A Funny Touch of Perspective

I had way too much fun last night with a good friend. Good dinner, good movie, good conversation, lots of laughs, a nice blow out. But you know what they say - life is a series of crests and troughs. I rode the crest last night and woke up in a trough.....a touch bleary eyed this morning but knuckled down and rolled out of bed to do my usual morning trawl on the internet, looking up conservation news and seeing what's going on out there in the great wilderness that we collectively call Planet Earth.

 

It's a tough morning for conservation buffs. The news is nearly all bad. Rhinos officially wiped out in one park, elephants slaughtered en masse in Central African Republic after a government overthrow, Thai baby elephants broken and tortured into compliance, lions hunted in deplorable, canned hunts for trophies, giraffes hung in poachers snares......I mean - it's just flat out depressing.

 

I saw a wise saying that one should focus on the positive to get more of that. I admit, I had a hard time doing that this morning. Outside, the skies are grey and gloomy and not helping either. Inside, I am about to ready to throw in the towel for the day, just go ride and forget about the rest.

 

Then I happened upon this video. The intro on Facebook promised it would make my day. I wondered, but I gave it a go.

 

I don't know what it will do for you, but it picked me up off the floor and threw me into a higher gear. This is one inspiring - and funny - young man. One of my favorite lines is near the end at 6:29......what's yours?

 

Hey Jack - you brought me comfort, inspiration and joy, not to mention, perspective.

Thanks, mate!

 

 

 

 

Gratitude

Gratitude. It's the stuff of life. The feel good stuff. It's the conduit between praying and receiving, it's the warm glow and the bubbling joy. It's good to remember - and a little bit will go a long, long way.

My mother - who would have been 73 today, Happy Birthday, Mom! - used to tell me to Count My Blessings. As a child I didn't quite understand - with a child's Faith that all will always be well, I took it all for granted. As a teenager, I resented it. I felt like she was telling me I didn't really deserve my good fortune. As a young adult, I didn't know how I could possibly feel gratitude when life was so very, very hard.

But little by little, it began to dawn on me. Little by little, I learned to become grateful for even the littlest things. I began, after all, to Count My Blessings. And when I did, I discovered a very odd thing about myself.

Somewhere along the way, I had come to fear feeling gratitude. Somehow, feeling gratitude had become linked to a sense of unworthiness, that if I felt grateful for something it must be because I had received something I did not deserve. If I acknowledged my good fortune, perhaps it would be ripped from me. Yes, God's ways may be mysterious but the Mind comes a close second....

So practicing gratitude became an exercise in self worth. Funny how things turn out. The more gratitude I felt, the more I got to acknowledge my own self worth. Hunh. All of a sudden, when I felt gratitude I also had an opportunity to feel it as an acknowledgement of my own worthiness in receiving. It's a win-win! It's also a little bit of work, still. I have to remind myself I am not just blessed - I am worthy of my blessings.

Why? Because I am a child of God and worth it, that's why!!! Just ask L'Oreal.

Blessings come in all sizes. Yesterday I received a package I was not expecting. I opened it with a puzzled frown on my face. It was a thoughtful gift from a new friend and my heart opened like a red rose in bloom. I was overwhelmed by her generosity and thoughtfulness. My frown turned upside down and became a deeply touched smile. It fuelled the rest of my day.

Blessings can be selfprescribed. In the morning I am met by a million sights for which to be grateful - 5 waggy dogs, 4 nickering horses, 3 braying donkeys, 2 miaowing cats, one rising sun, acres of serene pastureland, dozens of singing birds, a sleepy husband, a steaming cup of my favorite tea, and a partridge in a pear tree....and the ability and time to enjoy it all.

Blessings can be acts of God. Like my mother, who while being the greatest blessing of all, taught me to Count My Blessings. Nobody loves you like your Mama, nobody forgives like your Mama, nobody knows you like your Mama, and nobody infuriates you like your Mama. It is said you don't know what you've got till it's gone, and that is partly true. It is also true that for every time she drove me mad, there were a hundred for which I simply sat and gave thanks for having a wonderful mother. A fiercely loyal, devoted, supportive, adoring, always forgiving and welcoming me home, mother.

 

So while I now miss coming home to my mother and instead tend a grave, I am just grateful I ever had her at all. And that, my friends, is a blessing to be counted, Always and Forever.

Heartlights

For a writer, there is only one thing better than writing something truly inspired. That is finding out that something you wrote inspired another writer to write something inspired. Such is the case with my guest blogger today, Nadja King.

 

Nadja is the incredible brains and visionary behind a host of extraordinary ventures and efforts. She founded Horses For LIFE Publications, is the owner/editor of the cutting edge online magazine HorsesForLIFE.com for which she also both writes and photographs, and does a whole lot of other stuff, most of which I don't quite understand - it's way above my paygrade. But I know it's all incredible stuff, in the way only stuff can be incredible, you know?

 

Nadja was also the first person to say 'Hey you, Susannah, you're a writer. Write for me.' As she is extremely persistent, she usually gets her way and my Riding By Torchlight column was born. She was also the first to recognize when my articles about a riding safari were really the first chapters of a book. Come to think of it, Nadja represents and has provided me with all kinds of first's in my life. Thank you, Nadja.

 

Here is another first.

 

I am proud to present my first guest blogger, Nadja King, and this beautiful piece she wrote after reading my blog, Boston. Enjoy.

