Baby, it's COLD outside!

Some bloggers have Wordless Wednesday, where they only post images and write nothing.
Can you believe that?
NO words, whatsoever!
I can't wrap my brain around that depth of restraint....

I'm from across the tracks...where Wordy Wednesday is where it's at.

You always know that's coming, don't you?

This last Monday, I threw the camera in the car so I could take frost pictures on the way to preschool. I hadn't really looked at them until this morning and even I was shocked at how desolate it looks here!  Some call it peaceful, others call it big country.... even with pretty words, it's pretty darn desolate.  

Grab a cup of tea and take a look....

Little Trailblazer that has never let me down!  Love this rig...

My dog, Molly, is in the front seat thinking I've lost my marbles.

Angus is patiently waiting in the back seat, thinking, I'm sure, the same thing.

The road before us...straight as a plumb line.

 This time of morning, everything is all blue and pink and gold. It's almost surreal!

Disgruntled sharptail grouse...I stopped the car to take pictures, and they flew and fluffed and made all sorts of alarmed noises. I had interrupted coffee hour, I'm sure, and they were going to have to regroup.

 This is the picture that got me.  It looks for all the world like the ocean, doesn't it? Goes on and on, undulating and glowing...

Can you believe people live here? Not many, that's for sure!

 The neighbors' horses, who checked me out pretty closely, thinking I might accidentally have some grain on me.  I'm sure they're used to being caught that way, but this morning I think they would've relented and come over, despite the potential work.

Get to the crossroads and have to make the big decision....

We turn to the right, running late because of all the photography! (Next week, I'm going to try to get pictures in town, because Jordan dresses up for Christmas...)

 Oh! Remember the boots?

 I love the frost on the woven wire...big poofy squares of white!

These little mule deer were interested, but not alarmed in the least.  There was a little buck with them that WAS a bit cagey, and he bounced off to look at me from up on the hill.  It hasn't been that long since hunting season!

Don't you love how fat their winter faces are? 

Trees!  On the way to Farm Chick's house, I pass through a creek crossing where there are a bunch of cottonwoods.  This morning, they are all elegant in their white snow shawls...

Bedded down in the snow by the crossing, I found a couple more deer.  They didn't move a muscle, as I rolled down the window to take their picture.  As cold as it was (-10), maybe they couldn't!

They call the thing rodeo...

Hey, you!  Yeah, I'm talking to you, Rest Of The World. 
The National Finals Rodeo is this week, in Las Vegas, NV! 

And it's a big stinking deal for us native Eastern Montanans.

There are folks who stay up late to watch the performaces...10 in all....then straggle out of bed the next morning to feed cows, with visions of bronc riders dancing in their heads.
We've even been known to have parties for the last performance! Just like a Super Bowl party, only Western and really a lot more...reserved. But really, really, really good food.

Part of the reason it's such a big deal is that a lot of the time, we know someone competing there!  This year, the team roping has an abundance of Montana cowboys and it's thrilling.  Four of the kids that roped at Yost Arena when I was working there, grew up and turned out to be incredible team ropers.  Perhaps you've heard of the Tryans...(Yeah, I'm guessing no one in MI, MO, IA, FL, or RI has any idea of who I'm talking about!) And, even more locally, little Britt Williams from Broadus, MT, who grew up into a man while I wasn't looking, is there, too.  And putting a hurting on some steers.

It's completely breathtaking to me to see the times on the team roping.  Try to wrap your brain around the fact that they are getting the head caught, the heels caught and turned, AND flagged, in 4 seconds and less.  Try 3.7 seconds on for a fast time on Sunday night!  That's coordinating two horses, two men, a steer, a flagger and a timer.  In 3.7 seconds!

The rough stock gets more attention, usually. Of course!  It's edge of your seat stuff...the "I-can't-watch-but-I-can't-NOT-watch" sort of events. The PBR has really brought rodeo to more people; they're marketing genius'.  But I'm appalled that I can't follow rodeo on ESPN, as a sport.  They don't cover it.  They'll broadcast it, for the Finals, reluctantly, but they don't touch it the rest of the time.

The best way to enjoy the Finals is just to go.  There are quite a few people from this area (Eastern Montana) that do. I've ALWAYS wanted to go to the Finals!  It's been a wish of mine from childhood, and *someday* I'll buy the cheap ticket to Vegas and talk an unsuspecting friend into accompanying me for a couple days.

Take a look at http://www.prorodeo.com/ and see what I'm talking about.  And if you get ESPN2, I think it's on there tonight.  Watch for the team roping.  It's amazing!

 *For the record...the title of this post comes from a Garth Brooks song that was WAY overplayed when I was in high school...I still can't stand to listen to it....but it was applicable, here.

:)

Challenged! Again...

I don't even know I'm doing it, a lot of the time.

I don't remember a time I didn't.

I'm compulsive with it, obsessive at times, incredibly passionate about it and look for others to draw into the madness of it.

I'm can be sort of a snob about it.

If you guessed "eating", well, you're wrong. 
Not even close.

I'm supposed to describe my life as a reader, for the blog challenge this week!
All the who/what/where/when/why's of it. 
Mercy!

Not to flake out on you or anything, but I couldn't tie it down that neatly....

First of all, I read everything.  And when I say I read everything, I mean that I read the fine print on the fire extinguisher label, the little jeweler's symbol on the inside of my ring, the instruction books that come with cow vaccine (not in Spanish, but I'm working on the French), and coupons on the inside of the detergent box.  Along with any of the more traditional books, magazines, cereal boxes and emails.

I HAVE gotten to be rather a book snob.  I read a saying once that struck me as funny, then struck me as worthy, and I've claimed it ever since.  It was something along the lines of: "Always read things that, if you died in the middle of them, would make you look good."  (I don't know if reading cow vaccine instructions would make me look good or not...)  But it's sort of a good rule of thumb!  And now my tastes naturally run to Victor Hugo, Homer Hickam and the brilliant Bill Watterson, creator of Calvin and Hobbes. 

I love blogs.  It's online journaling!  And who doesn't want to read someone else's journal, for heaven's sake! (Now don't get all moral and hoity-toity on me....you KNOW it's delicious.  Otherwise you wouldn't read the Chronicles and find out about hole-y underwear and rules of coffee and all those other scintillating things in my life....)

I read like I breathe.  I always have.  And, like breathing, I don't think about it, but it's essential to my exsistance. 

Where do I read?
Everywhere.
My favorite place, though, is
(NOT the bathroom! Tsk, tsk....)
in bed, on Sunday afternoons, when everyone else is napping or welding or something. 
That happens once every vernal equinox, so it's a treat.



I have a friend who INSISTS that I'm smart, and I argue that I'm just well-read. 
Because what kind of a moron would read the fine print on a fire extinguisher?
I. Am. That. Moron.
But I do it well.

Taming

From The Little Prince, part II

"Please- tame me!" he said.

"I want to, very much," the little prince replied.  "But I have not much time.  I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox.  "Men have no more time to understand anything.  They buy things all ready made at the shops.  But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends anymore.  If you want a friend, tame me..."

"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.

"You must be very patient," replied the fox.  "First you will sit down at a little distance from me - like that- in the grass.  I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing.  Words are the source of misunderstandings.  But you will sit a little closer to me, every day..."

The next day, the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox.  "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy.  I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances.  At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about.  I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you...One must observe the proper rites..."

"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox.  "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours.  There is a rite, for example, among my hunters.  Every Thursday they dance with the village girls.  So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards.  But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

..........................................................................................

Doesn't he write of friendship beautifully?  The beginnings of relationships and the care of them...
But there's more...

............................................................................................

So the little prince tamed the fox.  And when the hour of his departure drew near- 

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

"It is your own fault," said the little prince.  "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you..."

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields."

...........................................................................................

(After the little prince looks at roses...)

And he went back to meet the fox.

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," said the fox.  "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have devoted to your rose that makes your rose so important."

"It is the time I have devoted to my rose-" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox.  "But you must not forget it.  You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.  You are responsible for your rose..."

......................................................................................

Are you still with me?
(It's okay if you're sniffling.  I do, too. Every time....)

I have some responsibilities that I've been neglecting, a tending of tamed roses that has been set aside carelessly. I realized it as I spent time with Kim this week; a long-time friendship that I just assume will always be there.  And it will, I believe.  But friendships...true and real friendships....should not be treated frivolously and forgotten. 

Being a naturally gregarious person, sometimes I forget in meeting new people and having new experiences, that I need to take the time to be responsible for my roses. I forget, too, that taming is a two way street, and that I can let others care for me....



I don't know about you, but that's about all the deep thinking I can handle for a few days.

If you haven't read The Little Prince, or you haven't read it in a long while, may I encourage you to take a look at it? It may annoy the dickens out of you or completely mystify you; or, perhaps, it will sing to you and you'll read it again, and again, and again....

To establish ties

The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, is perhaps my very, very favorite book (after the Bible) in the world.

  Have you read it? 

If you've only read it once, you've probably decided it was the product of a delusional Frenchman, who drew amusing pictures. (Which, as I write that, probably explains why I'm drawn to it!)

I believe it's not a story to be read once and walked away from. It's much too complex.  And it's not a story that makes any sense, whatsoever, so for those who are looking for plot, conflict and tidy resolutions, it is an incredibly frustrating book. But for those of us who have never really finished growing up, it's a comforting book. 

I drove home from Billings on the interstate, yesterday and had two hours of uninterrupted time to think.  (This is dangerous, let me warn you....I think better out loud, bouncing things off other people.  Thinking to myself tends to muddle and muddy and tangle every little string of ponder, until my thoughts looks like a wad of junk that a 4 year old packed around in her pocket. Not pretty.  When I think aloud, to a friend, the strings become bright and even though they meander, there's form; one could follow them back if needed.)

Anyway, I was thinking about friendships and how they are such essential, dear gifts, and how we sometimes squander them, like Kleenex from a new box.  As though there will always be another one, fresh and clean, when one of the first gets raggedy and messy.  And it reminded me of The Little Prince.

This is going to be a two (or maybe three) part post.  It takes awhile to draw you to where I am...
Please be patient with me, and enjoy the beauty of De Saint-Exupery's writing.

From The Little Prince:

"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."

"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."

................................................................................

"...I am looking for friends. What does that mean - tame?"

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."

"To establish ties?"

"Just that," said the fox.  "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys.  And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me.  To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes.  But if you tame me, then we shall need each other.  To me, you will be unique in all the world.  To you, I shall be unique in all the world...."

...........................................................................

"My life is very monotonous," he (the fox) said.  "I hunt chickens; men hunt me.  All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike.  And, in consequence, I am a little bored.  But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life.  I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others.  Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground.  Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow.  And then look: you see the grain fields down yonder?  I do not eat bread.  Wheat is of no use to me.  The wheat fields have nothing to say to me.  And that is sad.  But you have hair that is the color of gold.  Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me!  The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you.  And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat..."

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

"Please-  tame me!" he said.

 

MNF

Tonight, my NFL team, the San Francisco 49ers, have the opportunity to show the world what they can do...

That would be: lose another game on national television. 

And I predict, they'll do that very well.

I can't get the actual game on the computer, but I'll be agonizing over it on the crummy little GameTracker thingamabob that shows the plays long after they've happened.  AND I'll try to listen on the SF radio station at the same time, because hometown announcers are the bomb!  They don't feel badly at ALL, for telling the team how rotten they are.  But there's nothing greater than a hometown announcer when a ball is stripped and the fumble is recovered and "HE'S RUNNING TO THE 10, TO THE 5, HE SCORES!!!! HOW WAS THAT FOR A PLAY, FOLKS!!!! (there's a flag on the play...)".  

Monday Night Football used to be for the masses.  Even people who didn't really particularly care for football were aware of it and grudgingly turned over the t.v. that night, in return for control of the chips and dip.  When it was moved to ESPN, the common man without cable t.v. couldn't access it, except the way I do.  (I know.  You're thinking, "Who doesn't have cable???"  I think there are about 200 of us, scattered across the globe.) 

One of my friends bemoans this fact and says that when they look at the downfall of Western Civilization, they'll find this was the turning point.  A bit dramatic, but I'm not completely convinced that isn't true!

Anyway, if you have ESPN, and you want to see some (let's just face it, here) sad football, join me for the game!  Are you a football fan?  Or a football widow/er?  Or are you there for the food?  (Hey!  One of the great things about football fans is that they surround themselves with food, then get so wrapped up in the game that they forget to eat it.  KaCHING!) 

A fresh look at gratitude...

The Farmer reads a lot of military sorts of blogs, when he's not feeding cows.  I'm sure there's some significant symbolism there that I'm missing....

Anyway, two nights ago, he called me over to read this one:

http://lifeintheinfantry.blogspot.com/2010/11/what-am-i-thankful-for-quite-bit.html

A soldier who was stationed in Afghanistan not long ago, wrote about what he's thankful for.  It took my breath away, and of course, brought tears of gratitude, both for his service and the blessings it secures for my family and country. 

Please take the time to read it...

Sort of crazy

I run.

I'm not a "runner", however.  I reserve that title for people who run marathons or more than 10 miles in a day, VOLUNTARILY.  There's a big difference.  Something snaps, in the psyche of a person who runs, and they become a runner...I don't understand it, nor do I want to.  I just know they're different. And I can't decide if I admire them or fear them. 

Anyway, this morning, I discovered that I've become one of those crazy people who runs in all sorts of awful weather.  You know them.  You see them bullheadedly chugging along in sleet, rain, snow...whatever wretched conditions....as you sit in your car with the heated seats up to their highest level, and you think, "Has she never heard of a treadmill? Hello! Man, NO-ONE could pay me enough to do that..."  (And I can say this, because I DID that, once.  And almost pulled over to give them a ride, thinking they were too stupid to know better...like some sort of athletic chicken.)

Running hurts, I won't lie to you.  It stops hurting if you stick with it and becomes pretty darn uncomfortable.  Then, if you really, really keep going, it feels so good that you think you could run forever. (I believe this is where the runners snap.)  But when you stop, it's gonna go back to pretty darn uncomfortable.  And sometimes, in the middle of the night, when a cramp grabs your arch, it hurts again.  Or if you haven't run for a couple days...that can hurt.

