Picking Up The Crumbs

I found a white horse to wish upon...

If you had told me I would be driving 4,089 miles in two weeks, I would have gone, “Lordy no.”

If you had told me that I would find that trip to be the most relaxing vacation of my life, I would have thought you had gone mushy in the head.

It's true. I drove the miles with Daughter D’s help, her navigation skills, her divine company, and the divine guidance that dropped its grace on us.

Can I skip the one day we ended up in the emergency room?

“What is the message of our trips to the emergency rooms?” DD asked, for we aren’t the sort that frequents emergency rooms. On our trip there were two. First for Baby D. One night he spit up pink milk, and of course mother and grandmother were concerned. I worried that I had taken a two month old baby on such a long trip, although we didn’t know he had picked up a cold bug before we left. Earlier he had a little blood in the nose drips, but he had no fever, and he was perky and smiling and happy. The emergency room doctor figured he had swallowed some blood from his sinuses and thus the pink milk. We were sent on our way. He remained all right.
Then we climbed mountains, and the altitude got to me, and I had chest pains, and we had another emergency room visit.

So what is the answer? “What is it with those trips to the emergency room?”

Our conclusion is this: Live your life! Enjoy the moment, take care of business, but don’t fret about it. Things happen.

When I took the wheel that afternoon after DD driving for an afternoon and a morning, I felt fear. I was afraid I would feel the same feelings I had the day before. Strange isn’t it, the associations we build when something traumatic happens? Guess that’s the reason they say, “If you fall off a horse, get back on.”

I soon settled into driving and felt at home, my old self, but I can understand how someone who hasn’t driven for years might be afraid to try again. Maybe it will work to my benefit, too, when I get back on a horse after falling a year ago. I might be afraid for a couple of minutes, but then perhaps the old courage will come back, and I will take up the reins with renewed vigor, and be in command again.

One more thing. Coming home we found that Mille Fleur and Dixie started laying after their long winter hiatus. We had ten eggs waiting for us. Mille Fleur is the breed of the chicken, but I thought it was such a pretty name that I named the hen that. Two years ago I picked up a mother chicken and her three baby chicks at the County Fair here in Eugene Oregon. I named them Mille Fleur and the Dixie Chicks, but it turned out that two were roosters, so it’s Mille Fleur and Dixie. I need a name for the rooster, the other one died, which left it perfect for us, two hens and one rooster. And they are the nicest chickens, small with variegated feathers, like a million flowers (thus Mille Fleur). Their eggs are small, but the most deli9cious eggs I have ever tasted. The rooster is a protector and a gentleman. When I put veggie scraps in their pen he clucks to the hens to come and get it.

Now, the point to all this is that I am incubating five little eggs in a child’s plastic incubator. First I dowsed the eggs to see if they were fertile. Then I asked each egg if it was a girl egg or a boy egg. I think they are all pullets…we’ll see how accurate I am.

Nineteen more days to go…

Celebrate Today!

Morning in Disneyland.

We are sitting in an outside patio. DD is having a bacon and egg croissant. I’m having a tuna fish sandwich. The air is like Hawaii, silky, and I guess with a hint of moisture since we are fairly close to the ocean.

I look around at the plants. It’s like Buddha’s garden—that was when he was the Prince Gautama Siddhartha before he became The Buddha, the enlightened one. His father protected him from all aged people and wilting flowers, so he had the gardeners preen the Castle grounds so his son would see only perfection.

I wandered why I had ever left Southern California, but then I guess Disneyland would not allow me to set up residence on their veranda. (And the traffic tells me why.)

“How do we keep the magic going?” Asks DD while her little Man Cub sleeps contentedly in her arms.

“Perhaps that’s what enlightenment is,” I say. “You touch the magic, and keep it going.”

