BIRKENSTOCK GOSPEL

When I was a wild and crazy hippy chic with a baby in my back pack and Birkenstocks on my feet, my world was a radically different place. It was 1976. The USA had only just withdrawn from Viet Nam. John and I had two babies, no car, no insurance and a grocery budget of $18 a week. And we walked everywhere. It didn't seem that big a deal. I was only 25 and completely invulnerable...a lioness who could run an easy ten minute mile (eight on a really good day!). I was going to change the world, make it a better place for my sons to live in. I could do anything!

We had no washing machine or dryer, so walking to the laundry mat was a twice a week event for me. I'd put Ben in my back pack and Ryan in the stroller and drag the laundry behind me in my shopping cart . We'd walk two blocks over and four blocks down to get to the laundry mat that was located across the street from my old High School. I used to laugh when I told the story about how easy it was to clear out the truant high school kids by opening up the diaper bucket to load up the washing machine. I was probably the best form of birth control around! One look and smell at what babies give back to the world in the "shape" of dirty diapers and barfed on clothes usually sent all of them out of there with a truly horrified expression on their faces. I always imagined the girls saying "No way Jose! You aren't putting your hands on me! I'm not going to end up like her!"

I loved my life though. I've always looked at it as a great adventure. Anything is possible. Just keep your eyes open and listen to your intuition. It will guide you to wherever you want or need to go! Guess you could say I was a "leaper". I loved jumping off the cliff and into the water, yelling "Yeeeeeeeeehaaaw!" all the way down. (Course, I usually did that after watching someone else jump and come up safely. I wasn't completely stupid, just liked that feeling of taking a chance.)

One Sunday in April, while John was at work (he was in school and working two jobs to keep us going.), I packed up the boys and all of our laundry to make our usual hike towards cleaner pastures and sweet smelling sheets. On our way we had to pass a little white church. I loved to walk past. The congregation was mostly African American and that place rocked on Sunday! People were clear out onto the sidewalk, mingling, talking, fanning themselves in the early Summer heat...and singing. Oh my, the music that came out of that little building. It was wonderful! It was such a celebration. The energy coming down the sidewalk at us was huge!

I'd forgotten that it was Easter! How could I not know that? I stood there, watching the people go in and out of that church wearing their Sunday best. The little girls all had on pretty dresses and ribbons in their hair. The little boys were kind of squirmy in their tiny little suits, pulling at the neck ties. The ladies smelled like lavender and powder and were wearing dresses all the colors of the rainbow. Some of the younger women had dared to wear pants suits, bringing looks of disapproval from the older women.

It was Sunday and there I was, walking to the laundry mat again dressed in my cutoffs, Birkenstock sandles and T-shirt that said "Give Peace a chance!" My boys were wearing Osh Cosh by Gosh overalls and tennis shoes. the smell of dirty diapers preceded us, I'm sure. It was Easter and I'd forgotten! I stopped up the block, waiting for people to finish fileing up and into the church. I didn't want to offend anyone with my dirty laundry.

While I stood there a feeling, for the first time, washed over me of being alone. My family was spread out to the four corners, Grandparents and Mom gone, and a Dad that wanted nothing to do with us. Just for a moment all of my brave "Yee haw!" was forgotten. I'd always thought that my kids would grow up with family around them too. I stood and watched and remembered, smiling and hearing my Grandmother fuss over my dress and shoes, worrying about my fly away hair.

"Come on in sweetheart! I've been watching you walk past for months now, loving up on your pretty babies and always a smile on your face. You just come on in and sing with us." It was one of the ladies who always stopped to smile and wave at us as we walked past. She was wearing a hat with feathers in it, a huge corsage made out of  peonies and a lavender dress. And she was a force to be reconded with. She was not the sort of person you could easily say no to.

"Oh, I couldn't. Look at us! We're not dressed for Easter Sunday. And where would I put my laundry? It smells pretty awful." She just laughed. " Honey, the Good Lord don't care how you're dressed and he sure don't care about dirty laundry. He just cares that you're here!" And with that she swept me and my boys up, leaving the laundry cart sitting around the side of the building, and away we went into that amazing church.

The pews were full and the paper fans were going. All of the windows were open, but it was still hot inside. My escort moved through the building like a battle cruiser, people stepping out of the way, parting the sea  to the front of the church. There was a place held for her and others scooched over to let me squeeze in with my babies. I felt distinctly out of place. Everyone was dressed to the nines except me! But they all had smiles for me, with much exclaiming and passing around of my boys. They were fussed over, hugged, kissed and rocked by nearly every lady in that congregation before the end of the service.

And, oh, the music. It was pure gospel, all of it. We rocked and swayed to the music, singing and laughing and saying "Amen!" at the tops of our voices. I loved all of it! Not one of them ever said a word to me about how we were dressed. We were part of their community for the length of that service. I've never had so much fun on a Sunday morning before or since. My voice is an alto when I sing, so I harmonized with the sopranos around me, all of them smiling their approval at me. Now that's what I call church!