I'm at the point of HAVING to run, almost daily....it's compulsive.  My brain gets all folded in on itself, like a note from one Jr.high girl to another. My body gets hungry for the motion, and I get a feeling of restlessness, twitchy legs. And the treadmill is better than nothing, but it doesn't clean out the soul and free up the mind like running in fresh air.

This morning, when I was running with my head into the wind, eyes and nose streaming from the cold, ice crystals on my eyelashes from the moisture in the air, legs churning in the packed snow of the road and making dreadful time, I realized I had become one of those crazy people.  What's worse is that I LIKED it. I had actually thanked my husband for plowing out the road, not so I could get the car out, but so that I could run! 

If you see me this winter along the county road, it's okay to make eye contact.  This sort of crazy won't rub off. 

I Love You, Mom.

Maggie is reading up a storm, now.  She reads cereal boxes, signs, movie credits, envelopes, tags on toys and anything else with print. And usually has some comment about it.  That's my girl!

She's also writing letters. They usually have very amusing, personal illustrations, but they almost always say the same thing.

 This is what they look like:

"I Love You, Mom.

I Love Dad.

I Love A.P.

And Cats."

It makes me smile, that the first words she learned, after her name, were "I Love You."

Thanksgiving

I need to preface this sweet post with a little information....

I nearly always, always end up at some point during a holiday, sitting on the floor crying and saying out loud, "I HATE holidays!"  And I do.  For some odd reason (and I don't know if this is an oldest child perfection/control/people pleasing thing or what) I always feel such huge pressure that gets greater as the day approaches and on the actual day OF, I want to throw up and usually end up like I described before. Then, like this Thanksgiving, I end up pouring a glass of red wine at 10:00 a.m. and trudging on.

And before I start getting all sorts of helpful tips and reasons why I should approach the days with humor and lightheartedness, remembering the reason for the season and embracing the miracle of my children's enthusiasm and all that stuff, let me tell you that I have! I make good lists, am organized before and on the day of horrors, delegate, pre-chop, don't sweat the small stuff that day....all that. I watched my mom do it for years, with grace, and took mental notes. AND she didn't drink wine at 10 a.m.  (That I noticed...)

This Thanksgiving, I ended up taking the bathroom door apart because I couldn't get it unlocked, being hot and mad about that caused me to try to open the kitchen window which was frozen shut...I cracked it.  Literally.  Company that wasn't coming, all of a sudden decided to come. (And I was happy they did, but had to adjust some things...like, getting more chairs! Who invites people without counting chairs?  That would be me.)  We had to quickly relocate 8 cats for the day.  And more.  This list has been heavily edited, for public viewing! 

My friend Sara H.C. called in the middle of the madness to exchange horrorday (See? Sounds just like holiday!) stories and laugh so we wouldn't cry.  And I talked to Farm Chick, who was having her own drama with eyeliner, if you can imagine.  They saved me. 

When everyone finally got here, it was great, and the house was happy.  There was laughter, hugging and all the Walton elements everyone pictures when they think about Thanksgiving.  (Except football.  I couldn't turn on the soundtrack...football game in the background.)

We have a tradition of having Thanksgiving with the Jaspers. I can't remember how it started, but it's a pretty good deal.  And we nearly always have drama.  One year I had turkey poisoning (surprise pregnancy with Angus)  and we all drove home in the worst storm the state has seen. Another year, Yulena hit her head, hard and was throwing up.  It's always something. 

Here are pictures from this year:
(The camera didn't come out until time for dessert...)

The only pictures of me, at holiday times, are taken by me....

This was after the crying and wine, and before a shower. Bags under the eyes, wrinkles, frazzled hair...you can thank me for darkening it!

 The day dawned bright and COLD...temperature on the thermometer was -2, with a wind chill of -26.

We had pumpkin pie, berry streusel pie, pecan caramel cheesecake and amaretto macaroon cheesecake!

(And this is the only picture I got with Jenny sort of in it.  Drats!)

 Maggie and Yulena...fast friends!  They played dress-up and princess and all those girly games. And they may have teased their brothers just a little.

The brothers...David (twin to Yulena) and Angus, playing Legos and badguys and it LOOKS like Angus was changing clothes.  Dear me!

Ivan is looking at me and trying to guard the whipped cream at the same time.  He was really rather possessive of the bowl.  Can't say as I blame him!  Looks like Celestia got the first piece of pie...

...but the guys were soon to follow!  Note the whipped cream, still at Ivan's hand.  The Farmer is inspecting the crust on the cheesecake.  It was WONDERFUL!

Ah ha!  Finally wrestled the cream from Ivan's sticky grasp...

Words of wisdom, from Jasper.  I think the guys were talking about reloading.  Or knives. Doesn't look like the Farmer and Ivan are taking him all that seriously... 

 Aftermath....

 Everyone left in a flurry, because of a storm that blew in!

And just like that...Thanksgiving was over.

