Please, Let Me Wake

Sometimes I hear me talking about things that have really happened in my life and think, ‘I bet theses folks (the ones politely listening) think I’m embellishing or flat out lying.

The stories do sound rather fantastical, even to me: roping a Charolais bull and having him tied to a fence when my cowboy shows up with a truck and trailer, having my hands on the head of a charging 2500 bull and not dying, dragonflies flying eye level with me on my horse. So many things that seem out of the real of possibility when you look at me, just a dream.

I would give up most anything to be living in that dream again. The dream of it is still my reality. My life now is just the dream from which still I want so badly to wake.


Remembrance Day

Today during the two minutes of silence I was thinking how my grandfather, David, lost the brother he was so close to, Jonathan, in the first WW. Jonathan wrote a letter home the day before he died. I have a copy and it’s translation from Welsh into English.

Reminds me of another great friendship between two young men with the same names. Both those stories ended with Jonathan dying during war time.

Today I felt how much grandpa missed his brother and how living without him made difference in his life. Jonathan left a wife and six children as well. All the sacrifices made by so many, the lives changed, made harder by the passing of a brother, husband, dad, or son.

How ungrateful are we when we don’t remember.

Prairie Heaven

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. When I remember who I really am I come back.

Reminds me of a story I heard about a little three year old sister with a brand new baby brother. She insisted her mother let her to talk to the baby alone. The mother was was touched by how important this seemed to her daughter but was a little concerned and decided to listen at the slightly ajar door. The child went in and got as close as she could then asked her brother if he would tell her what heaven was like, because she was beginning to forget.

That’s me; I’m beginning to forget.


Today I have been thinking about scars. They say: ‘Chicks dig scars’. We’ll, maybe, but that doesn’t refer to their own. I’ve often wondered why we get them but I think they serve as a reminder to not do the foolish things that left you with the scar.

Not all scars are of our own making. Not all scars are physical.

Sometimes injuries are inflicted on us through no fault of our own. Someone else initiates the scar. It’s upsetting to me, to say the least, because of the time it takes to heal and forgive.

Sometimes we get injured as children (and adults) by people who, with their own problems, have no intention or, possibly, even a clue that they have injured us. My mom was like that. She was 39 when I was born and now that I’ve lived through menopause I realize that for most of my childhood she was dealing with those challenges. She, too, had some issues that may have begun in childhood but by the time my children were born, she was a good grandma and I’m grateful that’s what my children remember.

I have a hard time being grateful for adversity but that difficult relationship I now see is a blessing as I deal with the inadvertent hurts I caused my own kids. I know I tried extremely hard to be a good mom as I’m sure, now, that my own mom tried her very best. I wonder how many of us actually got through a childhood where parents left no scars and live, unforgiving, for too many years.

The good news is that I’ve come to a place in my life where I can say: I understand, I forgive, I love. What a peaceful, joyful place.

Jingle Bobs

My cowboy and I had a conversation today about spurs and we were both in agreement.

I have a pretty cute pair, not real silver or expensive but nice ones. Put the spots on the straps myself, the rowels are big and kind, and the jingle bobs have a real sweet ring. Like most folkes I guess I always dreamed about a fancy pair. But I found out that wearing them is a whole different deal.

I preface this by saying I know nobody likes to get hurt but for most folkes the ambulance isn’t all that long away. For the ones out in the middle of nowhere it is a lot more serious, maybe even life and death. Luckily my lesson about spurs came when I was having a phone call away kind of day and I didn’t even need to make the call.

I was dallied up when Tom started to buck and I let go of it all just before I hit the ground. He wacked me good on the back of my thigh on the way down and I layed there a while holding both hands around my leg. I managed to get up fairly quick and went to catch my horse when I noticed my right boot had come off. Odd, I thought. It wasn’t far from where I had been laying. I put it on and walked over to Tom who was standing there wondering if he was in trouble or what. I don’t much like a horse that kicks but . . .

