Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Brushing Chanta (Small Stone January 7th)

   I drag the circular metal brush along his body, easily and gently sorting out the red dirt from his long winter hairs which have dried together in wavy, random peaks. He’s definitely been in the pond today. This boy smells of mud,  sunshine, and a little algae. 
   The longer I brush him the more he relaxes, until his left rear hoof cocks up nearly off the ground, transferring even more of his 1200 pounds forward. A good sign of sleepiness.
   He lets me smooth and clean his gorgeous neck, then every muscular part of his body, and then each of his four incredible legs, all the while listening to his deep, steady breathing, until all that remains uncombed are his belly and his throat. 
   His round belly is ticklish, so i have to be more careful here. Brushing it wakes him up a bit, and he bends that long, thick neck far to his left for a closer look at my progress. We Eskimo kiss peacefully and I continue. He exhales as if to surrender.
   Once his belly is clean and smooth again, liberated from that afternoon cloud of red dirt, I creep gingerly to kneel in front of this gentle giant. Brushing his throat, touching his feet, squeezing his knobby knees, inhaling his sweet, warm breath and noticing the halo of late day sun through the edge of his coat. So beautiful, this horse. His ankles, so strong and solid, are covered by tendrils of silver blond hair for winter.
   Now squatting in front of him, I rest my forehead on that plump, divided piece of flesh on his chest. Nuzzle him with my cheek. Kiss his furry shoulder. He returns the gesture by leaning way down and simply resting his chubby mouth on the top of my head. I am pretty sure he fell asleep again in this position, just for a couple of minutes. I sit very still and just accept it. Then without warning I feel him chewing sneakily on my ponytail. 
   I could stay here and do this all day. So could he, I think, because when I finally stand and walk reluctantly away he crosses my path and nudges my hands, insisting on more.

Sensual Morning (Small Stone January 6th)

   Mid morning sun bathes everything downstairs in warmth and brightness, revealing both sparkling glass and dusty chair legs. I can smell fresh coffee, dish washing soap, and pine scented perfume, a Scentsy gift from my cousin Jen. Big, broad, healthy poinsettia leaves in red, green and creamy white beg to be touched. They look and feel like threadbare velvet. This reminds me to brush the horses, to kiss their velvet noses. Which reminds me to scoop more manure today, please and thank you. Which makes me wonder how many pairs of jeans I still have clean.
   At 8:23 a.m., anything is still possible. A good chunk of my daily tasks are already completed and nearly ten hours stand between us and a blessedly holiday-free weekend. This fact is both motivating and paralyzing.
   I wonder what the girls are doing this morning. 
How happy, healthy, sleepy, excited, nostalgic, 
romantic, silly, curious, angry, or ornery they might feel.
I hope they feel my love.
   Having a difficult time peeling myself away from the quiet, I decide to drain the last of my sweet, hot coffee from my favorite chipped rooster mug. See what kind of dent I can make in the day. Saying a quick prayer for everyone to return to Love, truth, and beauty, and to cling to those as much as possible. It’s now 8:34 a.m., time to launch.

Bird Watching (Small Stone January 5th)

   Sitting in our big east window this Thursday morning, our large macaw on my shoulder, I can’t help but notice the barrier between wild and tame. I can smell his powdery dander, feel his smooth feathers against my face, and hear his gentle mornings clucks and kisses. He mostly focuses on me and only occasionally notices the flurry of activity outdoors. On the other side of the smooth glass pane, cardinals, blue jays, crows, and so many other birds are in swarms today. Zooming through the abundant sunshine, hunting breakfast, swirling patterns of love and freedom in the clean January sky. 
   The smallest birds are like specks compared to our huge blue and yellow baby, but despite his size and despite his massive hook bill and sharp talons, he is the most vulnerable of them all.
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Not two minutes after writing this, 
Pacino had returned to his cage 
and a very small, fat, gray and brown bird 
crashed violently into the picture window. 
Pacino jumped muttered seriously, “Uh-oh. What happened?”

Apparently domesticity breeds some compassion.  

I thanked my lucky bird-Momma stars that he was safe in his gilded cage,
perhaps a little less vulnerable than I a moment ago believed.

The Heart of a Hostess

   On New Year’s Day I visited my parents’ house in Oklahoma City, had a GREAT time all afternoon, and drove back to the farm with my heart full of love. It’s always fun to see everyone in our big ol’ family, and it turns out that I didn’t even leave that early, didn’t even miss that much of the party.
   Or so I thought.
   Later that evening I did some goofing around on Facebook and saw photos of lots of people on my parents’ front porch. People I did not recognize. Sitting in the same deep, reclining wooden bench where I have sat my whole life. Covered up in blankets in which I have been cuddling daughters and nieces for years. I crinkled my face and searched my memory. Not a scrap of a clue as to these crazy weirdo people’s identity. Nothing.
   “WHO THE HECK ARE THESE YAHOOS?!?!” I may or may not have shouted at my laptop. Then I typed a slightly more polite version of my question on Mom’s Facebook page. She never responded, and I can only imagine her shaking her head in disappointment, pursing her sweet mouth and blinking slowly.
   “Tsk. Tsk.”
   The issue has been on the back burner for a couple of days, but the heat has been on. My curiosity, nay, my sense of trespass, has been simmering.

