Any input you have for any of these will be greatly appreciated. I am feeling kind of bad tonight, possibly heat stroke, and so writing this and asking for your brilliant, witty input is a heckuva lot more entertaining than researching this stuff on my own. Let’s hit it.

1. What is the average number of books a woman reads in her life time? How about a man? Feel free to apply any demographic you find interesting.
2. Why oh why do the alligator hunting Swamp People never wear gloves while gripping those wire fishing lines? Drives me crazy.
3. Do you think it’s true that people now have multiple life crises, once known as a mid-life crisis?
4. Is diet cola really, really bad for you? I mean, really?
5. Why do you think Americans choose not to vote? 
6. How many weeks until NBA season again?
7. Is it even legal to shoot and kill a wild alligator in Oklahoma? Because apparently we have them.
8. Does my buffalo understand me?
9. What are the statistical odds that my freakishly Jurassic (and not to mention gorgeous) watermelon vines will produce enough ripe, juicy fruit to us to retire at the end of this summer?
10. I would love to meet more authors. Do you have any suggestions?

   I have been running, you guys. Remember the Iron Goat? This is a pretty huge development in my weird life, and it brings with it lots of notable observations and new trains of thought. Today while running around our back field I literally got the giggles as one thing after another seemed to conspire against me. Against the spirit of positive thinking, I’m going to share some of it with you fine people. Following are some totally logical reason NOT to run:

• You have been over-hydrating all week and also drinking three tons of cranberry juice per day to ward off an odd pain in your back, so you need to pee every 90 seconds.
• You are wearing yoga leggings that are slightly baggy at the hips so they scoot down every time you bounce. Which is every time you take a stride.
• The horses occupying the field in which you are trying to run are so fascinated by your strange new activity that they stare at you until they have clearly lost all respect for you. Not that they had much to begin with. But still.
• The songs on your playlist are so much fun that singing along with them costs you more oxygen than your struggling lungs can afford. Teach yourself how to Dougie some other time, lady. 
• The abundant cacti are blending in with the prairie grass and the uppers of your shoes are thin fabric.
• It has been more than 90 seconds and your neighbor just drove down the adjacent dirt road, waving at you.
• I’ve heard that running can be addictive. Can I really afford one more addiction? Because we all know I am NOT sacrificing coffee. Or books. Or auctions and garage sales. Or gardening.
• Sometimes, just sometimes, honey bees might swarm you.
• If you sprain your ankle on those Oklahoma red rocks, your neighbor will definitely not be home any more to help or call anyone for you, because that’s just how things work.
• What if I get too skinny? (LOL)

   We have house guests this week and next. Not Couch Surfers exactly, though the two teen-aged boys did crash in the green room last night. We have kids here, rightfully belonging to our friends and our siblings. And we might just keep them.

   Yesterday, between swimming sessions, episodes of Sponge Bob Square Pants, and high-speed rides to the mailbox, I stole a few minutes to iron a few work shirts for Handsome. Because, of course, life goes on. He continues to shake the globe up at the Commish, righting wrongs and striking impossible balances, so that I can continue to play with other people’s kids and dream up new gardens and write. Anyway, yesterday Juliana joined me while I ironed. She is the youngest in the set and a sheer joy. What follows is another conversation I will not soon forget.

   “What are you doing?” We are in the Apartment. She is seated on the small, salmon colored damask love seat across from mine. She had been watching the horses graze in the middle field, just outside our window there, and reporting to me the status of the rain based on pond-surface activity.

   “Ironing his shirts.” I totally resisted the urge to say painting elephants. I congratulated myself silently.

   “Why do you iron his shirts?” She was looking at me squarely now, her eight year old frame sitting as tall and straight as it could, her attention no longer divided between me, the rain, and the horses.

   “Well, it’s just part of how I take care of him.” She blinked those long, feathery eye lashes but said nothing. “I mean, he keeps me really safe and makes sure we have enough money for everything we need, and I take care of the animals and iron his shirts and stuff.”

   “Oooohhh.” Then she leaned forward dramatically, smiling with her eyes closed, and inhaled the steam from my iron. “I just love that smell!”

   “Me too, I love the way hot cotton smells, and sometimes I spray his cologne on his shirts after.”

   She giggled when some cold spray starch fell on her bare feet and shins. And we discussed how it could possibly reach our feet beneath the ironing board. Then she resumed the interrogation.

   “But why do yoooouuuu iron them?” Her little face shook at the exaggerated vowel sounds.

   “Well, the thing is, he earns all of our money. Aaaannnd he does all of the hard work around here, all of the heavy jobs and the tough jobs, and I do the pretty stuff like gardening and cooking and ironing.” I shook my face a little at my own exaggerated vowel sounds.

   “And shopping.”

