September is galloping along. Mark's Birthday just passed, and mine dances closer, hand in hand with the Siege of Glengary. I always joke that Siege is really my Birthday event! This year marks a milestone: the return of equestrian to Siege of Glengary.
When Siege was still held at the Lazy A campground, I taught some riders the games and ran equestrian events, breaking ground for our shire. Siege then moved to a postage-stamp site. Horses were out of the question.
I had a dream of Siege moving to the Jefferson County Fairgrounds, of bringing back equestrian events with all their flash and thunder. This year, that dream becomes reality.
We welcome you to join us! There are many ways to be involved with equestrian at Siege of Glengary.
Hope to see you there!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Happy April Foals Day!
Luna the Shire/ spotted draft mare delivered a spirited, strapping colt in the wee hours of the morning. Baby and mama are both doing great!
The colt is a chestnut Tobiano with a chanfron shaped blaze-perfect for a future war horse! His sire is Jack Flash, a Gypsy cob stallion imported from the UK. The foal will be registered as a Gypsy Sport Horse.
We are tossing around name ideas, doting on mama and playing with the colt. We look forward to a future full of adventures in trail riding, medieval reenacting, dressage, eventing, and just horsing around.
Since he's a Gypsy born on April Fools, he must be a Laughing Gypsy!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Obsidian and Gold
This song is Mark's Valentine's present. It took root the night of our engagement, when we exchanged our gold and black feathered horses. I was going to write it for the wedding, but surprise surprise was a tad busy with other things. Then for his birthday, then Christmas, then our first/winter anniversary, but the timing still wasn't right.
After the anniversary the final pieces fell into place. The feathered horses, the places, the swords, the helm and the banner are all real. And so are we. And hopeful romantics at that!
I'm waiting now for the music, for what's a song without a tune? If it shows up in your head, please sing it to me!
Obsidian and GoldAfter the anniversary the final pieces fell into place. The feathered horses, the places, the swords, the helm and the banner are all real. And so are we. And hopeful romantics at that!
I'm waiting now for the music, for what's a song without a tune? If it shows up in your head, please sing it to me!
Back when the hearts of men were green and the world glimpsed its first light of morn
And mysteries and histories and victories were born
A tale took root, gained force and flew of Love so fierce and bold
A love that soared on wings of obsidian and gold
A boy was born became a man beneath the western sun
His mind was quick his heart was true yet longed to find his One
A girl ran wild, down years she smiled on the other side of the world
She never thought such love she sought could ever be unfurled
Their spirits, forged in the fires of life and the raging storms they’d weather
Their paths aligned became entwined, at last they ran together
Chorus: So ride together towards forever, hearts joined into one
On one mare black as dreamfilled night, The other fiery sun
These wing’d steeds of timeless breeds, their bearing bright and bold
Will carry you on feather of obsidian and gold
“I pledge my troth to thee,” they vowed, their voices joined as one
“Our endless love and loyalty will ever burn so bright”
And standing there he gave a mare black as the dreamfilled night
And she to him a golden steed afire like the sun
Foul forces rose against them, as hatred craves Love’s death
He gave to her a glittering helm, his kiss life-giving breath
And she to him a banner bright emblazoned with the power
Of two as one together come to face their darkest hour
Chorus
Voice joined in battlecry, As one their swords they drew
Her blade curved like a lyric, his tempered straight and true
A lightening flash, a ringing clash! Their foe before them flew
United heads and hands and hearts, as one now stand the two
Though evil screams against all dreams egomaniacally
And heaven’s gifts come under fire diabolically
Bonds born defeating darkness are the strongest ever known
The heavens sing such victories as of their very own
Final chorus:
We ride together towards forever, hearts joined into one
My mare black as dreamfilled night, Yours the fiery sun
Our sterling steeds of timeless breeds, their bearing bright and bold
Now bear our dreams, our love on wings, obsidian and gold
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Wm. Shakespeare's Five and Twenty Random Things Abovt Me
My old, dear friend Will is participating in Facebook's 25 Random Things about Me. Check him out!
Monday, February 2, 2009
A Banner Anniversary
The ice storm provided the perfect opportunity to finish the anniversary banner.