We wonder how to do that, and know there will be wood to chop and water to carry in the future, but for today we decide to go shopping on Main Street USA. It is between the two parks—California Land and Disneyland—with no entrance fees, and no entrance lines save security. I owe DD a Dulce De Leche Swirl Haggen Daz ice cream, as she spotted the Matterhorn Mountain first. An old routine. When the kids were little we frequented Disneyland and the first one to spot the Matterhorn got a dime. When my husband was with us about four years ago we found the Dulce De Leche Swirl. Dulce De Leche ice cream, caramel sauce and a banana. Perfect. The best.

DD—that stands for Darling Daughter (And Baby D is Baby Darling), had to haul me away—“Leave wanting more,” she said. And so the dogs, the baby, and the two travelers aimed up the long state of California toward home, enduring LA traffic, traversing the Grapevine on probably the most beautiful time of the year. One hillside was painted, completely covered with orange and blue. And since some of the color spilled down to the freeway I could see it was California poppies, and a blue plant, maybe lupine, I wasn’t sure. There were truck farms in their spring finery, and orchards that went on for miles. Once we passed between rows of orange trees on either side of the road, and the scent of orange blossoms filled our air passage ways with sweetness beyond compare. Some of the time DD slept and I drove feeling happy, loving what I was seeing, and wanting to savor every moment.

Up ahead we saw what looked like a dust cloud, and thought maybe a storm was coming, then the scent hit us so hard it woke up the baby. It was a cattle feed lot that went on for miles. Cattle wouldn’t like the stink either, and I felt it permeated everything, their coats, their feed, probably their meat. On that spot I considered being a vegetarian again—in California for sure. “Cowboys don’t let your baby steers grow up to be corralled in feed lots.”

Sorry about the blotch on this transcendent experience. We continued up the state, finding a motel in a place only identified by The Apricot Inn.

We could feel the altitude again around Mt Shasta, which shone clear and sunshine gilded, past Shasta Lake where they rent houseboats, and into Oregon. Everything is green. The deciduous trees have new baby spring leaves, and Roseburg which is dry most of the year is glorious with spring, and ten thousand different shades of green.

We fell in love with the cargo van we had rented. It was perfect for our use, a seat for DD and I, a seat for Baby D, and room for DD to crawl back into the seat beside him. The next seat served as a luggage hold, and Bear, the Newfoundland dog, had the entire back. I even parallel parked it once, it was that maneuverable, but then compared to driving a truck and a horse trailer it was a breeze. (Those who have read my book, It’s Hard To Stay On A Horse While You’re Unconscious, know I break out into a sweat when trying to back up a horse trailer.)

When we unloaded the van, it looked sad.

Home:
4,089 miles.
Eight States.
Two Weeks.
One Daughter.
One Baby.
Two hundred diapers.
Two emergency room visits.
THE PLEASURE OF THE TRIP--PRICELESS!

This is too cool!

Looking at the map I declared, “Going I- 5 is only 100 miles from Disneyland.

“Disneyland!”

Daughter D could not get that close to Disneyland without the vortex of it pulling her in. It is her favorite spot on the planet. “The Happiest Place on Earth,” they call it, and she thinks so as well. And it turned out to be about one block from I-5 after we came in on 395 through San Bernardino and Riverside where the living is easy and the traffic is horrendous.

We had closed the circle that began two years ago. At that time DD had determined she wanted a child and thought Disneyland would be the perfect place to begin the process. The timing wasn’t right, the logistics weren’t right, but it was the place of INTENTION.

“Isn’t it something,” says DD, "that we can have an idea, you work toward it, and there it is.”

Two years later:

DD wanted to hold Baby D up to the Walt Disney stature as she had raised her arms to it two years ago. It was to imbibe her Man Cub with the qualities that made Disney special.

Creativity, playfulness, humanity, perseverance, vision, determination, artistic endeavor, Disney embraced them all with vigor.

Thinking back Walt Disney was not the best artist, but he was a visionary, and a humanitarian. He built the walks in Disneyland to follow the natural wanderings of people, not predetermined directions. He built the animatronic people ¾ size so as not to overshadow the real people. He hired Imagineers and declared that, “The formula is there is no formula.”