   “Umm, yes. And shopping.” I searched her sweet face and grinned with hot guilt. She had been reminding me every three and a half hours that we needed to drive to town to replace a tire on one of the tricycles and also buy a chain for a forgotten bike we had unearthed from the barn the day before. “Also, sweetie, he doesn’t really like to iron shirts. I think he would wash his own clothes if he had to, but I don’t think he would iron them.”

   “Right, probably not.” She collapsed backward into the love seat and shuffled her tiny feet. I love, by the way, that she just flatly agreed with me on this. Made my day.

   “And if he went to the office with wrinkly shirts your Mom would totally make fun of him.” Her Mom, our friend, works at the Commish too.

   At this, her lush eyebrows arched with profound understanding, that serious look of innocent business that only an eight year old girl can convey. “Yeah, that’s definitely true.”

Hallelujah.

If You Need to Get Your Life in Perspective, 
Talk to an Eight year Old.
Borrow One if You Have to.
xoxoxo

   I stalk read lots of smart, stylish, inspirational, and frankly intimidating women here on ye ol’ blogosphere. In one year I have learned a truckload from these fine people and have started some pretty cool-as-beans friendships along the way. Once in a blue moon, though, I cross paths with some of them in a more intimate way. This weekend I was “tagged” by Tangled Lou over at Periphery, and you guys, I feel like I am sitting at the popular girls’ lunch table, receiving an invitation to play at recess. She and the company she keeps make up some of this continent’s smartest, wittiest, most soul-nourishing women, and I am pretty sure Depeche Mode, good coffee, and high-level reading habits are at the root of all this brilliance.
 
   What follows here is my contribution to the cause. The cause of personal confession mixed with an attempt at levity. I’ve given myself permission to be wildly long-winded today, so feel free to take notes. Not really.

1. I am an awful typist, like, the worst you will ever meet in your life. I spend huge amounts of time and energy editing the smallest typed things, even texts. It’s embarrassing. Despite this, though, I can get stupidly indignant about spell-check errors.
2. I am a recovering Grammar Nazi, but I remain proud of the fact that I can diagram almost any sentence thrown at me. Sometimes if a less than thrilling person is talking to me for too long and I start to doze, I mentally diagram their sentences to stay alert. This is fun, but the trouble is that it invariably reawakens the Grammar Nazi.
3. Most people who know me already know this, but I have accidentally broken out my two top front teeth about nine times in my life. Or thirteen or forty, I have lost count by now. I have nightmares about them a few times a month.
4. I first became a mother when I was twenty-two years old. I felt older and wiser then than I do now (more prideful indignation), and looking back I shudder to think of my precious daughter being trusted to the girl I used to be.
5. I am a shameless hoarder of notebooks, spaghetti-strap dresses, romaine lettuces, and various black mascaras.
6. In fact, I could get used to being without a lot of material things in life, but not notebooks. I probably could not function as an information-in/information-out kind of person without a stack of notebooks and a clutch of pens nearby at all times.
7. Also perfect coffee.
8. The level of peace I have about my girls being away from home right now is misunderstood by almost everybody. Almost. As is the depth and severity of pain I feel simultaneously. And the few people who do understand these twin emotions are more precious to me than I can express.
9. Adulthood is different than I expected. True love is better than anyone ever told me. The notion that the glory days are all in youth is sad and misleading. These are things I hope to show my girls when the time is right.
10. Gardens… Flower gardens, food gardens, formal, wild, personal, public… All gardens fascinate and inspire me in a thousand ways. When visiting new cities I am much happier finding their gardens than shopping their malls. And touring the outdoor spaces of  new friends is one of my favorite ways to get better acquainted.
11. I could use some help with time management. Like, for real you guys. Please?

1. If there were 5 birds in your yard, which one would you eat? And why?  As a matter of fact, we have LOTS of birds in our yard, and I am reluctant to eat any of them. Though I do eat their liquid offspring greedily. One day I aim at a rooster harvest. One day.

2. What’s the best thing that happened to you when you were 7 years old? I was approximately this age when my parents and grandparents started their lamp company, Village Art Lamps in Oklahoma City. It was a family effort from day one. I remember Dad giving us a pile of lamp components on Grandma’s carpeted living room floor and encouraging us to design lamps. Also, my Uncle Timmy had lived with us for a while. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen or eighteen, and I loved him so much. I was devastated when he said he was moving out. I still get choked up when I remember that night. These things all happened together, so it’s a strongly bittersweet memory.

3. If the mob was going to take one of your fingers to recover a debt, which finger would you give them? Why? (Or would you do that thing where you flip the table and grab the giant meat cleaver from Vito?) I might not have the prettiest manicure in town, but I like all of my ten fingers, thanks very much. And the only debt I might ever owe is a library fine. Is it that serious? Is losing a digit to the mob something I should worry about???