Today, while everyone else is shopping, CRAZY shopping, in this house we're looking forward to playing outside in the snow and watching football on the computer, while eating snackies.

How was YOUR Thanksgiving?  Do you stress out on holidays, too? Or are you one of those beautiful, serene souls who glides through them happily?

     

****Sparkle****

Have you all seen Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium? 
It was a movie made in 2007 about a magic toy shop...a crazy, wonderful place that felt like home to me, the minute I fell into the scene.  Dustin Hoffman was the eccentric (and insanely old) owner, and Natalie Portman was his "manager".  She had been a child prodigy in music, but stalled out, when trying to compose her own music and ended up selling toys, instead. 

Anyway, after awhile, she realizes that something in her is missing, that used to be there.  Something...that lit her up.  Her sparkle.  And she asked a very uptight accountant about it.

"When you look at me....do you see....a sparkle?"

He was lost.

"You look fine.  Good."

"Yes, but do I sparkle? Do you see anything? Like a sparkle?"

He never really did.  He tried to humor her, but he lacked the imagination to really understand what she was asking. 

Sometimes I wonder if I've lost my sparkle.

Not all the time.  Sometimes it's a little TOO bright.  Ask my bookclub girls.

Turns out, I really need to be around people to replenish the sparkle.  Which is JUST the opposite of the man I married; he loses HIS sparkle when he's around people too much.  Crazy. 

The PROBLEM with being someone who gets energy and glows from being around people is that, well, there aren't any, here.  Oh, sure, there's population...somewhere.  (I went to get statistics, exactly, on this.  Guess what?  The site I found, finally, that had Garfield County information http://www.city-data.com/county/Garfield_County-MT.html  says we have ZERO people per square mile.  Which, in their opinion, places us in the "Low" bracket.  You think? )  And in the winter, there's very little opportunity to see the few people who ARE in Garfield County.  Basketball games. That's about it. 

So I'm trying to figure out a way to safely (because of the weather) and economically (because fuel is incredibly high priced) see people outside my home, twice a week.  So I don't go completely mad and start chewing on the counters or something.  Or my kids.  But I'm determined to figure it out.  Winter started two months early, here. 

Poof! Sparkle stealer.

The thing I want to know about you is, what makes you sparkle?

When people look at you, do they see a sparkle?
And if you don't know, try asking someone.
Although.....I'd steer clear of the accountant types.

There's Snow Business

...all over the place, here in Cohagen.
And, truth be told, we're not happy about it.  But we're making the best of it.

Being a thoughtful blogger, I'm not including all the "real" pictures:
Maggie sitting on the porch floor, bawling because she can't get her snowpants zipped right.
Wayland, bowling with cats, out the front door into the snow.
Angus, hot cocoa on his face and shirt and the table and the dog and the floor and everywhere but in him.
Me, sitting in a chair, head in hands, while the children play Annie-Aye-Over the kitchen table with an apple, screaming at the top of their lungs.

No, these are the more sanitized versions of our family, snowed in. 
I draw the line at sweet (posed) pictures of popcorn, blankies and a CandyLand board game.  Milton Bradley has sold a TON of those games with that image. 
Our "real" pictures would sell anti-depressants.  Or vacation packages. (Get away from it all!)
(If ONLY.)

Alright, EVERY year we have the SAME picture....Angus, out in the elements, with nothing but his underpants and perhaps a tshirt, if we're lucky.  Here's the photo for 2010. 

 This is what the Farmer does, all morning, every morning.  We don't usually have to feed this much, this early in the year (ranch time) so it's a little worrisome.  Costs a LOT to feed cows properly, during cold weather, and it feels like we're running money out the cake feeder, instead of pellets, sometimes.

PopPops gave Maggie this ranch girl hat.  She wore it for 36 hours, in the night and subsequently at breakfast, with her cereal.  We FINALLY got it off her, to shampoo, but she ADORES this hat.  She's been wanting one like mine for a couple years.  The mark of a ranch girl, like a badge of honor...

 They only go outside so they can come in, five minutes later, and slurp hot cocoa with whipped cream. 

 And yes, she DID start out with a hat, but hats really cramp the style when one is trying to eat snow.

Sunrise, this morning, over the sea of snow...-10 degrees.  So....sort of like the Arctic Ocean sea of snow.

 Hello, cross country skis! 

Hello, ibuprofen!

Well...hello, muscles I forgot I had!

Turns out, running every day has NOT make cross country skiing any easier.  But it's a really great change from the "dreadmill", and I'm enjoying it. 



Country Roads

....and they ALL broke out in song, "Country ro-o-o-a-ds, take me h-o-o-o-me, to the pla-a-a-a-ce I belo-o-o-ng..." 

Sorry to have to do that to you.  Now that song will be in your head all day, I know.  Isn't that wicked?  (At least it's not Frosty the Snowman or something like that...)