We weren’t there for the rides, we were there for the magic. We were there for the Man Cub (Baby D), and for us. Daughter D and I consider Disneyland “Continuing education.” The Imagineers know about layering—that is detail heaped upon detail. It is more than the eye can grasp, but those details add dimension that is at first not perceivable, but it gives depth and feeling.

And the plants were perfect everyplace, and flowers…

We marveled at how perfect the plants were. There were jungle plants, succulents, cactus, Evergreens, pines and firs, flowers in the ground and in containers, roses, all within the acreage that is Disneyland, and living in perfect harmony. What a horticulturist feat.

Many people see the crowds—they were there, and because of the multitude one would get the idea that there was no problem with the economy. We didn’t stand in lines more than a couple of times, one to ride “Finding Nemo,” a remade of the old Submarine ride. Baby D loved it. He watched the bubbles, and waved his arms, and I got the impression that he is a water baby like his mother. Oh, and he is a sunshine lover like his Grandmother. And we took the Peter Pan ride that was flying over a miniature city, that he “Goo gooed,” through.

The weather was hot, and because of the heat we thought we would have to leave the dogs in the kennel, but turning off Harbor Boulevard onto Katella, we saw the Desert Palms Hotel with covered parking behind the building and in the shade. Viola’. We left the dogs in the van, checked into the hotel, walked the 10 minutes to Disneyland, and soaked in the magic.

Elevation 158 feet. Perfect.

Hooray! I'm Back Online

April 19, 2009

“There are some weird vibes outside of Santa Fe,” said the hospital emergency nurse. Daughter D and I looked at each other, no fooling, we thought, having spent the worst night of our trip in a little town North of Santa Fe.

Yet, we loved Santa Fe. We had our wonderful meal there; the shops were fun, the adobe houses inspiring, and the sunshine glorious. We wandered through an Indian (from India) salvage yard where they had more columns, doors, decorative items than the castles they must have dismantled. DD, with her propensity for interior design, said she would have taken any piece and found a place for it. And as we were driving out of town aiming for Taos I commented, “I was hoping we would find a Mexican pottery shop.”

“Like that,” said DD.

We were in pottery heaven and neither of us had seen it until that moment. "Manifest everything that fast,"said DD as I zipped into the alley and once inside the store we found the most diverse mixture of pottery, jewelry, tiles, Mexican plates, dishes, blankets, wall hangings, more than I can mention. The store had room after room of inspiring merchandise, and then it spilled out into the yard. We ran around like six year olds in a play yard, seeing every area as better than the last. We bought a few things from a lady who loved her job because she loved people, and then we took off for high country.

The focus of our trip was to look at property in Colorado, 45 minutes out of Taos New Mexico.
We aimed across beautiful country where hay had already been harvested, and we were the only car on the road for miles. We rocked along on a road where the road builders had seemingly laid the asphalt directly on the topography without realizing that it would be a good idea to use a bulldozer first. It was a roller coaster ride, and Baby D jostled along in his infant seat happy as a clam.

Our destination was an old ranch being subdivided. It was up twelve miles of dirt road, with an elevation around 10,000 feet. Our trusty van took us up the mountain, over a mesa and down the other side where there was a lake. About every mile or so we would see a house, fairly nice houses, some were made of logs, and there was a Lindel house under construction. I wonder if those hardy souls lived there in the winter for the manager warned us that we might need a four wheel drive. We didn’t though, although there was snow in the surrounding area as it had been most all of our trip, and I bet the trip up this mountain in the winter would be about like climbing the Alps.

The area was littered with rocks, and sagebrush and Pinion pines, and virtually no grass. We heard that wild horses wandered through, but they needed to keep wandering unless they could eat sage or Pinion. We were there on Easter weekend so no sales person stopped us, offered to take us in his four wheel drive, or gave us a sales pitch. Whew!

