Shed

It's baby calf time at the ranch...circle of life renewed....new money on the ground. We spend lots of time riding around checking on the cows.  You notice the bulging milk bags and unmistakable look of a female who has clearly had enough.  Her eyes scream out "get it out already."  The new babies have been licked clean and scamper around with their tails kinked like the number nine.  One approaches his mama and repeatedly butts his head into her gorged bag and she turns to look at him with tired disdain.  I grab my boobs in empathy and quietly tell her I have felt her pain.

Driving around looking at calves and seven miles of new fence, I notice something rising from the green spiders that are called struggling wheat.  Even at a fair distance it can be seen and I yell out "stop the truck."  About that time my kids notice the shed antler too and everybody bales out of the truck leaving doors open and Ed yelling how rude we all are (truck manners indicate closed doors at all times to reduce flies and dirt).  The race is on.  In my head I can hear the theme from "Chariots of Fire" and I tell myself I don't care if they are my kids...I saw it first!  After twenty seconds of top speed in plowed dirt the muscles in my legs start to burn and remind me that I am no longer a spring chicken.  Stop Laughing.  They also scream "but you don't run!"  I tell my legs to shut up.  My oldest is right behind me as I summon just a little more strength to snatch the shed antler from the dirt.  It's a beauty.  Five points, big, and heavy.  I hold it high in victory and basked in my glory between gasps of breath.

Don't look at me that way.  I saw it first.  I won it fair and square.  Stop judging me.  I'm older and it was harder for me.  Shut up.

Every spare moment is spent canvasing wheat pastures and fence lines for shed antlers.  We each are on a quest to find the biggest one.  The kids wise up and get sneaky about it, not announcing their potential find or asking me to slow down the gator and catapult from it and start running.  My children have become natural gymnasts in two days.  Best exercise ever invented, I swear.  Even on horse back, they ride back up to the cabin with several sheds dangling from the tie strings on their saddles.

Although the antlers were dropped by the bucks as part of natural yearly process, we admire our little pile as if we had shot them all ourselves.  Each antler like reclaimed treasure from a sunken pirate ship.  Marveling at the size, heaviness, and number of points.  I smile at my children who were not in front of a TV, playing electronic games, or texting a friend.  We have a rule that no electronics are allowed at the ranch. I smile that they have shed those things and are fully engaged in the world around them...and each other.  They are happy and feel blessed beyond measure.

Amazing what happens when you let go of things that weigh you down. 

The Call

The phone rang just after midnight.  Phone calls in the middle of the night are never good at our house. It usually means that a cow is out and needs to be put back where it belongs.  Most of the time, you get there to discover it is not even your cow, but instead your neighbor's.  Since you are already awake and there, you do the neighborly thing and return the lost animal to its proper place.

That phone call two years ago changed our lives.  It was the news that there had been a fire and James was dead.  James was a young cowboy that had worked for us for many years and was like a son to us.  Things seemed to be in slow motion and each second painfully lasted a full minute which made everything blurred and surreal.  Grasping to process it all and at the same time searching mentally for a place to retreat and make it all go away.

We found out in the darkness of night and there was no way to go back to sleep with the world crashing down around us.  I remember being on the front porch, coffee in hand and seeing the sun come up that morning.  How dare the sun rise.  Did it not get the memo that the world was to stand still?  I went to get another cup of coffee and returned to the porch.  It was a beautiful sunrise and the sun seemed closer than normal.  I realized it was a clear message that life for the rest of us goes on.  It may be painful and hard at first, but it must go on.

He was too young to die and had too much ahead of him, we reasoned over and over.  The feeling of loss was overwhelming, especially for Ed. They spent more time together every day than Ed and I did as husband and wife. Both were private and quiet, but together they shared things as they rode pens and worked cattle.  Ed loved James and wanted the best for him, teaching him things and helping him mature.  Just like the ground work on a young colt, James was being slowly groomed, bridled and refined.  Amazing what a loving hand and a kind word can do to a wild thing.  James was really starting to come into his own and become a man.

Because James was not our real son, it was awkward to let him go back to his family that were genetically linked to him.  I did not like the idea of his body being so far away from us, but I kept reminding myself of the importance of family and that James was gone...this was just the earthly remains.  What we had with him was real and lasting...transcending DNA...the family that you deliberately choose.

For over a year, we could not escape that feeling that James would be just around the corner waiting to surprise us.  We saw him everywhere.  He was at the feedyard, the horse barn, the arena, the round pen, the open pasture with the cattle, and the horse sale.  I longed to see his shy expressions, hear him excitedly describe a horse with more words than he would use for the rest of the week, or laugh at a cowboy who just got bucked off in the sale ring who just moments before described the horse as bomb proof. 

We speak of James quite often.  We have come to place of acceptance, remembering the good times and laughing with fondness.  Choosing again and again to celebrate his life and the time we had with him.  To celebrate that relationships that we have make us better in the end and that family means a forged bond not just blood.