 

Why Boston?
 

Why is it that Boston garnished so much attention? We have Syria. But that is elsewhere.  We had, the very same week, a fertilizer plant that blew up in the same country. More people dead, more devastation. 

 

Yes, there was the drama, the fear, the crazy dramatic police chase. But I truly believe it is more than that. 

 

There are events, times, when enough of our souls, our hearts reach out without thought of protection - searching, open, true, with compassion and love and in that moment of searching, that moment of looking for answers we open our souls, our heartlight up and when we do, it is always a beautiful true moment. When 'many' of us do, when our thoughts, hearts, align in that moment something special happens. We connect. We feed off each other, we enhance each other in that moment. 

 

And we can no more look away but are drawn to live again and again in that moment, looking not for the horror but the possibility of connection, a return to who we really are, not separate beings rushing around like a hive of ants, but life forces that have always been one. We are so powerful, so pure in that moment of connection of common thought. We may curse electronics, game playing, etc as taking us away from a real life. But in reality it is leading us back to who we really are. 

 

Creatures of pure energy, white light, thought, who when enough of us align,  can do anything, as all reality is just energy. Electronics, tv give us an easier opportunity to experience the same thing, thought, emotion at the same moment in time, and with reruns to experience the now over and over again, each rewatch amplifying that moment. 

 

Sad perhaps that it is in a moment of horror that we let our guards down enough to open up our feelings of compassion and love and let them shine out from ourselves so purely. Boston, the unexpected, gave us no time, no moment to protect ourselves, and in that moment our heartlight shone forth, in love and compassion. Together we felt, we experienced and for a brief moment we felt together, as we always have, always, will be. 

 

To letting the light shine forth freely from all of us.

 

Letting Go

Good times......... Some of the best times I have had were all by myself. They did not incorporate some of the other components of good times I would usually include, like friends and family, laughing and dancing and singing, good food and even better wines....

These were a different kind of good times. Solitary times. Times of peace, of understanding without words the great mystery of my life, the profound power of Letting Go and Letting God. Of seeing my whole life handed over to the powers that be, not as a passive non-participant, but as a willing and enthusiastic, responsible, Co-Creator.

A dear and valued friend once told me - as I banged my head against the same wall over and over again and then questioned why I did it as I rubbed my sore head (and heart) - that we do things untill we don't do them anymore. So simple, so true. I blinked twice and thought about that. I wondered when I'd have learned my lesson and have the strength and wisdom to no longer go down the same road, knowing full well the dangers with which it was fraught, each time thinking - this time I won't fall in that hole. I wondered when I would learn to not go down that road at all. So she told me of the concept of Wu Wei - Let Go and Let God.

I recognized in those words a sensory wisdom that I remembered from childhood when I was adept at Wu Wei without knowing what to call it. I felt it rather than thought it. I simply felt that if I could name it and let it go, all would be well. Nothing was so huge I had to hang on to it.  Nothing was so important God couldn't fix it for me. As a child I had no need to feel in control. I trusted the outcome God chose for me. I was little enough to know I wasn't big enough to see the big picture. Only God was big enough. And I knew that.

Only a few years into adulthood I was losing that perspective. Exact manner of outcome began to matter, storyline began to count, control became imperative. Lucky for me, that is when my friend came along.

Still, what came as easily as breathing when I was a child is an ongoing lesson today. There are so many more layers, prickly, reluctant little layers to peel away now before one reaches that inner core of peace and calm and faith. All those 'Yes but's. We are wrapped in layers of experience, layers of pain and joy, fear and hope, love and hate. Hindered by the need to control all these, to mix them just so in our own private recipe to keep us at the greatest level of comfort possible. Comfortably numb.

 In Wu Wei there is room for none of this. There is no desire or need for any of this when you float on an ocean of peace. You feel everything but it passes through, on into an eternity for which you have no concern because all is well. All is Now.

 

 How does one Wu Wei? If you ever figure it out, do let me know. I have fallen into that state on many occasions, but never on purpose. The only thing I can say is I was willing. I was searching. I was naming the pain, the fear and the anger and not letting it fester in the dark recesses of my being. I was in an active state of Letting Go when God came along and said "Let Me."

P.S. This one's for you, Miss Tucker!!

I Heart Piddling

Sunday's are for piddling. That is my firm conviction. And nobody better mess with my piddling when I am a-piddling on a Sunday.

See, I have never held down a 'regular' 9-5, Mon-Fri job. Whatever odd job I may have had, weekends were not sacred. Especially as a horsetrainer and as a writer. Those two pretty much keep you working any time, day and night. Untill a few years ago, I basically worked 6 day weeks most weeks.

When you are a horsetrainer, people want lessons on weekends, or you are off to horseshows or clinics. If a horse is lame or ill, he doesn't care what day of the week it is, he is going to get his caretaking no matter the day or time. When you are a writer, your brain is constantly working and inspiration strikes at the strangest of times and you soon learn the folly of thinking you'll remember later. You better write that ingenious line down, day or night, or it leaves in a huff, never to be written.........

Over time I learned I had to pick a day and call it mine or I'd soon be running on empty. I needed a day all mine to sleep all day, read a book, take a walk or watch TV and do laundry or nothing at all, stare at the ceiling all day with my eyes shut. Not to be confused with napping.