“Would you live there for a million bucks?” DD asked.

“No way! You’d spend the million getting up this hill.”

And as it turned out altitude is not for either of us.

We conquered the mountain. We did what we set out to do, and we were happy to be aiming south again.

So we were North of Santa Fe, in a little town called Espanola. It felt seedy, unsafe. We spent the night where DD had nightmares, and I had chest pains with each breath. We had hit a wall. We wanted to be home. And I believe it was there I left my computer cable. Darn. I can’t get online or email at home without it.

I drove the next morning, still with chest pains, but not making a big deal about them until I began to feel sick. I pulled over and popped some aspirin. I had visions of me dying and leaving DD with the drive home. She had the same vision, and aimed for the Emergency hospital.

Five hours later, covered with a Kleenex for a blanket, and when I was cold they gave me another Kleenex, it was determined I didn’t have a heart attack, no blood clots, and my heart was normal size. Yes it was weird outside Santa Fe, the nurse even told us there was a penitentiary there where they had a huge riot recently, but weirdness would not explain why I felt so rotten. Altitude would though. (Plus a little cold, plus a little muscle strain from hefting a suitcase over another suitcase and into the back seat of the van.)

DD drove that afternoon, and that evening a snow storm blew us past a Casino after Casino. Every big town had a Casino, and every little town had one, they just varied in size. We figured the Native Americans were getting their just revenge on the white folk. Finally with snow coming at us horizontally we blew into Gallop New Mexico. You wouldn’t believe it though; the next morning was clear, dry and sunny. DD drove that morning and by afternoon I was ready to take the wheel again. We were our old (or perhaps new selves). We rocked on.

Whether we were divinely led or divinely kicked in the pants, either way we had made the decision to go home the southern route and avoid Denver. We heard the following day that Denver had 4 feet of snow delivered that night.

With our decision came magic.

The Best Meal We've Ever Had

Monday April 13, 2009

Are you still with me? For those of you who have been following this blog, you know we are on the road. From Oregon to New Mexico, touching Idaho, Utah, Circling Four Corners, that is Utah, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, and yesterday we hit Sante Fe, New Mexico, where I turned into a food critic.

If I could give stars to restaurants, this restaurant, The Anasazi Restaurant at the Inn of The Anasazi 113 Washington Ave, Sante Fe New Mexico would have five stars. For you guys who eat read meat, this restaurant beat out Texas where Daughter D and I though served the best steaks. Nope, it’s Sante Fe.

On Easter Sunday I drove from Cortez, Colorado to Sante Fe, New Mexico, it rained, it blew, it was beautiful, and after some debate whether to South go to Albuquerque or North to Sante Fe, Santa Fe won. Being Easter Sunday, many places were closed, but intuition led us to The Anasazi Restaurant. Everything was perfect. We had rib eye steak, bone in, with a chipole glaze. Seldom do I like a glaze on steak, but that steak was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. The steak sat on a bed of spinach and asparagus over mashed potatoes flavored with some sort of peppers–we don’t know what, but they were delicately wonderful. You know how hard it is to keep spinach hot? Place it under the steak, that does the trick. The steak was garnished with shitaki mushrooms, and slivers of red and green peppers, and to on the side delicate baby carrots. Oh, we began with a salad of beets, roasted artichoke hearts, goat cheese and curly endive, with beet juice gracing the plate, and a delicate dressing. It was the special of the day, our Easter Sunday celebration, and we were the first customers of the evening, so that combination of food and events probably will not happen again in this lifetime. (I had left-over steak for breakfast, and Peaches had any trim I could cut off the bone.)

A couple of days ago Daughter D said, "Look at the mileage." It read 13, the mileage from home is 2,058.5 miles.

We are in Taos, New Mexico. Tomorrow we are driving to Colorado to look at some property.