That little church is gone now, knocked down to make a parking lot for an apartment building. Many of the older homes are gone also, to make room "for progress". It's a shame . There were beautiful trees arching all the length of that street that were taken down too. When I drive past and sit in my truck on that same corner, waiting for the light to change, I still imagine that I can hear the sounds of Easter Sunday, when the wind drifts past just right. It's a good thing people are used to seeing other people "talk to themselves" with the addition of cell phones to the world. They never miss a beat, watching me sit there and sing old gospel tunes, remembering.

My sons are grown men now with their own lives and paths to follow, living in other states. We see each other once or, if I'm really lucky, twice a year. They both live with wonderful young women that I'm proud to call my daughters in law, all of them learning how to deal with this world. And I'm living on a little ranch on the edge of Oz with my horses, dogs, cats and a donkey, and visited every year by a new herd of cattle who come to live in our north pasture for the Summer. The closest I get to Sunday Gospel now is when I sing in my barn when I clean the stalls, always in my alto voice.

All of my days begin and end with my menagerie, gardens, singing and dancing with Lucky or Apache. It's hot now and we're in to the full swing of Summer here with tornadoes one day and sunshine and wind the next. The haying has started and I ride my horse everywhere instead of walking. Guess you could say I'm still leaping off those cliffs while I try to start my next career with horses and their people, learning how to teach them to dance and sing with their horse partners.

Life is good! " Yeeeeeee Haw!"

I am, ever yours, Nancy ... singing at the tops of my lungs, with a smile on my face!

A WHITE TORNADO

Here in Kansas, Spring is a time of weather extremes. We swing back and forth from temperatures below freezing and late snows to temperatures the next day that rise into the nineties with high humidity. There's a reason Frank Baum used a tornado as the vehicle to transport Dorothy and her little dog, Toto, to OZ. Tornadoes are a part of our landscape...like the open sky and rolling land under the prairies. We've had a standing joke in our family for years. "Kansas ain't for sissies." (Well, OK, except for my three terrified, farty dogs all of whom are jammed  up here under my desk. The air can get pretty rich when the weather gets like this!)

My first memory of a tornado was the Ruskin Height's tornado in 1957. 39 people died that night. We lived in one of those brand new sub divisions that were springing up all over the US at that time. It was just a few years after WW2 and people were having babies...lots and lots and lots of babies. Every house on our block had two or three or four kids living there, all of them in my age group. It was never hard to get a pick up baseball game going in my neighborhood. All I had to do was walk out the door with my mitt, a hand me down from my brother, my slightly dented bat (also a hand me down) and a baseball. I'd yell "Ball! Who's up?" and we'd have a tournament going in no time.

At the end of May in 1957 the weather had been perfect for days. School was almost out and we were mostly coasting to the last day. Summer was nearly here. It was hot and muggy with "heat lightening" on the horizon all afternoon. I was just six years old and nearly ready to move on to second grade.

Dinner was light and easy that evening. I think we had baked beans and hotdogs. We ate outside on our brand new patio, watching the lightening display. I was drinking my first iced tea. I felt very grown up. It had a white pile of undissolved sugar at the bottom of the glass that I couldn't wait to get to! We were between wars and anything was possible.

We had no air conditioning so the windows were open that night and the attic fan was blowing, pulling cool air through the house. It was still so hot and humid that I didn't want a sheet or blanket. My dog, Shotsi, was up on the bed squooshed up next to me and trying to pant the heat away. I wasn't very sleepy. There was a kind of tension in the air and Shotsi kept making these little whimper sounds and getting up and walking around on top of me. I loved her too much to ask her to get down.

The house was dark and everyone had gone to bed when the storms began to roll in. I was sitting in the middle of my bed, holding on to Shotsi, when my Mom came in and swooped me and Shotsi up in her arms. There was no explanation. She just came up to the bed, her face visible in the constant lightning, leaned over and picked me up with surprising strength!  And then she ran!

I remember the white muslin curtains in my bedroom blowing straight out, making these strange high pitched flapping noises. The air was flashing like the strobe lights you would see twenty years later in a Disco. When I looked over my Mom's shoulder, there was my Dad running right along next to my Mom with my brother in his arms. Out the front door we went, not bothering to close it or lock it and across the street to the neighbor's house. They had a basement. We didn't.

It was my first tornado and it was coming straight for us! It looked like a giant white snake crawling across the sky. I was riveted. I didn't know enough to be afraid.

All these years later that's the image that stands out in my mind, even though I've seen two more since and had one rip the siding off of our home and destroy my beloved maple trees. We've always been the lucky ones though. None of us have ever been hurt. I learned very early on that things were just that...things. As much fun as I have making people's homes and businesses look beautiful, selling fine art for other artists or even playing with my own environment, it's all just stuff. It's not a bad lesson to learn.

I've had some requests to write about Newman, our half coyote. I think I'll save that for another story. I can tell you that he's the one who lets us know when the real deal is coming in. When my wild child comes to me and puts his paw on my leg, sitting down in front of me with a direct look, I listen. He's the reason we spent the evening downstairs the night the tornado hit Joplin. There were two coming our way also, but they pulled up and veered around us. Again, we were some of the lucky ones.

My cousin and one of his daughters weren't. They lived in Joplin and both lost their homes. But, I should correct myself here. They WERE the lucky ones. They lived through it with no injuries. Houses, furniture and even photos can be replaced. Stuff is just stuff. Family and friends are everything!

