Sun. Impossibly blue sky peeking through darkened, ominous at times clouds. The stark contrast of the bare aspens and the deep green pines. A breeze sending what’s left of the clinging leaves floating and spiraling down. The scent of wet leaves covering the ground–musky, woodsy, earthy.
All portending the coming of winter, the anticipation of the first good snow. The excitement of digging out the skis and the sled and the ice skates and the decorations. The coming of the holiday season with its sparkles and merry and bright and turkeys and pilgrim hats and giving and receiving and thanking. The inkling of things to come–of festivities with family and friends and the shortest day and the longest night. The promises of joy and laughter and yummy, delectable smells–gingerbread, peppermint, pumpkin, evergreen.
Fall can be heartbreaking for me. The summers are so incredibly short here. The autumnal colors so spectacular. My senses get overwhelmed and I bounce back and forth between awe at the world around us and despair at the death of the season. I soar with the autumnal sights and smells and then crash back to earth as quite suddenly they seem to disappear. And the quiet discord inside sets in, looking back at all I didn’t accomplish this year, wanting to wring yet one more day out of the summer, then the fall. And not being the witch-in-training that my dear daughter insists she is, I cannot conjure up more time. I must give in to the melancholy I feel at the passing of yet another year. Because the fall, for me, is the ending of the year before.
Yet, the fall then is also the beginning. Which is the reason I feel it all so intensely–the colors, the smells, the chill of the air, the breeze as it is changing.
Which is why I love days like these. They are the bridge between the overwhelming, mind-blowing sensations of the autumnal blaze of glory and the sweet, anticipatory feelings of the coming season.
I know. It’s not Monday morning right now. More like almost midnight on Tuesday night. But who the heck is keeping score anyway? Not I. Most days I’m happy just to know what month we’re in and writing a post for Monday morning at midnight on Tuesday is just about as good as it’s going to get these days. Sometimes you just have to cut yourself some MAJOR slack. And I do mean major. As in, the floors are in dire need, DIRE NEED, of meeting a mop right now. And have been for several days. And I just don’t have the energy to introduce the two. I think I’m lucky when I get these damn floors swept and vacuumed each and every day, sometimes several times a day. One of the perks and bennies of living where we do. Dirt, dirt and more dirt. As much dirt as you could possibly ever shake a broom at. And then some more. As if a dump truck full of dirt is backed up to my door and every now and then lowers the boom a bit. I go through more vacuum bags here than you would ever believe. Two dogs, a small child, a husband and a “backyard” of dirt makes for a necessary stockpile of vacuum bags. Which I have, thanks to Amazon. Me and Amazon are on a first name basis you know. They love me. And I love them. Truly love them. I can get anything I need there. You name it. The requisite vacuum bags. Batteries of all shapes and sizes. Humongous bags of Nestle Toll House chocolate chips (best ordered during the frigid months). Vacuums even. Thank you notes. Birthday presents galore. Oh, and books. Of all shapes and sizes as well. Yep, me and Amazon are buds. But then, living where we live, it’s not like I can just run out to the corner grocery store when someone’s got a hankering for chocolate chip cookies, right? And when that battery in the smoke detector starts going berserk? Better have a 9V locked and loaded, eh? And must, must, must have a healthy supply of vacuum bags. For the dirt. The never-ending piles of dirt on my once-clean floor.
Wow, how was that for a digression? Probably cause I’m sitting here feeling guilty for not introducing the mop to the floor.
So, what the heck. How about looking at some pretty pictures that make living here with all of this dirt completely and totally worth it.
I got home Sunday night from work just before the snow started to really decide to get crazy. And here is the way it looked on Monday morning.
MUST DO:
*get snow tires put on car
*put emergency cold weather gear travel bag in car
*rake leaves???
*drink lots of 1/2 caffe dark chocolate mochas with whip to ward off impending winter doom
*think about Christmas lists (I know, I know, it’s not even Halloween yet. Don’t bug me about it. Do you know how fast the time is going to go before Santa wiggles down our chimney???)
*buy ski passes to Snowy Range Ski Area (woo hoo!! That’s one of the awesome things about winter here!)
Scotland votes today to decide their fate. And boy howdy has it gotten interesting over there. Totally down to the wire and I would say we can probably expect tension about the results. Do the Scots do what we do here and complain (I was going to use a different word, but in the interest of my attempts to clean up my language, I shall refrain) about results of elections if it doesn’t go a certain way?
I guess we’ll find out soon.