We have seen some horses that might be wild, some near Four Corners, and later scattered out in the prairies of New Mexico. They could be domestic, but do people turn their horses loose in miles of untamed territory? First they would never catch their horse. Second the horse would soon be wild. So I wonder, you know there is controversy over wild horses grazing the land that ranchers want for their cattle, but there are miles and miles of untamed territory. Sage brush and grass is rather like the ocean here. And don’t ranchers know that when horses are in competition with other grazers horses take the worst forage? (That is not counting alfalfa hay that is candy to them.)

So, I wonder if it’s a white man thing. We pushed the Native Americans off their land and put them on the worst land and called them reservations. We stole their land, and put them in corrals. And then we take the mustangs from their land so we can have sole possession. I bet the mustangs didn’t have any trouble sharing with the buffalo.

No Day But Today

Saturday, April 11

It’s twenty three miles to Mesa Verde," said the ranger at the entrance taking our ten bucks. "Be careful, there might be ice."

I’m driving up the mountain."Yipes, the road drops off into infinity, I won’t look down. It’s snowing, but the road it clear. I creep at about 20 miles per hour, curve after curve, no other cars. There’s a snow plow parked at the side of the road–that’s reassuring. It is foggy off those precipices, but we can see the road okay, and the center is cut like a wash-board, so if it is slippery I can drive on the vibrating bumps.

We continue uphill. With each advance in altitude my respect for the Native Americans drops. Why did they live up here? Were they hiding from enemies? What possessed them to carve their houses into cliffs? Well, I admit, it’s impressive. The idea of it. The architecture. I figured the reason the Puebloans left was that the women said, "I’m not spending another winter in this house!" (Did you know the weather got well below zero in those houses, and they probably hovered in the Kivas with fires to keep warm.)

I thought we would drive through a dessert and look up and see beautiful cliff dwellings. Whoops. Think again! As we arrive at the visitor’s center it is hailing and the road is becoming slushy. Daughter D says "Why don’t you go into the visitor’s center and see what the story is." I inch a U-turn in the middle of the road, afraid to turn into an off road, but I do park in the visitors lot.
Okay, there are a few other courageous souls here, and a few cars followed me up the road.

I go into the visitor’s center and discover it is another 5 miles to the dwellings–downhill. Nope, I’m not doing that. "You can go on your own," said the ranger, "but the tours might be canceled when you get there because of the weather."

We both agree that leaving is a good plan. And going downhill we joke and talk about life and how if it doesn’t work out as you planned, you change direction.

I said this day we would go to Mesa Verde, "Good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise" I didn’t consider blizzards.

It’s fine, we’re fine, we survived the mountain and drove out to Four Corners where Arizona, Utah, New Mexico and Nevada come together, and spread our toes over four states and ate delicious Navaho fry bread with cinnamon and honey and came back to the same motel as last night. Happy day! We feel good.

Stopping in The Wind

Friday:

"I’m getting old," I say looking into the mirror.

"What’s wrong with getting old?" says Daughter D.

"Well, I’m having fun, and I feel good, guess its okay."

That was until last night when I awakened with my nose running, and a fevered brain wondering if I was going to loose steam on this trip. Driving back home is a long way.

Monday night I mentioned that Baby D had the sniffles, then both Daughter D and I knew we were a little off, a bit of a cold, but it seemed mild--until last night. This morning I just couldn’t get my wits about me, and finally after 1,290 miles at the wheel, I relinquished the driving to Daughter D. The Baby, dogs and I slept.

I awakened in an oasis of tourist goodness in the beautiful little town of Moab Utah. Where did all these people come from? And how did they know this beautiful town was here? Art abounded, rather like Sedona Arizona, or Ashland Oregon. Galleries, Native American art, eating spots, a juice bar and smoothies–you know it was upscale. Everything was new and beautiful. Rock climbing, rafting stores, and –jeeps everywhere. You could put together a jeep on the street, well, probably not put it together like Build-a-Bear at Disneyland, but someone was adding high axils to some vehicle.

A chiropractic office was situated next to a rock climbing shop. Convenient placement we thought. In Moab we ate Mexican food, poked around in the stores, and driving out of town we saw an arena with thousands of jeeps coming in for some meet–probably one of those super speedy tricky competitions where jeeps run and hurl themselves into space in competition. By now I was feeling much better so I took the helm and drove across Utah, so beautiful, rock formations to boggle the eye. Do eyes get boggled?

Baby D is a man of speed. If he fusses when strapped into his car seat I hit the accelerator and give him some G’s, that usually settles him down, but don’t reduce your speed to under 60.
Daughter D is in bed, feeling crummy tonight. Darn.

We are in, Cortez, Colorado.

Tomorrow, Good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, we'll see Mesa Verde.

On The Road Again

We came across this incredible geological formation, called The Devil's Slide, between Ogden and Salt Lake City. We wouldn't have found it had we not taken a wrong turn and decided to follow our noses.

"Ahh!"

Bear in the grass on Utah's capital lawn.

Daughter D said we ought to photograph the dogs pooping on the grass, but I thought that was too rude, so we got Bear's roll instead.

Thursday:

Here is the daily blog, my ramblings. Carole, we passed Young Living’s Essential Oil Lavender fields today–no lavender in bloom. A surprise to find the farm though.

Today we walked down a long hill and photographed the Mormon Temple complete with trees abundant in pink blossoms. I said, "Here we are at the Mormon Temple and we aren’t Mormons. But then we plan to visit the Native American cliff dwellings and we aren’t Native Americans. Daughter D said, "Yes and we’ve visited Rome and we aren’t Catholics."

So we agreed that we were equal opportunity spiritualists.

She said we ought to photograph her breast-feeding at every historic site–that’s better than photographing the dogs pooping on every grassy slope.

That reminds me of this morning. At breakfast a trucker told us his dog knew every state by smell, and exactly where its bathroom should be. This fellow sat at the table next to us and we kept talking, and he kept forgetting to order. He said he wasn’t going to credit Obama with the present upswing in the economy. I didn’t want to go into politics, so I said, "It’s attitude. If people believe the economy is improving, it will."

He spoke of owning his own truck and that it cost $90,000, and he hocked his life for it. We were happy to find someone who liked their job, and who felt pride in being his own boss. And we wondered how some people are slaves their whole life and others do what they love and get paid for it. And how can we feel free to be and do, and have money for what we want out of life? We thought of that trucker transporting food instead of Plasma Televisions–so I really cued into seeing a tanker milk truck passing us. "Is that truck completely filled with milk?"I asked.

"Must be," Daughter D said.

"Is it refrigerated?" That launched us into making a fantasy movie of a tanker milk truck getting splattered like a movie run-a-way car hitting those water canisters at freeway exits. Milk is splattered all over the freeway, and little animals come up to lap up the milk. But wait, the animals run, there’s another truck coming. It’s an ice cream truck. It slips on the milk, overturns and now we have what? Before we can recover from the two trucks splattered all over the freeway, a third truck comes along skids on the ice cream and slams into the first. Of course, you say, I know what it is, a chocolate truck! A great pile up. And then with milk splattered, with ice cream oozing, with chocolate drizzling, who would come along but a little putt, putt peanut truck...

You know the rest of the story.

We have come 1,080 miles so far. I’m dingy and ready for bed.

Into The Storm

He smiles!

Wednesday;

We could see it ahead, dark and gloomy, cold and blustery, lightening flashes even. We drove into it somewhere outside of Boise Idaho the coldest place we have encountered so far. The wind felt as though it was blowing off a polar ice cap–bitter and strong enough to blow a little poodle dog off the ground. Good thing I had her on a leash.

Into the rain, and then cresting a hill there was white everywhere. Not snow, hail covered the ground as far as the eye could see. A little snow, more rain and we drove out of it. We saw the edge of black clouds coming up, and beyond that blue sky and sunshine.