4. If you were to throw a drink in someone’s face, what drink would it be and why would you do it? I have done this once in my life, and I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, I am ashamed.

5. Someone gives you a gorgeous mink coat for a gift, would you wear it? Why or why not? I actually own a really beautiful black, waist-length mink jacket. Handsome bought it for me at an estate sale (because that’s how we roll) and has asked me repeatedly to wear it out. He was raised with women wearing such things, while I was not. I agree it looks gorgeous and feels amazing, but I have only worn it out on the town one time, on New Year’s Eve. I keep trying to think of new outfits for it but always wind up with the attitude: If I just went down two jeans sizes it would look so much better. Typical vanity stuff.

6. You are trapped in an elevator with the following people: Elton John, Kathy Griffin, Jimmy Carter and John Malkovich. What do you do? Would you take pictures with your cell phone? Okay, let’s talk about this. First of all, Instagram. I would flood the web with highly edited Instagram shots of these people. Also, I saw video of a near-miss throw down between Kathy Griffin and Elizabeth Hesselbeck and was rooting for my fellow blonde conservative the whole time. Griffin is sometimes funny, but her shrill sarcasm gets to be too much. She needs to be taken down a peg or two. Carter? He was President while I was in gradeschool. I once thought my classmate who shared his daughter’s name might actally be his daughter. I’d like to get that cleared up with him directly. Maybe see the photos in his wallet. I would hope Elton John didn’t have ideas to steal my sultry black mink jacket. And I would invite John Malkovich for a nice meal and a garden tour somewhere. He is crazy-bones interesting!

7. Who did you want to be when you were 13? Are you that person? Why or why not? Believe it or not, I wanted to be a nun. And clearly I am not a nun today. But I also wanted to be a writer and a marine biologist. Hhhmmm, I do a form of writing now, though not for money YET, and I have all of these amaing animals, so… Maybe I was just off on the nun part and the marine part. Though I do feel tightly connected to God most of the time and I do still love the ocean. Cool question.

8. If you found a finger in your burrito, would you set it aside and keep eating? Why or why not? This is gross beyond words. As much as I love Mexican food, I might not eat for a year after this. I have a hard enough time finishing any meal where I have discovered a hair. Oh lordy, now I might vomit for real.

9. If your navel dispensed the condiment of your choice, what would it be? Why? Again, gross. Gag me with a spoon.

10. Are you a ferret person? I am so happy this has come up in conversation again. YES. Yes, I love ferrets so much. Not despite their smell, partly because of it. I like that weird, cellar-stink warning from nature. And I love their shape and slinkiness. I adore the way a ferret inspects the world and is kind of self-centered. Much debate surrounds my claim to have owned a ferret as a little girl, but I am sticking to my guns. I once had a ferret. And he loved me.

11. You are given an award for something you are very proud of. You get up to make your acceptance speech and they hand you a box of teeth. Does it throw you off? What do you do? Would you proudly display it on your mantel? Umm, did you write this question just for me, lady? Creepy though that prize might be, a box of extra teeth is not a terrible thing to have around the house. Because a person never knows when she might swim into a concrete wall, fall forward onto a gymnasium floor, or step on a heavy metal rake. Yes, yes I would accept the teeth proudly and gratefully.

   I am going to go ahead and tag a handful of writers who have my admiration as well as a healthy dose of my curiosity, but I should warn you that most of these fine people may not participate. Their blogs are either a slightly different tone than what lends to this kind of disclosure, or they have been tagged recently and have graciously bowed out of this game. No biggie, no hard feelings, no worries. I do hope you visit their blogs anyway and dip your toes in their waters.

Heather at New House New Home New Life Heather, my distant support in motherhood and also my gardening and up-cycling inspiration.
Katie at Cabbage Ranch Katie has horses, like us, and she also has a pet deer who just delivered twins! Not to mention an adorable little toddler and another on the way.
Lisa at Living on This Farm Have I pointed you her way yet? Lisa and her partner farm right here in Oklahoma and serve chef-quality feasts of locally raised foods to the community.
Brittany at Vesuvius at Home You know how you can hire an artist to render a painting of your home? I’d like Brittany to write our farm. You will fall in love with her prose and poetry, no matter the topic.
Jen Luitwieler I am a new reader to Jen’s blog, but already a devoted one. She writes about running and about life, and she does so with great intelligence and sensitivity. She has a book Run With Me that is on my very short want-to-read list.
The M Half  M. You guys know M! She is the sassy chick who almost got me ax-murdered in the forest.