That day is Sunday, the only day I can psychologically turn it all off, more or less. (Only animals need apply for attention.) So now you know why Sunday is for piddling.

So I've been piddling. Oh, I love piddling. Piddling around and doing this and that, such and such. So you're wondering what piddling looks like? Well, let me show you.

Piddling may start something like this - once a person is upright and confirmed conscious:

Cooking a rhubarb-strawberry compote like my grandmother used to make.

(It tastes way better than it looks in this photo. I guess The Food Photo Agency won't be calling me anytime soon. Still, I copyrighted it because then it looks like it's better than it is.)

 

 

Hanging a birdhouse I have been meaning to hang for, ohhhh, 6 months? I can see it from my desk over my left shoulder. Would be neat if a bird moved in.

 



It would have food and water and even it's very own windchimes to lull the chicks to sleep.

 That was also part of my piddling today, you see, cleaning birdbaths and reassigning an old chipped plate to birdfeeder...

Moved a flowerpot I have wanted to move since I planted a hibiscus a week ago....so it would be out of the wind and in front of my window where I may enjoy it daily...

I am forever pestering my dogs, trying to catch that one pic that defines them. However, they are reluctant models. All but Bella, that is. She considers herself the Naomi Campbell of the dogworld and struts her stuff every chance she gets. But today belonged to Dallas (whether she liked it or not)!

 

Then I piddled around and played with my new macrolenses. They are really kicking my photographer bootie trying to get it right, but I won't get all technical on you - suffice to say it's fun getting really close to tiny stuff and sometimes I get it halfways right.

 

  Dead beetles can be kind of fun, and they sit blessedly still, a major plus when you are shooting in macro...

 

 Now, the common dandelion is actually quite extraordinary when you get close to it...

 

 

 

 And the wisteria will be a forever favorite, from any vantage point....

 

 

 

Oh it's just so pretty, let's do one more....

 

 

 

 

Oh, what's one or two.....or three.... between friends? I just couldn't choose...when I'm piddling, choosing is just too much like work.

  

 

 And last but not least - a little old sagebud...

 

 

 

 But now, I have to say, I am feeling rather disturbed. For all my talk of piddling, this blog now makes it look - and me feel - like I have been awfully busy all day. And God Forbid, here I am at my desk, typing away on a Sunday eve.

 

Funny how that piddling around can add up.

 

 

 

Bragging Rights

Nationality is a funny thing. I was born in Denmark and have deep ties to that beautiful, itsy bitsy kingdom of ocean and isles and forests and castles, but in reality, I have only lived there for a total of some 12-13 years in my entire life. By now, I have lived in the US almost twice that long. And as much as I love Denmark and visit every chance I get, I couldn't imagine living there.

Still, I know I am danish, I uphold certain traditions, and I feel a surge of kinship, pride and delight whenever Denmark and Danes are in the news (which is rare), whenever they do well, get a little attention. I know by the simple and irrefutable fact of my genetic genepool, that I have bragging rights to all good deeds danish.

Denmark has long been a country of poetry and prose, and singing is mandatory at all special occasions. So perhaps it is not surprising that over the years, Denmark has produced some incredible singer/song writers. Some of my favorites these days are Tim Christensen and Nikolaj Grandjean (see my blog Carrying Stars). Now I just learned of another one - Mads Langer. He looks about 12 years old and he sings with a sensibility far exceeding his actual age - twentysomething. And his song The River Has Run Wild was featured on a TV show called The Vampire Diaries, so you know - he has made it stateside and now I can really brag on him.

Actually, I learned of two more, for I started looking around and found him in duets with Ida and Maria Mena (OK, Maria is Norwegian, but she still belongs to my Scandinavian genepool), both beautiful girls who more than hold their own in excellent company. And then there's even a duet with my long time favorite (and an idol of Mads Langer), Tim Christensen! I've been in Youtube heaven.

Thought I'd take you with me. By the time you're done listening to this, you just might want bragging rights, too.

Happy Friday!!

 

Mads Langer and Maria Mena

 

 

 

Tim Christensen and Mads Langer

 

Mads Langer on BBC

A Fearful Wonder

Yesterday, while following a lead on an interesting project, I stumbled upon a video that I found to be profoundly moving.

I tried to put myself in their place, an incredible place in time when after a lifetime spent in darkness and pain, a door and windows magically open and I was to see the yellow sun, the green grass and a blue sky for the first time in 30 years. To see an open expanse that was mine to traverse at will after years spent behind bars in the cold steel of cages, entirely at the mercy of another being, a being that did not understand, care or care to know what this life meant to me. They cared only to know what I might contribute to theirs.

To at first stand in fearful wonder, not daring to trust this momentous opportunity. To disbelieve and question the validity of the open door before me, to reach but not quite dare to cross, not yet able to fathom the enormous and joyous change that had just occurred in my life, unbidden, unexpected, unbelievable. Miraculous.

All this plays out in clear and exquisite poetry across their faces. So does the instantaneous onset of joy and the desire to share and celebrate with their fellow retirees. It's all there for anyone with the eyes and heart to see.

When I returned to myself I found my heart opened and an overwhelming sense of hope. It is so easy to become jaded and cynical and to denounce the human race for all our evil doings and sad failings. Then I see something like this, and realize the immense effort and persistence that lay behind this one little moment in time when a return to some measure of freedom was given by the human heart that understood what it meant. No wonder everyone's crying. Including me.