I have the best traveling companions. Baby D eats, sleeps, the dogs eat and sleep. Daughter D and I feel free, unstressed, able to take our time, stop when we want, no time constraints. An analogy, says Daughter D. The storms of life come, they go, we breeze out the other side.

Itineraries, schedules, and reservations are dropping like the hail that littered the countryside. We see that edge of the black clouds, and we see the sun shining. I felt the lightening strikes before we left home. I worried about leaving my husband, leaving him with horse detail, the cats even would miss us. And now I go, "Whatever. They’ll manage. "

Daughter D says, "Isn’t it something that you can have a thought, work toward it, and then it happens–like having Baby D."

You know how we have expectations of what people are like in different parts of the world? We hate it when others think we are strange or call us fruits or nuts, or hippies, or dirt farmers, or society dames, or rich or poor, and we travel and find that people there are like us.

We have driven 801 miles so far. We are in Ogden Utah, outside Salt Lake City. Did you know there are snow capped mountains sitting to the left of the freeway? We knew there was a lake somewhere in the vicinity, but I thought it would be flat and warm. It is hilly and COLD.

Tuesday

Photos:

Morning, "I was afraid to stir lest I disturb the sleeping angels.

The Mustangs

End of day, Boise Idaho, "I'm pooped."

We awakened in Bend Oregon.

We thought of staying in Tahiti–a.k.a. the motel room--for the day to allow Baby to rest and recover from the sniffles, but he seemed okay for travel, smiling and happy, so we prepared to hit the road.

Before leaving the motel the dogs and I took a morning walk and there to the west more snow capped mountains than I had ever seen in my life rose like titans behind the rooftops, glorious in the morning sun. Never could I capture their magnificence in a photo. "Big Sister, Little sister, The Brothers, Broken Top, Mt. Bachelor," more perhaps, I don’t know.

We left Bend Oregon driving through south eastern Oregon, leaving behind the big trees, driving through pines, followed by abundant juniper trees, then junipers sparse as hen’s teeth. Finally only sagebrush and tufted grass as far as the eye could see. High dessert. Once in awhile a single tree would raise it glorious head saying that barren dryness could not squelch true nobility.
Fascinating how appreciative we are when something is scarce.

Burns Oregon, my mustang Sierra’s birthplace. I wrote of her adoption in my book It’s Hard To Stay On a Horse While You’re Unconscious. We visited the B.L.M. Wild Horse and Burro holding facility. Daughter D had never seen it. Since my last visit about 5 years ago the B.L.M. has added an Auto Tour. We were the only vehicle, and from the van we viewed the pens, saw many horses and many foals, tiny babies on spindly legs. And snapped the photo of a herd running.

From Burns on it was new territory for both of us. Fun to drive on a two lane highway with few cars, to watch the countryside rolling by, and to see that ground exists that is not covered by buildings or people. We do have room to spread our arms and run with antelope.

Daughter D said how wonderful it was to have no time constraints. The only thing we planned was to have a place to spend the night. I can feel myself unwinding.

So, we awakened in Bend, tonight we sleep in Boise Idaho. I like Idaho, it greened up a bit the moment be crossed the state line. Vale Idaho has murals on 3/4 of the buildings in town, and we ate ice cream there and skipped dinner which we shouldn’t, but weren’t hungry, and wait until morning we will be ravenous.

The crew fell asleep on me.

Monday

First Baby D on Friday queuing up for his coming out celebration.


And Saturday, there are his blessings winging their way on balloons into the cosmos. Blessings such as "Joy," "Wealth," "Listening," "Curiosity," Peace and joy that surpasses all understanding," "Compassion," "Following his own spirit," "No worries, and common sense."


Now for the trip:

Morning. Horses are fed, Real Estate agent views house, we get rental car, drop off extra requested tax material, turn in accumulated coins gleaned over the past year dropped off my my husband on the chest of drawers–ah ha, splurge money. It turns out to be $121.31.