This is what I would love to know about you girls:

1. What book did you finish last? What book are you reading now?
2. How do you take your coffee? Or is it tea? Or something else?
3. Are you a beach bum, a lake rat, or a land lubber? Where are you vacationing this year?
4. What time of day do you find it best to shower, get made up, etc? This question is at once more serious and less creepy than it sounds. Pinky promise.
5. Who is your most enduring female role model? Or do you have a male role model?
6. Each of you is a special kind of writer, and I look forward to finding new material from each of you. I’d love to know about how much time you spend writing each day (or each week) and maybe also what time of day is best for your writing. What are your ideal writing conditions?
7. Stephen King is publicly opposed to adverbs, to my understanding. I am passionately supportive of their magic. Where do you stand on this issue?
8. Do you believe prayer can change free will?
9. Which is more important to you, a sparkling clean and well stocked kitchen or a comfortable, well appointed bedroom and bathroom?
10. If you had to change your full name, what name would you choose?  
11. What little rituals do you perform in the name of good ole superstition?

   Always on the lookout for a way to shake up fitness routines, this month I am trying something new. Really, it is just a new combination of classic exercises, but a fairly ambitious one. It is called The Iron Goat, and it was arranged (invented?) by a Navy friend of my little brother and sister-in-law, aimed at helping folks stay ship shape (haha) over the winter holiday. If you’d like to read more about it besides what I will patch together, well here ya go.

Mama Goat with Marshmallow, Sugar & Spice, and Lucy & Ethel in our front field. The fact that they are actually behind the fence in this shot has only to do with the fact they they wanted to be there. No amount of pleading, bribing, threatening, or fence altering could ever keep them where they didn’t want to be.

   My basic understanding is that The Iron Goat is is the meat and potatoes of The Iron Man competition, but spread over the course of a month instead of crammed into one day. So it gets a person to run, bike, and swim consistently for about four weeks. What is it we always hear about setting up habits, that it takes about twenty-one days? Well this should do the trick. Either that, or by the end of this month I will hate running, biking, and swimming.

Sugar, one of Mama’s twins. She really was a sweetie!

 
   Anyway, my gorgeous and already fit sister-in-law did this last winter with a small group of Navy friends and was one of three to complete it. They motivated each other, stayed accountable, and had fun. And I have to say that she looked incredible afterwards. Svelte, toned, and just overall very healthy, lean, and filled with stamina. Yep, that is a good and worthy goal, ladies and gentlemen.

Marshmallow with her twin girls Lucy & Ethel, posing and begging for treats and the same time.

   I have been exercising sporadically ever since our twiggy little Christmas tree came down in January, alternating between the elliptical machine, Pilates, and Jillian Michaels’ particular version of torture. And I have had reasonable results. Really, I have just been working out enough to keep up with my favorite hobby, which is eating lots of good food. Now I’m ready to see some progress, and I think this is going to be great. Surely running 26.2 miles, biking 112 miles, and swimming 2.4 miles will do this girl some good! And it sounds so fun!! Most of this is outdoors, much better than the alternative. And to make things even more awesome, my fellow adventurer Tracy is joining me! She even built a spreadsheet so we can track our progress.

The Three Billy Goats Gruff. This was our motley crew of stinky, aggressive, but very lovable boys.

   Today we begin. June first, day one of thirty aimed at challenging, consistent, variety-filled, full-body exercise. My skinny jeans better get ready, you guys.

   To mark this auspicious beginning, how about two few loosely related lists?

Some Facts About Goats:

• They are smelly. Like, worse than skunks in my opinion.
• But they are affectionate and filled with personality and very smart. And highly entertaining.
• Billy goats sometimes pee in their own mouths, sort of doing a crazy yoga pose to accomplish this. Seeing this strange ritual is not for the faint of heart.
• They are so difficult to contain that I fully agree with the old adage, “Any fence that holds water will hold a goat.” I actually doubt they have bones and think they might be made of jello, because I have seen with my own eyes a fat, solid goat squeeze through an opening barely big enough for a cat.
• They will eat every weed and every low hanging branch and leaf in sight, which sounds like a great landscaping help, but they do that only after devouring every rose, hydrangea, and daffodil in sight.
• The females tend to bear twins. This happened on our farm twice during the short time we raised goats.
• There is an interesting and true story behind the expression, “Get Your Goat, ” but I’ll save that for another day.

Some Outright Lies:

• I have a very normal, very grown-up bicycle ready to go for this June event. I am not going to ride 112 miles on a tricycle with a flower basket on the back, up and down our gravel driveway a million times.
• I am not the least bit nervous about swimming in an Olympic pool in front of strangers to accomplish my 2.4 water miles.
• I plan to post before and after photos of myself and also give you my starting and ending measurements.
• I love the taste of goat cheese.
• I have gorgeous feet from all the elliptical work this Spring, and they should only become prettier after I add running to my life.
• My husband thinks I will finish this.