 

Video: HSUS

 

 

 

Watch what happens at about 1:25....

 



Need a Laugh?

Need a laugh? I do. Some heavy lifting going on in this country these days, and I think, in the whole, wide world.......so many opposing forces, ideas and ideals, theories, philosophies and idealogies and hidden agendas and Good Lord it is a wonder anything gets done at all.

Yep, I have broken my cardinal rule and watched the news lately. Don't bother, I'll break it down for you.

It's all bad and we are all wrong one way or another. We're all going to hell in a handbasket, though nobody can agree upon how, why or whose fault it is, or the exact date, since our expiration date on Dec. 21st, 2012 has expired.

And that's the news. Good Night and Good Luck.

We might as well skip the handbasket and go out dancing. And when I do, I want to make it look something like this.

P.S. I dare you not to laugh, I dare you not to bounce in your chair!!!

Boston

It doesn't matter what I try to write this morning, I keep coming back to Boston. It's unfathomable the deplorable depths humanity will sink to and continue to glorify and defend. Whoever and whatever led to this scene of death and mutilation, someone, somewhere will start telling us there was a reason, a kernel of justification, our country should have or shouldn't have and it was just a few lives. What are three lives worth against the hundreds lost everyday elsewhere?

Three lives - and holding, for who knows what the final tally may be as dozens more lay fighting for their lives and learning to live without limbs that only yesterday had them standing on their own two feet, without arms that once held a loved one. Like a little 8 year old boy named Martin Richard, waiting for his father to finish the race, a little boy who is no more. His mother and sister survived, though his mother sustained brain injuries and his 6 year old sister lost a leg.

Trawling on Facebook this morning I saw people expressing solidarity and compassion, and I saw people questioning why they would. Really? Now we have to justify feeling empathy and sympathy for people undergoing horrible times? One response to an offering of empathy was Why? And what about the hundreds dying elsewhere everyday in similar circumstances? The implication appeared to be that the lives lost and bodies mutilated in Boston mattered less than the hundreds in wartorn countries.

 

Image: Truth University

I see. Tell that to the father whose family was just torn apart. See if he thinks the life of his 8 year old little boy matters less than any other life in the world. If his little daughter's leg matters less than any other leg in the world. If his wife's brain and her ability to function matters less than any other mother's brain in the world.

Because it's all relative and it works both ways. If we are to hold up some selfrighteous ideal about how every life matters and how big hearted we are to think of and honor those who go to their deaths anonymously every day, then we have to dole out the same respect to one life in a privileged country as we do to 100's in a country of war and terror. It can't be that the more lives anonymously lost count more than one known life lost. It can't be that geographical location determines whether it's a loss or inconsequential. That is just hypocritical.

Noone gets to choose where they are born, or how lucky or unlucky their circumstances may be. We only get to choose how we respond to our circumstances once we have arrived. Who knows what Martin Richard may have done with his life. He could have been the next Einstein for all we know.

And in a world that is all but stifled in fear and greed and hidden agendas, who the hell is ANYONE to question when someone offers an antidote, a heartfelt offering of grace and sympathy and compassion? Something the world could use a whole lot more of, last I checked. Something, with all due respect, those ridiculing people offering sympathy to the Bostonians, could use a whole lot more of.

Image: Someone on Facebook.....

The Torchlight Behind Torchlight Chronicles

A few people have been asking me what this Torchlight thing is all about. I guess they noticed it's a word that pops up alot where I am concerned. My website, my column at Horses For LIFE, now my blog.

Well, by now you probably get the drift that I am mildly infatuated (some would be rude enough to suggest this is the understatement of all time) with horses, dogs, cats, donkeys and the world of fauna and flora in general. You might have guessed that Torchlight is a horse. A beautiful, bloodbay Thoroughbred gelding who came off the track with a bowed tendon and the strange monicker, Tom the Torch. Considering the thousands of new Thoroughbreds born every year, I guess they can't all have cool names......

Photo Courtesy Coco at Firefly Photos. 

His new owner, a friend of mine, renamed him Major Tom. You know, the David Bowie song? Ground Control to Major Tom....he was aptly named at the time as when he left the stall his four hooves generally also left the ground for extended periods of time. Once recovered from his injury, I was tasked with helping bring him along and to instill in him the idea that he no longer had to run for the roses or express his extensive gymnastic talents under saddle in ways unsuited to preserving a rider's longevity.

Long story short, I was madly in love with this classically handsome, but deeply neurotic and damaged young horse from the word go. It was love at first sight. A few years went by and it was apparent he was more suited to me than to his owner, so when we moved to Texas from California, he came along.

Photo Courtesy Bill Laraia

That was ten years ago. With the move, a whole new phase in our lives began. With the change in environment, Tommy went from being interesting and challenging to near impossible. My learning curved increased exponentially....

We had alot of adventures together - we went a lot of places. We showed a little, we travelled to Colorado to experiment with Natural Horsemanship, we travelled far and wide for clinics with riders from the Spanish Riding School and teachers from schools of thought I respected and trusted. I had to be very careful in whose hands I placed us - Tom's trust in life and in me was as fragile as the shell of an egg.

