New Farrier

Recommended by our old farrier, nice enough but young, maybe a little short on thought and patience. 

 But there are happy horses and a happy cowboy headed to a feedlot job soon. Nothing worse than an old cowboy with nothing to do in the city but languish in front of the TV and be grumpy all the rest of the time. 

So happy me too. 

The Second Wife

You know how some women who know they are going to pass pick out their own replacement, the second wife. I’ve actually seen that happen at least twice. I don’t think it’s too bad an idea. Really who knows her husband better, maybe even better than he knows himself, what’ll make him happy and what won’t. As long as she’s not the jealous type and really loves him and wants the best for him. Could save the man a lot of grief over an ill thought out, hurried choice and avoid the time, effort, and consternation of having to hunt around for the right one. 

Well, I think I might have found the perfect one for my cowboy. He’d probably never even miss me. She’d be so much like me: tough as HEdoubleLL, hard working, with a strong self preservation instinct, never putting up with any guff. (Maybe more what he needs than what he wants). But she’d make him look like the super hero I know he is. 

Yup, I might have found my husband a perfect second. I’m going right out to buy a lottery ticket cause it’s gonna take money to buy her from the fella she’s with now. Luckily he does want to sell her. 
I’ll post a picture as soon as I can get my hands on one. 

Cheering up

Today I was in sore need of cheering up. Hospitals do that to me, way to many unpleasant memories so I don’t know why, in my wildest dreams, I thought this time should be any different. Cold torture chambers with some kind nurses, some not kind or, dare I say,  even competent.

It was so good to get out. 

Ever seen a cornered, scared cow? If it’s too much for them and you back off and give them space it’s pretty safe for you but keep pressuring them beyond their ability to handle it and don’t give them a way out, they’ll make one of their own often that involves running right over top of you, the only way out. I was at that point today. Luckily the nurses were some pretty good cowgirls. 

The day just got better and better.


Yup, made out to the prairie. And laid there and just cried at the calm and little song birds singing, nothing but sky above me. It was glorious. 

I brought a precious little bouquet of familiar friends home. 

But first we stopped at my youngest daughter’s, a surprise Father’s Day visit. I have a grandson there who could cheer anyone up. He is such a character and can always make me smile.

Not sure what he’s supposed to be but as long as it involves a cowboy hat I’m happy. He’s had that hat a lot of years and I watched him take the lint brush out and carefully clean it all off. Totally cheered me up. 


How many tags does a person actually need? Apparently 3 for me. 

Blood transfusion for me yesterday. Not really fond of hospitals. Plus I must eat way more than most people incarcerated in these places. After breakfast I sure am hungry. Must still be a little coyote left in me. 

I was thinking back to when I was sick as a kid. This is me at age 7 when I had whooping cough. That’s my horse Trigger and my other pal was a white kitten  a hunter found, almost dead, and gave to us. His name was Fluffy, for obvious reasons lol.

He’s not in the picture but I’m sure my old collie dog, was laying by my bed there. He never left me the whole two months I laid there. 

A long time between then and now. A lot of life lived. 

Thinking out Loud

I’ve been trying to process something so I’m just thinking out loud. It was the 6 seasons of the tv show Downton Abbey that started the pondering. I actually loved the show. I loved the kindnesses and the triumph over trials it portrayed. 

I found the show particularly interesting now after having been in Powys Castle, spoiled by my cousin by having spent a week in the lovely Victorian style hotel by the sea (thanks to my cousin Alun for that) and on my cousin’s mystery trips to the fox hunt at the dowagers and the tour of the Duke of Devonshires house, (what a ‘house’ that was). And if you’re reading this Tom, thankyou again for the mystery trips. What marvelous experiences. All were tastes of a culture I didn’t realize existed.  

To me, growing up in Alberta, as I have, I have never been exposed to any class distinction. It’s just not part of life here. I have rich friends, poor friends, educated and school dropout friends, friends with jobs and ones with their own businesses, landowner friends and ones who live in subsidized houseing. We accept each other’s situations and try to help each other when we can. 

There really is no one that I would trade places with except anyone who spends their day out on the prairie. No one is any better or worse off than another, we all have trials and heartaches, joys and successes. 

I noticed there was something different when I was in England; maybe they will say there isn’t any class distinction anymore but there is some kind of remnant of it. A remnant of something you see in that show. Something I can’t seem to wrap my head around. 

To Teach

To each of you my blog friends whether you ever comment or not, I just want to tell you today how much I love you and how much I appreciate your love for me. 

You may not know this about me but I love to teach. I taught today. 

In the church I attend the lovely women I reverently and lovingly call my sisters have a special meeting each Sunday where we meet together to learn to be more like our Saviour. 

It’s a very special time and I consider it a great privelge to be able to be in that room learning the most important things in this world and in the next. 

It is even a greater priveledge that once a month I am asked to teach these ladies that I love about the Saviour that I love, even Jesus Christ. 

The reason I love teaching, in all my inept ADD lack of focus is because of the help I have learned to expect, learned to rely on. I don’t mean just these lovely sisters, although they do help immensely when they lift all our hearts with their comments of courage and service. 

No matter what anyone teaches there in that class these wonderful women always seem to be able turn the discussion into what they can individuals and personally do to help others, starting with their own families, extending to our little church family, then to anyone else in their sphere of association. 