I am, always yours, Nancy...happy to be here!

MY SECOND FAVORITE MONTH

May was always my second favorite month. (My first was September...new clothes, supplies, books, teachers, subjects. I love to learn!) It was the last month of school and the first part of Summer...the best of both ends of the spectrum, a beginning and an ending.

I'd sit there in every class, doing a mental countdown and watching the clock. There were tests with all of the usual nightmares the night before. Mine always involved wrong classrooms, being naked and not prepared to take any test! and any other horrible thing that the young mind can concoct when under stress.There were end of school parties, show and tell about where we were all going during the Summer and the anticipation of endless days. I'd plan on stacks of Library books to read, swimming, baseball, freckles on my nose (much to my Mother's consternation!) and laying in the grass watching the clouds drift by. All of that time on my hands to use my imagination, dream, think and just be. Bliss!

The last day was the best. All we did was go to school and put in our time, waiting for the bell to ring. When it went off, everyone...even the teacher...would jump up and GO! The kids weren't really supposed to run down the hallways yelling, but almost all of us would. My trick was to do cartwheels and flips down the hallway and walk out of the doors on my hands. It was expected. If I didn't do that, they'd make me go back inside and come out again. I was a one trick pony and I looked forward to it every year. There would always be a teacher at the door who said " Now Nancy...that's not really a very safe way to leave the school grounds, now is it?" But no one ever stopped me either.

I'd run all the way home, excited because it was here...SUMMER! Sleeping in every morning, breakfast whenever I wanted it, my dog Shotsi at my side and time, all the time in the world. I was a Buddhist and never knew it. I was completely in the "now"...no past, no future, no clocks or schedules. All I did was breath and follow my heart. It was wonderful!

We had no air conditioning so the sound of the fan running and screen doors slamming were an important part of the background to me. I always had a vegetable garden that my brother and I grew tomatoes, green peppers, lettuce and spinach and, sometimes, even peas in. I loved standing in the garden after watering it and squishing the cold mud up through my toes. It was good dirt because my Grandpa always helped us to get it started. It was mulched with compost from his farm, so the vegies would leap out of the ground. We always had extra to share with the neighbors. Somehow the tomatoes were bigger and sweeter then.

I still love May second best. It's an old habit, and not one I want to change either. Even when the weather is record breaking high the way it has been the past two days (95 yesterday and 96 today and the afternoon's only half over!), it's beautiful. Here in Kansas the average temperature in May is 50. That doesn't mean somewhere between 40 and 60. It's more like an average between  zero and 100! Part of the price we pay to live in some of the prettiest grass lands in the US, or that's what I tell myself when I'm sitting here sweating because I refuse to turn the AC on until July. I still like the sound of screen doors slamming and the birds and wind outside too much, to cut myself off from it.

Our Mockingbird is back too. It sits in the top of the Catalpa tree just outside my bedroom window, singing it's heart out. I start and end my day listening to it sing like a Robin, a Cardinal, a Finch. Who knows what the Mockingbird's real song is? It's so busy singing the chorus to all the other birds, it doesn't really matter. It sings before the sun comes up and after it sets too. Hearing all of the daytime songs at night is another piece of the magic of Summer.

We're working on a new beginning here too. I've never adopted a mostly adult dog before. There are so many unexpected things to work on. Mrs. Miniver is settling in here very nicely, but she is a bit needy too. She was at the Humane Society for six weeks before I found her and put my application in to adopt her. And who knows how long she was on her own, looking for her person and trying to understand what happened to them. She knows she's been saved (although the Humane Society here has a no kill policy) . There were all kinds of small and medium sized dogs flying out of there, but she and most of the other larger dogs were languishing in the cement kennels, waiting.

When we came home, it was obvious that she'd never seen a staircase! She stood at the top of it, looking down at me, with a puzzled look on her face. It took her a good ten minutes or so to come down to me. She's only just started to express herself too. This morning was really the first time she offered to play with me, getting down on her front feet and putting her wagging tail in the air. We're going to have to work through some of her unknown issues as they present themselves. No worries! We'll be in the "now" and deal with them as they come to the surface.

[ "Let me hold that for you John."]

We've had to go back several steps with the horses too. They're more aware of her as a potential predator, so we set up the temporary fence we use when the horses go OUTSIDE (out side the fence to graze) and went back to ground work one at a time. I worked with Mini while John played with Apache and, then, vice versa with me playing with Lucky while he worked with Mini.

It was a bit more intense when I was with Lucky. She came bounding out, barking at Lucky, ready to "save" me. It was a good opportunity for me to do some Approach and Retreat with Lucky and Mini. He was a bit nervous at first and then he lost interest in Mini and paid attention to me. That was a real breakthrough for us too. It was so exciting, that he didn't want to put his head down much at all. Between me keeping him occupied and giving him pauses "between the notes" and John working with Mini to teach her to be polite, it was a very interesting session. I have to admit I really enjoyed the challenge of it too!

Lucky's energy came up and we were able to do some lovely Traveling Circles, Figure Eights and Falling Leaf patterns. He definitely still had his eye on her, but was looking to me to be the leader. I love it when all the arrows in my quiver, all the bits of information I've learned, come together and we're able to deal with an entirely new game plan. One step closer to my goals!

