak for others in my family. It is somewhere and I can not find it. It wasn’t staged or posed. He wasn’t wearing a suit or a uniform dressed with medals. He wasn’t alone. He didn’t have a young man’s head of hair. Although, he always had good hair. It was that beautiful white gray. Oddly enough I do not think my Grandmother was even in the picture, which is crazy because they were always together! She might have been behind the camera. She is always taking pictures.
It was at a long ago birthday party of ours at some big venue I think. There were kids everywhere, visible even in the tight frame. They were not the focus of the photo. It was one man and one birthday kid. Full of smiles and love and life and color. Vital. He was always smiling.
Man that just smacks me right in the chest right now and has fresh, solitary tears streaming down my cheeks.
I can’t even find the photo.
It seems almost a wonder that the photo was even snapped and caught because in my memory it was somewhat blurry and out of focus with faint streaks of light across it. Taken in a quick flash in low lighting. I think there was even a disco ball hanging from the ceiling. The photographer trying to enjoy the moment and create a lasting memory at the same time.
There was a big slide wherever this party was being held and right there in the middle of it, sliding down the slide like a kid himself, was Harry with one of us three girls in his lap. Both smiling in delight. I don’t even think you’re supposed to do that with kids these days. Something about ripping their arms and legs off. I think kids are supposed to wear harnesses and seatbelts now. Anyway.
I can’t find the picture.
My Grandmother used to always have freezer waffles for me in the mornings when I would sleep over as a kid. Nobody could prepare them like her and it could not be recreated at home. At some point in time, and I do not know why, Harry started making waffles and I never gave another thought to freezer waffles. Every time after that when I would sleep over, we would have Harry’s waffles. He made the world’s best waffles. We all loved his waffles. He whipped the egg whites by hand to fold into the batter. That made them light, and airy in texture on the inside, but they also had a lovely crisp on the outside.
They loved to go out to breakfast as a couple. When I stopped sleeping over at their house, I started to join them for breakfast sometimes. Harry found the best waffles at Le Peep and that came to be the only place we would go as the three of us so Harry and I could get waffles. I still think they are the best waffles if you can not have Harry’s waffles. They used to also have a standing date with a big table at a local Tex-Mex restaurant on Sunday evenings. It was almost like a revolving door dinner in my mind, even if I did say I was crashing their dinner when I would invite myself to come. Whoever wanted to come could come. Like when he would go to breakfast, he generally ordered the same things for dinner there too.
Harry knew that I liked to cook and bake and experiment in the kitchen. At some point before he married my Grandmother he had collected recipes and organized them in a recipe box. Every time he saw an interesting recipe, he would just store it away. He told me that he had not even looked at them since he married my Grandmother. He gave me his box of recipes that he had held on to for all those years. I loved to get Harry’s feedback on my desserts at our family gatherings. He was always very thoughtful and honest. He was a great listener and not just of words.
He always did the dishes. I don’t ever remember not having an awareness of him doing the dishes. It was his thing. There was nothing to ‘get’ or understand about it. It was his thing. The first time I tried to help him, he all but shooed me out of the kitchen. It was his domain after a meal was prepared. I don’t know if it was his little quiet in our family craziness or just what he did. He finally did let me help after my insistence, but we had to do it his way. So we did. He taught me how to use the disposal. I always wondered how he did the dishes so quickly!
When my Grandparents would come to the farm, Harry would always take time for a walk down the lane. Before he would bring a cane, he would find a sturdy and straight stick of pecan wood to use as a walking stick. Sometimes others would join him on his walk and sometimes he would go by himself, but he would always come back with a gathering of pecans. I think the pecans he gathered on one of his last walks a few years ago entertained my cousin’s daughter, L, for a good long while after we taught her how to use a nut cracker.
At my Grandmother’s birthday celebration last year, we gathered in their back yard to have sandwiches and cupcakes. You see they have one of the best yards. Harry meticulously cared for their yard and flower beds for as long as I can remember. There was always something beautiful to look at and, man, their lawn! It is a great lawn. We had many great Easter egg hunts in that yard. I think all of us cousins look at a yard and think what it would be like to have an Easter egg hunt there because of our memories there. Anyway, we celebrated my Grandmother’s birthday out there. Covid gave us an excuse to. My cousins were there with their kids and I was there with Merle. Harry came over to me in his wheelchair and told me to go shut the driveway gate so I could let my pup off the leash. He wanted him to play with the kids in the yard and on the lawn. To be free, like the kids in that way of kids. I do not really even know if he was really a dog man, but he always was happy to let me go on about my animals. I gladly did as he asked and shut the gate. As the two of us watched kids and dog play in the yard he said to me, “Your Grandmother and I always dreamed of having all the kids play in this yard.” I do not think his smile ever looked so big and bright. I wonder if that is why he always kept it just so.