We'd come up with the graphic...wow, probably over a year ago. Mark saw a design with the wolves from the Book of Kells racing around an interior design, now I don't even remember what it was. I thought the wolves would look great around a horsey knotwork triskelion, and remembered a particular iteration that would work well. Mark worked some photoshop magic and *poof* we had our pictogram. (I just made up the stuff down in the tip of the banner on the fly, to anchor that sea of negative space. )
I'd wanted to make the banner as a surprise for Mark to decorate our wedding tent. Seems appropriate that it mark our anniversary! I still need to cut down the ends of the cross piece and make a flagpole, but the main body is DONE! Mark brought it up to the roundpen while I was playing with Grace--even more appropriate as she is the engagement ring :-)
The banner, dancing by the round pen
Detail of the main design
Detail of the tip design
We'd come up with the graphic...wow, probably over a year ago. Mark saw a design with the wolves from the Book of Kells racing around an interior design, now I don't even remember what it was. I thought the wolves would look great around a horsey knotwork triskelion, and remembered a particular iteration that would work well. Mark worked some photoshop magic and *poof* we had our pictogram. (I just made up the stuff down in the tip of the banner on the fly, to anchor that sea of negative space. )
I'd wanted to make the banner as a surprise for Mark to decorate our wedding tent. Seems appropriate that it mark our anniversary! I still need to cut down the ends of the cross piece and make a flagpole, but the main body is DONE! Mark brought it up to the roundpen while I was playing with Grace--even more appropriate as she is the engagement ring :-)
The banner, dancing by the round pen
Detail of the main design
Detail of the tip design
Just now I look up what the traditional first anniversary gift is: paper. Neither the banner nor the Cafe Press stein with the same graphic (part 1 of the gift) qualify. Ah well. Valentine's Day is just around the corner!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Coffee with Madeleine
Madeleine L'Engle was one of my favorite authors growing up. As I devoured her stories, I would insert my own character into them and make up new adventures with Meg and Charles Wallace, with Vicki and Zachary. Her skeleton of quantum physics gave my world a structure and power that finally made sense, and explained my impossible reality.
Then I heard her "adult" books were "Christian". I still rigidly tied Christ together with the Church, and wanted both of them as far away from me as possible. Rather than taste for myself, I trusted my intellect (bad move!) and moved on to other authors.
Perhaps, had I trusted her enough to follow through uncomfortable places, I could have short-cut my own journey by 17 years.
Mama D. gave me 3 of Madeleine's books for Christmas. She is my brother's mother in law. Does that make her my mother in law in law? Any rate, January's stolen moments with Madeleine are bringing delight, recognition-- and challenge.
She reminds me so of my Grandmother. Granny was still of the "children should be seen and not heard" camp when I was growing up, and my ubersensitive personality inflated that and carried into young adulthoood before she died. Yet after death, she affects me daily more powerfully than ever in life. I wish I'd been smart-loving-brave-presumptuous-WHATEVER enough to chase that down while still she lived. A powerful woman, a powerful Christian-- but that which I now see as worth pursuing chased me off as a child.
So too it is with Madeleine. I mourned her death but now she's with me as I ponder, or recognize myself in her words, or snarf coffee out my nose in hilarity.
I wish I hadn't wasted so much time. I wish I knew enough then to grab hold of what I know is important now. Bu I am sooo grateful that long after their deaths, these two extraordinary women are still dancing in my life.
Then I heard her "adult" books were "Christian". I still rigidly tied Christ together with the Church, and wanted both of them as far away from me as possible. Rather than taste for myself, I trusted my intellect (bad move!) and moved on to other authors.
Perhaps, had I trusted her enough to follow through uncomfortable places, I could have short-cut my own journey by 17 years.
Mama D. gave me 3 of Madeleine's books for Christmas. She is my brother's mother in law. Does that make her my mother in law in law? Any rate, January's stolen moments with Madeleine are bringing delight, recognition-- and challenge.
She reminds me so of my Grandmother. Granny was still of the "children should be seen and not heard" camp when I was growing up, and my ubersensitive personality inflated that and carried into young adulthoood before she died. Yet after death, she affects me daily more powerfully than ever in life. I wish I'd been smart-loving-brave-presumptuous-WHATEVER enough to chase that down while still she lived. A powerful woman, a powerful Christian-- but that which I now see as worth pursuing chased me off as a child.
So too it is with Madeleine. I mourned her death but now she's with me as I ponder, or recognize myself in her words, or snarf coffee out my nose in hilarity.