I’m still solidly on the side of Independence for the Highlanders. Even though I had a rather enlightening conversation with a patient a couple of weeks ago. She’s, in her words, “a first-generation Scot” transplanted here to the good ol’ U. S. of A. and her thick brogue has held on for almost 60 years. She was a definite NO vote as she then proceeded to harangue me for thinking with my heart and not my head. She listed all of the reasons why the Scottish economy would tank without being propped up by England. I was courteous and deferred to her status as being 1) my elder and 2) my patient. Theoretically I shouldn’t have even been talking about Scotland as my job was to see if she could walk down the hallway, but who’s worried about technicalities at this point, eh?
Anyway, I didn’t want to point out how pathetic her argument sounded (basically the NO argument). All it did for me was show me how much England has pulled the wool over the eyes of the Scots (no pun intended) and forced them to think they are dependent on the English for survival. What she (and all of the NO supporters in the Unity Campaign) didn’t count on was the backlash felt from being almost scolded by David Cameron about all the “perks and bennies” they would lose by stepping away from their “partnership” with England, lopsided as it is.
I hope they do vote with their hearts today. I hope the vote for independence wins and Scotland can get on with being Scotland. There are enough bullies in this world. England needs to just get a grip.
So yesterday during school (yes, gasp, we have school sometimes on Sundays, and Saturdays too if you must know) one of the questions during a session was “what do you want to be when you grow up?” My dear, darling daughter got a mischievous look in her eyes and slyly wrote on her paper…”a scientist.” HIGH FIVE!! Fist bump! WA-HOOOOOOO! This mom is preening!
Then, after we were done (and it was only a short school day, a couple of hours tops, so don’t fret for the little princess…she has a rather good, little life) I asked her if we could go walk the dogs. Well, here, in the paradise we call home, “walking the dogs” takes on a new meaning. We don’t so much as walk the dogs as go climb a mountain.
So she came out with her backpack and other accessories. I said “???what are you doing??? We’re just going for a little walk.” She replied, “Mom. I need my things. I’m going to make some observations so I can write a wildlife essay.” I LOVE THIS GIRL. Yes, I’m preening again. Do you blame me?
So we set out. And, as always happens around here, started climbing up. We actually almost made it to the Eagle Catch, but I turned us around to everyone’s irritation. Well, maybe not the dogs as they were thinking about dinner I am sure. But the little one, who is just no so little anymore, was not happy. I promised we’d return in a day or two.
Along the way she stopped and made lots of notes in her journal of all the things we saw. Here’s a sampling (unedited and definitely not aided by mom, all original by her):
~different fern foliage (yes, she used that word)
~rose bushes do change shades
~fresh elk rub
~bear scratches on tall, twisted tree
~mushrooms growing from ground
~huge mountains with beautiful views
~large broken branch with woodpecker holes
What a lovely day! And I just can’t stop dancing around being excited that my daughter is excited about being a scientist. (And I just can’t help bragging about it either.)
Blessings be.
(No pictures as it was just supposed to be a short walk, and I was most definitely not prepared.)
So it seems that the good ol’ Congress of the United States did something really good.
I know, huh?
Course, it was 200 years ago. But who’s counting a few years, give or take a century.
Seems that a couple hundred years ago, on September 9, 1776 to be exact, the Congress voted to change the name of this great nation from United Colonies to the United States of America. Way to go Congress.
Now get your stuff together and do something else good for the country.
I’m just sayin’.
My dear husband hates it (HATES it) when I say that. “I’m just sayin’.” I haven’t figured out why it bothers him so much, but it’s definitely his ‘nails-on-the-chalkboard’ thingy. So I try to refrain. But this here is my blog, so I can be writin’ whatever the heck I want. So there you go.
Anyway, in reference to the dear husband, I just want to say Happy Anniversary. Nine years. I know, I know. Nine years pales in comparison to the 50 or so that some people spend together, but let me tell you that some days, nine feels like 50. Ha ha. Nine is the new 50. Get it? Like orange is the new black?
Ok, now I’m just getting silly. So we better start on the math facts. That’ll drain away any silliness.
Cold. Changing leaves. The sun at a different angle. And Pumpkin Spice Lattes at Starbucks.
Though I was just informed that there are some pretty serious problems with that good ol’ fall favorite, the PSL. As in, carcinogenic dyes and no actual pumpkin and other scary, chemical thingys. What was Starbucks thinking? And what’s a gal to do when she hears things like this?
Actually, the PSL has never been much of a favorite of mine. So I’ll be ok. And blithely ignore the fact that a megalomanic-coffeehouse could so callously mess with our health in that way. It’s going to take a bit more than that to deter me from my java nirvana. I mean really, I face the dude-in-black every morning, right? What’s a few chemicals among coffee lovers?
