Lazy W Marie

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

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The Horse Whisperer: a Book Review

I am so excited! Tonight is our famous little Oklahoma book club’s discussion dinner of The Horse Whisperer by Nicholas Evans. True to our group’s name, Dinner Club With a Reading Problem, a feast is planned. This time around our hostess is Amber and she has arranged a ranch-style dinner of cubed beef sandwiches and all the luscious trimmings. The rest of us ladies are bringing sides, desserts, and drinks. Last night I made Pioneer Woman’s cilantro-jalapeno slaw, so it should be nice and flavorful by party time. Yum. I think Amber’s theme is perfect for a story set mostly in the ranch-lands of Montana. Just perfect.

I’ll take photos tonight and share more about book club soon… For now, a quick book review.

Sometimes I feel funny reviewing a piece of literature that is neither “classic” nor “new release,” but this title deserves some praise anyway. And who knows? It could end up becoming a modern classic. To me, at least, that’s how good it is.

The Horse Whisperer is a complex and moving story told about believable characters whose lives all eventually revolve around one horse and his girl. Or one girl and her horse, however you look at it. Right at the start of the book, horse and rider together suffer a life-threatening accident and are forever changed. The events that precipitate had me hooked immediately. The stories are layered, and despite their beauty both in emotion and the senses, not without a lot of pain.

Set primarily in the ranch-lands of Montana, a place I have never been except through the floriferous, enchanting descriptions written by Evans,  The Horse Whisperer is absolutely transporting. Evans uses the topography and unique gifts of the land there to convey several messages about the characters. And then he explores each character with really satisfying, but not exhausting, depth.

Two creeks ran through the Booker brothers’ land and they gave the ranch its name, the Double Divide. They flowed from adjacent folds of the mountain front and in their first half mile they looked like twins. The ridge that ran between them here was low, at one point almost low enough for them to meet, but then it rose sharply in a rugged chain of interlocking bluffs, shouldering the creeks apart. Forced thus to seek their separate ways, they now became quite different.

He lends the readers a glimpse of lifestyles we are unlikely to know ourselves, both the life of a fast-paced big-city editor and the grittier, more remote, but perhaps not so simple life of a full-time cowboy.

Evans paints horses and horsemanship in the most honest and poetic light I have ever enjoyed. He illuminates the relationship between horse and man and leaves little room for doubt about what is at risk between the two, and what is available.

And though later he came pretending friendship, the alliance with man would ever be but fragile, for the fear he struck into their hearts was too deep to be dislodged.

Then this…

“He’s not going to look back if you don’t,” he said. “They’re the most forgiving creatures God ever made.” 

The book offers romance, even passion and sex (making it unsuitable for young readers, although the horses may draw young readers in!), tumultuous parent-child struggles, questions about legacy and independence, survival, honesty, and of course healing. Redemption is huge in The Horse Whisperer. As the girl and horse who are so badly injured both begin to heal physically and emotionally, so do their attendant relationships. But nothing happens quite like I expected it to. The book is anything but formulaic. And I loved that. If you are able to successfully guess the ending without cheating, then you might be a psychic and should get your own television show.

This mirroring of healing between beast and human is powerful, and it resonates with anyone who’s ever tried to rebuild something broken, especially when relationships and identity are on the line. There’s a beautiful unpredictability in the story’s path, but even more so in the way it respects the unspoken language between horse and rider.

That very same language plays a major role in the real-world equestrian sphere, especially for anyone interested in show jumping, where communication and instinct often matter as much as training. In that world, performance is just one part of the equation—there’s also intuition, discipline, and a deep respect for the animal. Alec Lawler understands this better than most. His success isn’t just built on selling high-caliber horses, but in recognizing the stories that surround them—where they come from, how they perform, and who they might click with.