I wish I hadn't wasted so much time. I wish I knew enough then to grab hold of what I know is important now. Bu I am sooo grateful that long after their deaths, these two extraordinary women are still dancing in my life.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Saying Good Night
If the only reason the truck fried and we needed the flatbed was so the stranger staggering down the side of the road didn't freeze to death, it was a night well spent.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Shield sheltered, foe facing
Astride alone, aloft in a saddle
Strongly stitched, skins stretched
On wood felled and fashioned
To tame a tireless tide
Buoyed by winter’s wool
Warmly woven, colors clashing
Cinched snugly, buckles bright
By singing smith-strong strokes
Leg leathers, lightly laced
Wrap the war steed’s snorting surge
Rebellion reined to reason
With the horseman’s weird whisper
Weapons waiting, formed to feed
Arrows quiver, fletched to fly
Sword’s sharpened shine unsheathed
Seeks to silence, lethal loyalty!
Banner breaks on skysurf
Snapping sea of stitches
Singly sewn, my clan's commanding
Crest proclaims my presence
Lone in a lake of rivals rage
Shield sheltered, foe facing
One warrior battlebound
The vast village, ahorse in its arts
Rides unseen alongstride
Astride alone, aloft in a saddle
Strongly stitched, skins stretched
On wood felled and fashioned
To tame a tireless tide
Buoyed by winter’s wool
Warmly woven, colors clashing
Cinched snugly, buckles bright
By singing smith-strong strokes
Leg leathers, lightly laced
Wrap the war steed’s snorting surge
Rebellion reined to reason
With the horseman’s weird whisper
Weapons waiting, formed to feed
Arrows quiver, fletched to fly
Sword’s sharpened shine unsheathed
Seeks to silence, lethal loyalty!
Banner breaks on skysurf
Snapping sea of stitches
Singly sewn, my clan's commanding
Crest proclaims my presence
Lone in a lake of rivals rage
Shield sheltered, foe facing
One warrior battlebound
The vast village, ahorse in its arts
Rides unseen alongstride
Burst the Bounds
I start Madeleine L'Engle's "the Irrational Season" this morning, book 2 of Mamma D's Christmas gifting. As the sun groggily staggers above the horizon, I once again whirl and revel, agree and question L'Engle's luscious prose.
This sentence sparks a pyrotechnic WAHOOO! that blows me off the sofa!
I saw creation bursting the bounds of daily restriction, and stretching out from dimension to dimension, beyond any human comprehension.
Bursting the bounds of daily restriction... I recognize in that my Wild Joy. THAT is the way I want to live!
This sentence sparks a pyrotechnic WAHOOO! that blows me off the sofa!
I saw creation bursting the bounds of daily restriction, and stretching out from dimension to dimension, beyond any human comprehension.
Bursting the bounds of daily restriction... I recognize in that my Wild Joy. THAT is the way I want to live!
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Morning Mare Check
Between the bitter wind and the burning cold, I expect to find a newborn foal, just out of principle. But the pasture status is still quoing. Luna's still standing in the hay, happily getting larger as the round bale disappears down her gullet.
The young-uns are keeping her company. Grace marches right over for attention. SkySong was sleeping sunbathed in the hay--she takes a little longer to wake up.
I find myself singing "In Your Eyes" as the horses' glossy orbs reflect our world-- and me--into the iPhone camera...
The young-uns are keeping her company. Grace marches right over for attention. SkySong was sleeping sunbathed in the hay--she takes a little longer to wake up.
I find myself singing "In Your Eyes" as the horses' glossy orbs reflect our world-- and me--into the iPhone camera...
"...In your eyes, I am complete...."
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Bend
I hate that corner.
Its a 90 degree bend in a country road, close enough to town for convenience, far enough out to keep dirty secrets. The parking area is littered with rotting garbage, tattered sofas and silenced torments.
Jeannie's son was driving home late one night. As he rounded the bend a car screamed out of the darkened pull off behind him. The driver seemed crazed, honking and trying to run the young man off the road.
I don't remember the details of the rest of the story. It ended up with Jeannie calling the cops and her husband grabbing a gun and joining in the car chase. The cops cornered the psycho in the parking lot of a local hotel. As they were cuffing him they discovered a small boy-- his stepson-- frozen, silent, and bloodstained in the backseat of the car.
