The dark colt was the first born this last spring at the Broken B Ranch. Every time I drove past I slowed down to check out the pregnant mares at the ranch. For me, it’s not spring until the first foal appears at the Broken B. Sure enough one morning there he was, four long legs on a skinny little body, and so cute I had to smile. I reminded myself to have my camera with me next time. It wasn’t long before he was trotting alongside his mother, starting to investigate his world. The mare made sure the other horses in the pasture didn’t interfere. If curiosity got the better of any she charged, teeth bared. They got the message. The next day, back with my camera, I saw him standing stiff legged, ears alert, as a strange two-legged animal slowly approached—his first sight of a human being. His mother continued grazing, unconcerned with the intruder, probably a horse trainer she knew well. She obviously didn’t resent the stranger’s presence. Not sensing danger, the baby was startled when a hand reached out for him to sniff, but he didn’t run away.  When the hand began scratching the itchy spot under his neck, he decided the stranger might even be a new friend. He wasn’t born suspicious and fearful. That baby’s a clean slate ready to be written on. Fear, hate, vindictiveness – those behaviors have to be taught.

 

 

I’ve told my kids and admonished myself, don’t go to the grocery store hungry. Everybody knows that, of course. Items you wouldn’t take a look at when you’ve just had a meal look mighty tempting when you’re hungry. Chips, dips, expensive cheeses, and check out that deli, with its savory fried chicken. Well, I didn’t listen to myself and needing a few items on my way home, I stopped to shop. I put the red grapes and the bananas and the coffee in my shopping bag, but then I passed the smoked Gouda and the humus. In the basket they went. Past the fresh meat, oh, ground beef. Wouldn’t a nice goulash like my mother used to make taste good. OK, so maybe goulash is not health food, but it’s got tomatoes and onions in it. I grabbed a pound of lean ground beef. I went home and made a ton of goulash. That’s how much my mother’s recipe makes. It was delicious!

 

I was warned, high school reunions can be weird! But I hadn’t been to a high school reunion in 30 years. I felt it was about time before I couldn’t recognize anyone anymore.

The first thing I did was look around and look for any old friends, or just anyone I might want to share a meal and a conversation with. Then, I couldn’t help but notice who had aged well and who hadn’t and, of course, figure out where I stood in that department. (I know, I’m the only one who does this. Sure, right.)

I had only a few close friends in high school, and we had all gone our separate ways. One of my best friends had already died—way too young. (Note to readers, if you plan to go, don’t wait around too long.)

But be prepared, it’s a strange feeling of being transported back in time. No matter how much you’ve accomplished in your life, if you were not the football star or the oh-so-popular cheerleader, old feelings of teenage angst can come flooding back. Yikes!

And, when guys who wouldn’t give me the time of day in high school came over asking me to dance, what’s that all about! No, sorry! I have my pride. I did dance once but with a fellow who said I was the only girl who would talk to him in high school. I left early, went back to my hotel, and had a glass of wine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even when the old guy and his wife were off on road trips for a week or so, I missed them. How could that much personality exist in one person! I’m a bit of an introvert, so when my husband and I first attended this church, I smiled and said hello to people, but tried to stay low key. Joe wasn’t haven’t any of that. He came over and started joking around with us as if we had been friends forever. It didn’t take long before he was teasing me. He would call out, “Hello, beautiful,” and when I recognized his voice and turned around, he would laugh at me. I learned of his military service (he was proud of that) and how he and Linda met and that his folks came from the island of Malta. Have you ever had a friend like that who becomes a fixture in your life? Over the years, I looked forward to being greeted by his quirky sense of fun. Then Joe got sick and he wasn’t there every weekend. It came to me that Joe might not make it. No, how can I face going to church and Joe not being there. I didn’t want to think about that.

Joe died today.  

Our farrier Kirk is a big guy, always smiling and always has a story to tell, or two or three. When I got out to the barn, Kirk had one of my quarter horse gelding’s back legs between his knees, clipping away on his hoof. I whistled so he would know I was around, and so would King. I didn’t want to startle either.

The temperature was in the high 90s. Kirk’s grey shirt was soaked and sweat was running down his face. He put King’s leg down and after slapping at a couple of horseflies, continued working on another hoof. “Damn flies,” he said. I’m sure he would have said worse if I hadn’t been there.

Been on any trail rides, I asked? That was all Kirk needed. He leaned on the corral gate, and told me he had just returned from a trail ride in Idaho. On these trips, he said he stops at rodeo grounds along the way and unloads his appaloosa gelding into one of the pens. After supper, he spreads out his cowboy tarp, sleeping bag inside, and spends the night.

 “I just love sleepin’ out, looking up at the stars, and then getting up in the morning and having breakfast at some little café. I just love it!” he said again, with a big smile. Even up in the mountains when the dew is a little icy in the mornings, he said he sleeps “warm as toast” in his bed roll. “That cowboy tarp–best money I ever spent,” he said.

Finally, after several more stories, I looked at King and decided I’d better leave or that horse’s patience might run out. So, soon as I got an opening, I wished Kirk the best and retreated to my truck, still enjoying, vicariously, Kirk’s cowboy experiences. I love living in Texas!

 

Some of you know me through my writing already, but for those who don’t I write brief articles that promote hope in a world that sometimes seems hopeless. (At least, I hope that’s what I’m doing!) No, I’m not some type of Pollyanna who sees only the bright side of every situation. I’ve suffered loss and I don’t minimize the pain loss can bring, but that’s not my focus. Painful situations may show up at times in these blogs but always with hope in the future. Sometimes I may write about dogs or horses or art or the joys or frustrations we humans face every day. Ideas on religion may enter in but politics never. As a disclaimer I have master’s degrees in religion and women’s studies in religion. But don’t let those grad degrees fake you out, I’ve already forgotten most of what I read anyway! My goal is to be an encouraging friend in your life’s journey, wherever it leads. So, here we go!

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton