Lazy W Marie

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

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Colorful Chaos

   Hello again! I have been alluding to a lot of activity and excitement here lately, and the truth is that I am so loaded with good stuff to do that I have not really slowed down to share much of it. The days and nights pass by like quicksilver. In fact, this morning I barely have time for a list. Exactly one and a half cups of coffee stand between me and the rest of this beautiful day, and I will use them to organize some of this chaotic energy.

  • Th Apartment is messy again, big surprise; but the good thing is that all of the dresser drawers and the adjacent closet are empty, so the messes are soon to be corralled back into said drawers and closet. In a more organized, productive fashion, Oh, and the curtain dilemma has been more of less resolved. Thanks to some excellent advice and insight from all of you fine people, I know now exactly what I want up there. More on that eventually.
  • Even in the midst of a messy Girly Apartment, crafts are running rampant in my life. Lampshades, yarnish things, paintings, apron sewing, and more are being squeezed out of or into every week. And I just love it. Our friend Marci recently had surgery (again) and one day had just barely enough energy to do a little one-handed crafting of her own. Hopefully she will let me share that soon.
  • Books-books-books. Since our Dinner Club With a Reading Problem (DCWRP) meeting earlier this month, I have been raving non stop about Same Kind of Different as Me. And I do not apologize for that. It’s just so good. Read this book! Also since then I have enjoyed a Tom Clancy espionage thriller and some other easy stuff. I’m not saying it hasn’t been garden-related reading material or old poetry. Our next selection for DCWRP is The Horse Whisperer. It should arrive at the farm via Amazon any second now, and I cannot wait to dive in.
“Our limitation is God’s opportunity.”
Amen amen amen.
xoxoxoxo
  • Speaking of books, I am considering the purchase of an E-reader. I know. My own eyes can’t stop rolling at myself.
Tiny T pities the fool who does not eventually embrace new technology.
  • The garden is going just plain gangbusters. Except for the gross,weird, destructive squash bugs, every bed and every box is thriving. We get food and enjoy beauty daily. In fact, even the squash vines, under siege as they are, still throw  big, heavy veggies at me when I walk past. The melons are only a couple of weeks away from ripeness. The herbs… Ahh, friends… Even Handsome, who is decidedly not a scent-loving guy, enjoys the fragrant herb bed. This morning after Hot Tub Summit he inhaled appreciatively as he walked past it and said it smells like an Italian restaurant. I almost fainted.
  • My children are growing up. I don’t talk about it here much because it breaks my heart a little and I barely know what to say. They are recently sixteen and very nearly eighteen and as beautiful inside and out as any two young women can possibly be. I am working on a special tribute to them but that will take some boldness to share. I do not mention it here even a fraction as much as it is on my mind. Which is constantly. But please know that God is answering prayer in this most precious chamber of my heart, and life is good. Very good.
  • The farm animals are all doing great. Chanta’s leg has healed beautifully. Dulcinea is growing like a weed. In fact, I have lately been saying that the weeds are growing like llamas. Even our hens are producing again, making it more or less possible for me to sell fresh farm eggs for $3 per dozen.
  • I’ve picked running back up, having laid it down gently in the midst of some hot weather and hectic schedules, and thereby having failed at my Iron Goat attempt. Anyway, while intense training for the full marathon next April will start right after the holidays, I am spending the next few months doing speed work and stress-relief runs. 
  • Thanks to my ten-four good buddy Stephanie, my newest design obsession a luscious woman named Tracy Porter. I mean, her Pinterest boards and such are called, “Poetic Wanderlust.” Seriously. She doesn’t even need to be a real person for me to have a beautiful-girl crush on her. And the fact that Tracy Porter also has Instagram means that now I need an extra half hour in every day.
http://www.poeticwanderlust.com/
  • The Apartment is not the only room getting a window-makeover around here. The downstairs living room has two new ball gowns, which I scored at a garage sale for ten bucks each. And the tiny kitchen window, which overlooks my beloved herb bed, is about to shed her silly turquoise cafe curtain with the black and white skinny ruffle… and start wearing something smarter and more grown up: A true-blue roman shade! Made of linen printed with monkeys and fruit, lest we get too serious around here. For this project I have enjoyed the advice of a friend and professional, and  I cannot WAIT to share those details!
   Honestly, I better scoot.My last cup of coffee has cooled off now, and the day outside is heating up. My time to run a few miles and work in the garden is fast escaping me. Then errands in the City, Taco Tuesday for dinner tonight, and projects in between. Quicksilver, I tell ya.
   Thanks for stopping in! I hope your world is colorful, chaotic, and joyful just the way you like it. I hope your prayers are being answered. And I hope you have great books stacked in impossible numbers between you and the television. 
Carpe Diem
xoxoxooxo

Our Chanta

   Friends. Happy Monday to you! We have a lot going on, as usual, all of it really wonderful stuff. My girls are happy and well. Our home is safe and good. We have work before us and love between us. Life is magical.