I hate that bend.
I use that shortcut this afternoon, racing home from town on the misty fringes of the icestorm. Something catches my eye about an old barn, makes me want to pull over and play with photos. I remember with delight I'd thrown my camera in my bag that morning. I look for a pulloff. My heart sinks and my hackles rise as I realize where I am.
I maneuver my Subaru through cast-off Christmas trees and decaying deer carcasses. I can see the barn through the mist. It reminds me off the cover of the book, "The Shack." I shudder and start praying over the area.
As I walk along the road away from that dreadful parking area, I slip into that amazing place-beyond-words between the camera and the world around me. At some point a man comes out to check his mailbox. "Looks like that barn could use a fixer-up," I laugh.
"Or a strong wind," he replies ruefully, "we hear it creaking and groaning at night...."
The low battery warning leads me back to the car, back to the Bend. Praises and prayers again flow freely. A powerful Peace washes over.... I climb into the car.
view complete gallery...
Its a 90 degree bend in a country road, close enough to town for convenience, far enough out to keep dirty secrets. The parking area is littered with rotting garbage, tattered sofas and silenced torments.
Jeannie's son was driving home late one night. As he rounded the bend a car screamed out of the darkened pull off behind him. The driver seemed crazed, honking and trying to run the young man off the road.
I don't remember the details of the rest of the story. It ended up with Jeannie calling the cops and her husband grabbing a gun and joining in the car chase. The cops cornered the psycho in the parking lot of a local hotel. As they were cuffing him they discovered a small boy-- his stepson-- frozen, silent, and bloodstained in the backseat of the car.
I hate that bend.
I use that shortcut this afternoon, racing home from town on the misty fringes of the icestorm. Something catches my eye about an old barn, makes me want to pull over and play with photos. I remember with delight I'd thrown my camera in my bag that morning. I look for a pulloff. My heart sinks and my hackles rise as I realize where I am.
I maneuver my Subaru through cast-off Christmas trees and decaying deer carcasses. I can see the barn through the mist. It reminds me off the cover of the book, "The Shack." I shudder and start praying over the area.
As I walk along the road away from that dreadful parking area, I slip into that amazing place-beyond-words between the camera and the world around me. At some point a man comes out to check his mailbox. "Looks like that barn could use a fixer-up," I laugh.
"Or a strong wind," he replies ruefully, "we hear it creaking and groaning at night...."
The low battery warning leads me back to the car, back to the Bend. Praises and prayers again flow freely. A powerful Peace washes over.... I climb into the car.
view complete gallery...
Saturday, January 3, 2009
New Year 2009
The New Year. Perhaps it's just placebo, this annual rebirth we step into each January. We turn a calendar page which marks a made-up measurement of imaginary time and call it a milestone.
Placebos may be counterfeits, but their results are really real. I say, bring it on!
I've been chewing on this year's resolution for a few days now. I wished everyone a New Year of wild joy, and realized this was my resolution. To live every moment with Wild Joy.
I smile, remembering that long ago realization and accompanying commitment that who I am is Bold and Sparkly. Why is it, I ask again, that we need to constantly remind ourselves what we already know?
Wild Joy is my birthright as a son and heir of the Creator and Lover of EVERYTHING. It's the food that charges my body, jazzes my spirit, and ignites that Love that glues me to everyone in my world.
And it's also a choice.
It's not conditional joy: my circumstances are perfect and the stars harmoniously converge and so I'm joyful. It's not a rebellious joy: I'm joyful to spite my circumstances. That would still define and limit Joy by the parameters of circumstance. It's a Wild Joy, outside of circumstance, generated moment-to-moment by choice rather than cause-and-effect.
A commitment anew rather than a new commitment.
I haven't yet put 2009 planner pages in my Ta-Da Book. The year stretches untouched in front of me, the open space welcoming Wild Joy with an wide embrace.
Placebos may be counterfeits, but their results are really real. I say, bring it on!
I've been chewing on this year's resolution for a few days now. I wished everyone a New Year of wild joy, and realized this was my resolution. To live every moment with Wild Joy.
I smile, remembering that long ago realization and accompanying commitment that who I am is Bold and Sparkly. Why is it, I ask again, that we need to constantly remind ourselves what we already know?
Wild Joy is my birthright as a son and heir of the Creator and Lover of EVERYTHING. It's the food that charges my body, jazzes my spirit, and ignites that Love that glues me to everyone in my world.