Well, Harry, your dream came true. At least in my eyes.
Ever faithful. Ever constant. Ever present.
He was a presence in our lives.
I remember him like he was in this video. He was 91 in this video. What a man! What a life!
Walk in love, dear readers.
Go be with your loved ones. Share your love and memories.
Err….by Monday, I clearly mean Tuesday. It is Tuesday. All day. It was Tuesday all morning and it will still be Tuesday all afternoon. Or, just a second Monday.
OK. Now that is clear…
Sigh.
I am back in the office. Well not at this very actual moment. I am at home for lunch, but I am back working in the office. I have not been in since I do not remember when. It feels odd. Strange.
Anyone else back in the office?
I mean, I obviously knew this day was coming and I could not work remotely forever.
I just.
I just really got used to it. That small taste. It felt right. More in the right direction.
Life got more pleasant. I turned off the news and ignored the media. I had so much quality time with Merle. My breaks were outside petting the horses and giving them treats. I worked outside on the porch half of the time. There was fresh country air and sunshine. Walking and fetch. Riding. Clear views. No concrete or buildings. Even for the days that I was in town last week, I was on my patio with Merle at my feet.
I mean, I had to put real clothes and makeup on for the first time since this all started! My left eye has been protest twitching all morning! You should have seen the look Merle gave me this morning.
One day, dear readers, one day.
For today, I have a job.
For today, I am recharged and realigned.
For today, I have all these happy memories of these guys to remind me.
Perspective, my people! They are my muse anyway, on this Muesday and every other day.
I am not sure who has it better, the horses or Merle.
He is such a dude.
Nothing like a good ride on a spring day with the egrets.
He says there are birds over there.
That look, I tell you.
Tell me, how is your Tuesday going?
Walk in love, dear readers. Smile at someone today, even if it is just with your eyes.
Even still I can not keep myself from being mesmerized by the rain.
The blessing is in the ‘even still.’ That is the AHA moment.
We have had so much rain as of late, but without a doubt every time it rains I find myself gazing out the window (if I can not get outside), swearing I can feel the moisture and smell the world outside. When the thunder rolls, I get a familiar warm feeling inside and I can literally feel myself smile, from the inside out. I can feel the power in it all, no matter how small the sprinkle of rain. How small I am and how grand the world is.
No matter what else is going on. All worries seem to wash away with the falling rain. It is taking that little moment to stop and clear your mind of everything but the sound and imagined feel of the rain. The moment will end itself and you can turn back around like new. Right as the rain. I had one of those moments today while at work in my office.
It is no secret to longer time readers that I have a thing for storms, despite all the apparent complaining I have been doing as of late about the rain.
Petrichor. Defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as “a pleasant, distinctive smell frequently accompanying the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather in certain regions” or as “the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil.”
That smell. That rain smell really is something. Even rain on wet ground still has a distinct smell, just different than that of rain on dry ground. So strong and familiar. Paining memories and feelings in your soul that last.
Interestingly enough, I was talking with my Mamma on the phone earlier about the appreciation you have for things you do not get to see or experience all the time. How you might not get those same feelings you did if you had access to them all the time.
I think I do not agree with that. Maybe it is just my personality, but I think I would still feel the same. I have many ‘even still’ moments.
Even still, I am stopped dead in my tracks, utterly captivated, by every sunset and sunrise I am blessed to see. The uniqueness. The colors. The shapes. The dichotomy of the movement coupled with the blatant stillness. That they are there every single day for every living being on this earth whether or not you can see them.
Even still, all it takes is a minute with my animals for the world to feel right and peaceful. For me to feel and see light. Remember what IT is all about. It is amazing to me. Amazing grace. To see my Darcy dog smile at me and be her weird, unabashed self. To sit atop either of my dun horses and feel their breathing. Their strength of gentleness. Their trust and willingness. Their innocence and teachings. To know and feel that they are a blessing I am supposed to have.
