Rescue Horses and Book Signing–the Real Deal


Started the day with coffee, make-up, inside plant watering and then off to see the rescue horses at Dove Creek Ranch near Canyon, Texas.  I spent about two hours there talking to the owner, the ranch manager, and others.  The following horse is Jazzy.  They gave a demonstration in the round pen and this was her fourth ride ever.  For a young horse she was really, really calm.

 

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Their technique includes a lot of ground work and desensitization to motions and sounds.

 

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He put the saddle on and off repeatedly before riding her.  Then I went outside to a large corral to look at this flashy paint.  She is so beautiful but might not be adoptable.

 

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Although they once had her mother and siblings who have already been adopted, her behavior is very inconsistent.  They told me that one day she does fine, but the next day she may not remember anything from the day before, or act a bit crazy like running into things.  The more we discussed this behavior and possible causes, the more it made me think of a horse I once knew who had eaten loco weed.  Loco weed is toxic and affects a horse so that it suddenly behaves basically crazy and unpredictable.  Made me sad; she is so beautiful.  I saw another paint filly, but she belongs to the ranch manager.  Yes, she is nice, but not the looker the above one is.

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Then I ran home for a couple of hours, checked to see where Rosie had disappeared–she was off grazing, and headed to my book signing.  It went well.  I was especially thrilled to see a few people I had not seen in a long time.  One, Kira Satterfield, used to teach with me years ago.  She said it had been seven.  My grandson passed out fliers, Hastings made coffee for the guests, and my daughter helped.

 

 

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Book Signing and Rescue Horses


Tomorrow is a big day!!  First, I will get up and bake my second set of brownies.  It may be totally ridiculous, but on She Writes, taking food to your book signing was recommended so I made one pan of brownies tonight.  The other pan will bake in the morning.  Although this is not my first book, it is my first signing event.  Tomorrow at three at Hastings on Georgia I will be by the front door greeting and selling.  Because people actually get books signed and then do not buy them, just leave them somewhere in the store, Hastings will require buyers to pay first, then get the book signed.  I keep wondering just what sort of person does such a thing as get a book signed and then leave it randomly anywhere.

Since Cool died, I think Rosie is lonely.  Tomorrow morning Dove Creek Ranch Horse Rescue opens their doors for an annual event to show off their rescue horses, trained and ready for adoption.  At least I want to look and see who ( I see a horse as a who, not a which) is available.  Some of the horses have been so badly treated that it takes months and sometimes never to regain their trust and decent behavior.  Others just needed a home after their owners could no longer care for them.  The least I can do is look.  I will post photos of the ranch and horses tomorrow and report on the book signing.  Sleep currently seems a good idea.

 

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Opposite Emotions


Usually, I do not see saw emotionally.  At the moment, I am extremely annoyed.  Picked up the mail late this evening at the box out by the road.  Opened the letter from my insurance company and nearly fainted (except I am not the fainting type).  Not only did they up my house, barn, etc. insurance by 900 more than last year, but they also had the audacity to up the deductible by almost the same amount.  Perhaps hoping it might make the recipient feel happier, they included a three page long explanation letter, e.g. to protect you, we think you need better insurance, blah, blah, blah….Really???  No one asked me if I thought I needed more insurance.  Tomorrow, I will now have to spend time comparison shopping when I planned several things considerably more fun.  Even vacuuming is more fun.

On the happy side, I managed to learn a lot of operational things for the iPAD I purchased to take on the upcoming adventure to Ethiopia via Dubai.  I even learned to use the camera and was graced by a spectacular sunset to inspire me.

 

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Wine tasting, thunder, and thieves


In last night’s blog I mentioned the wine tasting to occur at my house tonight.  I have never seen so many bottles in one place.  Take a look.  At one point someone counted and said there were 64 bottles.  Since there were over 100 people in attendance…and left overs everywhere.