********************

   So…  Today I went to see my Mom at her office, enjoyed some very sweet chit chat, and was introduced to several of her coworkers. Very nice people. Not strangers at all.
  Then the matter of Strangers on the Front Porch was raised. I took a deep breath because anything was possible in that moment. She could be telling me about siblings I never knew I had. Or that she and Dad had taken up Couch Surfing. Or that I was mistaken in my comment typing and that wasn’t her Facebook page at all, but rather a different Parents’ House Front Porch in an alternate reality or something like that.
   Nothing could be further for the truth.
   It turns out that Mom was just being Mom. I’d love to tell you what happened.
   A work crew installing fencing down the street had hit a high pressure gas line. This is a serious accident, of course, but fortunately nothing exploded and no one was hurt. The worst that happened is the temporary evacuation of all the people on that side of the street. Mom said that among the evacuees was a family that had just bought their house; they hadn’t even finished moving in yet.
   So what happened?
   Mom invited them to her house, where she was still entertaining extended family, may I remind you. They piled onto my childhood her front porch, feeling too cautious or too polite to immediately accept the invitation indoors.
   Mom said they all sat on the front porch for a while, sharing blankets and hot chocolate. Getting to know each other a little bit. And judging from the big smiles on these yahoos‘ Mom and Dad’s new neighbors’ faces, everyone was having a great time. Mom told me that later in the evening (it was an hours-long evacuation) they went inside and even ordered pizzas and played games.
   And that is the story of Strangers on the Front Porch.
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   Wow. And to think I almost ordered my sweet Momma a copy of the Reluctant Entertainer book for Christmas. She doesn’t credit herself in this way, but she is a natural hostess. Her heart is in exactly the condition that hostessing requires: open, warm, and sensitive to the needs of others. Ready to bless, not impress, as Sandy Coughlin teaches.
Reluctant Entertainer, The: Every Woman's Guide to Simple and Gracious Hospitality
   Okay, I am definitely ordering her the book anyway. She needs to know how natural she is. I love you Momma.
Stranger Danger, You Guys!!!!
But seriously, Open Your Hearts Before You Open Your Homes.
xoxoxoxo
   

New Every Morning! (re-inspired by lifeingrace)

   I am, like so many women, more specifically like so many women in my life (which is maybe why they’re in my life to begin with) heavily prone to writing lists and getting delightfully giddy at the beginning of a project or adventure. I tend to foam in my accident-prone mouth at the sight of blank paper, crisp, early sunrises, and January, which is pretty much our cultural embodiment of new beginnings, followed closely by Easter and spring garden planting.
   I have also had divided success with past lists, though, maybe because the lists are so great in number. Thinking the sensible thing to do this year was control my natural urge to change the world (or at least my red dirt covered corner of it), I thought and thought about everything I wanted for 2012. I tried to see through to the core of why these good and worthy goals haven’t been reached already, about why the same  wishes cling tenaciously to my Long List. I managed to boil it all down to the Lowest Common Denominator, into one articulatable “resolution,” though some would argue this is too broad to qualify: 
“Time Management.” 
Yawn.
   Then something wonderful happened to shatter the clay around my mind and loose a myriad of vivid feelings and ideas that were swirling around insistently anyway.
   What happened is that tonight I stumbled on an electrified post by Edie at lifeingrace, her thoughts and encouragement about writing New Year resolutions. The best part is that she (or perhaps a friend of hers) coined them reVolutions. I can’t get over how cool this is, you guys. Please go read her post as well as her very colorful list of personal reVolutions for 2012.

********************

Are you back? Or did I lose everybody 
because you’re off writing your own electrified lists? 
If so, that’s cool.
xoxoxo
This less photoshoppy list belongs to moi. I couldn’t wait.
And it just so happens that my new not blank anymore planner 
offers one large lined page just for personal notes.
This passionate brainstorming session was kinda meant to be.
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   What I liked about the switch that flipped here is the freedom, the encouragement to be truly wild with my wish making, my list writing and my hope forming. This is passionate, crazy-bones brainstorming, friends, and I groove it in a big way.
   Hopefully, better time management will underscore a lot of my new habits in 2012, sure, but the coming months are bigger than one goal. Life is rich and complex whether I lose 18 pounds or not (though I do hope this is the last year I fiddle around with that). Every day is beautiful and exciting far beyond the exact condition of my baseboards or compost pile and the exact number of times I post on my blog.
   Tonight’s reading and subsequent writing has me thinking BIG, you guys. Big in EVERY direction, and nothing on my hotly scribbled list is outside the bounds of love. None of it will do anything but add to the quality of life both for Handsome and me and for our friends and family.
   Here’s to lifeingrace for her inspired post on reVolutions that got me thinking about the whole list-making tendency on a spiritual plane. Thank you for the very C.S. Lewis-y phrase, “liturgy of life.”
   Here’s to early January in all of her blank-notebook splendor.
   Here’s to the power of Love, to the hidden but ever present designs and patterns in life that we sometimes fail to notice, and to the limitless creativity and renewal available to us through God.
Happy New Year *AGAIN* from the Lazy W
xoxoxo