On to the other signs of waning summer.
Summer Science Camp came and went. See pictures below of our Meteorology Day, Geology Day and Botany Day. The Zoology Day was cut short and the owl skeleton and horse skull didn’t get drug out. We’ll do that shortly, and I’ll get you pictures, because everyone needs to see the owl skeleton. Way cool.
Icebergs in the bathtub!
Who doesn’t like blowing up volcanoes and making crystal gardens?
Geology Day followed by trip to the University of Wyoming Geology Museum where we finally saw Big Al, the Allosaurus found in Wyoming who stars in his own movie! Can you pick out the fossilized feces? (Coprolite to be exact.) Our attempt at a homemade thermometer.
A sundial!
The barometer, which up here, was always moving!
A hitchhiking green thing!
Mold in a jar and the fantastic bubbling properties of yeast eating sugar granules!
All in all, a fun few science-filled days with an eager, budding scientist. Awesome. I’m stoked she’s so excited about science. The Universe knew what it was doing when It delivered this soul to me. To us I guess I should say.
Anyway, off to school. Our stack of materials is daunting, but we’re starting with a positive attitude this year…one day at a time!
Some good news first as I’ve still not finished my triple shot 1/2 caffe dark chocolate mocha with whip and bad news would just make the tumbly rumbly.
(I miss Winnie the Pooh. And Tigger too. At 7 1/2 years, my darling daughter is now into dragons and witches and wizards. The passing of time…bittersweet I say, bittersweet.)
But, back to warm fuzziness for the morning:
*Fort Collins, Colorado is the place to be when it comes to car crashes I guess. Number one in the country as far as the least number of automobile annihilations (how’s that for some alliteration??) per person. I think the cheery radio host said something like every 14 people has a bummer of an incident with a vehicle. Compared to Boston where it was about every other person I think. So–moral of the story? Move to Fort Collins? HOWEVER, we go there all the time and I’d have to say that as soon as I get close to the vicinity of Fort Collins I start to get nervous at the sheer volume of vehicles now hurling down the interstate and careening down College Avenue.
Perhaps I should get ahold of this cheery radio person and query their research?
Maybe not. So many other worthwhile things to do today. Take it with a lump of sugar then. And drive at your own risk.
*The inimitable man of the house spotted blackbirds yesterday, which means we have approximately two (yes, that’s 2) weeks until the first snowfall. I have no idea where this piece of insight germinated from. Ancient folklore? Common wisdom among the bird world? The Farmer’s Almanac? Not sure. And frankly, I don’t think it matters. Because, and do not, I repeat, do not, tell him I said this. But I think he could be right on this one.
On second thought, this in no way should go under the heading of “warm fuzzy things” as the thought of snow in two weeks sort of, not to be trite, chills me to the bone. (Not enough java juicing through my system to be creative.)
I think he could be right because it is cold here. And very, very wet. And the leaves on the aspens here are now changing…not just the ones up higher than us. And we’re fairly high as it is. The hummingbirds have slowed down on their insane ingestion of the sugar water. We’re closing in on 100 lbs of sugar!!! Insane I tell you, insane. The chickadees (mountain) are back and eating out of my hand again. I definitely need to take a camera out again so I can get digital proof of this. So cool. The other beasts of the yard are consuming everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, in sight. I’m surprised they can walk forward without falling onto their engorged faces as their center of gravity must be seriously challenged with the disgusting amount of food being stuffed into their cheeks. And my flowers. Oh my precious flowers. They’ve taken to eating them as well. What’s left of them from last year’s little bastards.
Wow, and with that I’ve moved right away from warm fuzziness.
So how about that little girl yesterday who shot the gun instructor with an Uzi? And killed him dead. What, she was about 10 or 11?
Because every 10 or 11 year old child needs to learn how to handle an Uzi. Yep. Absolutely.
Just one question good ol’ Wayne La Pierre: good guy or bad guy? Yeah, I thought so.
Ain’t simply no way to portray this any other way than sheer and utter asinine idiocy.
And now a child will be scarred for life. Way to go America. We’re really taking care of our children well.
Whew. On that note, I better go get some lovin’ from the chickadees out front.
Hug your child today, if you have one. And if you don’t, maybe find one to hug. We have got to stop this insanity.
Which is odd, given my roots. And slightly sad because it shows that so much bad, so much craziness in the world overshadows those situations which would actually be less bothersome to the brain cells to cogitate on.