When I went to get on I noticed the marks on my saddle. A perfect Rowell roll all the way across the seat of my saddle and down most of the fender. I shuddered when I realized that my spur had hung up and that’s why my boot had come off. I hung those pretty spurs up and never wore them again and never missed them except for the sweet little ringing sound of the jingle bobs; I did like that (my cowboy not so much).

Maybe someone can explain their value to me other than the prettyness. For my part I just say: dangerous dang things.

IMG_0017.JPG These aren’t mine but you can see they have the same kind of jingle bobs.

Dickie Foulkes

When I was real young I played baseball in an empty lot with all the neighbourhood kids. I was the last one picked till they discovered I had a pretty good throw then I moved up the ranks from outfield to short stop to pitcher. Right across the street from that empty lot in the basement suite of an old house lived a kid my age, Teddy Foulkes. I felt sorry for him. His dad drank heavy and there was a pile of kids in the family all living in that basement. They didn’t have much.

I didn’t know till many years later that Teddy’s dad was a cowboy, Dickie Foulkes. I’ve gained a whole new appreciation for that man after our experience. Can kind of understand the drinking. I don’t ( drink ) but there are days I wish there was a way to make the pain let up some. I share with that man ‘Kind of a hard come down from a high horse’.

Here’s my favorite song dedicated to Dickie and us and all the displaced cowboys in the world who miss that simple life we all loved.

Buckets, Present and Past

I was just wondering what I would put on a bucket list, just things I’d like to do in this life. Going to try to give that some thought here. So not in any kind old order or priority:

1. Buy a home.Β 

2. Learn adobe indesign

3. Learn adobe illustrator

4. Learn Photoshop

5. Get my book published

6. Finish my pig animation in Scratch

7. Have my own successful business

8. Have my own art studio

9. Have a great graphic artist resume

10. Have an awesome portfolio

11. Be able to take really good care of my old horse.Β 

12. Go to Texas at least once

13. Buy a new sofa

14. Learn to play the mandolin

15. Quit biting my fingernails

16. Live on the prairie

17. Have my funeral paid for so my kids don’t have to worry about it

18. Be a size medium

19. Be a ‘woman of independent means

20. Drive a cool old truck

That’s all I can think of.Β 

There are some things that, if ‘d had a bucket list before, would have been on it.:Β 

πŸ‘ Marry a good cowboy

πŸ‘ Have my own horse

πŸ‘ Learn Β to rope

πŸ‘ Have a farrier friend

πŸ‘ Ride a horse almost everyday

πŸ‘ Meet Ray Hunt

πŸ‘ Know what kind of grass is what

πŸ‘ have dogs and cats for friends

πŸ‘ have good kids

πŸ‘ have a piano

πŸ‘ go to University

πŸ‘ learn to speak a foreign language

πŸ‘ live close to nature

πŸ‘learn how to organize

πŸ‘ work in a library

πŸ‘ have lots of good books in my own little library

Never thought about having a blog but that’s been fun too.Β 

I guess there are things I’d like to be too: happy, wise, creative, kind, attractive and maybe worth listening to but those will have to be an ongoing process.


I wonder what’s on your bucket list, my blog friends. Β 




The Family

They all get along so well. Glad the couch is old and dilapidated though.


Odd word it is. Catching a break, a breaking heart, a break (as in a rest).

My one little happiness that I’ve been clinging to, gone. Friday is apparently my last day at the library job I was enjoying. I guess I’m just not that bright. I thought I was doing a good job. I must have misunderstood. I thought they were going to cut my hours back in the fall, not cut them entirely.

Can’t seem to catch a break. I think I need a break from life.


Some Days

What do I say? Maybe just that some days I could do with out.

Not the days I work at the library, those are good days. I love books, they have ever been my friends, friends in a world that understands me, accepts me, helps me. As a child they were never too busy to answer my questions, over and over if I needed to hear them over and over.

Now we ask Google, but when I was growing up, it was books that had the answers

Pojke, our deaf dog has been having seizures, about a month apart, a month or two ago. Then he had two in a row last night. I didn’t need to go to work today which was a small blessing as none of us got much sleep.

20140816-204323.jpgHe’s sleeping peacefully now. Hopefully we all will tonight and tomorrow will be a better some day.