The help I’m referring to is not from this world. I think people call the  helper I’m talking about by different names; the Spirit, the Holy Ghost is what I call him and he is my treasured friend. 

Without his help I’m a miserable failure as a teacher. With his help, I am 99.9% sure I could walk on water, if that was what the Lord asked me to do. 

To be blunt dying is hard. I felt like I was leaving behind so much and so many opportunities to do good, until today. Today that treasured friend whispered to me that I am headed towards a spectacular opportunity that will make me happier than anything I can do here. A full time opportunity where pain or fatigue can never touch me again. 

I’m going to be a teacher. 

Do you have any idea how many souls left this world with out ever hearing the good news of the gospel, never knowing a thing about Jesus Christ’s example? 

Billions and teachers are sorely needed to help them prepare their hearts to accept the Saviour’s grace and to know the blessings provided by his death, Atonement, and resurrection. 

Of all the things my Saviour did while he was here on Earth I love that he was a teacher. I love that I will be a a nonstop teacher. I love that I will be in His service. I love that I will be able to help my brothers and sisters. I love that I will able to share what it has been my great blessing to have learned: that HE LIVES, and because of Him we will all live again; that He loves us, without any reservation, no matter what our mistakes or sins, and willingly gave His life because of that love. 

I love that I am going to teach. 


So pretty,  both of them, the flowers and the flower giver. Thankyou Seeetheart. 


I went to a lovely church activity yesterday, one for the women I go to church with. I’m here to tell you that I consider it one of my greatest privileges to be in the company of such truly great women. Yesterday it was a further blessing to be in the company of their mothers. 

I met their mothers, not in person but through a picture and a story that each of these women had brought. It was part of a game where we had to guess which mother belonged to which of the daughter there. 

 It was especially poinant to learn of these mothers through the eyes of their daughters. Wonderful stories of pies baked, dresses sewed, service to those in need but, alas, not all mothers are wonderful. Some have problems that affect their children. 
One woman had previously confided in me about a difficult relationship with her mother. When I heard the story of this mother’s life which was itself very difficult I understood why she was the way she was with her daughter and so did this daughter. This is a daughter any mother would be so proud of. I love this daughter and yesterday I admired her even more for the kindness she showed her mother in what she said. 

I want to follow her example and tell you about my mother, the story and picture I shared yesterday with these women. 

When I was a very little girl, 4 or 5, I remember so clearly holding my mom’s hand walking down the main street of the small town where I grew up. She was born there and had lived all her life there and knew almost every soul that lived in that town. 

As we passed Stewart’s Hardware store I saw a fancy long pink car I was later to find out was a Cadillac (a big deal in the fifties). Out of this shiny pink Cadillac steped a really well dressed woman and my mother stopped to have a very nice visit with her. I thought, wow! My mom knows rich fancy people that must make us special too. 

Mom concluded her conversation and with me in tow she carried on down the street. On the corner I could see a very badly dressed man stumble off the curb and head towards us. I recognized even at that young age that he was very drunk. You can’t imagine my horror when he stopped to visit with my mom too. She was as pleasent to him as she had been with the woman in the pink Caddy. 

My little brain tried to process all this and when we got home I asked mom about those two people. She said the woman had come from a very poor home and had been looked down on by the people in town till she had married a wealthy man. The man had come from a very good family and once had a lovely wife and children. When they were all killed in an accident he fell apart and became an alcoholic. 

When I later heard that God is no respecter of persons it was very easy for me to understand and believe because of the example of my mom just walking down the street one day. 

The church women guessed right away that it was my mom. She was/is much prettier than I am and when she laughed it sounded like bells tinkling. 


We have been watching the Canadian tv series on the life of the famous Viking, Ragnar Lofbrok, and his sons. Pretty violent and pagan, a far cry from how I live and maybe even what I should be watching. 

I know Ragnar is the focus of the story but I so love Ragnars’s wife, Lagertha, a shield maid, worth her weight in gold, I’d say (at least how she is portrayed on the TV).  Fearless, capable, hardworking, a little more than scary, faithful, honest, tough, not afraid to speak up, smart, a protective mother and the kind of wife only a strong,  capable man would truly appreciate.

I smile when I see her do many things I would do or have done and I have started to think better of myself. If I can admire those things in her I can forgive myself for some of the things people don’t like about me. 

Although it’s my cowboy who knows he’s a descendant of Ragnar I can’t can’t help but wonder why I feel such a kinship to a Viking Sheildmaid. 


They can be so odd, dreams can. Remembered, not rememberanced, delicious or terrifying, and some explain things, events, past and present and sometimes future.

Like Israel’s boy, Joseph, who was sold into Egypt I have dreamed dreams in times past and been given very specific interpretation of them. I’ve learned to pay attention to my dreams. 

Today’s dream: I’m in the passengers seat, my cowboy driving, in the dark down a mountain hiway. The road turns sharply left and too late I see that we are headed over the cliff. The car sails out over the edge and begins to fall.

 It is strangely quite, peaceful even. I can feel my breath stop and my stomach rise. Time slows immeasurably. I know when we hit the bottom we will die and I wait for it and we fall for ever so long. Before our cars crashes at the bottom I wake up, feeling almost cheated. 

I think this is where I am. I have irreversibly driven out over the cliff and just not hit the bottom yet. It’s an odd place to be-between no longer and not yet.