The images of the last week have been filled with horrendous sights: a beheading of an American citizen, abhorrent to even consider happening; an unarmed teenager shot dead and whose body was left to lie in the street, uncovered, for four hours; the aftermath of that teenager’s unnecessary death bringing about responses by local police reminiscent of Third World countries under siege by their dictators’ armies; tensions rising in that teenager’s hometown making one revisit the LA riots, the Harlem riots, Tuskegee University in the 1960’s. Scary, scary times these days.
So the tiny morsel of information I missed was that on September 18 of this year, Scotland will be voting on their Independence from Britain.
My initial gut-feeling response is “You go Scotland!” And then I feel a little bad as it’s not really my fight and who am I to interject my opinion??? Not everything in this world needs a response from me.
But.
But.
I come from there. Sir Robert the Bruce deeded a castle to my ancestors, the Clan Burnett. It still stands today. Someday we’ll visit. I will say that for a long time I harbored ill will to good ol’ Sir Robert, solely based on his treatment of Sir William of Wallace. Yes, I know. That was a fictional account of a historical event that may or may not have truly happened that way and Sir William of Wallace probably didn’t look like Mel Gibson. Or sound like Mel Gibson. Or say what Mel Gibson did in that epic film of his. Braveheart, if you can’t recall. Or who may or may not have lost his lady love to the bastardly, dastardly, bloody English.
So. All of that being said, my initial views of Sir Robert were slightly skewed. But then, during some research while in veterinary school (because I simply wasn’t busy enough learning how to be a veterinarian) I learned about the whole castle thingy. And who doesn’t want to have a castle somewhere in the family line? Really. And learned about Sir Robert the Bruce and what happened at the Battle of Bannockburn. And maybe he sort of redeemed himself for his earlier betrayal of Wallace. So I started to readjust my dim view of good ol’ Sir Robert. And now I think he may have been a stand-up dude, who did some pretty good things for Scotland. “In 1314, Scotland’s Robert the Bruce overcame significant military disadvantage – England’s Edward II had at least twice as many men – to secure victory after an exhausting 48-hour fight in the shadow of Stirling Castle, a key fortress protecting Highland Scotland from the lowlands of the south. It was an important win – coming nine years after the English captured and executed William Wallace and is celebrated in the chorus of Scotland’s unofficial national anthem, Flower of Scotland, in which England’s “proud Edward” is sent homeward “to think again”.” (taken from http://www.nbcnews.com/storyline/scotland-independence-vote/battle-bannockburn-echoes-scotlands-independence-fight-n144096)
All of that being said, I’m completely all for Scotland being free of British rule. Those bloody English have been trying to impose their rule on too many for too long. (Disclaimer: I’m pretty sure I have some English roots as well, but for all intents and purposes I gloss over those in favor of the Irish and Scottish and Spanish ancestors. No offense to the Brits. They do have JK Rowling, the Prime Minister Hugh Grant–BEST MOVIE EVER!!! “Love Actually”–Sir Patrick Stewart–LOVE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Besides, independence worked out pretty well for America some 200 years ago. Who’s to say it wouldn’t be good for Scotland as well? And then…maybe Ireland would soon follow. A girl can dream, eh?
I won a drawing for a gift certificate to my new favorite store!!
I never win anything. Well, except for the blessings in my life. I guess I’ve won those.
But, what I mean is that I’ve never won a drawing. Well, that’s not entirely true either. There was that Cake Walk in 1st grade at Franklin Elementary School. I just kept winning cakes. I don’t remember the total tally, but I remember just walking back to my parents over and over again carrying delectable confections of sugar! That was a grand night. I should’ve gone to Vegas right then and there. Minor little issue of being a minor, but who’s worried about technicalities?
Anyway.
I won a gift certificate to Thymes–an absolutely delish site filled with treasures for the olfactory-obsessed. I am ruled by my nose and this site is just plain heaven.
So…I’m off to nose-nirvana! You should check it out. My review (that garnered me the certificate) is posted on the website and they’re offering 50% off of the product in my name!! Totally cool.
I am SO enjoying my 15 minutes of fame.
And my olfactory bulbs are going to SO enjoy them too!!