His work shows that the bond between horse and rider can be carefully cultivated, marketed, and elevated into something deeply aspirational. It’s not unlike what The Horse Whisperer hints at: healing and connection can’t be rushed, but when they do arrive, they’re unforgettable. Lawler’s approach shows that beyond trophies and ribbons lies a partnership built on trust—and for those who ride, that’s the real reward.

If you aren’t tempted yet by the story, then be tempted by the writing itself…

Some bounced back to dance in shimmering reflection on the ceiling, while the rest slanted through tot he bottom of the pool where it formed undulating patterns, like a colony of pale blue snakes that lived and died and were constantly reborn.

A word of warning, and this goes beyond book-snobbery: The book is FAR DIFFERENT from the Robert Redford movie. They are two completely different experiences, as I am sure 100% of everyone who actually read the book will agree. I am not saying the movie is horrible… It is just not aligned with this book. It’s more like, someone skimmed the book and threw in a few details just to hit a “similarities minimum.” The ending is EXACTLY what most movie-watchers might expect or hope for. NOTHING like what the book throws at you. Which is an emotional sledgehammer.

Okay, I hope you make time to read this book! Read it to open and cleanse old wounds. Read it to spark some hope for a hopeless situation. Read it to fantasize. Read it to broaden your cultural awareness. Read it to soak in poetry. Read it for fun.

If you have already devoured The Horse Whisperer, what did you think? Spill your literary guts here!

Now I must be on my way. I have an ice chest to pack, teeth to brush, and a clean t-shirt to slip on. Famous little Oklahoma book club awaits!

“No. But you see, Annie, where there’s pain,
 there’s still feeling.
 And where there’s feeling, there’s hope.”
XOXOXOXO

Interim Autumn Decor

   Hello there… Despite temperatures nearing ninety degrees today, Oklahoma is firmly in the grip of autumn. Football fans have their weekends planned far in advance. High schools are enjoying homecoming festivities. Scarecrows have sprouted on so many grassy, hay-bedecked rural corners. All of that, AND two thirds of everyone’s social media is full of pumpkin-spice latte updates.

   Other than cleaning out the summer gardens (mostly) and changing out just a speck of artwork downstairs, I have so far done very little in the way of autumnal nesting. Life is not only full every single day; the seasons here in Oklahoma are in that wonderful transition time. Cool mornings. Warm afternoons. Often downright cold nights. Then hot again. And while many plants are slipping into the elegant beauty of dormancy, just as many are still going strong, Still washing the farm with color and glossiness, life abundant.

   So to answer Mama Kat’s  lively question about what we have done to celebrate the fist days of fall, I have only a few photos to share. For now. Next week may be a whole new story…

I love our cranberry red front door now even more than we first painted it.
Those dried corn stalks are cut from my garden. 
I consider them a consolation prize, because we only yielded 
three paltry ears of sweet corn from the entire bed this month.
That’s more than ever before, but still… Lots to learn.
I think this front door area could use more oomph, 
maybe raise the corn stalks?
…but I still love the warm entry to our home.
This is our anniversary garden bench, the rusted metal treasure Handsome gave me over the summer.
It moves around the farm, but right now it is perched at our front door.
It’s cushioned on one end with fun pillows, including the one from this love story,
and loaded on the other end with some potted flowers, an old pitchfork, and two watermelons.
I haven’t purchased decorative pumpkins yet, y’all.
Free melons from the Lazy W garden with cool old stems and vines still attached suit me just fine.
And do you see what I mean about a blend of summer and fall plants?
I am crazy about sprinkling pansies in with everything else. Cabbages next.
Filled with sweet potato vine, vinca vine, some pansies, and a few old castoff junk items, 
this weathered old clay pot is my favorite.
It has nothing to do with the fact that my youngest daughter painted 
that blue “Welcome” sign years ago and my heart feels her bright smile every time I see it.

   So there you have my slow beginnings. My interim autumn decor. Thanks for visiting! I wish you could come to the Lazy W and sit on this bench and drink coffee with me. Or play with the llamas. Or scruff the buffalo. Or collect eggs then cook something fabulous with them and discuss great books. Or watch the sun set behind the pond and wait for bats and screech owls.