 

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About two hours before the event, dark clouds appeared on the horizon.  I turned on the TV; severe thunder storm warnings slid continually across the screen; it began to sprinkle. Oh, no.  The storm went around, guests showed up, and they could even eat outside on the patio.  About half way through the party, the smoke alarm went off.  Market Street, the party sponsor’s grill apparently smoked too much or my alarm system is very sensitive.  A friend grabbed a broom, pushed a button, and it stopped, only to repeat the process several times.

The boxes on the left in the photo below contained approximately 100 wine glasses.  The procedure:  get your own glass, walk to the bar, pick a wine and try it.

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Several people wanted some empty glasses, one for a friend’s craft work and another for herself.  She makes her won wine.  Here are the bottles I rinsed and lined up for her to pick up later in the week.

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In the end after nearly everything was packed up and the garbage bagged and in the garage, a few of us sat around and drank some of the friend’s homemade wine.  Hobby, the Market Street wine guy, had set aside a copy of my poetry book to purchase and have me sign.  He looked where he put it.  We looked around; nothing.  Apparently we had a poetry book thief at the party.  Who would have thought.

About ten minutes after everyone drove away,  lightning zoomed across the sky, the thunder boomed, and the tempest finally stuck, the perfect ending.

 

 

 

 

 

Wine tasting and book signing


This day has been so full of events and planning that I almost forgot to blog.  First, I made a quick trip to town to accomplish some necessary tasks before my big trip to Ethiopia starts in two weeks.  In fact, two weeks from this moment I will be on Emirate Airlines flying for 14 hours and 45 minutes to Dubai.  With a long layover there, we get a hotel room and a tour.  Then on to Ethiopia for two and one half weeks.  Since only wifi is available there and only in a few places, you will hear from me but not all that often.

I bought an iPAD mini to take photos (in addition to a camera) and keep a log of my daily adventures–maybe I will turn it into some sort of small travel book or my friends with whom I am going and I will make a book.  When I returned home, I tried to figure out some things on the mini myself, but alas, it is not the same at all as this iMAC.  Finally, I gave up and called my ten year old grandson (he has a mini).  Of course, he knew exactly what to do and walked me through everything.

About that time the wine guy at Market Street showed up with this huge cooker–it is really large, bigger than my Mini Cooper.  Tomorrow night they will have a wine tasting at my house, but with a different twist.  Market Street is providing the food:  hamburgers, hotdogs, brats, and all the trimmings.  My garage has boxes of buns, chips, and I am not sure what all stacked up.  In  my great room boxes containing 100 wine glasses are stacked.   The guests are supposed to bring their favorite bottle of wine to share.  I have told several friends to not bother because I have about five bottles of white wine I want to get rid of–I am not a white wine drinker.  We expect approximately 100 they told me.  They predict thunderstorms.  I am hoping the storms, if they come, hold off of until late.  Here on the canyon edge storms provide incredible drama including waterfalls.  And mud.

While in town, I stopped by Hastings, a chain that sells books, movies, CDs, that sort of thing.  This Saturday, the 21st at 3, they are hosting a book signing for me for my new book On the Rim of Wonder.  We have everything all set and ready to go.  They already have fliers posted, gave me one to display during the wine tasting and said I could bring chocolate brownies to share with buyers.  Yesterday, I was in a minor panic because they had spelled my name incorrectly on the flier.  Kudos to Crystal at Hastings, she got it fixed quickly.

Now I am going to vacuum even if it is ten at night.

 

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Happy Birthday to Suzanne Gelber Rinaldo


Suzy and I met as freshmen at Grinnell College in Iowa.  She was from a suburb of Cleveland and I from a farm in Northwest Missouri.  We decided we wanted to be roommates the following year.  We remain friends still after all these years even though we usually live far apart except for a brief time when we both lived in Rhode Island.  She married David Rinaldo, who attended Grinnell with us.  At least once a year one of us goes to see the other.  We seem able to pick up conversations as if we had just talked a few hours before.  Last year my daughter, grandson, and I drove to California and spent five days with them.  This year they will come to see me.  We remain the perfect example of that trite phrase, best friends forever, BFF.  On the left side of my fireplace a tiny painting she gave me when we were in college still hangs.  I wrote this poem about it last year.