And it's also a choice.
It's not conditional joy: my circumstances are perfect and the stars harmoniously converge and so I'm joyful. It's not a rebellious joy: I'm joyful to spite my circumstances. That would still define and limit Joy by the parameters of circumstance. It's a Wild Joy, outside of circumstance, generated moment-to-moment by choice rather than cause-and-effect.
A commitment anew rather than a new commitment.
I haven't yet put 2009 planner pages in my Ta-Da Book. The year stretches untouched in front of me, the open space welcoming Wild Joy with an wide embrace.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Gypsy Horse Journey
It's another rollicking race down a rabbit-trail at once familiar and new. Ever in love with Gypsy Cobs and Drum Horses, we are facing a serious possibility of welcoming one into the family. I'm in the throes of research: the decision hinges on outside factors, other folks and an open future.
When the detective work winds down and we have solid conclusions, I'll spin the whole story.
When the detective work winds down and we have solid conclusions, I'll spin the whole story.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Whirling Towards Winter
... and clinging tight to this wild ride. "Widen your tent pegs" we're told, and I'm trusting for the resources to steward that growth.
Expression is now flung to far-reaches of the web. SCA and medieval reenacting stuff goes to www.medievaldiva.com. Horse musings go to www.natural-horse-training-methods.com. Photos saunter over to Smugmug and farm stuff finds its way to www.wvhorsetrainer.com.
Dissecting myself is an interesting discipline born from a business model. I look forward to reaping that harvest.
But I've really missed it here.
Expression is now flung to far-reaches of the web. SCA and medieval reenacting stuff goes to www.medievaldiva.com. Horse musings go to www.natural-horse-training-methods.com. Photos saunter over to Smugmug and farm stuff finds its way to www.wvhorsetrainer.com.
Dissecting myself is an interesting discipline born from a business model. I look forward to reaping that harvest.
But I've really missed it here.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Not only am I remembering how to form a phrase, I'm dusting off my trigger finger. Took a bunch of pix at my brother's wedding last weekend. The lighting was difficult, the joy was infectious, and my heart sang to see the world through a viewfinder again. Bit by bit I'm getting them up on my jumbled SmugMug site....
Blink. STRRREEEEEETCH!!!!!!!!!!
One thing weddings are good for is getting back in touch. I haven't talked to Matthew in way too long, yet he cuts right to the root of restlessness: "been writing much?"
Um. Hum. Uhhhhh...
And I know that's the keystone that I've cast aside. Or at least the slightly rancid frosting on the current tasteless cake.
"Life to you is a dashing and bold adventure" reads my fortune cookie after way too much Jumbo Buffet. Living to tell the tale adds both anchors and wings. (Not to imply I'd exaggerate....) Life encourages expression, expression generates life.
Looking forward to this particular dashing chapter to wind to a close. Not the wedding stuff, though Wolf and I are sore tempted to elope again (guess that would kinda defeat the purpose of a public wedding.) Just the everything else which stifles the very expression that would breathe bright life into stale and desperate spaces.
A few weeks ago Paul talked about climbing on his tractor as the storm clouds threatened. "Please, God, hold off 'til I finish mowing!" Wolf and Ginny and I laughed and laughed, having lived out the story verbatim in the very same storm. Paul's message was on the mowing. Getting things right and ready for the life-giving rains. Right now I am mowing... and being mown.
Just hang on tight and dance into the deluge, whooping defiant delight. If we can survive the mowing, the rain will bring lush harvest indeed!
Um. Hum. Uhhhhh...
And I know that's the keystone that I've cast aside. Or at least the slightly rancid frosting on the current tasteless cake.
"Life to you is a dashing and bold adventure" reads my fortune cookie after way too much Jumbo Buffet. Living to tell the tale adds both anchors and wings. (Not to imply I'd exaggerate....) Life encourages expression, expression generates life.
Looking forward to this particular dashing chapter to wind to a close. Not the wedding stuff, though Wolf and I are sore tempted to elope again (guess that would kinda defeat the purpose of a public wedding.) Just the everything else which stifles the very expression that would breathe bright life into stale and desperate spaces.