James is gone but part of him remains with us....in every horse and in every pasture.

O Christmas Tree

At my grandmother's house, the signal that the holiday season was upon us meant plugging in the snow capped ceramic Christmas tree with colored lights. It sat on top of a large toaster oven in the corner of her dining room. Year round. That was it. I lamented even as a small child how sad and pitiful it was that she didn't do more

While I realize that some stores put out Christmas decorations in July, I have always felt it was disrespectful to the Thanksgiving holiday to not wait until the day after to hose down the house with all things celebrating the birth of Sweet Infant Baby Jesus.  This year I am not even sure where we are going to be for Christmas Day so I am reluctant to even think about my usual five decorated trees and four nativities.  It is a whole lot of work and I don't need one more thing to pack....and I don't have the time.  I really don't.

I wrestle with the question of how it will effect my Christmas spirit if I don't go all out like normal.  Is playing Elvis' Blue Christmas album and the concession of one tree enough?  It is hard to suppress my inner Martha Stewart and not make every square inch of my home scream Christmas. 

I admit it.  I bought into this commercialization of the infant savior's birth a long time ago.  Hook, line, and sinker.  I actually enjoy the decorating and embrace the creativity that comes with it....but really...what is this holiday really about?  Is baby Jesus displeased with us for not lighting things up so they can be seen from space?  Would He be happy about the hours spent decorating everything that will stand still?  Is the purpose of it all killing yourself trying to find the holy grail of gifts for each person you've ever met?

Maybe this year, in honor of simplicity....in honor of my grandmother...in honor of the true meaning of Christmas I will focus on the things that would please Sweet Infant Baby Jesus and let go of (most) all the superficial, commercial, meaningless decorations.  Just this year.  Maybe.  Okay...maybe just one tree.

I'm still playing my Elvis music...."I'll have a blue Christmas without you"...cause Christmas is not Christmas without the King...both of them!

One Moon At A Time

The sun came up today....as it does every day.  Before the sun made its grand appearance, the sky was lit up by the full moon.  It was beautiful and commanded my undivided attention for a whole minute.  Just so you know...a full minute is impressive by today's standards.  A full sixty seconds of silence, being motionless, and appreciating the beauty of the moon and what it did to the sky around it.  Not wishing it away to usher in the sun, but appreciating it in that moment.  Stunning.

It never fails, lately when I go into town I encounter at least one person who says "Have you moved yet?"  It is the same irksome feeling as when I was heavy pregnant in my last month and people would bug out their eyes when they saw you and asked "You haven't had that baby yet?"  You struggle to be polite but silently you scream on the inside.  You reason they are just making conversation and are not privy to the constant ticking clock inside your head.  You hear it so loudly...that clock ticking...it wears on your nerves.  Painfully aware of what all needs to be done within a roughly estimated time frame.  A time not yet revealed...the suspense of when has worn me out.

OK...so I am a control freak.  A planner.  A list maker.  A doer.  Asking me to stand still and be patient is not in my bag of tricks. My internal wiring is at constant conflict with this whole process.  I hate those things in life that are out of my control.  Things I have to wait and let happen on their own...or worse yet...are in the hands of somebody else.

I walk from room to room looking at our stuff knowing that what we have will not fit where we are going.  Editing what stays and what goes.  I have relinquished a large amount of things already.  Mentally it was easy to rationalize and let go...but the physical act of packing it and handing it over...actually letting go...was a small struggle.  I did it...I'm glad I did it...and I'll be glad when I can stop doing it...even if it means it's all gone.

Always having a song to sing at any given moment, I find myself going back to "One day at a time sweet Jesus."  OK....so I change it to Sweet Infant Jesus when I sing it.  Keep reminding myself that I am only required to do this one day at a time.  Each day trying to enjoy still being where I am....cause I do love where I live and am in no hurry to leave just yet.  Trying to embrace the changes...all of them.  Trying to come to terms with not being in control. 

Then I burst out into song again, "I got the sun in the morning and the moon at night..."

The First Proposal

It was the fall of 1999 and we were on our way to compete in the Permian Basin Ranch Rodeo in Odessa, Texas.  Somewhere outside of Midland, one of the tires on the trailer we were pulling behind Ed's truck had a blow out.

You can't change a tire on a trailer without first unloading the horses, so there I was holding three horses in the median of Interstate 20 with Ed trying to replace the tire.  Three horses that may or may not get along well.  Cars zipping past us on both sides.  I looked around at the terminally flat desolate horizon.  There were no trees.....nothing green...just shades of grey with giant tumbleweeds dotting the landscape.  It was hopelessly ugly to me. 

Shortly after the jack broke and the whole process became extended, Ed looks over at me grinning.  Without stopping his work, he asks me to marry him.  In the middle of I-20...holding three horses.  This was his first of three proposals he would make.  I told him as long as he promised to never make me live in Midland, Texas...yes, I would marry him.