It's going to be a fantastic Summer. But I'm not going to think about that. I'm going back to the Dream Time, back to being here and now and breathing in an out. Our herd and our pack with adjust over the next week and then, who knows where we'll go!

I am, ever yours, Nancy ... in the beginning again and loving it!

MRS. MINIVER COMES TO THE DREAM TIME

When I was a kid, we didn't have a television. My Mom wanted us to be readers and thinkers. (Just between you and me, she was right! TV really does suck the brains right out of your head.) Of course, I thought I was the most deprived little girl on the face of the Earth. On every other house in the neighborhood, there was a TV aerial. If you walked to the top of our block, set on a hill, and turned to look back down the street, it was a forest of aerials one bigger than the other. Except for our house. We lived in the "open meadow", the place where there was no forest.

One of my favorite things to do was to play in the water hose on a hot Saturday afternoon, then go inside one of my friend's houses for cookies and one of those little six ounce cokes in an ice cold bottle. We'd sit down in front of the fan (no one had air conditioning...oh, the horror!) and watch a Saturday afternoon movie on channel 4.

The movies were, every single one, from the thirties and forties. One of my favorites was a movie made right in the thick of things, 1943 I think, titled "Mrs. Miniver" starring Greer Garson. She was beautiful, elegant, brave and the perfect Mother. I always thought of her as the eye in the center of the storm, where the sky clears and the colors are brighter. Since there were only so many movies formatted for TV, it was on fairly often. I loved all the characters, especially the train conductor who named his prize rose after her...the Mrs. Miniver. And when her son would fly over their house and cut the engines so she would know he was safe, I always cried. I wanted to be just like Mrs. Miniver when I grew up!

I never did achieve my goal of being like Mrs. Miniver. I was like most of the Mom's I know...disorganized, worried, tired, proud, happy and worried one more time. Most of the time I wore blue jeans smeared in paint and my hair in a braid or a barret. But I did make a heck of a chocolate chip cookie and I know I loved my sons WAY more than any fictional character ever could have. I never gave up on the idea of Mrs. Miniver though. Today, I came close to achieving my goal by bringing her home to live with us!

That's Mrs. Miniver in the front seat of my truck and Joe (Crazy Joe Cocker) in the back seat. We adopted Mrs. Miniver from the Humane Society in Lawrence. We couldn't really afford to adopt the horse that I wanted so we brought home a 1/2 St. Bernard and a 1/2 Golden Retriever. She's big enough we ALMOST have our "horse"! (And after the healthy deposits she left out in the yard today, it's probably a good thing we already have a poop rake too!)

I met her a week ago. I woke up after having a dream about Gypsy, early on Saturday morning. In the dream Gypsy and my Golden Retriever Lightfoot walked into the bedroom and up to my side of the bed. Both of them stood there next to each other, tails wagging back and forth in unison. They rested theirs heads next to my pillow and smiled at me, waiting for me to pet them. I reached out and rubbed them, one at a time, in their favorite itchy places while they licked me in the face. I can even remember the smell of their breath on me. When I woke up I was crying and laughing. It was like I'd been told it was time. There was someone waiting for me. All I had to do was go find her and bring her home. That was the day I spent more than five hours, meeting one dog after another at the Humane Society.

I was completely impressed with how clean and well run the Humane Society is in Lawrence. If I were someone doing a consumers review, I would give them a 10 out of 10 rating. They were very patient, kind and willing to show me around. The whole place was spit spot and ship shape. It's surrounded by all of these big, fenced in yards for people to take the dogs to so they can be off lead and run around. And there has to be someone who does nothing but clean up the grounds too. No poop anywhere. Blew me away! Everyone there was very nice, very professional and obviously devoted to finding homes for all of the dogs and cats housed there. I was so impressed with the way the place is run that I'm going back for volunteer training. I'd like to be one of the walkers and/or holders (for the cats). If you're looking for a dog to add to your household, I cannot say enough good things about the way the Humane Society in Lawrence is being managed. And there are all kinds of dogs and cats there too. It's definitely worth the time to go out there and look around!

Mini (I know. Can you believe I'm calling the largest dog I've ever had Mini! I crack myself up!) was the last dog I took out. We'd walked into the second building and back into the kennel area where nearly every kennel was full. The noise was deafening! There were big dogs, little dogs, young dogs, old dogs and nearly every single one of them was barking for attention...except for Mrs. Miniver. She was sitting at the front of her kennel, tail wagging and a smile on her face. When I leaned down to look at her (didn't have to go too far to do that either), she very politely held her paw up, cocked her head to the side and said "I think we should meet!" Not a bark out of her, not once during all the times I went back to see her last week and not since we've come home.

The young woman helping me took the leash and hooked it onto Mrs. Miniver's collar (her name there at the Humane Society was Olive) and out we walked, into the fresh air and sunshine, across the parking lot with cars coming and going, dogs and people everywhere, doors slamming, engines starting, people talking and laughing and not once did she pull on the lead, try to go ahead of us, barge into anyone's space or bark. When we got to the large fenced yard, I asked how long it had been since she was outside. J said that she hadn't been out since she was brought in more than five weeks ago! I thought "Uh oh. This dog is going to come out of her skin with excitement when we take her off lead."