   Among the work before us is tending to an injured horse. A few days ago our big paint horse, Chanta, got into a bit of an alpha male conflict with the super protective and territorial Romulus (daddy llama). While Chanta delivered several good solid kicks himself, he did suffer a small cut on his beautiful leg from Romulus’ crazy sharp hoof. Everyone is totally fine, just enjoying some tender loving care and medical attention for a bit. In fact, the conflict seems to have cleared the air between the two, and now everyone is tucked safely and happily in their own spaces.

   In fact, Handsome and I have enjoyed the extra snuggles at least as much as Chanta, and I am happy to know that we can handle an injury.

   Just hours before the manly kerfluffle happened, oddly enough, I sat with Chanta for over an hour, brushing him, kissing him, detangling his gorgeous mane and tail, stroking his muscles and long, amazing legs. Admiring the permissible layer of blubber he has grown lately. I clearly remember sitting on the grass in front of him while his big head dropped almost on top of mine. My hands, middle fingertip to thumb, can fully encircle his bony ankle. How can those skinny ankles support this magnificent beast? I don’t get it. Chanta loves having his legs and feet touched, so I brushed that silvery little forelock above his hooves too.

   
   Chanta is so big. and so sweet. and so in love with us. He adores being brushed and loved. He likes the Beatles’ songs Penny Lane and Norwegian Wood, but not as much as his favorite, Raindrops on Roses. After just a few quiet minutes like this, he usually exhales all of the air in that big round belly, a long gentle snuffle collapsing him into relaxation.

   Chanta is just the bees knees. We love him incredibly, as do all of our friends who visit the farm. We are super thankful he is okay, and to keep it that way if you believe in praying for animals would you do so?

XOXOXOXO

My Newest Art Obsession

   I am such a sucker for fresh, new artwork. Different stuff. Off beat. Colorful, neutral, dramatic, plain, big, small, emotional, intellectual, silly, serious. Two-dimensional, three-dimensional, just whatever. So long as it is fairly unusual and not likely to be found in, say, a builder show home. That’s just not my groove, man.

   I especially like original paintings or old photos that have been “built up” with new little painted doodles or decoupaged photos. And maybe some glitter. Or whatever. Eye catching stuff. Meaningful stuff. I really love keeping old things, not tossing them just because their original purposes seem lost. Our home and property are full of re-purposed treasure.

   Well. My husband knows this. And he is the most romantic man ever, always coming up with gestures to woo me and amaze me.

   This evening he rummaged around in my garden shed then spent some time alone in his shop with an array of paints and a small grouping of weird plastic lawn animals.

   Meanwhile, I was in the pool getting lost in a Tom Clancy novel.

   And a while later, he presented these colorful gifts to me:

      Right??? My breath stuck in my throat when I saw them. I had to turn my face away and look again.

   These are nothing but those odd little plastic decoy animals you buy at farm supply stores… painted like folk art! Well, the deer is actually a planter, obviously not a decoy. But that raccoon has tricked me in the barn more than once. Not anymore, I suspect! And the duck? I have never seen a more beautiful, fabulous duck. Silver, With so many little colorful details that didn’t photograph so well in the bright sunset.

   Babe, thank you. I absolutely, positively, unashamedly L O V E these pretty little critters! Perhaps especially their gorgeous little eyelashes.

   I have one more plastic animal craving such a zesty treatment, a white plastic swan, also a planter. Do you have anything like this that could use a face lift? Wait, it’s more than a face lift; it’s a complete and total reinvention. Well, do you?

   Just FYI, this was a simple project. He did not need to prime or sand the critters; the plastic takes paint great. He used a combination of spray paints (we keep quite a full inventory for every day colorful use) and some acrylics. The most important supply is creativity.

   Tune in later this week for some milestone celebrations in our little family, some yummy recipes, and more of Tiny Mr. T. Until then, don’t throw stuff out! Just make it yours.

“The purpose of art is washing the dust 
 of daily life off our souls.”
 ~Pablo Picasso
 xoxoxoxo  

Senses Inventory: Skunked

   Everything was going just fine. I was on a good, average run around the back field. My miles were adding up. My thoughts were sliding by easily, transforming a worried mind into a peaceful one. The harder my heart beat the less it hurt. My sweat was warm and salty and mixing with the cool rain, the oily mixture of both running in beads down my arms and legs.