   Happy autumn, friends!

“Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
 fluttering from the autumn tree.”
 ~Emily Bronte
XOXOXOXO

Sour Cream Chicken Enchilada Casserole (aka Tex-mex Chicken Lasagna)

   Tonight for supper at the Lazy W… “Sour Cream Chicken Enchilada Casserole.” Or maybe, how about this… “Tex Mex Chicken Lasagna.”

   Either way, it is delicious and easy. The ingredients are pretty much just some leftover chicken, a few basic pantry ingredients and dairy products, and maybe some fresh hot peppers from your garden. The main inspiration for this recipe was a growing stack of broken corn tortillas in my fridge. I don’t know why, but for a month or more I cannot seem to lay my hands on good corn tortillas. Weird.

   See what I mean? They come out of the dang package this way. You could say that the broken tortilla scandal has been putting a damper on our weekly Taco Tuesday fun. Have you ever tried to eat a fish taco from a limp, crumbly, noncommittal corn tortilla? Not easy.

   Anyway, if you have some leftover chicken, dysfunctional tortillas, and some other stuff and you’d like a nice, quick weeknight meal… Give this a try. Really filling and yummy!

What You Need:

  • Three pre-cooked chicken breasts. Either grilled or baked, whaevv, it’s a texture or convenience choice. 
  • Olive oil, a few cloves of garlic, and a few fresh hot peppers. Maybe some onions if you’re an onion person.
  • Basic spices: salt, pepper, nutmeg, garlic powder, cayenne, paprika, etc. You will see later, just seasoning the sauce to taste.
  • Two to three cups or more of shredded Tex-mex style cheeses. YOU KNOW YOU LOVE IT.
  • A short stack of broken up corn tortillas. I think flour would also be delicious, Decadent, in fact. What is already in your fridge? I am guessing I used about twelve.
  • A can of condensed cream-of-chicken soup.
  • One cup of sour cream.
  • Less than a cup of heavy cream. (Milk also works, but I am a heavy cream snob lately, which partially explains how my jeans have been fitting.)
  • I think that is probably it.
  • Okay.

What You Do:

  • Preheat your oven to about 350 degrees.
  • Shred or finely dice your cooked chicken. Your choice… It’s just a texture thing.
  • In a saucepan that seems too big at first, saute some garlic and some chopped hot peppers. Again, it’s a personal flavor thing, so your choice on exactly what or how much. I had some gorgeous habaneros and jalapenos ready to go, so I grabbed those and had some fun. Use olive oil and watch closely for burning garlic. And do NOT rub your eyes at any point during this process, like I did. Hey, if you like onions (we do not), add some diced onion to the party.
  • Now, in a big mixing bowl, add the softened, flavorful sauteed stuff to your tiny chicken pieces and also add an ungodly amount of shredded cheese. Any Tex-mex cheeses you groove. Stir it really well.
I kept thinking how other veggies, like mushroom and spinach would be great in this mix. 
And cilantro, tomatoes, etc. Yum! The possibilities are endless. AVACADO.
  • Okay.
  • Now, in that same sauce pan as earlier, to pick up the flavors, mix together the can of condensed soup, the sour cream, and the heavy cream. Season it all with nutmeg, salt and pepper, garlic powder, etc, to your liking. Maybe some cayenne? Or Paprika? Just heat it all through and whisk it to a smooth consistency. Taste and change as you like. 
  • The assembly is so much like lasagna. Use a 9 x 13 baking dish. Drizzle and spread a small amount of sauce over the bare pan, then arrange the broken tortillas into a flat layer. Then scoop some spicy chicken-cheese mixture over that and smooth it flat. Then evenly ladle some creamy, yummy sauce over that and repeat: Broken tortillas, chicken mix, sauce. The proportions I tried tonight were exactly enough for two layers.
  • Sprinkle a little extra cheese on top for good measure.
  • Bake in a hot oven for less than half an hour, really just until it is all hot and the cheese on top is bubbly.
   There you go! Easy, fast, and pretty economical, especially if you use leftovers. Served with salad, tortilla chips, and EXCELLENT salsa made by Junior, I got my Tex-mex food fix without driving to a restaurant or feeling like I overindulged. I mean, not too much…
   What is for dinner in your home tonight?
   Also, I had the best weekend and the best first half of the week, including a lunch date today with my eldest daughter. Lots of prayers being answered. 
   And on the blog front, in case you hadn’t heard, the month of October is going to be lots of fun. Tiny T is searching for love, and we are having a little choose-your-own-adventure party right here to help him! 
   So excited. Check out the new Tiny T tab up at the top of this main page!
Have fun, be happy!
XOXOXOXO