Photo Courtesy Caren Ruthven

I renamed him Torchlight, because that is what being with him felt like - the journey with him was vague and challenging, faintly lit, each step barely illuminated till it fell behind us, but the learning I gleaned from this extraordinary teacher was worth it's weight in gold. He inspired my column at Horses For LIFE, Riding By Torchlight, a column that slowly but surely would change my life, just as he has.

Photo Courtesy Coco at Firefly Photos

 



Today, Torchlight has a new home after my failed experiment at retiring him. I felt he had given me all I had asked and all I could ask for, but he did not enjoy life as a pasture ornament, though God knows he had earned it. Torchlight is showered with daily attention, while enjoying showing Sarah all he knows and taking her on trail rides and foxhunting. At some 19 years old, Torchlight continues to shine a light for the humans around him. He still shines a light in my heart - I know I am the horsewoman I am today because of him and all he showed me I needed to learn. It is only fitting his name continues to grace my life and my efforts.

Photo Courtesy Coco at Firefly Photos

 

 



P.S. For the full story on how Torchlight and I met, you can read more about him at Horses For LIFE
and at my website on the articles page. Here is a quick link:  Torchlight's Story

Let It All Hang Out

 

 

When was the last time you let it all hang out?

Yeah, me too. Been awhile.

Busy, huh?

Yeah, me too.

Busy, busy, busy. Running here, there and everywhere.

What's that? Oh yeah, guess we have to learn to make time.

Create our own opportunities for fun and games and hanging out.

It's just so much easier when someone else does it for you. 

So isn't it nice that is exactly what someone did here?

Happy Friday Everyone.

Hope you get a chance to let it all hang out this weekend.

 

P.S. Who's your favorite? I have at least 4, including Pirouette Girl and Briefcase Man.

 

 

 

If I were a Dog......

If I was a dog in my house, I would live on a few acres nestled in the bosom of hundreds, even thousands of fence free acres. Well, not entirely fence free, but no 5 string wire fence could keep me in or out. I would be blessed with friendly neighbors who wave me on my way, and I'd be free to chase squirrels, rabbits and coyotes but I would soon learn chasing cats, horses, donkeys and cows are off limits. No matter, there are always buzzards to chase, too  -  and they fly! Which is both incredibly exciting and extraordinarily infuriating, so I'd bark my head off and jump up and down, which is great exercise. But I'm a dog, so I'd get over it pretty damn quick and go sniff out a fieldmouse.

I would soon learn that my people are easy to train, especially the female one. A day in my life would look something like this:

As soon as she stumbles out of bed, I put on my happiest, smiliest, waggiest face and refrain from commenting upon her lack of coordination and style. That seems to come later in the day with some humans. I present myself for a good morning rub and now that I have her trained, she immediately complies; fortunately, her motor skills still go that far even this early in the day. I am told how crazy, cute and handsome I am while I hustle and jostle my fellow dogs for her attention and we try to knock her off her feet, which so far has not been a successful venture but a dog can dream. It might knock the bag of treats out of her hand and let us at the yummy little suckers.

Now we allow for one of her little idiosyncracies - that is Good Dog Rule #1. Always allow your human their idiosyncracies -  it allows them to feel good about themselves if they think they are in control.

So we all sit prettily and smile for her while she hands out our morning treats. This, of course, makes no sense at all because what dog eats sitting down? But like I said, it's an idiosyncracy popular with humans and we allow it. She tells us this is for our own good to prevent a free-for-all ruckus. I don't know what her problem is with the ruckus, sounds good to me.

After treats we re-present for rubs and ruffles and then we are off into a magical world of scent and sights of major dog pleasing proportions. We run and play and roll in all manner of wonderfully smelly stuff, the cowpatties especially get a big reaction out of our humans and we dogs like to get big reactions, so we do our best to roll in good smelling stuff. We also eat all kinds of interesting things that happily, the humans seem to have no interest in so we don't have to share, though, of course, we would if asked.

That's Good Dog Rule #2 Always share with human when asked. It's my favorite rule because they never want to share my best stuff, like horse apples and old bones and the occasional dead something or other that we come across in our travels.

Then we show up back at the house and wait for her to come out and give us our mid morning scratches and tell us what stinky dogs we are. Stinky and silly but happy, she calls it, and then she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Not sure what that is all about. Humans can be pretty incomprehensible at times. The only smell we have learned to avoid is skunk, because that brings on all manner of strange bathing rituals. I cannot for the life of me figure out why they think tomato juice and vinegar make for a nice perfume.

Then it's time for a mid morning nap, while the humans get busy. This of course is quite bizarre, for every dog knows you need a good nap 7 times a day, starting with right after the morning excursion. In fact, days are made for napping and we do lots of that, in the sun, in the shade, on the porch, in the middle of the field. But humans will insist on forgoing any nap it seems. Oh well - it's their loss.

If I'm lucky - and one of the little dogs - she will be running errands and I will get to go for a ride, hanging my head out the window, catching one intriguing scent after the other and barking at dogs as we roll on by.

 

 

But now comes the best part - after a day of hard napping and a few run abouts, it's dinner time. So we start barking and scratching doors and sitting in front of her window looking pathetic and - reflecting her excellent training courtesy of our pack effort - dinner soon appears. Some days she is a better cook than others. But we are good dogs who like to make her happy and eat up regardless, all except Chico who is ancient and picky and likes to talk her into hand feeding him. That's a trick I am studying, but I think I have to be alot older before she'll believe me.