Hippie dippie? Maybe. I will go get my Birkenstocks to wear with my wool socks. All kidding aside, these things I could never tire of, no matter how much I get of them. This I do not think is a surprise to most people that know me.
Tell me your ‘even still’ moments?
Walk in love, dear readers!
In other news, Lito and I ran into the trailer together on Sunday. All brave and confident. He turned his head to look at me and his expression all but said in plain English, “See, I can do this again, can we go somewhere and do something new?”
Remember when you were a kid in elementary school and you had show and tell? I used to think (and still do actually) that was a pretty dang cool deal. Now I look back and wonder if I liked it so much because it shed another fresh light on the hearts of the people I saw every day. My kid brain would not have thought of it that way, but I think of it that way now and wonder.
I remember one certain show and tell when Pops agreed to bring Rosie, our Brittany (used to be known as a Brittany Spaniel) that we grew up with, to class for show and tell. I thought that was just the coolest thing in the world at the time. I do not think anyone had brought a dog to show and tell before and certainly not one that their father had hunted with.
Pops must have liked show and tell too because he tries to get my nephew to take dragon flies we find at the farm to school for show and tell.
Today feels a little bit like a show and tell day. Just one of a slightly different nature. Remember when I made those molasses cookies and that margarita over the weekend? These ones?
Well, I have been asked for both of the recipes and naturally I am going to share them with you! Not just because I was already going to share the cookie recipe. I think I have also been asked for my marg recipe too.
Anyhow.
It feels straight up like show and tell because everyone must experience these cookies. I will remember them and the memories till the day I die.
Here is the thing about these recipes I like to share with y’all. They are more than just tried and true, sure to please recipes. They are basically part of the family and who we are. They tell a story within themselves and the traditions they hold. They share the love and memories.
Do you remember when I shared the pumpkin breadmy mother has baked for us our whole lives? She would even send us back to college with a couple loaves. Or the best cheesecake recipe she wrote on the inside flap of a well worn cookbook? The best for many reasons, but chief among them just being her favorite cheesecake? Yes, those. And that little life secret about them and where to find others like them?
This cookie recipe is one of those. Hand written, well loved, and stained. Telling the story of generations and while bringing them all home. No small feat, I tell you.
Not only were us kids raised on these, but Pops and his siblings were raised on these. My Grandmother used to keep a jar full of these in the kitchen. The back door was always reportedly always unlocked and all the neighborhood kids would run and and out taking cookies throughout their play time.
My Mom and I once made these in an old, shallow wooden bowl with two forks for stirring implements at a Texas century ranch of friends while on vacation. Ironically or not, that weekend produced a lot of rain and we thought we might not make it out with the road conditions. Good thing for four wheel drive and Pops’ driving skills!
What I find most interesting is how each person puts their own spin on this recipe to make them theirs. Make them right. Make them like our Grandmother’s. But the funny thing is, we all talk about how they are not as good as our Grandmother’s. Everyone also has a theory on why hers were better. Maybe it is just because she actually followed the original recipe. Or maybe it was the love and wisdom she baked into them. Who is to know?
Anyway, this particular handwritten version is my mother’s. Karl is my uncle and my mother was collecting and writing recipes that he grew up on to give as a wedding gift.
My Grandmother used Oleo (margarine for you youngsters that do not know. Yes, I know I am a youngster, but I know these things) and baked them on the top rack of her oven. My mother believes that is THE secret.
My Aunt says to chill the dough before rolling and bake 8 – 10 minutes at 375 deg F.
My sister and I use real butter and roll the whole dough ball in sugar. Or, at least I think A rolls the whole ball. I do it anyway. I also add vanilla and I would put money on A doing that too because she is my sister and I know her that way. And it is vanilla. Vanilla goes in everything and makes everything magical and better, duh.
I myself have not actually seen the ‘original’ recipe before.
Last weekend only took 7 minutes to bake these scrumptious morsels at 375 in my parents’ new oven. I tried, valiantly, to chill the dough, but I think I only lasted about a minute before I gave in to get them in and out of the oven quicker. And my nephew had walked into the house and I recruited him as a dough ball roller. He happily obliged.
You can not really mess them up so long as you do not over cook them.
Go bake them. Right now. I will wait.
Finished? OK good. Now for your libation.