Nope. Never happened. She was just as polite and calm outside as she was inside. She wanted to stay with us too. And then it happened. She choose me over J, came to me and sat on my foot, leaning into my leg and rested her head there with a sigh. As far as she was concerned, she was home. Every dog I've ever taken home with me has done just that...leaned on me and sat on my foot.

But none of them has ever rested her head on me like that. It wasn't her begging for attention. It was her saying " I choose you. I'm ready to go home now." And that was that.

I went back to see her several times this week while all of the processes were finalized so we could take her home with us. There she was, every time, waiting at the door to her kennel with her tail wagging and her paw lifted, head cocked to the side with a smile on her face. And when we went in to pick her up this afternoon, it was the same again. She knew where she was going and was ready.

We took Joe in with us for a dog meet first. But that was as easy as everything else. They smelled all the things dogs smell to identify each other, jumped into the truck and off we went towards home. It was like they knew each other... like we'd gone on rides together for years! Some things defy explanation, and this was one of those times.

When she met Newman, she was very gentle. He was interested but, even in his final days and as frail as he is, still aloof as is his wild nature. The horses were interesting, but their poop was the star attraction. Willow took one look at her, the first time she's looked a dog directly in the eye since they're nearly the same height, and pretty much made it clear " My side of the fence is mine. No dogs in my paddock. We'll be just fine as long as you remember that." Mini looked at me for conformation of that, so I let her know that I had agreed to Willow's territorial rights long ago.

Lucky and Apache were amazed by her and their reactions were exactly the way I thought they would be. Mini leaned on me, uninterested in touching noses with horses. Lucky hid behind Apache, ready to let him get hurt first if Mini turned out to be related to a Saber Tooth Tiger. And Apache leaned way over the gate, trying to put his nose on Mini. Classic!

Our first day home is done now. Joe is asleep on the floor to one side of the desk, Newman is under the work table and Mini is laying here with her head resting on my feet. The room is redolent with the smells that dogs make in their sleep. I'm sure I don't remember any scenes like that in "Mrs. Miniver", but it's as close a second as I'm ever going to come to.

My sons both called me today, and they sent the perfect gifts too...rich, gooey chocolates and a gift certificate for LL Beans, my favorite place to buy my work clothes. The weather has been windy and warm, the frogs are singing and the stars are out. It just doesn't get any better than that!

My dog is home, here with us in OZ, living in the dream time.

I am ever yours, Nancy, smiling at you REALLY big time!

SMOCKED APRONS, FAILED VIDEOS AND SPRING CLEANING...

Not so many years ago, at least in Geological terms, Spring was the time for the Grandmothers, Mothers and Aunts to get together for the annual SPRING CLEANING. It was always said in Capital letters too... "SPRING CLEANING", with a kind of an echo behind it and maybe some movie music to bring attention to the fact that all of our houses were appallingly dirty and disorganized. (NOT! Houses were always cleaned every Saturday without fail. All dust, grit and untidiness was AGAINST THE LAW!) Naturally, being the only Niece, Granddaughter and Daughter, I was expected to not only participate, but to remember everything they taught me so I could pass it along to the generations to come. This was their idea, not mine. It was "IMPORTANT!" and I was the Last Historian, there to learn and bare witness to the Sprint time rights and rituals.

We each had our own tools of the "trade", ie. aprons with big pockets, dust clothes made from old PJ's and outgrown work shirts, brooms (I had my very own corn broom that had a shortened handle, my Grandpa had made for me), wax pastes and buckets. We didn't use store bought cleaners. My Mom was a chemist and knew the potential for contamination to the stuff being sold on the shelves of the local grocery stores. Instead, we used vinegar and hot water, baking soda and salt, real paste wax and lots of old fashioned blood, sweat and tears (mostly on my part).

They/we would descend on each house as a group. All males were ushered out the doors with little pats and "There...there." 's. Oh, how I hated my brothers and the other male cousins. I loathed them all with great passion! I wanted to be dispatched too, out the doors and into the freedom of baseball diamonds, hotdogs, hikes and bicycle rides. I wanted to be out there with them, riding on the bench seat of my Grandpa's truck, climbing trees, sliding into base, fishing...anything but trussed up in an apron with a broom and a dust rag in my hands. It was shear torture for me!

They'd laugh and gossip, spend time on me since I was so "cute!" in my new little apron that Nana had made for me, with cross stitching and French smocking on the bodice, no less! They taught me to start in one corner, take everything...EVERYTHING...out and scrub the floor boards, throw away the old and cracked things, polish the china and silver and even the gol-dern light bulbs! AAAaaack! There was no escape. This was all for "my own good" . I was going to learn how to be "the very best wife there is!" And I would do everything I could think of to get out of it. It was going to be days of serious cleaning, the old farm wife, Navy Nurse, Chemist way...spit spot and ship shape.