A few weeks ago Paul talked about climbing on his tractor as the storm clouds threatened. "Please, God, hold off 'til I finish mowing!" Wolf and Ginny and I laughed and laughed, having lived out the story verbatim in the very same storm. Paul's message was on the mowing. Getting things right and ready for the life-giving rains. Right now I am mowing... and being mown.
Just hang on tight and dance into the deluge, whooping defiant delight. If we can survive the mowing, the rain will bring lush harvest indeed!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Green Thumb Sunday
Between the foggy, icemelt splattered lens and the yoga asanas I was going through to try and frame a clear shot in the underbrush, the picture itself is a mess. But imagine the leaves as we saw them: perfect replicas in ice, slid off of their parent leaves, clinging just a little longer before sliding away....
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Equine Slaughter Insight
Fran Jurga at the Jurga Report offers a rare voice of reason in the equine slaughter debate:
"What are your ideas for solutions? Please don't tell me you are "pro" or "anti" slaughter. Tell me what can be done to bring the American horse industry back together instead of splitting it apart."
"What are your ideas for solutions? Please don't tell me you are "pro" or "anti" slaughter. Tell me what can be done to bring the American horse industry back together instead of splitting it apart."
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
California Dreamin'
Today is prosaically productive. Not quite ready for sleep but not inclined to be active or verbal, I start to sort through pictures from our recent trip to Wolf's old stomping grounds in CA. My phone went on vacation while we were gone, and we had very limited web access-not a good setup for blogging in the moment.
I enjoy reliving day 1 and capturing a warm-up round of memories while posting pictures to Laughing Gypsy Photography.
We land in San Francisco to a bleak weather forecast, matched by equally bleak weather beyond the windows. Wolf upgrades to a 4-wheel drive rentacar, and I later learn the reason why. Now, though, moderate traffic and rainy roads lead us out of the dismal city and onto Highway 1.
I am swept away from my first view of the Pacific. I'm an oceangirl at heart. I love the wooded green solitude of the farm. A glimpse of waves curling in from the horizon slams me with longing so painful it knocks the breath out of me.
As we snake along craggy heights, the sea pounds and crashes beneath us. The sun battles rain and mists and after hours wins today's battle.
I enjoy reliving day 1 and capturing a warm-up round of memories while posting pictures to Laughing Gypsy Photography.
We land in San Francisco to a bleak weather forecast, matched by equally bleak weather beyond the windows. Wolf upgrades to a 4-wheel drive rentacar, and I later learn the reason why. Now, though, moderate traffic and rainy roads lead us out of the dismal city and onto Highway 1.
I am swept away from my first view of the Pacific. I'm an oceangirl at heart. I love the wooded green solitude of the farm. A glimpse of waves curling in from the horizon slams me with longing so painful it knocks the breath out of me.
As we snake along craggy heights, the sea pounds and crashes beneath us. The sun battles rain and mists and after hours wins today's battle.
Breadmaking 202
I'm in a rush when I load the breadmaker this afternoon and make a valuable discovery. If you put the flour in first into the Toastmaster Breadbox, the result is the carbohydrate version of frozen concentrated orange juice. Compact bread! I love it! Great for travel, perfect for people in cramped apartments.
I happily devour my "mistake."
I happily devour my "mistake."
One Breath Poetry Revisited: Frost
frost woos a weary
world, then swoon! disappears in
to sunshine's first kiss
world, then swoon! disappears in
to sunshine's first kiss
Monday, December 31, 2007
New Year's Eve 2007
New Year's Eve 2007 marks the end of a 40. 40 days in the desert. 40 years in the wilderness. Wolf and I head to Cornerstone for a New Year's Concert. Powerful praise with Michael Tyrrell, culminating in prophetic crossing over into 2008-- and new life! [Pictures]
Wolf rolls home to catch some zzz's--- he has to be up by 3 am-- and I head over to catch the tail end of the Uible's infamous New Year's Bash. I get the whole jam-packed New Year's Party Experience in under an hour! [Pictures]
Wolf rolls home to catch some zzz's--- he has to be up by 3 am-- and I head over to catch the tail end of the Uible's infamous New Year's Bash. I get the whole jam-packed New Year's Party Experience in under an hour! [Pictures]
Sunday, December 30, 2007
One Breath Poetry: Frost
cold crystal mask: frost
enshrouds in vain. the hot heart
lifebeats bold within
Blog Your Blessings Sunday
Some call it coincidence. Some call it synchronicity. I call it blessing!