 

The Gift

 

On the wall for forty years,

a copy of some famous painting:

almost everything a strange dark

shade of blue, a blue not quite

blue, the merest hint of green,

antique cupboard, curved table

base, ladder back chair, window

frame, even the tree outside.

 

The only exceptions:

white table cloth,

newspaper in the lady’s hands,

her pale pink floral dress with tiny

darker pink flowers,

large copper antique teapot

in the cupboard, the black and copper

pots on top.  Her teacup, saucer, plate

of toast, white and blue, an old Danish pattern.

 

I’ve kept the gift,

hung on too many walls to count.

My college roommate, the giver, said,

This reminds me of you.

I look at it, all these years

have wondered why.

We’re still friends.

I’ve never asked.

 

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My Dad–In Memory


Today in the United States is Father’s Day.  As I drove home from Dallas through the green countryside, I noticed a few places looked like the landscape in Northwest Missouri where I grew up.  My great grandfather from Switzerland homesteaded there in the 1800’s.  My dad lived on that farm all of his ninety years.  A year ago in June, I went back for a long weekend, visited the land I still have on the home place and drove to Rulo, Nebraska, where we used to go eat catfish and carp.  The last flood nearly demolished the place where we went.  Driving along, I reflected on the scenes I saw there last summer.

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This is the house where I grew up and the building in the foreground my dad built long before he married my mom and I was born.  During the Depression, when it was new, he occasionally held dances there and the sheriff stayed to make sure there was no moonshine. My dad lived in this house 80 of his 90 years.

The following is a poem I wrote about Dad after my visit there last summer.  There used to be a lake behind the house with a large grove of burr oak trees surrounding it.  The lake is still there but the beautiful trees are gone except for one lone tree, the rest bulldozed down.  This poem is in my collection of poetry, On the Rim of Wonder.

 

My Father

He watches:

The house where he was born

gone

Only the old carriage house stands.

The young man who farms the land cannot bear to tear it down.

He watches:

The ancient burr oaks and black walnuts

gone

bulldozed into waste piles or sold for greed.

He watches:

The house he lived and loved in for eighty years

still stands on land his family owned more than 150 years.

Strangers live there.

He sees the well trimmed lawn,

new picket fence

children playing.

He watches:

The pond he proudly built and stocked with fish reflects the summer sun.

The tree filled park between the pond and house

gone

He wonders why someone would destroy such beauty.

He watches:

The walnut grove where he ran cattle

gone

The pond where his grandson caught the giant turtle

gone

plowed over and planted in corn and soybeans.

He watches.

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The old carriage house.

Wedding time in Dallas


Today I drove down to Dallas with my daughter and grandson for the wedding of a dear friend’s son–well, actually he is a dear friend as well.  We have known him since he was a little  red headed kid and my daughter was a teenager.  We are at the Palomar Hotel across from Southern Methodist University.  We arrived around one and checked in early.  They brought my grandson a tall vase with multicolored crystal balls in the bottom and a pale coral goldfish swimming happily around.   Next, we headed across the street for lunch and a bit of shopping.  Lunch was lovely, sitting outside under the biggest group of wisteria vines I have ever seen. Although most of the shops were familiar ones from home, we found a West Elm and several other stores we had never seen before.

The rest of this post will have to wait until after the wedding.  At the moment I am disgusted with myself for not bringing a camera.  Maybe I can talk my grandson into taking his iPAD  mini to take photos but I rather doubt.  The wedding is at 7 maybe ten minutes down Mockingbird Lane in Highland Park, an older, elegant, exclusive area filled with big trees.