I didn't really have a great place for these pictures, from the last week, but wanted to show you the roads we drive and some of the scenes we see from them....miles and miles and miles of them.  Another ACTION-PACKED post, from the Farmer's Wife....try to keep your heart rate down....

This was taken from my in-law's road, in the direction of our house.  The light was incredible right then, but it's impossible to convey depth on a landscape that just rolls on and on, like a welcome mat.

Before I get scolded...I did NOT look through the lens to take this picture!  I know better.  But I loved how the clouds were backlit.  Same evening as the picture before.

This is a curious sort of Garfield County road.  Blacktop and then....bam! gravel. And that's all she wrote.  This is what our autumns look like...grey, grey, grey. Makes me so thirsty for color, sometimes!

 Such a typical Eastern Montana landscape.  It almost bugs me, because it's so....stock.  But then, perhaps, I'm used to looking at it and others will enjoy it more.

 I WASN'T driving at the time I took this picture!  But this is what I see in my rearview mirror when we're coming home from the bus.  Eight miles from the bus to our house! 

 And this is the scene through the windshield, at the same point. (A TREE!!!)

It's that time of year again...

....when everyone counts their blessings and feels the urge to list them and share with every acquaintance/passerby/FaceBook friend/family member/blogger/etc. 

I certainly look at my life with no small amount of gratitude and joy.  But my contrary heart gets absolutely balky when the entire world is urging me to share what I'm grateful for. It's the assignment of the week...EVERYWHERE!  Makes me cranky.  And obtuse.  And stubborn.

You really want to know? REALLY?

Alright.

But I must warn you....it's not a warm, fuzzy, pull the kids in close and remember the moment sort of list...

(Bulletpoints, because they are efficient.  And one of my readers lives and dies by them.  Today looks like a "lives" day...)

• Tweezers.  Yes, you read that right.  As women age, they get...whiskers, sort of.  (Well, they DO!)  And without tweezers, we'd look like Wolfman Jack.  Or maybe the guy from ZZ Top.  I'm truly grateful for these little tools.  And now, so are you.
• Paper towels.  I don't even want to contemplate how life would be without these precious things.  And yes, I know I'm killing trees by the hundreds of acres, everytime I use them.  I can live with that. 
• A friend that commented on my skinny butt with true sincerity, right at the moment I was ready to burst into tears over a bookkeeping error that is really going to hurt.  I completely forgive her for telling me earlier in the year that I was getting weird-ER.
• Football. That's all I have to say on that point.
• Multiple people who have taken on the role of my parents and family. Karen Yost (one of my mothers) MADE me watch "While You Were Sleeping" for one line..."Lucy! You're BORN into a family.  You don't just join them, like the Marines!"  She said I did that.  I don't know what's worse, that I joined their family or that they put up such a feeble fight.  But I love my families...all of them.
• Whipping cream...the whole fat kind.  The kind that actually makes a plopping sound as you pour it in the coffee cup.  When you whip it up, it's love on a spoon.  *sigh...*
•  Bacon.
• (I'll get away from food, now, or the list would start becoming all sentimental and sappy...)  Maggie's funny people pictures that we mustn't laugh at and Angus's kitten traps. And their "true" stories about dinosaur bones that they just found over the hill! (Dinosaurs and cows apparently had very similar structural make-ups. This is a scientific wonder that not many outside the family know about.)
• Calvin and Hobbes, Dilbert, Cowboying with Earl and For Better or Worse.  Gosh, those are funny comics! I see my world everyday, there. 
• CD's....those magical little discs that scratch the minute you break the seal on the package.  I couldn't cope without them.  Pat Green, my friend, I'm sure you're going to hunt me down and have me arrested, because I've copied Wave On Wave for multiple people, but get this: they're now fans, too, and buy their own.  Please forgive me.   

I have more, but this should fulfill the requirements on the blog challenge.  And the desperate pleas of my friends who want me to list what I'm grateful for.  Bet they don't ask for that next Thanksgiving....

Oh, Boy!

Short, multiple choice quiz for you.  There's only one right answer to each question, and it's not "C".  I put "C" in for the grandmothers, who actually SAY things like that....to my FACE!  Pretty sure the woman who raised me did not hold that same philosophy when I was four.  At any rate, "C" is gratuitous. 

1. All our cats have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  This is caused by the boy doing what?
          A. Setting traps for them, tackling them and closing them in drawers to "save for later".
          B. Dressing them in doll clothes.
          C. Not knowing how he just over-loves them, precious little thing!

2. How many underpants does the boy go through in a day, on the average?
         A. Two...accidents happen.
         B. Five....that we can tell.
         C. Have you ever seen anything cuter than those tiny little Incredible Hulk underpants?