Now we study the nightskies and howl with the coyotes, chase the bunnies coming out to eat at night and take an after dinner nap. After dinner naps are favorites because we are full and sleepy, but then she will insist on waking us up to come in for bedtime, because otherwise we will bark and howl and wake her up, and unlike dogs, she does not like to be woken up every time something interesting happens, like an owl flies over or the neighbors dog comes by or a skunk passes through. But we comply ( see Good Dog Rule #1) and curl up on our cushy dogbeds in the mudroom and nap the night away.

That's Good Dog Rule #3 Sleep every chance you get. Humans love a dog that can lie down and relax when not expected to perform.

Yep, if I were a dog of mine, that would be my life. It's a dog's life, alright. And I want it.

Nature

Yesterday as I headed down my driveway I came across a turtle crawling across the road from our pond and presumably, on his way to our neighbors pond. I stopped and got out to move him and my ears were immediately filled with a high, piercing sound, repeated over and over. I turned and saw a beautiful little bird dancing around on the ground trying to get my attention, broken wing dragging dramatically.

A-ha. I must have stopped right near a nest. Leaving the turtle for the moment, I walked carefully towards the Killdeer Piper, who was putting on an impressive display of how ready for the dinner pot she was. Sure enough, there on the side of the road in a small, circular nest of stone and pebbles, blending perfectly with the driveway gravel, rested three perfect little eggs. I felt like the luckiest treasure hunter in the world, to have puzzled it out and found this delicate little piece of proof of Nature's resilience. Killdeer Pipers are known for nesting in strangely open and flat areas that seem highly unsafe and yet, they are ubiquitous in Texas. So I guess it works well enough for them.

To the great relief of the Killdeer ( whose wing magically mended as soon as I walked away) I turned my attention to the turtle, still huddling in his shell in the middle of the road. I picked him up and was about to set him down in the grass and go on my merry way but instead I sat down and took a closer look. What a strange, strange creature a turtle is. From a far he looks like a greenish grey lump of nothing special, but up close I had to marvel at the finely scalloped edges of his shell, the markings on his wrinkly skin, the perfect pattern of his body armor. Even his funny little face expresses more personality than some people I know. I sat there and marvelled to think that this little guy was just another turtle in a long line of a species that has been around for over 200 million years. So however odd I may find them, I guess it works well enough for them.

Driving on to my errands, I got lost in thoughts of our natural world. How resilient yet fragile it is, vulnerable to our insanity. I thought about rhinos who have roamed our planet for 50 million years but today are more in danger than ever of going extinct. I thought of giraffes and how they have become a bizarre target for some trophy hunters although their numbers, too, are dwindling rapidly. I thought of lions whose numbers have dropped below a palsy 30,000 in all of Africa. I thought of a majestic bull elephant, a real Tusker named Heritage who I think I saw in the Mara but will never see again for sure. Poachers made sure of that.

Photo: Mara Elephant Project

I thought of the sheer brutality with which poachers are now killing off our fellow planet dwellers. Literally hacking the tusks from elephants and horns from rhinos while they are still living. Strangling giraffes and antelope in wicked snares. They don't even afford them a clean death. The pictures I have seen but will not share haunt me. They would haunt you too, so - I won't share. This one is bad enough.

I thought of the dramatic increase in poaching over the past few years and the estimates that tell us that if this continues or, God forbid, escalates, we will have no elephants left in the wild in just a decade or two. I know the end of their species would be just the beginning of the end of an untold number of species who live in perfect symbiosis with the elephant, a keystone species, depending upon them as landscape architects to provide food, water and shelter.

Photo : Billy Dodson

www.savannaimages.com

I thought of a world even less populated by wildlife than the one we live in today.

I thought of a world in which I could not bear to live.

Sweet Surprise

Who doesn't like a sweet surprise? Well, I do anyway. I like to deliver as much as I like to receive. It may be as simple as an unexpected card in the mail, a bouquet of flowers, a friend who shows up with an unexpected gift. Or maybe an unexpected word of appreciation and a fine show of support when you thought yourself all alone in an awkward stance.

Sometimes, it can be a bit more elaborate than that.......

One of the best things I ever did was surprise my mother for Christmas. Actually, I surprised everyone but my co-conspirator, my sister-in-law Grith. The idea was simple.

1. Tell no one.
2. Fly home, take the train from airport and show up at their house unannounced.
3. Swear my brother and the kids to secrecy.
4. Next day, surprise Mama when she shows up for Christmas dinner.

This was one of those blessed times when a simple plan went off without a hitch. As I wheeled my suitcases up the road to my brother's house on an early Saturday morning, I was giddy with the fun of it. I wanted to tiptoe the entire way, never mind my suitcases were making a hellish noise of their own that I feared would wake all the neighbors never mind my family. But I made it to the house unnoticed and rang the doorbell.

To my great glee I could hear them arguing about who should go down to open the door. Everyone was in their pyjamas. Grith did an admirable job of talking my brother into it. I straightened up and smiled broadly as he opened the door. I was giggling like a mad woman as I sang out Merry Christmas, Ho-Ho-Ho, to his stunned face. The look on his face was worth the airfare alone.