My breadmaker was destroyed when Hurricane Charlie swept through southern Florida. At the time I was traveling a lot, and decided replacing it was not a priority. The past few years I have missed the simple joy and unspeakable delight of fresh, homemade bread. This winter I decided to do something about it.
The hunt began. Search as I might I couldn't find breadmakers anywhere. ANYWHERE!!!! None of the boxes under the tree held a breadmaker in its festive wrapping.
Sigh.
Some call it Goodwill. Some call it Salvation Army. I call it "The Boutique."
I pop in for a post-Christmas perusal and there it is. My breadmaker. Looks brand new, complete with recipe book. Thank You thank You thank You!
The ham and bean soup has been simmering since yesterday. It goes perfectly with the first loaf of fresh bread!
My breadmaker was destroyed when Hurricane Charlie swept through southern Florida. At the time I was traveling a lot, and decided replacing it was not a priority. The past few years I have missed the simple joy and unspeakable delight of fresh, homemade bread. This winter I decided to do something about it.
The hunt began. Search as I might I couldn't find breadmakers anywhere. ANYWHERE!!!! None of the boxes under the tree held a breadmaker in its festive wrapping.
Sigh.
Some call it Goodwill. Some call it Salvation Army. I call it "The Boutique."
I pop in for a post-Christmas perusal and there it is. My breadmaker. Looks brand new, complete with recipe book. Thank You thank You thank You!
The ham and bean soup has been simmering since yesterday. It goes perfectly with the first loaf of fresh bread!
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas Everyone!
May your New Year be full of growth, excitement and abundance!
May your New Year be full of growth, excitement and abundance!
Sunday, December 16, 2007
One Breath Poetry: A Kind of Beauty
forecasts scream "WARNING!"
burst out in the storm to find
beauty in menace
burst out in the storm to find
beauty in menace
Jet Li Moves On
Twilight, Jet Li the Refurbished Rooster is gone. The fox left a handful of feathers as goodbye.
I'm glad he died with a full belly.
I'm glad he died with a full belly.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Blog Your Blessings Sunday
Midnightish Friday evening. I'm getting a jump start on Blog Your Blessings Sunday.
Midnightish and I just bade goodknight to my sweetie, the love of my life, my knight in shining armor who in the not too distant future I will pledge my eternal troth to. He called to say goodnight for the second time. The first time I was dumping grain.
Dumping 12 bags of horse feed, 1 bag of barn kitty feed and yes, breaking new ground, rooster feed (tuck in, Jet Li!) More than enough of hundreds of pounds to smirk in the face of any weather threats the media might bluster our way (and tonight they are blustering indeed.) More than enough to cover any contingencies during my planned span away next week. More than enough to drive my overexhausted, aching body to draglifthauldumpdraglifthauldump for the sheer satisfaction of completion.
Late Friday night. I laugh. The name on bag after bag of feed is "Legends." I think of Will Smith, of his new flick which many people with normal lives are watching tonight: "I am Legend." I don't know what it is--Film Geek, can you fill me in?--but the moebius twist of my scewed parallel universe has me laughing in the rain of shooting stars.
Have I mentioned the shooting stars? Oh, this is the night, even running amuck in a holiday retail habitrail. The night for shooting stars. And over the evening, two in particular scream across the sickly city darkness and burn for eternities while I squeal and wish my guts out.
So the blessings of which I blog? Where to begin? For the body which God keeps renewing no matter what kind of crazy things and insane expectations I throw its way. At the prolonged end of a flatoutsincedawn day like today, that itself dances in the spotlight.
For results. For the fruits of todays labors, and the dedication of my co-laborers. Daylight hours packed with trial and error, energy and intention embodied. The horses in their new housing, with new fencing. The accomplishment of worlds of deceptively small details which can make or break weathering a storm, a season or an absence, however brief. The next layer of confusion cut away. The promise of a blank canvas dawning on the morrow.
For my diesel dually, which I have considered selling at least once a quarter. Thankfully even the bean-counter in my head (and on paper) agrees that is a foolish notion. That truck has been my alter-ego, my partner in crime, my brute squad, and the finest ally for a single-woman-conquering-the-world. Now I'm facing no longer singleness, no longer "my truck" but "our truck". And even that's ok, though it's taking getting used to. At least I know Wolf won't wear my sparkly truck-drivin tiara!