My Book Stack This Week

   Hello! Another busy week is chomping at the bit around here, and I’m so glad. Life. Is. Good.

   In between this thing and that, I’m enjoying lots of reading moments. In fact, Handsome has even found some reading material he grooves, proving that miracles do happen; and we have instituted a cool evening ritual of sitting in our fave outdoor chairs (his is a nice, wide hammock and mine is a nifty vintage aluminum chaise) and reading while the sun sets. We face the backlit vegetable garden and often have the llama girls watching us. This is WAAAAYYY better than vegging out in front of the TV! Last night Johnny Cash tried to kill me, but it’s worth it. Johnny Cash is a gander who hates my ever-lovin guts. Sort of like how Mia hates my husband. It all comes out in the farm family wash.

   So anyway, here is what I’m reading to fill my brain and my soul…

   What’s not pictured is a digital version of C.K. Chesterson’s Orthodoxy. It’s a short little volume, but I’m reading it slowly, taking too many notes and thinking too long. At this rate I will review it around Christmas. 
   Another book that’s not pictured is The Horse Whisperer, which our famous little Oklahoma book club read recently. We are meeting Friday night to discuss it (and eat a fabulous ranch style dinner), so I’ll post my review then.
   Okay.
   The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. My beekeeping mentor Maribeth loaned this to me a thousand years ago, but I understood it to be quite sad, a story about motherless girls. I kept it on the shelf until now. I finally feel strong enough to read it.
   The Art of Fiction by Ayn Rand. Maybe if I read this little book I will learn everything I need to know to make my idea for a novel come to fruition. 
   Zombactor by Sean Bingham. We became acquainted with this author at some local zombie-costume-art show events, and this book is the first in a trilogy he has written. Handsome has read and enjoyed them and offered to Sean my proofreading and reviewing services. (Stop laughing, Margi!) We’ll see about that. But in the mean time, if you think I’m gonna pass up an opportunity to read and discuss books with my husband, you’re crazy. Zombies it is.
   Keeping Bees by Green Guides and The Honeybee: A Guide for Beekeepers by V. R. Vickery. I have lots to learn, y’all. So dang much.
   The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall. Among all these titles, this is the one I can’t put down. Really looking forward to giving it a proper review soon. It’s a weird piece of modern fiction that changes perspective with every chapter. It has wildly fascinating characters, and I’m hooked against my will.
   And finally… The Rodale Herb Book. I am one-hundred percent infatuated with my little potagerie-style herb garden this year, and I am starving for more information and ideas of how to improve it. I dream big dreams for Lazy W herb production and propagation, and so, as with the bees, I have plenty to learn.