We finally get to the fairgrounds where the rodeo was held.  Ed's parents drove there to watch their sons compete in the rodeo and meet me for the first time. Big Ed (Ed's dad) sits off quietly to himself to focus on the rodeo and not be distracted by all the chatter.  His mama sits next to me in the stands so she can size up this woman her son is dating.  Getting straight to the point, she asks me if I wear a uniform at work.  I tried to explain that my job at the casino didn't have a uniform but I wore nice clothes, especially when I went to court. She looks at me puzzled as asks, "Court?  Why would the girl who swings on the trapeze and rings the bell with her toes need to go to court?" 

This has to be one of rare times I was ever momentarily speechless.  Whoa.  I do what?  And who told you this?  Ed has a seriously twisted sense of humor which I enjoy when I am not at the center of it.  Over the next couple of hours we separated fact from fiction and I got my first glimpse into Ed's childhood.  Good bonding time with my mother-in-law to be. 

It was a weekend full of firsts...first rodeo I watched Ed compete in, first time to meet his parents, his first proposal.....and...the first time that I heard I swung from a trapeze and rang a bell with my toes.

Be

For eight years I was a full time mom at home with my children.  Twenty-four hours a day seven days a week without fail or much help.  My husband and I agreed that it was important for us to raise our children this way, and we were fortunate to be in a position where it was possible.  Although I was dedicated to the task and considered it a privilege to be able to stay at home with my girls, I often felt as though I was doing a job any monkey could do.  I had degrees and years of work experience that were not being utilized and I craved adult conversations.  I missed the mental and intellectual stimulation that quite frankly Dora just can't provide. 

Confession:  I hate Swiper, back packs, and maps.  Still.

It was the first day of school for my youngest daughter. That day would be the first day that both kids were in school and I would be alone.  Alone.  I couldn't wait to rush home and pee all by myself without anybody standing there asking questions.  No fingers wiggling under the space of the locked door pleading for something.  It was going to be my time to figure out who I am again too.  No longer just the maker of peanut butter sandwiches, doer of laundry removing mysterious stains, and finder of all things lost.

In the hallways of the school there were tearful mothers who now felt incomplete when parting with their child, like half of them literally had been removed and they were forced to leave without it.  Muttering how sad they were and they couldn't believe this time was here so soon.  Then there were the children who clung to their mothers with what can only be described as a death grip.  Wrapped firmly around the mother's leg and she struggled with trying to walk with the dead weight.  The children pleading for their mothers not to leave them there like school was a war crimes camp from which no one ever returned. 

There I was doing a touch down dance end zone style outside the school.  A victory celebration of spiking an imaginary football that signified that I had been there 24/7, had willingly sacrificed it all and left nothing on the field...exhausted and triumphant...and still managed to have some of my mind left!  Can I get an amen?!!

It's true...I was not like the other mothers that day.  I was not crying or reluctant to let go.  Neither was Sophie.  Self confident, happy, and ready to face whatever might be.  She did not look back or even give it a second thought.  I was proud.  My girls were what they were supposed to be.  What I had helped make them be.  I know they will both be fine no matter what comes their way and face the world passionately, finding their rightful place in it no doubt. 

Message to my children:  I have been there this whole time holding your hand.  I am still there.  I will always be there.

A Time To Heal

The last week has not been a long clean hair flowing in the wind, make up on, dressed up nice kinda week.  It has been about going down to the barn every day twice a day to doctor on my colt. 

This horse is special to me (confession:  they all are special) because I've been the one to work with him. Daily trips to the barn to halter him, lead him around, picking up his feet, and placing blankets on his back that will be replaced with a saddle. These rituals of exposing him to these things make him gentle and much easier to break to ride. Shotgun has always been easy. He wants to please and prefers the company of people to other horses. A true gem.

Horses are like kids, they hurt themselves and sometimes you're not sure how they did it.  You just notice the injury and then dedicate yourself to the mending process.  Horses heal from the inside out so it is very important to not let the outside scab over and the inside fester.  A wound takes time, patience, and dedication.  You take a water hose and spray the area for twenty minutes to clean it and draw the blood back to the surface.  You have to forcefully spray the water too, to get the circulation going.  In the end, you're soaking wet and muddy...so is everything else.  This is not an event you get dressed up for and since there are no bonus points awarded for appearance, practical is best.

The entire time I've spent with Shotgun to help him heal, he has stood there like a true gentlemen.  He doesn't give me any problems...just returned love and appreciation.  I wish they all could be this easy.  During this extensive quality time, it occurred to me that people should be no different.  We should daily expose ourselves to the things that build our character so they are customary, put into practice good habits til they become second nature.  We should also learn to heal from the inside out and not let things fester.   File it under "life is too short" or Tourette's, but honesty is usually the best policy.  Get it all out there...drawing it to the surface; get over it.....let it heal properly and not sabatoge potential progress with infection; and get on with it...don't make it hard when it doesn't have to be. 

I am always amazed at what I lessons I learn at the barn.

To everything there is a season...and a time to every purpose under heaven.