Something has been bothering me for some time. Several weeks. And I must admit I haven’t taken the time to string together several words in an articulate testament to my thoughts and opinions and feelings. Rather I’ve just let the words swirl up there in the scary neighborhood of my brain-case. Gathering steam, petering away, seeming to be snuffed out or overtaken by the multitude of images and different words that this being is subject to on any given day. And living with a precocious, stunningly alive, mind-bendingly brilliant, sponge-worthy brainiac of a child has caused a kaleidoscopic array of words, colors, images, thoughts, feelings, pictures, and so on that assault my barely hanging on mind each and every second of each and every minute of each and every precious day. Thus, at any given moment, obliterating the thoughts I was working on initially. Which, now that I think about it, is probably a good thing. Probably the way it is meant to go. Tending to the young minds entrusted to our care should be tantamount to anything else. And, if truth be told, her brilliance helps to outshine the ugliness that can be seen in our world. That sometimes captures my mind and holds it prisoner as I try valiantly to make sense of it all. I praise the Universe, Great Mystery, Allah, God, Yahweh, the Great Is each and every second of each and every day for the blessings in my life. And first and foremost is the blessing of being entrusted with the most gargantuan of tasks of shepherding, guiding, teaching and loving this little soul who was given to me to nurture.
A mother’s love.
I think you would be hard pressed to find anywhere, in this entire world, a mother who doesn’t feel what I’m trying, albeit poorly, to describe. There is nothing like a mother’s love. It is all-encompassing (that’s a bit of redundancy isn’t it?), all-enveloping (more redundancy)…simply put…all. It is just that…”all.”
Family movie night last week was the DisneyNature movie “Bears.” And lord love a duck but I’m going to agree with one of the biggest nincompoops of the last few years in saying that “momma grizzlies rule.” (You can deduce for yourself who I’m referring to–nincompoop wise, but I refuse to actually type the name for fear of the world falling apart below me.) But, back to the premise of mother grizzly bears. They will do anything, ANYTHING, to protect their cubs. Including, as seen in the film, which, yes, does have some homo sapien editorial influence, slowly starving to death as the choice between fishing for salmon or defending the twin cubs from hungry male grizzlies is clear to the mother bear. She grows painfully thin and does not look as if she will be able to nurse her twin cubs through another winter hibernation.
A mother’s love.
Where in the world am I going with this, you ask, ever so sweetly?
What in the world do mother grizzly bears have to do with anything?
A mother’s love.
A mother will do whatever it takes, whatever it takes, to ensure the survival of her offspring. Her offspring–the absolute, without-a-doubt, most important thing in her life. I am fairly certain this is a universal truth, universal meaning across the universe (duh) and universal meaning across the species.
Meaning including the human species.
Meaning: a mother who knowingly puts her most precious possessions onto a rickety vehicle thousands of miles to the south of this great nation and then sends her most precious possessions north to this great nation, knowing, knowing to the depths of her soul she will most likely, most probably, NEVER, never, see her most precious possessions again, in her lifetime, can only be doing so because she believes it will ensure the life of her most precious possessions. (Yes, this is an extremely run-on run-on sentence. Yes, it is an extremely poor example of literary craft, but I’m emotional right now and there you have it. My literary license.)
My point: do you suppose that all of the children showing up down there at the border might have mothers somewhere whose hearts have broken into a million little pieces knowing they will never hold their precious babies again? Mothers who will never marvel at the wonder, the sheer joy of watching their children’s lives unfold before them? Mothers who will never be able to continue the task that was given to them of teaching, guiding, nurturing, loving, protecting and caring for the souls entrusted to their care? Mothers who will, most likely and most probably, spend every second of every day of the rest of their lives wondering how their most precious possessions are faring? Mothers who sacrificed their hearts to gamble on their children’s safety?
And what has this great nation done with those mothers’ most precious possessions?
Some, yes some, welcomed these children with open arms and deduced the importance of caring for them as their mothers would have.
Some, unfortunately, rose up and bellowed and ranted and raved and helped turn back some of those vehicles. Some made asinine, idiotic statements about our country being under assault (lookin’ at you Guvnor Perry) and then ordered big, strappin’, scary-looking National Guardsmen with TONS of guns to stand guard at the border (lookin’ at you again Guvnor). Some ranted and raved and threw hissy fits about illegal aliens and what not (lookin’ at you good ol’ Congress).
Shame on you who ranted and raved and bellowed. Who used this crisis for political gain. Who DISRESPECTED and DISHONORED the sacrifices of those mothers.
Shame on you.
A mother’s love is the most precious thing in this world. And what have we done to it?
The following is one of the songs played in the DisneyNature movie “Bears.” It is entitled “Home” by Phillip Phillips. The video is preceded by commercials, sorry for that. But I would really recommend listening to the song. Notice the American flag seen a couple of times in the video. We could all take a lesson from this.
madranchwife 