Which I do, with delight! Tiaras are mandatory after a full trip to town, driving home a full load. From feed for all manner of four- and two-leggeds, to 1x8x10's for replacement facia on the loafing shed, to batteries to stave off the threatened storm, to Christmas presents, to thermocouples, to heaters to hardware and yes, some beautiful candles "just in case the power goes out."
For provision. For abundance. For the faith to see beauty in menace.
Blogging my blessings early....
Midnightish and I just bade goodknight to my sweetie, the love of my life, my knight in shining armor who in the not too distant future I will pledge my eternal troth to. He called to say goodnight for the second time. The first time I was dumping grain.
Dumping 12 bags of horse feed, 1 bag of barn kitty feed and yes, breaking new ground, rooster feed (tuck in, Jet Li!) More than enough of hundreds of pounds to smirk in the face of any weather threats the media might bluster our way (and tonight they are blustering indeed.) More than enough to cover any contingencies during my planned span away next week. More than enough to drive my overexhausted, aching body to draglifthauldumpdraglifthauldump for the sheer satisfaction of completion.
Late Friday night. I laugh. The name on bag after bag of feed is "Legends." I think of Will Smith, of his new flick which many people with normal lives are watching tonight: "I am Legend." I don't know what it is--Film Geek, can you fill me in?--but the moebius twist of my scewed parallel universe has me laughing in the rain of shooting stars.
Have I mentioned the shooting stars? Oh, this is the night, even running amuck in a holiday retail habitrail. The night for shooting stars. And over the evening, two in particular scream across the sickly city darkness and burn for eternities while I squeal and wish my guts out.
So the blessings of which I blog? Where to begin? For the body which God keeps renewing no matter what kind of crazy things and insane expectations I throw its way. At the prolonged end of a flatoutsincedawn day like today, that itself dances in the spotlight.
For results. For the fruits of todays labors, and the dedication of my co-laborers. Daylight hours packed with trial and error, energy and intention embodied. The horses in their new housing, with new fencing. The accomplishment of worlds of deceptively small details which can make or break weathering a storm, a season or an absence, however brief. The next layer of confusion cut away. The promise of a blank canvas dawning on the morrow.
For my diesel dually, which I have considered selling at least once a quarter. Thankfully even the bean-counter in my head (and on paper) agrees that is a foolish notion. That truck has been my alter-ego, my partner in crime, my brute squad, and the finest ally for a single-woman-conquering-the-world. Now I'm facing no longer singleness, no longer "my truck" but "our truck". And even that's ok, though it's taking getting used to. At least I know Wolf won't wear my sparkly truck-drivin tiara!
Which I do, with delight! Tiaras are mandatory after a full trip to town, driving home a full load. From feed for all manner of four- and two-leggeds, to 1x8x10's for replacement facia on the loafing shed, to batteries to stave off the threatened storm, to Christmas presents, to thermocouples, to heaters to hardware and yes, some beautiful candles "just in case the power goes out."
For provision. For abundance. For the faith to see beauty in menace.
Blogging my blessings early....
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Rooster Refurb
"Ya wanna rooster?"
"Alive or frozen?"
"Does it matter?"
"Uh-huh. I'm a lover, not a killer...."
The cousins prepare for their annual migration. A neighbor willingly winters their laying hens. A bunch of the roosters have already found their way to autumn parties as entrees.
A trail of exhaust in the darkening chill marks the cousins exodus. I take a moment out of the flurry of work to bask in the sudden peace-- and see that the one rooster. Too skinny for the freezer, he remains on the outskirts of the barnyard, patiently waiting for the return of his flock. Or the fox.
Sigh.
His name is Jet Li. And he's really grateful for the slightly stale cereal....
"Alive or frozen?"
"Does it matter?"
"Uh-huh. I'm a lover, not a killer...."
The cousins prepare for their annual migration. A neighbor willingly winters their laying hens. A bunch of the roosters have already found their way to autumn parties as entrees.
A trail of exhaust in the darkening chill marks the cousins exodus. I take a moment out of the flurry of work to bask in the sudden peace-- and see that the one rooster. Too skinny for the freezer, he remains on the outskirts of the barnyard, patiently waiting for the return of his flock. Or the fox.
Sigh.
His name is Jet Li. And he's really grateful for the slightly stale cereal....
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