3. If the boy tells you not to go in the bathroom, right after he's been in there...pleads, in fact....you'll subsequently find:
          A. An entire new roll of toilet paper in the bowl that didn't flush for some reason, and water everywhere.
          B. Little piles of cat hair and a razor. (No...no cat.  Just hair.)
          C. Why was that baby left alone in the bathroom?  He could get hurt!

4. Reverse question 3:  If you are in the bathroom and it gets incredibly quiet, you will return to the kitchen to find:
          A. The sorta bald cat, in doll clothes.
          B. The remaining 4 pancakes from breakfast, in little bite-sized pieces, covering the floor, for the cat.
          C. He's SO imaginitive! You need to encourage that kind of thinking!

5. The porch + the boy + dogfood + boots = ?
          A. Tea party for the cats, complete with softened food he's "cooked" for them, in the boots.
          B. Cats, chuffed in the boots, and dogfood being prepared in the deep sink, that is plugged and about to run over...
          C. He's so GOOD with animals.  It must come from my side of the family.

6. It's snowed 6-8 inches.  The boy will wear, outside, after fighting about it...:
         A. Shorts, t-shirt, flipflops and a smile.
         B. Pajamas, snowboots, and a smile.
         C. He's just trying to come see his grandma!  He can wear whatever makes him happy.


There's sure to be a scene of devastation, behind Door Number One, that occurred while I was typing this...

Posted

Yesterday, I dropped Angus off at preschool and raced to my friend Anne's house for a small CUPS gathering.  "Small" being her and I, and her babies.  A sanity break!

On the way back, I saw things on fence posts.  Montana things, that I usually take for granted and drive right by.  Who looks at fence posts, right?  If you're a rancher, you are reminded of the hundreds of miles of them that need fixed or replaced.  If you're a hunter, you look for signs that say you can't hunt there.  If you're a kid, you wonder if it would burn, given enough flame. 

Here are some of the things I found yesterday. 

License plate....I never know which locals are reading the Chronicles.  It turns out there are WAY more than I ever knew!  So if one of you knows whose plate this is, give 'em a call.  Found it on the Brusett road, on the Murnion fence.

 Boots!  Probably a half mile of fenceposts with boots on them.  Isn't that cool?  I'm quite sure The Farmer's father would never let me do that on our fenceposts, but I love it.

 Rain gauge; or Montana Mood Predictor.  This one is probably as old as I am, truth be told.

In Garfield County, even the fenceposts are friendly...

Tumbleweeds....grrrr....temporary residents of the posts.

 Maggie found this one and we had to take a picture! 

I was SO disappointed that the dead fox who has been hanging on a post by the bus stop was gone, yesterday afternoon, and the huge golden eagle who had been working over a roadkill by the Hay Creek road was gone, too.  They would've been the stars of this post!



Next challenge....

....is supposed to be about my life as a writer.

This is a truly terrifying post for me, and thus late. 
In fact, I've been avoiding the whole BLOG for a week, because of it. 

How mature is THAT?

Don't answer that....


Everyone writes, for the most part. 
Grocery lists.
Phone messages.
Notes to self.
In the dirt on someone's car. (You think I didn't know about that? Yeah. I'll deal with YOU later...)
Memos on checks.

And I have friends who write as a vocation....
Susan Kushner Resnick (Goodbye Wifes and Daughters)
Homer Hickam (The Dinosaur Hunter, The Rocket Boys, among many others)
Shannon Popkins (Poppie! I don't have yours right off the top of my head...sorry! Except Tiny Paragraphs; your blog.)
Chris Brauns (Unpacking Forgiveness)(We've never met...e-friends; so, it's real to me...more on that later.)

I think I fall somewhere in the middle.
More toward the list end, actually.

The reason I've been avoiding this post is that I have very kind friends and blog readers who absolutely insist that I'm a writer, and that I need to write a book or (at the very least) a newspaper article.  You all are so very generous!  But you need to know....when I write, I write with my voice as though we were sitting across from one another at the table, and I'm showing you pictures or telling you a story about my day.  I have no plots!  I have no beginnings or endings or turning points! I couldn't craft or recognize a reputable dangling participle to save my life! (I have no idea why they might be important to a story, but my high school English teacher seemed to think they were.)

I struggle with telling you that, because I don't want it to sound all humble and "aw shucks" or anything like that. I simply don't feel that I'm a publish-able sort of writer. (I know.  Publish-able isn't a word.  Except in my world. )

 I read such AMAZING writers, daily; (see the list above) sometimes I read them aloud, even, because they have such power and grace and verve and humor! To be a writer, I believe you must be a voracious, curious reader.  But because I'm a such a reader, I'm intimidated and stop writing. 

I'm going to end this....mercifully....to be done with the challenge for the week and to free myself to write a post about posts.  (Really!)  So in summary, my life as a writer is really better described as a life of a reader who journals.  Fair enough?

Thank you!
Now...
let's move on, shall we?

(Whew....)

Challenged...

I'm challenged in many, many...MANY....areas. 
I needed one more. Really.