Next came the kids tumbling down the staircase, eyes big as saucers, and finally Grith, grinning every bit as broadly as I knew I was. It was a fine surprise, but best of all was still surprising my mother.

When she arrived the next day, the kids and I huddled on the couch behind the Christmas tree. We had decided against me opening the door for her as she was carrying the much coveted Christmas roast and we feared it could end up on the floor. Eagerly we waited and watched, giggles kept in check as we watched her make multiple trips to and from car to kitchen with various platters of food in hand.

When finally she returned empty handed, we counted to three and yelled Merry Christmas as she stepped through the door. She turned, a touch taken aback at the loud children and stopped dead as she saw who the third loud child was. Her eyes popped wide, her mouth opened in a slight huff and her hands flew to her heart. She stumbled a step backwards and my brother rushed to her side and grabbed her arm.

For seconds she could make no noise. Then it came out all in a rush, a confusion of my name and tears and how and when and big gulps of air. I don't know who felt more loved in that instant, me at her reaction or her that I had gone to the trouble and expense of flying home to surprise her. But love was in the air and a happy Christmas was had by all......

It's a fine memory on a cloudy day, a fine thing to remember. It was a moment when I felt at my best, a living pillar of love, an expression of the finest in me that I had to offer - pure tenderness for another being and the desire to bring that being joy.

I thought of that day when I came across this little video of jazz singer Michael Buble in a very fine moment indeed as he appears to receive an unexpected surprise, courtesy of a determined mother. Perhaps it was staged as some will claim, but if it was, they all do a very credible job of pulling it off. However it came about, it's a fine interplay of the human spirit at work, an interplay of love, grace and plain good humor.

And that, in itself, can be a sweet surprise.

Choice. Chance. Change.

Look before you leap. Don't fly higher than your wings can carry. When in doubt, don't. And don't burn your bridges!

Sage advice we all have heard, many a time. But is it always right? What happens when it leaves you petrified? Life stops, you stop, growth stops. Everything gets smaller, tighter, contracted, boring. Depressing.

There's a reason perfectly sane people suddenly break out and seek the rush of adrenalin, whether in a mad leap into craggy canyons when bungie jumping, shooting and snorting up drugs, driving too fast on narrow roads with hairpin turns. Because taking a chance - and surviving it - makes us feel good, exhilarated, powerful.

Alive.

I saw this on Facebook the other day.

It made me stop and think. I have taken a lot of Chances in my life. I have made alot of Choices, some that made friends and family question my sanity, to the point a few declared they could not respect the choices I was making and turned their backs on me for a time. Still, I carried on down my path. Because I had to. I was compelled by some inner conviction. Was it fun? Was it easy? Was it joyful?  No.

It was Change.

Fun, easy and joyful came later.

I made the choices that I had to, the choices that called me, the choices that fit me. Not everyone else, or what they thought I should do to be a decent, perfect, civilized human being. Sometimes it took courage, sometimes it took heart, sometimes it took a massive leap of faith.

Always it took a Choice.

When people ask me about my life they often exclaim how interesting and exciting and lucky my life has been. Yes, it has. I have been lucky, but I have also been the maker of Choices, the taker of Chancers and the seeker of Change, the Captain of my life to the degree that I could fathom at the time. Which oftentimes, was not much. Not much at all. I only knew that Life could not bring me a new day untill I left the old one behind. Sometimes, you gotta burn a bridge. Or two. You gotta leap without looking, knowing full well there is no safety net in the traditional sense of the word. You have to crack your life wide open so you can let Luck in.

 It's also been alot of work, fears, tears, doubts and second guessing. There have been lots of what if's, what now's, and what for's. Long hours and longer days.

But sometimes, when life closes in, you can't take it anymore and you stand at the fork in the road, bewildered because nothing is clear, obvious, all is shrouded in fog.......that is when you have to make a Choice, take that Chance if you want things to Change. It is a choice made in the heart and when all the voices around you and in your head have had their say, there is only one voice left that counts.

That is when I close my eyes and listen to the teeny, tiny tug on my heart that tells me where to turn. And then I leap. I don't even look first. After all, once my heart has spoken, I am no longer in doubt my wings will carry me every bit as high as they need to.

The Story of Clancy

I have just come in after letting the dogs out on a glorious, sunny, dew drenched morning. My hands were chilly after handing out the obligatory morning treats, so I buried my hands in the warm fur of our big, shaggy Aussie mix, Clancy, his beautiful golden eyes gazing happily into mine as I gave him a good rub. It's hard to believe it's been 10 years since I first looked into his soulful eyes, then the hazelgreen of an adorable puppy who looked more like a bear cub than the offspring of a dog. These days, grey hairs around the muzzle and arthritis are setting in and the bouncy, kind little furball has become a little stiff, not to mention big, but he is still the same infinitely kind and patient dog that I first met in May of 2003.

It was a meeting that would question my sanity and confirm my intuition.

Many moons ago, on a Monday, no less, I was looking for a new dog. I went to the shelter and took a good look around. This, of course, is always pure hell, the kennels like prison cells on death row, the pleading brown eyes, the wagging tails, the jumping puppies, the chorus of barks pleading to be chosen. After several rounds, I was at a loss. I wanted to rescue them all, but none in particular spoke to me. I went around one more time. Out of thin air, a new dog had materialized in cell #16. Odd, I never saw him on the first two rounds. A darling puppy, shaggy red fur of an Australian Shepherd with exquisite, calm green eyes. All the more impressive since the two dalmatian cross puppies I had noticed in #16 before, were jumping on his head as he lay quietly, head on his paws, nose to the gate and watching my every move. I was sold.