   I ran downhill through the prairie grass with the forest on my right, rounded the bottom of the trail, and turned south along a little ridge of red rocks made slick from the rain. My footprints matched a string of llama hoof prints. My arm brushed past the same soft pine tree branch that always, always touches me on this lap. It’s like a touchstone, a gentle nudge, even a little kiss every quarter-mile.  I took a deep breath and navigated the rocky downhill corner, enjoying the goose bumps from that pine tree kiss.  Then it happened…

  That deep breath I took should have been refreshing and energizing. Instead, it filled every cell of my being with…

   Skunk spray.

   So obviously it warrants this Senses Inventory.

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

See: Even through my rain-spotted sunglasses, I see the blurry haze of skunk spray. All the colors of the farm are muddled together. They are slowly dropping into shades of brown and gray. My eyes are burning now.

Hear: Pacino is uphill near the house, singing and screaming at the free range guineas and chickens. I hear Dusty give a little whinny, like he felt a disturbance in the force. Besides these animals voices, all I hear is Shakira from my iPhone, making promises to me about truthful hips. She has no comfort for me about skunk spray.

Smell: I normally kind of like the smell of skunk spray, but this is too much. It’s just so dang strong. It’s so intense. It’s like skunk spray… concentrate. It’s like all the skunks of the world have been warned they have one last chance to rid themselves of spray, and they must do so here at the Lazy W. Behind this. Exact. Tree.

Taste: That sour, peppery, putrid, slightly gaggy, warm, fuzzy air that follows a truly drenching skunk spray. I taste it in my mouth. I taste it in my throat. The awful taste is now seeping down into my empty stomach.

Touch: Now the oily mixture of sweat and rain feels dangerous, like it could in fact be, well, you know…

Think:  Is this skunk spray actually on me? Or is just about me? And where is the skunk??And are green garden tomatoes as effective at sanitizing as standard tomato juice? I know my car needs cleaning, but there is no way I am getting in there smelling like this.

Feel:  Betrayed. I feel betrayed by nature.

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

   Have you ever been skunk sprayed? It turns out my little run in was just friendly fire; it could have been much, much worse. And I credit the damp weather for intensifying every detail of the blast.

   Still, Momma Llama Seraphine would only get **just so close** to me when I walked back uphill.

Slightly Rude.
All of it.
xoxoxoxo 

Five Things That Should not Bother me as Much as They Do

   I have for many years held close to my heart a wonderful quote which speaks to the disproportionate power of small problems to weigh on your spirit even worse than the biggest trials:

“It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out;
it’s the pebble in your shoe.”
~Muhammad Ali

  Right? We can usually keep a large challenge in perspective, scaling it down, breaking it up into manageable pieces that we conquer one after another until the thing is done. Or maybe our deepest heartaches are surrendered because that’s all there is left to do, and we bear the pain until the prayer is answered. But how often do life’s smallest, weirdest annoyances drive us to the breaking point?

   Super often. Very often. All the dang time often.

   Following are some culprits in my life. The Big Stuff is in check. These things? They makes me use swear words. You know. Like my good buddy M.  : )

1. The wrong color of shopping buggy. It sets the tone for my entire shopping trip. It affects my decision making skills. It distracts me and causes me to buy too much coffee and lettuce and not enough freezer paper. Of all the possible buggy color choices, I simply cannot abide orange. Unless it is Thunder basketball season. Then only if I am wearing blue. I hate that this is so important to me, but it just is.

2.  Hammering my bony shin against the low metal bar of that stupid orange shopping buggy. Childbirth hurts less. I am pretty sure the fronts of my shins are both permanently dented. And it’s not like walking more slowly helps that much! One wrong step and you’re a victim.

3.  When people leave their hair styling products and hair brushes anywhere near the bathroom sink, where I brush my teeth. I have a very real mortal fear of getting hair in my mouth, so brushing my teeth where someone’s hair might at any moment jump up on a light breeze and attack me… well, it is horrific. FOR-THE-LOVE-OF-GOD-BABE. I am begging you.

3.  Tangled up garden hoses. Especially when they are a hundred million miles long. Just kill me.

4.  House flies, squash bugs, and grasshoppers. In that exact order.

5.  Botching a great joke. Either by losing that good, funny rhythm or completely forgetting the punch line. This happens more than I care to admit.

   Whew!! I feel better. Thanks for listening. Now what silly little pebbles are stuck in your shoe?

“Adversity is like a strong wind. it tears away from us
 all but the things that cannot be torn,
 so that we see ourselves as we really are.”
~Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

p.s. Have you read Memoirs of a Geisha? Good movie, great book. Treat yourself.