 

Five hours later:  Found the church but goofed and went in the back entrance.  A security guard escorted us through the maze to the chapel.  It was fun to see people I had not seen in years!!!  The service was simple and both funny and serious.  A few weeks ago, the pastor had asked the couple to write down the things they loved about each other.  To their surprise he read those things today.  When she heard them, my daughter both laughed and cried.  After the ceremony we drove to Aldridge House, an older mansion in an area of tree lined streets and mansions.  Instead of signing the usual guest registry, everyone was asked to sign one of the five bottles of unopened champagne.  On each of the next five anniversaries, the couple will open one of them.  Limitedless appetizers, wine, beer, infused water, roasted vegetables, beef and chicken–I lost tract of all the food options.  And, of course, finally wedding cake.

Now we are back at the hotel, relaxing, and settling in for the evening.  There is nothing quite like a happy wedding celebration.

The WT Swimming Pool, Stereotypes, and Africa


This afternoon I took three children aged eight and ten to the WTAMU (a local university) swimming pool, found myself a comfortable chair, opened my book, and proceeded to read.  When I looked up I saw this:

“This isn’t a democracy anymore.

It’s a Ricktatorship.”

These words boldly stood out in white on a black T-shirt.  For those not from Texas, the Rick to whom the statement refers is the governor of Texas where I live.  Between the two sentences was a photo of a cop with a gun pointed directly at me, the reader of the quotation.  Looking at the woman, young, unkept, no makeup, pimpled, overweight, I never would have expected her to adorn herself with this particular shirt especially in this intensely Republican part of Texas.  Then it hit me; I was stereotyping. I felt a bit horrified with myself.  How can you tell by the appearance of a person whether they are liberal, moderate, or conservative.  You can’t.

 

I went back to reading which was perhaps a mistake.  When it first became a rather famous book, I purchased Say You’re One Of Them by Uwem Akpan, a Nigerian writer-he is originally from Nigeria.  It contains five stories some quite short and some of novella length.  Why has it taken me so very long to get through this book?  These are not stories one can sit down and casually read.  This volume of searing, well written stories tells of immense horrors. The settings of the stories include various countries in West Africa, including Nigeria, and Rwanda, Kenya, and Ethiopia.  Today, I finally got around to reading the story from which the book gets its title.  Now I wonder how I can sleep tonight.  All the stories describe the lives of individuals brutalized by war, modern slavery, and ethnic and religious hatred.  All the stories are from the viewpoint of a child, the oldest of whom is sixteen.  Today’s story, the longest in the book, takes place in modern times in Nigeria.  If you do not already have some inkling as to Nigerian politics, the whys and wherefores of Boka Haram, the violence in the oil fields in the south, and the intensity of the rivalries and hatreds among the various tribal factions and Muslims and Christians, this story will both enlighten and horrify you.  The sixteen year old young man in the story is fleeing the north with many other refugees.  Although he is Muslim, his Muslim friends turn against him even though he had his hand chopped off for stealing a goat.  They think he is too moderate and does not hate Christians sufficiently.  The Christians with whom he is a refugee turn against him because he is Muslim.  His story is not uncommon.  Look at Syria, Iraq, the Congo.  The rest of the world needs to know.  Hatred and violence can occur anywhere.  What happens in a distant corner of our planet affects each and every one of us.

Mechanic Leigh Print Version on Amazon


Eric Alagan writes wonder blog posts and has this new book out. I encourage you to take a look at this one and his other books as well.

Eric Alagan's avatarWritten Words Never Die

I’m happy to announce that Mechanic Leigh, paperback, is now available from Amazon. Please click on image for Amazon USA:

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Click here for Amazon UK

The back cover contains eight (8) comments, a small selection from the many supporters of Mechanic Leigh. I reproduce these comments below:

I enjoy your Mechanic Leigh stories. The info on Singapore, the language and the cultural info wrapped in a clever and enjoyable prose – Stephen Baum, California, USA

Loved it as it took me back to my evil teen years – Ian Grice, Queensland, Australia

This whole saga of Mechanic Leigh is so beautifully written – Soma Mukherjee, New Delhi, India

I really enjoyed these Mechanic Leigh stories – Melissa Perera, Maryland, USA

Eric is a living testimony to the belief that if we write from the heart, we will touch other hearts – Jane Thorne, Buckinghamshire, UK

The characters are funny and…

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