Rushing to the front desk, I breathlessly asked about the Aussie mix in #16. The indifference of the desk clerk all but left him mute, but he managed to look at his computer and inform me there was no Aussie mix puppy in #16. There is, I insisted. There is not, he/the computer said. Just a pair of Dalmatian mix pups. But if there were........he'd be released for adoption on Thursday, just like the Dalmatians.

Now, I was supposed to wait for my husband who was out of town and arriving on Saturday. Could I wait to pick him up till then, I asked. The desk clerk looked at me blankly and said "If he's not gone by Thursday, he's dead by Friday."

I went home in a dither. I convinced myself he was so gorgeous and darling and cute, someone would take him home. Someone indeed.

Thursday rolled around. It was pouring rain, thunder and lightning, my husband was adamant I wait for him to help choose a dog and he was two days away. I paced the floor. All my bells were going off, alerting me that action must be taken. I called the shelter - has the Aussie mix in #16 been adopted? What Aussie mix in #16? No such dog. If there was, he must have been picked up. Phew, I thought, he is safe.

I drove to the shelter.

This is nuts, I thought, as I drove the 40 minute drive through a deluge of rain and hail, thunder and lightning, booming and crackling all around. I am going to get there and he will be gone and I will feel even more like an idiot. Still, I drove on slowly, windshield wipers at top speed as I peered through the windshield at the crawling traffic.

The same desk clerk informed me there was no such dog that I had come to see, but allowed I could take a look. An employee accompanied me with a leash. I was convinced he'd be gone but lo and behold - there was my puppy, right where I had left him. As soon as I stepped through the door he sat up and starting wagging with every bone in his body, his eyes fastened on mine. Oh how cute, said the woman, funny, I never noticed him before. Really? said I and grabbed that leash and rushed to the office with my dog before she could start asking questions.

The clerk never even looked over the counter. Here he is! I said brightly. Well, he's not in my computer, said he sourly. Oh how odd, I said brightly, smiling widely, feeling like I was in the Twilight Zone. If he's not in my computer, I can't tell you if he is released or not, said he even more sourly. Oh dear, I said brightly, but they told me he was free to go today. I had looked down into my puppy's hazelgreen eyes and known instantly to use the ubiquitous 'they' that covers for a multitude of possible sinners, rather than point out that he, the desk clerk himself, had told me that. Whatever, said the desk clerk and printed out the release forms for me to sign.

Just then, a woman on my left said "Oh good, are you taking him home? He is such a great dog." Yes, I said happily and was about to ask her who she was. But the clerk stuck a pen in my hand, and when I looked again, she was gone. As if she was never even there. Twilight Zone reboot.

I drove home with a perfect little puppy watching me intently from eyes that shone with an intelligence and kindness beyond his few months, a puppy that would grow into a handsome and independant dog that has freely roamed the farmland surrounding our home over the past decade.

Still, one thing hasn't changed - it's funny how he always shows up right when he is needed, that wonderful wise and infinitely kind expression in his eyes as he presses his head into my hand.

Bond, Ellie Bond

This is so cool. I am sitting on my chair, looking out at a wet, cold and rainy day - which, in Texas, counts as a day of celebration. I know, I know, other parts of the world are positively floating away, you'll want to spit in my eye for celebrating rain, but here we are going from drought to severe drought to worse drought, watching trees shrivel up and drop like flies, year after year. It's no picnic, either.

But this morning, after three days of overcast and rainy days, the world outside my window is emerald green and sopping wet, my rosebushes are bursting with life, and the surviving trees are sporting little, fresh, bright green leaves. It's a respite from the cold and dry months that lay behind us, and a rest before the long, dry and excruciatingly hot months that lay ahead, where the outside world becomes as hostile and uninviting as the coldest, darkest, blanketed - in - 10 - feet - of - snow winter day.

Meanwhile, the world inside resonates to the most extraordinairy sounds in my ear. I've got my headphones on and the sound turned up, and a hypnotic beat pulsing away, underscoring the vocal orchestrations of.......elephants. And it is so well, cool and subliminally stimulating, I just had to tell you about it.

It starts out all subtle and slow, putting me in mind of one of those runway shows with flashing lights and emaciated models slinking down the stage with their cheeks sucked in (of course, in my mind, they are instantly replaced with plump elephants swinging along in their gravity defying and supremely graceful walk, posing with raised trunks and outspread ears) but then it slowly builds in intensity untill I am thinking Bond, James Bond, shaken not stirred. Or maybe that's Bond, Ellie Bond.

Come to think of it, that is an appropriate pun. The bond that exists between elephants, emotional, social, psychological and physical is, after all, famously profound and more than equal to what we would claim as humans. Which makes the current crisis in poaching and trade in elephants and their body parts all the more horrifying. But that is another story for another day.

For now, I shall just sit and listen to their song, listen with an open mind and heart and see what dreams may come as their voices resonate through my being, leaving behind their indelible footprints.

If you'd like to have a listen too - and I highly recommend it - click here:

https://soundcloud.com/#elephantvoices/elephantvoices-elebeats-first