This one, the simple and classic margarita, Pops taught me along with the love of tequila. Follow the simple ratios and stick to only a few flavors and you can not go wrong with most variations of this cocktail.
2 parts tequila.
1 part triple sec (or your favorite orange liqueur).
1 part fresh lime juice (absolutely not the pre bottled stuff. Use real limes and squeeze them. It is a crime otherwise. Trust me).
Shake vigorously in a shaker with ice.
Pour in a chilled martini class or over ice.
For the ginger orange marg all you have to do is sub part of the triple sec with a ginger liqueur to your taste, keeping the total liqueur quantity to 1 part (keep to the ratios!). Then use fresh squeezed orange juice for the lime if you are Pops and if you are me, do about 1/3 lime and 2/3 orange (still only 1 part in total!). Add a dash of a cinnamon syrup and shake away. Garnish with some orange peel and enjoy!
Now. Go have a cookie and cocktail party and tell me all about it! It is show and tell after all.
I have already told you about September and how it, and the start of fall, get me in a reflective mood. Today is one of those reasons.
The 13th of September will always be a special day and a day I will always remember. A sad day at times, yes of course, but also a special one. A day for red wine and chocolate pie. To remember the happy memories and be grateful. Why do you ask? Because I say so, that is why. It is Mansebo’s day.
Mansebo was the horse that started it all. Is it still hard? Absolutely. But he is in the best place of all now and free from any pain and suffering. I am forever grateful for him.
This is Mansebo’s song. Every time I hear it, I think of him, and every time I think of him, I hear it.
I can not help but think that it is because of him that we have horses today. It makes me even more grateful for my dun duo.
Speaking of the dun duo…
Lito and I had a great weekend of riding and he continues to get better and better, heading in the right direction to his regular self.
Both Cheetah and Lito pretended to be race horses on Saturday when I tried to bring them in for the evening, galloping all around the pond pasture multiple times. This video was only the beginning. I did not catch the best and fastest parts. They took turns with who was in the lead, Cheetah talking to Lito the whole time. Quite funny really. After several minutes they decided they were finished and would come in, but only if I came and got them. Naturally, that is what I did and they met me half way, the looks on their faces seeming to say, “gee, that sure was fun!” At least for Lito, the cheeky guy! Cheetah looked a bit happily worn out with her out of shape, grass fat body.
Have some wine and pie with me today, won’t you? And go love on your horses! Remember the happy times!
Is this not the dreamiest wedding portrait? Seriously. I will never understand why this style for dress and portrait went out of style.
Where would we be without her or both of my parents? I know I certainly do not know where or what I would be.
I know it is not quite yet Mother’s Day, but I celebrate my mom every day.
I celebrate her for who and what she is. I celebrate her for putting up with me. I celebrate her for her selflessness and doing everything for me. I celebrate her for allowing me to be who I am and doing her best to embrace it. I celebrate her for being a part of me.
She is the best mom in the world. That is what I tell people when they ask about her.
She made my school lunch every day and would draw horses on the brown paper bag. She would have my dad drive her in the golf cart, wrapped in a sleeping bag, on cold winter mornings to look for me if I rode longer than normal, just to make sure I was OK. She figured out how we could spend the most amount of time at the farm during the summers so I could ride and be where I loved. On those summer days, we would eat dinner early so we could go for drives on the back roads together. With the windows down, we soaked in the country air and scenery. We were waiting for the heat to lift so I could go for a sunset ride on my palomino mare, Fresca. She allowed me to have riding lessons every day when we were in Mexico so I could learn and get better. Just for the love of it.
I could go on and on.
When I was younger, for Mother’s Day I would braid my mare’s mane with ribbons and flowers to spell out mom on Mother’s Day. I sat on my mare in the barn and colored cards for her before she would wake up, misspellings and all. I would pick wildflowers from the horse pasture and try make them last. They never did.
Nowadays I play her music instead of cards because it speaks to us both, more than any card could. I will bake a dessert I think she will like for dinner because I love to do that for people and she has discerning taste. And every time I swing my leg over my pony, I thank the good Lord above for not only the gift that is them, but the gift that is my mother. For giving me that part of her and for her allowing that to grow within me. Well, not that she really had much choice. It is in our blood.