I would come down with mysterious ailments, easily dismissed by the "Terrible Four" (my nick name for them when it was Spring). They were all way ahead of me when it came to faked illnesses. Then I would, all of a sudden and for no reason at all, sprain my ankle. Nope. Didn't work. An aspirin and a bandage, expertly placed by my Nana, former Navy Officer and Head Nurse at Bethesda. I pleaded homework! I was that desperate. "But Mom, I have to write a story for school!" It was Easter Break (what they called Spring Break then) and there was a week ahead of us. She had me tell her the story while we worked! I COULDN'T GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING! Oh, the horror...the horror! All I wanted to do was go outside with my dog and get dirty, maybe fall down and skin my elbows...anything but clean four houses in a row.

Just between you and me, I would give anything to be "tortured" like that again. I loved those women, even when I was being taught to "be the best wife ever." I miss the noise and laughter, the gossip between the four of them as they caught up on what they'd all been doing that Winter. I miss the Doris Day music in the background and the fact that I was safe. Nothing was getting pass the "Terrible Four" when I was with them.

I also came away with a list of things I was never going to do again...like gossip. I really don't care for it. I'm never comfortable when I'm with a group of women and I listen to them talk about someone who isn't there. It invariably devolves into meanness. I was also never going to clean the baseboards behind the china cabinet again either. Sorry. It's just going to have to be dusty. The dust bunnies can have the wee, tiny dark spaces until I'm ready to paint or to rehang art. And the only time I wear an apron now is in the studio. John says it's taken on a life and personality of it's own, it's so old and crusted with paint. No French smocking on the bodice either.

Instead, that need for order in the Spring has come out in my barn and in my gardens. The cob webs and old wasps nests are all knocked down, the tack and brushes cleaned and oiled, the tools all arranged on the shelves and peg boards, much to my husband's consternation! The gardens are all dressed with new compost and new seeds tamped into the soil and nursed along until I see tiny green sprigs coming up. My hands and knees are dirty and I'm outside, where I belong!

And this year we planted an apple tree too, over Gypsy's heart. And there's another one in reserve for Newman, held at the Green House for us. It's been a year of change for me. That's the only excuse I have for neglecting my BLOG. Sometimes going with the flow and accepting the way the tide rolls in takes me to a place where communication, even one as much fun as this one is, just has to wait.

But there's one thing I haven't stopped doing, and that's playing with my horses. If the wind is blowing us sideways or it isn't hailing on us, we play! It fills me up, these games we play. Lucky loves it too. Some days are better than others, grace wise, but we always laugh.

Lately I've been adding in an occasional Walk About. We go where Lucky suggests we go, although there's still an occasional Driving from Zone 5 game, or a Sideways up the driveway game or Traveling Circles to get there. He really gets into the game too, taking us to the neighbor's house or around the pond, over the berm and up into the far meadows where the grass is already 18 inches tall. We always have to stop and roll there! And, sometimes, we just stand and cock a leg, watching the sky together. He's always so soft when we do something quieter, with less pressure to learn something new.

Well... I tried to delete a failed video upload and it won't come off the page. Sorry about that. Nancy, techless wonder here.

I was trying to do a "Spring Cleaning" on the BLOG too, but that didn't work. Sure was easier when all I had to deal with was a smocked apron and Doris Day! This will either publish with a blank in the center or two videos that don't play.     ... sigh ...   No worries. The sun is out and it's time for afternoon barn chores and Playtime! Horses don't care about failed video uploads. Lucky will ground me in the real reality! Doesn't get any better than that!

More later Gaiters!    Nancy, laughing at the way things unexpectedly go!

BLOODY KNEES, LITTLE GREEN MEN AND STOP SIGNS ON THE CORNER...

When I was a girl, I was the only girl. You're intrigued with that sentence, aren't you? Well, it was an interesting childhood, so being provocative comes naturally to me. I really was the only girl...at least in my family. I had brothers, boy cousins, and uncles who were all brothers...no little girls in my Father's family or in mine. I was it, the focus of my Mother, my Grandmothers and the Aunts.

One half of me was very feminine too. I loved to rock my Tiny Tears doll to sleep and to dress my Betsy McCall doll in all the latest fashions. But my favorite was my Raggedy Ann. She'd been with me for as long as I could remember. I loved her until the threads holding her face together began to disintegrate and the stuffing came out. I loved her pretty eyes off and she lost most of her hair to my little fingers pulling and carrying her about with me. I still have her with the old band-aids stuck on, put there by my Nana (my Mom's Mom who was a career nurse). She did "emergency surgery" on my Raggedy Ann, saving her from certain death. Nana was my hero for that forever.

 















I can still remember how my Mother smelled when she went out. She wore Shalimar perfume, a deep, rich, elegant scent. She didn't have to curl her hair. It had a beautiful, soft natural wave to it. She'd put on her deep red lipstick, stop one more time to touch her hair while looking in the mirror, stop to kiss me and my little brother good bye and out they'd go, off to play Bridge or to go to dinner with friends. She wanted me to be feminine too, so I worked at it very hard for her.

I wore pretty dresses with bows tied in the back and real French smocking on the front, made by Nana. She could sew a dress even better than she could stitch a wound. I had a closet full of hand made clothes, fitted to me. They were green and white checks or pink with white lace, red velvet or yellow taffeta. I tried as hard as I could to be what they wanted me to be. I wore patent leather shoes and pretty white lace ankle socks.