 

   So that’s it! What are you reading?
   Wishing all of our friends and loved ones, near and far, a spectacular week. The season is shifting. Prayers are being answered. Love reigns supreme.
“Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them.”
-Lemony Snickett
XOXOXOXO

Senses Inventory: Moonglow

   At around 3 this morning I woke with a peculiar restlessness and decided to do some reading to train my thoughts and lull my body back to sleep. Tip-toeing past the west-facing hallway windows of our upstairs hallway, Moonglow stopped me in my tracks. It was spectacular and nearly brought me to tears. Happy, amazed tears. So before doing any reading, I stole down the carpeted stairs and slipped outside in my navy blue cotton kimono for a Senses Inventory.
See:
Startling silver light, this enchanted moon glow, washing over every shape in the farm. Stars as clear and glittering as they’ve ever been, arranged on that expansive black sky into secret patterns, coded messages about love and faith and promises. I definitely feel them looking at me in this private moment of reflection. Towering pine trees silhouetted in inky black against the sky, which is a deep grey there behind the forest, feathery and swirled before it turns the truest black for the stars. Shadows long and still, repeating the shapes of the basketball goal onto the driveway and a power pole onto the front lawn. I twist around toward our house, this place that has become such a wonderful refuge and oasis for us, and the big picture window is pouring out golden light, the only warmth of the scene. One lamp there burns like a thousand yellow candles. From there I look up, over the house and to the south, and see the distant moon. It is waning now, past its Harvest glory, and at this hour of night much smaller than how we saw it driving home, when it had loomed huge and heavy, and molten, over the hay meadows. The man in the moon grins. I notice the constellations again and marvel at the clarity of the sky.
Hear: 
Tree frogs singing. A screech owl calling out its hunger. Cheeps (baby chickens) twittering contentedly in that white Rose of Sharon bush. Crickets. So many beautiful, peaceful crickets. I can hear the interstate just a couple of miles away, and it’s easy to imagine the ocean instead. I hear a mysterious rattling in the drying canna stalks behind me and think I had better get inside soon. How many screech owls are there? Now the buffalo chuffs at me through the bright darkness, inquiring at my purpose at this strange hour. I blow him a kiss. The geese whimper, and I can pick out Mia’s voice among them.
Smell: 
I smell the smoky remnants of yesterday’s little bonfire. There is not even the slightest breeze, so I can smell the chill. The dirt, the grass, the air, the shrubs… Everything smells cold and fresh. Clean, expectant. I smell my husband on me, my own shampooed hair, and if I breathe deeply… A trace of skunk spray.
Touch:
Cold, rough concrete beneath my bare feet. A stray flower stalk there, too. The cold woven metal strips of the garden bench where I’m sitting and cool, smooth watermelons (temporary autumn decorations) to my left. So much cold, clean, refreshing air. Silver air. My cotton kimono is needed, and the generous sleeve openings allow in so much cold that the skin on my ribs and stomach seizes up slightly. I cross one leg over the other and feel another rushing chill.
Taste:
I taste almost nothing, just that sweet blankness of water. I’ve so far resisted the temptation of a midnight snack.
Think:
I think about how wonderful it would be to sleep outdoors in all of this intricate, saturated beauty. No bugs, even. I remember similar nights from the past, both special family camping trips and average bedtimes when I taught the girls to observe their sensations, thoughts, and feelings and release them into the night sky to get sleepy. We called it “Sparkling,” and it worked every time. I hear the oceanic interstate hum again and remember childhood in southeastern Oklahoma, and I wish to hear a train like then. I must learn more constellations. Thinking just lightly about marriage, friendships, romance. About how incredibly good and rich this life is. How loving people can be.
Feel:
After attending a wedding last night, and after soaking up this sensual midnight paradise, I feel deeply romantic. Swooning, even… Drunk on the details of the night. I miss my children of course; I do almost constantly. But for the first time in a very long time, I feel content and peaceful about that particular pain. I feel more joy for them than anything else as well as perfect, steady faith that everything is ok. I feel dangerously relaxed on this metal garden bench.
   My midnight reverie was brought to an abrupt end by some scampering, nervous noises in the flower bed. My eyes had grown heavy again, and  my spirit was light again. I used the last scrap of energy in my body to move back inside the house. Although every window had been open, allowing the night’s cold to visit our rooms, the front door threshold bathed me in warmth. I felt good and safe. Held. 

My Cup Overfloweth
XOXOXOXO