I would say my dad, sisters, and I would have the family over and plan dinner, but we did that once. It was Dad’s idea. It did not work out so well. Mom is the best at that. This year we will go to Aunt M’s house for Mother’s Day dinner with everyone. That is what makes her happy.
We will be celebrating many mothers this coming Sunday. Grandmothers. Mothers. Aunts. Cousins. Sisters.
I hope I am half the mother she is and they are one day.
What is your favorite memory of the mother in your life?
Certain evenings at the farm, without any other people there, often bring back memories and make me miss a certain someone. Particularly when I am out walking in the pastures. I always have and always had, back then, a special buddy with me.
Two independent beings and kindred spirits, comfortable just being in the joined, shared silence that can only be had in that secure, comfortable way. They way of a life long relationship, but not needing all those years to get there. With that knowingness.
Glad and relieved for the lack of pressure and expectation, strolling through the pastures, not side by side, but not one in front either. Content just being present. In each other’s company. Accompanied only by the ambiance created by that country air and those country sounds. The breeze in the pecan trees, through the grass, and over the pond. The sun setting, ablaze with fire, and reflecting off the migrating ripples after the crash of a Bass on the surface. Likely preying on the recent hatch. The distant snort and swish of horse tails as the herd grazes. A cow mooing for her calf and the bull making his claim known to the neighboring herd. Backed up by the common clink of ice in a glass and the distant speaker playing real country music. The good kind. Old and new.
Something like this.
(Side note. Go treat yourself to this album. It is brand new, but as far as I can tell is as close to classic, old school country as it gets these days with a distinct modern arrangements. I am a sucker for all things steel, fiddle, and piano along with the guitar. I pre-ordered it a while back and so far it is great. I have been listening to Joshua Hedley for a while.) Now back to the story at hand. My buddy. The instigator of all these memories.
She had the luxury of being born out here. Well, right down the road technically, but close enough. As much a part of the landscape as the centuries old Live Oak up by the house.
My mother’s old Labrador Retriever, Annabelle.
There is just something about a Lab, isn’t there?
A gal pal after my own heart she was. Middle Sister, K feels the same way, if not more.
Even though she was not mine, we grew to have a very deep connection in her later years. Especially during what I call my “Lost Year.” The year between my undergrad and graduate school. Not knowing what to do with my life and having trouble finding a job using my degree. In the end I bucked up and applied for grad school and began that journey within the year. Sometimes it feels like I miss that year, but really I just fondly remember those nights at the farm with Annabelle.
We got her right before Oldest Sister, A went off to college.
We would go to the farm together about three times a week during that year. It was glorious. She was my gal pal. My farm buddy. She knew the plan before I did and would rally her old bones. I had to help her get into the car so we could go, but I also had to stop her from jumping out of the car and hurting herself when we would arrive. She would run as best as she could until she had to take a nap.
We would walk out in the pastures together at sundown. At length, we would eventually come to a stop. Annabelle would walk out a few paces in front, stop, take a big breath of that country air looking back at me, and then sit and gaze off into the distance, like only a wise dog can. Eventually, when it got close to dark, we would make our way back up to the house.
She was a great dog even though she rarely listened to anyone. We had to put her down while I was in graduate school and we were left with a big hole in our lives. I would never recommend being dogless if you can help it. It is awful. It was a good thing Darcy was on her way.
Dogs are such amazing creatures. They sure do leave their mark in their short time here on earth. It is a wonder to me how we handle having them in our lives and move on after they are gone. Yet at the same time, I could never imagine my life without a dog in it. What gifts they are. They seem to make us aware of how human we are. The remind us that we do not have all the time in the world. If only we could do as much good as a dog does in its lifetime in our own.
They are never ‘just a dog.’ Do you know what I mean?
Anyway, I just wanted to share Annabelle with you as I was thinking of her.
You know how when you were younger and smaller, innocent and wide eyed, how things appeared big and they stick in your memory that way? Then time goes by and you grow up and see those things again, but somehow they are smaller than you remembered? And you wonder just how in the world you ever thought they were that big?
That happened to me yesterday.
Breakfast in a bed of clover.
So there I was in the cloudy, windy, misty river bottom where the sun apparently does not like to play anymore. I spent the whole morning mucking out the barn and paddock around the barn. With the weather these days, the horses have been spending an exorbitant amount of time in there instead of out in the pasture. I really do not think I have ever scooped so much poop as I have in the last month and I have been riding and caring for horses my whole life. Anyway, that is not the point.