But there was also the other side of me, the half that had to keep up with brothers and cousins who were all rough and tumble little boys with Fanner Fifties strapped to their waists and and coon skin caps on their heads. They all had real leather baseball gloves, of which I was very envious. I loved to play baseball! And they had bicycles...with big fat tires that had spokes you could clothespin cards to so the wheels would make these loud 'BBBRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrr' noises when they went round.

They'd play Army with these little green plastic men, blowing them up with cherry bombs on the Fourth of July. And they'd run races or climb trees. I couldn't just stand there and watch them. I HAD to keep up and do my best to win too. So out the door I'd go, promising to stay neat and clean for church or school. And then I'd go climb a tree, going up one branch higher than my brother just to prove I could. Or I'd race him to the stop sign on the corner and back, doing my best to beat him. Most of the time he won, but sometimes I'd beat him if I really, really pushed myself as hard as I could.

And nearly every time I'd do something to one of the pretty dresses I wore. I'd tear the bow on a branch when I was coming down or fall and skin my knees...oh catastrophe! I'd not only get dirt on my newest dress but my knees would bleed and ruin my new lace socks. And I'd scuff up my patent leather shoes too. As hard as I tried to be good, I'd still forget and work even harder at keeping up with the 'guys'.

Not much has changed, in all these years. As much as I work at being pretty (much harder to do these days than it used to be!), at remembering to make sure my hands are clean and my shoes are polished, I stop off at my barn to throw hay before we go into town, forgetting to watch where I stepped (with the inevitable consequences!) or get hay stuck in my hair and on the back of my new sweater. Or maybe Lucky will stop his eating long enough to lean down and carefully exchange breath with me, leaving a smudge on the end of my nose that I'm completely oblivious to until John patiently points it out to me, trying not to laugh.

There's still some part of me that  likes to play hard, only now the 'boys' weigh in at a thousand pounds. After spending all this time with them, watching them in the field in the morning when they play with each other, I have a better idea of what my Mom meant when she'd say " Alright you two. Stop horsing around!" When horses play, the ground shakes and, sometimes, there are bite marks that take the hair off and kick marks that leave dents. God, how I love to be one of them..play with them.. synchronize with them and move with them. I'm still doing my best to beat them to the stop sign. I just plain flat out love the game!

This evening Lucky and I played for a long, lovely hour. We had some very nice firsts too. Lucky did his first @ Liberty Sideways, all along the front of the barn! And our Traveling Circles are improving too. We did it twice, the first time better than the second. But I think that was location. The first time was in the play ground area between the arena and round corral where there was more room and some nice little hills. Lucky loved that. But he loves the grass more...sigh.

I've been trying to learn how to use the grass as an incentive for him, letting him stop to munch between tasks and then using the excitement of moving on to the next even greener and more lush grass area to play yet another game in between. We're in that in between place, where it works sometimes and sometimes he wins the game by putting his head down to munch before we get to our goal. Learning how to time things so that he thinks he's part of the process is not easy. And as we go further into it, it gets more complicated too.

It's my job to keep being provocative, interesting...to prevent our time together from becoming the Seven Deadly Chores . I'm enjoying the puzzle that I need to solve, learning how to use my hands lightly, how to release as soon as he tries. But sometimes it does get frustrating when he decides to test me to see if I'm paying attention. Figuring out how NOT to be the 'Minister of No' and how to be the 'Ambassador of Yes' is the trick, at least for right now. The timing has to be just right and the excitement has to be just enough to keep him interested and not so much that I blow him up.

What to do...what to do. At least I'm not ruining anymore beautiful handmade dresses when I play with the boys anymore! I'll sleep on it tonight and, maybe, I'll wake up in the morning with some new ideas to use.

I can't wait to see where the game is going to take us!

I am, as always, yours...Nancy, still the only girl in the yard, running to keep up and smiling even when 'he' wins!

GYPSY'S LAST HUZZAH !

Sometimes numbers bring transition with them. Yesterday was my birthday. I hit the big, scary number of sixty. But something else happened that made it just another number. I didn't even think of it until today, although more than a hundred of my friends on Facebook and my family and some of my friends sent greetings via all kinds of tech mail and regular mail.

My best four legged friend died in my arms. Her name was Gypsy. She was sixteen and nearly seventeen, so her life had been long and lovely. And she died on the front seat of my truck too. It was one of her favorite places in all the world to be, well except maybe for the top of the compost pile of horse poop.

She was my "truck driving dog". Everyone downtown knew her because we had a store. She went with me every day, hanging out the window of my red truck smiling, tongue hanging out and smelling the wind. When we walked in to open up people would stop to say " Hi Gypsy! How's it going girl? You going to sell a lot for Miss Nancy today?" I used to tell people that she sold as many pieces of Art and handmade furniture as I did.

She'd meet people at the door with one of her toys in her mouth and wag her tail, smiling around whatever gooey stuffed animal she was carrying, and then she'd escort them to whatever newest piece we had set up front.

I never had to use a leash with her either. She was one of those dogs who, when I met her as a puppy, ran up to me and sat on my foot, claiming me as her own. I carried a leash with us since there's a leash law here, but every cop in town knew her too. No one ever said a thing about her being without her leash. She was mine and she knew it.