Because, you know, you're not really living if you aren't just completely and totally committed to impossible tasks every waking minute of the day.

Quite often, finding matched socks in less than 30 minutes to be able to meet the school bus in shoes can be an impossible task. (I've NEVER met the bus barefoot. The thought crossed my mind in the last frantic seconds of the sock hunt, I can tell you that, but I've never actually done it.)

Or writing, editing, and formatting the Christmas book for the grandparents the night before it needs to be submitted or I'll have to pay $900 extra shipping to have it here before April. (Not $900, but it sure seems that much.)

Things like that.

My friend Kim (I'll try to link this to her blog) is a teacher in Billings and is taking a technology and writing class this fall. She discovered a blog challenge for teachers, but thought perhaps it would work for ANY blogger. Like...me. 

I'm IN.

I'm in over my head. 
I guess that's why they call it a "challenge".

So the post this week is supposed to be about small moments of significance in our lives, and what we learned or experienced in that moment.

My life is nothing BUT small moments, so I had to narrow it down a bit.

This week, I learned that if I don't get the laundry done and my son doesn't have Captain Napalm underpants that he's unwilling to go commando or wear his sister's Tinkerbell panties.  And it will be tragic.

There was a moment that I thought I wouldn't make it to the computer recharger cord before the power was completely sucked down by my last email, and that all the dire, bloodthirsty, earth shattering warnings about what would certainly occur, nearly did.  But I made it. (Doesn't your heart just race when the laptop or Droid does that?)

One of the small, significant moments that stands out is that if my college football team loses, I can barely go on.  But if, the next day, my NFL team wins, it brings on three days of giddy euphoria and gloating that no one can stand to be around.  And vice versa.  They almost never win on the same weekend, which is fortunate, because I don't know if I could take the thrill.

These are all silly moments, and I'm glad I have them, because odd little things that make me laugh are great.  I tend to take myself a little too seriously; little things like this bring me back to basics.

But there are also mornings on the couch with my daughter in my lap, coffee beside me and the day slowly easing in.  I love watching my son's face light up when he's telling a whopper of a story.  My old dog, yelling at me when I'm not trying hard enough on my run...I'm so grateful she's still coming; 11 years, now.  It's gratifying to work alongside my husband and father-in-law and feel like we're accomplishing something bigger than just moving cows; that people will be fed because of what we sweat over, here.  Oh! And moving cows night before last, when the whole world was gold and blue, and the black cows looked like silhouettes floating...that was indescribably beautiful.  Or the sound of my friends' voices, laughing and chattering. 

It's the little things that become the big things.

Be looking for challenge posts once a week.  I have no idea what day I'll get to them, but I'll try to mark 'em so you won't get in the middle of one and think I've completely flipped my lid. 

Doesn't bug ME....

Maggie very rarely shares stories about what they're studying at school. Usually, I have to stab around at subjects until I hit a hot one and then we can chat.  But lately, they've been studying bugs (insects, I was informed).

Bugs are just fascinating to my daughter and she actually checks out books from the library to look at bug pictures.  Some of you know that earlier this year, she started a stink bug collection.  Live stink bugs.  It was an extensive collection.  At the high count, I believe she had 13.  Live. In her room.  (Yes, they were in a bug cage, but STILL....I'd lay there reading her bedtime stories and hear their scritchy legs, climbing up the screen...shudder!)

Tonight, she cheerfully told us all about insects and what she'd learned at school.  She commented that yellow and black bugs were poisonous to eat.  The Farmer and I have each eaten bugs by accident, driving 30 mph on fourwheelers, and didn't have the chance to check to see if they were yellow and black.  (Since we lived...must've been good.)  We told her that SOMETIMES bugs can be accidentally consumed.  They shouldn't be eaten, ordinarily.

We have to tell her this.  Maggie ALSO loves the show, Survivorman, and he eats bugs with regularity. And relishes them.

She told us she didn't eat bugs.
Except fried grasshopper legs.

After a little pause, I jokingly said, "Well, you must not have had many, because I've never fried grasshopper legs!"

Immediately, she reassured me, "I know.  I get them off the pickup."

I'll give you a moment....


Same child, who not 10 minutes before, was making faces at having to gag down waffles with strawberries and whipped cream.

Every day adds another layer to the surreal world we twirl around in...

With permission

I get to share a few pictures of some beautiful country girls that I was privileged to spend the afternoon with a couple weeks ago. You can't tell (hopefully) but it was stinking cold, both girls had colds, and the wind hit us at about 30-35 mph in the middle of this. They were such good sports in spite of those challenges!
There are two grandmothers who look at the Chronicles, occasionally, and this post is especially for Nan and Sally. (Well, there are actually a LOT of grandmas who look at the Chronicles, but Nan and Sally are THE grandmas...and are so proud of these little girls!) I hope you like them.

*All images copyright Mary Pluhar