Muddy kisses from Darcy Doolittle. Later she decided to get into and eat a bunch of fish food…as how that went.
So there I was trying to decide what to do next. “I should be riding,” I thought to myself, but I do not like to ride when the ‘shoulds’ show up.
“Shoulds be darned” and I grabbed Cheetah’s bridle. We are going to go play and have fun. I bridled her up and headed to the fence to hop on.
Just then, H called. She was on her way to put in some work at the office. She likes to talk while she drives, as do I. We call it the dialies in our family. Anyway, I decided then and there that I would ride Cheetah for me and I would ride Lito next for her because she could not ride that day. She has not been able to ride in a while because of work. AHA moment. Always ride when you can. Life is too short and you never know when you won’t be able to and there are plenty of people who can not.
I stuck my phone in my pocket and talked to her on speaker phone for my whole lovely ride. Cheetah was lazy and behind my leg. Dare I say sluggish, which is somewhat of a nice change of pace. Then the sun showed up and I almost didn’t know what to do with myself.
For Lito, I decided to saddle up and ride my neighbor’s big pasture behind the barn.
I had not ridden that pasture in years. I used to ride it all the time on Fresca, my little palomino mare. She was quick, fast, and fun and I loved her. She had the best little jog and I could do anything on her. She was the best horse to grow up on. We rode all over the place bareback, nothing between me and her, feeling every thought. We had some amazing times, that mare and me. Whenever we would ride the pasture behind the barn, we would ride down to the river first and loop around to the clear frontage to have a look down the river and see if anyone was on the beach. Then we would continue up river and follow the tree line towards the big hill.
The hill was our favorite. The two track dirt road lazily meanders around to the low spot with rusty culvert before it goes straight up the hill to the little white church across the fence. The culvert was the starting gate in our games. We had different games in different places all around the river bottom, but here at the hill in the big pasture behind the barn, it was a race and she was the best race horse of the day.
Calm as could be, Fresca would walk up to the culvert as if neither of us had a plan to gallop to the top wearing red and white silks. As if we didn’t do it practically every time we came to the hill. An onlooker would not know what was about to happen, but the ones in the grandstand knew. Then, the bell would ring and in an instant, we would take off and fly to the top faster than all the greats.
Once at the top, we would come to a stop right by the church and listen to the church goers sing. I thought it was so cool that you could hear them sing when they were inside. By about that time I would start to feel hungry for breakfast so we would turn and head down the hill, cross the bog, and make our way back home where my mother was making pancakes.
Lito and I pushed our way through the overgrowth at the gate and then made our way down to the river. I will conveniently leave out the part where a crazy, lone cow chased followed us for a bit, so we got in some extra trotting before we got to the look out. After marveling at how the river bottom has changed since the two floods before Hurricane Harvey and then after Harvey, we tracked up river along the tree line towards the hill.
I was looking forward to a good lope up the hill for old time’s sake. I remember it being a bigger hill as hills go down here. At least big enough to lope for a bit. You know, feel the wind in your pony tail, or something like that. I had to laugh when the culvert at the base of the hill came into view. The big hill, in all its glory, looking back at me. I realized how small the hill actually is. Maybe ten strides long. Laughing, we went for a big trot up the hill instead. Being a Saturday, there were no church goers to listen to, so we turned and walked back. Half way there, the sun went behind the clouds, the wind picked up, and a few drops fell from the sky, but that didn’t dampen our spirits.
Funny how you remember things as a kid. I guess it is all just a matter of perspective. Back then I was little and more imaginative. Fresca was little. Today I am grown and Lito is quite a bit taller than ol’ Fresca. I think I will remember that hill as a big hill.
When the fog finally burned off this morning, it turned into a beautiful day. Cheetah and I had another ride in the pond pasture.
Now I am back at home. I did a very adult thing and sacrificed my day off tomorrow to do adult things instead of staying at the farm. I mean, look at those faces. So hard to leave them!
Naturally I did another very adult thing and procrastinated some of those things to clean and do laundry all afternoon and evening. Nothing like cleaning and laundry to procrastinate. Makes you feel like you got so much accomplished (which you did, so that is something) and takes enough time to keep you from doing what you need to do.
Looks like it will be a late night! Oh well!
Walk in love, dear readers, tomorrow is a new day!
AHAmoments 