We drive cars home, not happy with vehicle, too small, can’t get Bear into the back, don’t have room for our stack of luggage that would fill a hay loft. Already we’ve chalked up 30 miles.

Daughter D says "We ought to be satisfied." I drive back to town, exchange that vehicle for a mondo van, great elbow room, drives better than the other–room for Bear, Daughter D’s Newfoundland dog, our Poodle Peaches, the baby, Daughter D and me.

We’re off.

Wait, not yet.

As we load the car, the horses, Velvet and Sierra, whinny at us, wanting to be freed, the day is too perfect to be standing in that dismal paddock. Daughter D feeds the horses again, she spends 2 million years putting in a car seat. I trot around the drive entertaining Baby D. I carpet tape the rear of the van. That tape must have been sitting in the store for two million years for I’m doing the vaudevillian routine of tape sticking to tape, to my fingers, it wrapping around the tube like an old fashioned barber’s pole. A secret--- we are not supposed to have ANY dog hair in the vehicle.



We’re off. Wait, we’re hungry now, baby is hungry. We load any residual luggage.

We’re off.

It’s 5:49 pm. Daughter D started at 5:30. I got up at 7:30.

Leaving Eugene, driving through a countryside that looks as though Paul Bunyan dropped a green velvet blanket over the countryside, we know it is telling us,"You won’t find a place as beautiful as me."

We head south, hit the Willamette pass where snow is carved along the guard rails like a fondant cake. Baby slept. Now we are in Bend Oregon, high dessert, it’s cold. Feels like temperature we’re had in Eugene for the past six months.

We’re in a motel, and darn, discover Baby D has the sniffles and a cough. Oh no, first cold. Momma is worried. Me too.

140 miles this day.

Don't forget to check out http://www.wishonawhitehorse.com/

Love to you,
Joyce

Taking the Blog on the Road

You folks know who these handsome guys are...

Dopey had lived with us for nineteen years and now he left us. He was a little, round-bodied, coal-black pony with glass eyes, the gentlest, greatest pony. I don’t know why we called him Dopey, we meant no disrespect.

When nineteen years of your and your children’s lives is linked so closely with a horse, you can sorter imagine our feelings. He was one of the family, he raised our children and learned them to ride. He never hurt one in his life. He did everything right. And that’s a reputation that no human can die with.~ Will Rogers

What do you think? Are we victims of our genetics or of our up-bringing? Did we set up a blueprint for our lives before we were born? Can we redefine ourselves, choose again, or alter courses?

Have you ever wondered why there are liberals and conservatives, Democrats and Republicans, Nature verses Nature proponents, optimists and pessimists, Determinism verses Free Will, or the cup is half empty or half full phenomenon?

What about the existentialists, that the universe requires people to take responsibility for their own actions, and to shape their own destinies?

You might know where I stand, for it we can’t choose for ourselves, heal our psychological ills, and redefine our lives, what is the sense of it?

It’s not easy though, we do have conditioning. We have baggage from our childhood, and from life. We might be hard wired to be worriers. And being a Liberal or a Conservative, splashes over into all aspects of life. Some feel that laws ought to govern human actions, that you can’t trust other people, that we need a Daddy, a God, or a Governing Head to impart restrictions on individuals. Let’s not be stupid here, there are parameters. To quote the poet William Cowper, “To find the medium takes some share of wit, so tis a mark fools seldom hit.”

I better stop house cleaning it’s causing me to wax philosophical.

Yesterday Daughter Number one said that our nervous systems are not built for constant stress, so we ought to live as the cave men did, first you run from the Saber toothed tiger, your adrenaline is pumping, you pant, you praise being alive, then you go to Tahiti.

Not Tahiti this time. Tomorrow Daughter D, Baby D, Peaches, Bear and I are taking off for New Mexico.

See you on the road, I hope...