Winging its way as we speak

When I was 7 years old my mother and I left Illinois to move to Oregon. We left behind my Grandmother, who we lived with since I was born, and my little dog Tiny. We boarded a train and traveled for five days rattling across the country aiming full force into our destiny. My mother’s was to marry her soldier sweetheart, me to grow up.


I never saw my Grandmother or Tiny again.

Am I repeating some pattern here, leaving behind family and friends, boarding a plane and flying off into some unknown? I don’t know. It does seem karmic. I do not, I repeat, I do not intend to abandon my family and friends. You will be in my heart always.

It is too sad.

The cars left on a big truck. Our household belongings rambled away in a cargo container. The horses are gone, the chickens have a new home, the ducks are re-homed, and Wednesday Daughter D, Baby D and I drove Orville and Wilber the goats, the 5 hours to (and back) from Medford Oregon to Sanctuary One, an animal rescue facility. Normally the Sanctuary does not take animals from the general public, and our goats were in beautiful healthy shape, not in need of rescuing, but in need of a loving home. They were so displaced after the horses left, standing around moaning. So we wanted them to be with other animals.

A wonderful man from the Humane Society named Scott Beckstead acted on our behalf. He found a home for all four of our horses, and Sanctuary One http://www.sanctuaryone.org/ for the goats. I, in return, donated my horse trailer to them.

It ripped my heart to part with that trailer, not that losing the animals didn’t, not that leaving people didn’t, but leaving that trailer was so final and I had to let go of the idea that I could sell it. Daughter D reminded me that when we hold onto something, it is claiming lack for oneself. Now, with a trailer, Sanctuary One will be able to rescue more horses.

I have to tell you about a Premarin horse housed there. Oh, how can it be? How can people torture a poor mare for hormone replacement therapy when there are other sources? This horse broke my heart.

This mare was so depressed. She was thin, and could hardly walk, but, thanks to the wonderful people at Sanctuary One, she was on the road to recovery. Premarin mares are kept almost continually pregnant so as to be a source of estrogen for human women. These horses stand on cement which kills their legs. They stand tied, and with a permanent catheter. Sansa, Sanctuary One's manager, said that this mare had legs like noodles when she arrived. The mare would get down and they had to use a tractor to get her up. When I petted her I said, “Oh, she looks like a curly (a specific breed of horse who has curly hair) as her hair was extremely long and cow licked

“No,” said Sansa, “she has Cushing’s disease.”

Cushing’s disease causes an inability to shed hair. In the summer they have to clip her. Another result of her treatment.

The babies these mares produce are usually throw away horses.

It goes on and on…

Dreams and Hopes and Cares and You know...

A Bromeliad plant around the tree at Pu’u Honua, our Hawaiian,”Mountain of refuge.”


Pu’u can mean any protrusion from a mountain to a pimple. So we could call it, instead of a “Mountain of Refuge,” a “Pimple of refuge.” (Don’t laugh, it is still a place of refuge.)

“When I was six years old,” writes someone I don’t know but wish I did, “my teacher said, ‘For 25 cents you can choose a pen pal.’


“I choose a girl from abroad, and for 60 years we have written, shared holidays, birthdays, our lives.

“For 25 cents I got a friend for life.”


That’s what I hope to accomplish here for those who care to come along for the ride.

Last Friday--You have probably had days like this, especially if you have ever listed your home for sale.

You awaken at 3:30 AM. Might as well accomplish something, you think, do the tasks instead of running them through your mind sixty million times. So you get up. (I went to the computer.)

At 8:30 you have an appointment (I had a Chiropractor’s appointment) so you get ready and after the appointment you meet someone for coffee/tea and it extends to lunch and the running of a few errands. (I had an exquisite time with Daughter #1) Okay its afternoon you have some papers to pick up from the computer at home, and bring them back into town to FAX. Driving home, that early morning hour catches up with you, and you have to watch your driving lest you have little mini-unconsciousness naps—not a good idea while driving. You tell yourself, you can rest or nap when you get home, except the phone rings the moment you come in the door.

“Can we view the house right away?” says a Realtor. “The people are from out of town.”

Oh My God, you think, the house is a mess. “Give me an hour,” you say.

There are dishes in the sink (I know you never do that, but let’s pretend.) The bed isn’t made, There’s a wheelbarrow in the living room (another, you would never do that, but at our house Husband Darling brought in a load of wood for the fireplace, and left the wood in the wheelbarrow, and in the house.) There is laundry on the washer, an unmade bed, clutter, you know, a lived-in house. You run around like a crazy person, get it done, the house looks great, (The dog is in the car, the goats are in their pen, the carpet is vacuumed, there is a fire in the fireplace, and even the glass top tables are polished.) You can’t believe it, angels must have helped, except that your own body fragrance that wafts to your olfactory lobes isn’t that of a delicate young thing. It is more like a sailor who and has been out to sea for six months, hasn’t bathed, and just swabbed the deck.

First the Dream, then the Fantasy, Then the Good-Byes

As I am writing this the chickens, Milli Fleur, the chicks, Dixie, and Sir Winston are going to a new home. A man just loaded them into his truck. He was amazed at how large they were. He has the Milli Fleur breed of chickens, and he said his were half the size of our's--he better feed our babies good. He figured it was the water, as the goats seemed huge to him too. (I think it is alfalfa hay, or grain, or maybe it is my tender loving care.)

On the last blog post I wrote about the horses. Now it is lonely around here. The goats stand around moaning and follow us around, and would come in the house if we'd let them.

And now Daughter D is considering finding homes Orville and Wilber, the goats. The picture on the last blog was Baby D riding Wilber.

We have a flight the Hawaii scheduled for December 1, so guess the move is real. And, wow, I still have a ton of work to do. I would rather sit here, though, with the heater at my feet, the keyboard under my fingers, and you in my thoughts. Soon I will be blogging from Hawaii. I hope you come along for the ride...

You know how they taught you to type in High School? "Don't look at the keyboard," they said. Well, I couldn't get my book review to paste on my website http://grannyshootsfromthehip.com/ so I typed it. Should have watched what I was doing though, when I looked down I discovered I had written it in all Caps. Rats. Do it again.

I did.

I was surprised that Kirkus, an independent reviewing firm, actually read and reviewed my book. I'm happy with the review. They said I wandered a bit--everybody who knows me knows I do that, so guess they were perceptive. Actually they described the book better than I could

To view it check out http://grannyshootsfromthehip.com/

Onward, Upward and Ahead!

Joyce