I always kept my gallery door open so people knew we were in but she never once left me, not even during the horse parade...our personal favorite for downtown events. All of those lovely smells and awesome creatures but she'd stand there with me watching.

She was one of my "quiet heroes". She saved my life twice. It wasn't in the newspaper. But it happened just the same. The first time was when I'd sent my help home on a Saturday evening. It'd been a good day for us sales wise, the weather was nice and I just couldn't see making them stay for the whole time.

I was there by myself. The door was still open and I was getting ready to close up. As I walked towards the front of the store, three men came in. They split up walking down both sides and the middle of the store. They were not the kind of people who usually showed interest in my gallery and design store and they were, all three, dirty and high on something.

I was in the center of the store, away from the phone and had...very foolishly!...left my cell phone lying on the counter. They were there to do no good and I was alone...except for Gypsy. She came roaring from behind my desk at the checkout counter, right over the top of the counter! And she meant business too. I'd never seen my dog looking like that. She looked like a hound from hell with her eyes red and her teeth bared.

She leaped at the closest man and knocked him clean off his feet! She didn't go for his arm either. She went for his neck. She was going for the kill! He let out a scream and hit her, throwing her against a sofa (thank heavens!). The other two turned tail and ran out the door. He took off on his hands and knees with her biting him in his, umm, nether regions HARD. He left bits of his blue jeans and skin behind!

I called the police. They came and took a report but never found out who it was. As they left, each one of them stopped to salute Gypsy and to give her a pat. Later one of them came back and gave her an "official" police collar to wear. She loved it too. She wore it for years until the buckle broke and it was lost in the woods when we were hiking.

She also saved me when I thought I'd ruined us because my business had failed and I'd lost our house, my income and retirement. I was scared to death of loosing my family too because of the stress of failing financially like that. John is my best friend though. He never had any intention of ever leaving. It was in my head. I wasn't used to failure like that. And it took me down the road that has led me here, to horses and Parelli and being an artist again instead of being a gallery/designer person.

Gypsy followed me around for months while I tried to find my way back to myself. She laid in my lap, brought me her best toys, curled up against my back when I laid down to sob my eyes out. She never gave up on me. She waited patiently for me to come back to myself and gave me what she had...love. It was total, unconditional love. That was when she gave me my heart back.

And she came to get me when Spirit, my first horse, stroked out and fell into a pond. I jumped into the pond with Spirit, trying to hold her head above the water...hoping someone would find us and help. Spirit died in my arms that day too. It was old age that took her but I thought it was me again, my ineptitude. Gypsy stood with me in the water, watching and waiting. And she stood with me when the neighbor came down the road with his backhoe and helped me get her out of the pond and buried her on her favorite hill. I planted an oak tree over Spirit. I'm planting an apple tree over Gypsy. She's buried where she used to lay in the pasture, watching the pond and the sky...watching whatever it is dogs who love farms watch. I can see it from my arena, my study/studio here in my funny, little crooked house that used to be a barn and from my bedroom window too.

How do you say goodbye to an old friend who's lifted you up so many times?

All of these images are here because John had the camera with him. I didn't know. I was having a hard enough time staying on task yesterday morning. I was focused on Gypsy. I knew we were going to the Vet's, taking one more truck ride together. All I could think of was trying to find some way to save her the same way she'd saved me so many times. But the clock doesn't turn back on age. It only goes forward. It was time for her to pay the same price of admission we all come to sooner or later.

She was very frail. She'd stopped eating for five days and nothing we'd fixed could cox her to try, not even her beloved dog cookie jar in the kitchen on the counter. And she'd spent all night Thursday throwing up and having terrible bouts of diarrhea. She was in a full system failure and I couldn't stop it. All I could do was hold her during the night and help her leave the next day.

Our Vet was wonderful. He knew she was afraid of being there, so he came out to the truck and honored our wishes to send her off in her beloved truck seat. I held her. I'm afraid I couldn't talk to him, not even to say thank you. All I could do was cry.

She insisted on walked with me to the barn on her last morning. Nothing was going to keep her down. I was her's...she was mine. It was a slow and uneven walk, but there she was...my shadow.

I've been told there's a rainbow bridge for our animal friends to cross when it's time to leave this Earth. I have no doubt that Gypsy marched over it, tail wagging and carrying a ghost of her favorite stuffed animal, all gooey and chewed on. And I know she'll be waiting when it's my turn too, front and center, right in the middle of all the other animals I've loved.

When I said "Let's go for a ride!", the tail came up and she turned and faced the door, ready to go for our last ride together. We drove in with the window down so she could smell the air. I held her up so she could see out too. And when she left, I was the last thing she saw. I watched her beautiful light go out of her eyes. I was there, all the way, for her like she always was for me.

Good bye glossy girl. There will never be any "thank you"s big enough or grand enough for all the love you gave me. I'll miss you Gypsy.

I am, ever yours, Nancy, owned by Gypsy, Newman, Joe, Lucky, Apache, Willow, Indie, Annie, Buddy and Phoebe...smiling because I am one lucky woman!