The Turquoise Moon

Sunday's Serenade: Marty Robbins

2009-06-21T11:56:00.006-07:00

Happy Father's Day! I'm dedicating today's installment of Sunday's Serenade to my dad. He would sing (and sometimes whistle) El Paso by Marty Robbins around the house, out in the yard, in the car, at the lake....well, you get the picture. This is a treasured memory from my childhood.

Sunday's Serenade: Tony Bennett

2009-05-31T06:33:00.003-07:00

Truly, Fly Me To The Moon sung by Tony Bennett has always been a favorite of mine. Just perfect for a Sunday Serenade and I also think it is the perfect "first dance" for any wedding. Enjoy!

Turquoise Moon Gallery - Chased By Sioux

2009-05-27T07:28:00.004-07:00

Chased By The Sioux

Jimmie Brown

First People Gallery

Sunday's Serenade: Frank Sinatra

2009-05-10T01:08:00.004-07:00

Happy Mother's Day 2009!

I am dedicating today's installment of Sunday's Serenade to my mother. Thankfully, she brought Frank Sinatra into our lives by singing many of his hits in our home such as this one, I've Got the World on a String.

Sunday's Serenade: Norah Jones

2009-05-03T00:05:00.004-07:00

She is the daughter of Ravi Shankar and was mentored by Willie Nelson; it's no wonder musician/singer/songwriter Norah Jones has become a household name. I hope you enjoy today's selection, Cold, Cold Heart.

Hunger and Hope: Ethiopia

2009-04-29T09:04:00.005-07:00

Night Flight of Dread and Delight

Skunder Boghossian

Ethiopia, 1964

Oil on Canvas with Collage

Moon Like A Rolled-Out Bread

by Raj Nandy

In a country devastated by famine and pestilence,
And children dying of malnutrition everyday !
When an Ethiopian gazed up at the sky at night,
And beheld the full moon before his sight -
No romantic thoughts did cross his way !
In a land of hunger, only hard prose prevails !
When poetry and verse loses its sanity,
And only hard prose protrude like the ribs -
From half-naked and starved humanity !
He tried to sing to forget his hunger,
But words failed to flow from those parched lips any longer !
And his soul hung on to his body for dear life,
Perhaps death could only give respite !

The full moon looked like a rolled-out bread !
And if only a small crumb could break and fall,
Perhaps it would be enough tonight - to feed them all !
And if by some miracle of fate,
The hungry millions of this earth,
Could lay their hands on that entire bread,
Before the arrival of any relief vans,
They will surely gobble it up, as soon as they can;
Such are the torments of hunger pangs !

Yet the full moon did shine brightly tonight,
As the Ethiopian gently closed his eyes,
God willing, and if his luck holds,
He may survive this one more night !

Sunday's Serenade: k.d. lang

2009-04-26T04:27:00.003-07:00

From Canada, k.d. lang is a Grammy Award winning pop and country singer. I hope you enjoy this week's selection, Constant Craving, it's one of my personal, all-time favorites.

For The Times They Are A Changin'

2009-04-24T11:39:00.007-07:00

Stop the presses! The Internet has now become the main news source. A recent survey has found that 40% of its respondents prefer online sources to get their daily dose of news instead of the daily print.

The end of print journalism will mean many things. For those of us old enough to still care about going out on a Sunday morning for our doorstop edition of The Times, it will mean the end of a certain kind of civilized ritual that has defined most of our lives.

More importantly, the use of those read rags and the roles they have played, how will we replace their function? Recycling newspapers makes us feel good. We become environmentally and economically righteous by doing so. I can only assume we will have to make substitutions accordingly.

1. Lining the bottom of the bird cage – Instead of reciting the current headlines, Tweety will become well versed in computer applications. No one ever reads those manuals. Right?

2. Cleaning windows – No, Bill Gates is not the go-to here. A window cleaned with a newspaper gives a streak-free, lint-free shine. I suppose we’ll just have to become use to that certain fog-type effect as we gaze out onto the garden only to realize the bright and sunny day when we walk out.

3. Gift wrap – Nothing quite says “Happy Birthday” like a gift cleverly wrapped from the Sunday comics. It makes me shudder to even consider plastering Sponge Bob Square Pants or Dora the Explorer all over any gift. Besides, who really recycles gift wrap? It’s tacky.

4. Packing material – You know your breakables are safe when they are wrapped in layers of newspaper. And, there are many uses for those papers after unpacking. Sure it’s available in bright colors and, yes, it’s fun to pop, but have you actually ever lined kitty’s litter box with bubble wrap?

5. Fly swatter – A folded newspaper has much more surface area, therefore, you have a much better shot at ridding your home of those annoying flying pests. Later, roll that same newspaper into a fire log. No fuss, no muss compared to its plastic counterpart.

This is just a small sampling of how we will have to adjust our lives without newspapers. But, I believe the absence of this source for news it is more about tradition and routine. I, for one, have the memory of being taught to read and teaching my children to read from the daily comic strips. Where will Nancy and Family Circus go?

Leisurely perusing the newspaper over a cup of coffee for community news such as the high school scoreboards, the society page and upcoming events will become a thing of the past. Marriages, births and deaths may escape us. However, the collapsing tradition of the daily newspaper is just one sign – for the times they are a-changin’.

Earth Day 2009: Mother Earth

2009-04-22T06:43:00.012-07:00

Seven Grandmothers

Jim Nelson

JNelson Studio

click painting for larger view

Mother Earth

by James Orvil Beady

With fire in her belly her head in the clouds
Cloaked with robes of blue green waters
Where is she from Who placed her here
And how was her path determined

She is mother to all
Host to the living mourner of the departed
She drinks the blood of the fallen
And stores the dead in her belly

Here from the beginning
Her age and history remain her closely guarded secret
Her sunrises cannot be counted
Her twilights are without number

Her hosts are countless yet she provides for them all
Who is her counselor
Who is her mentor and guardian
Who is her provider

She rejoices in happiness yet is witness to all evils
Can anyone understand her workings
Or predict her future
Is she immortal

Her virtues are patience and tolerance
Her fury unmatched and unequaled
In anger she knows no compassion
Her beauty is boundless

Her mountains crowned with frost
Her glamour the sparkling oceans
The stars her halo the clouds her veil
And the green meadows are the pastures for her children

Sunday's Seranade: Michael Buble

2009-04-19T11:02:00.003-07:00

I have always been a huge fan of these fabulous crooners: Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Dean Martin. It's nice when a fresh new cat comes on the scene like Michael Buble to carry on the tradition. Please enjoy Michael as he sings Sway.

Inescapable Journey: The Life of a River Man

2009-04-17T12:55:00.005-07:00

Below is a review of the most exciting book I have read in quite some time. I encourage all who have a true love for the great outdoors to take advantage of this opportunity to obtain your own copy of this book directly from the author to benefit Idaho Rivers United.

If you’ve had the pleasure of meeting IRU member Bob Finkbine, no matter how brief your encounter, chances are that you’ll never forget him. A history teacher by trade and a river rat and wilderness explorer by choice, Bob is one of those guys with more stories to tell than there are campfires to tell them at.

So last fall — just in case anyone has managed to miss spending time around a fire with him — Bob wrote about his life of river running and other adventures in a self-published autobiography: Inescapable Journey: The Life of a River Man.

Filled with plenty of humor and reflections from many nights spent in the wild, Bob’s book has touched those who know him, and has entertained many who don’t. “…I choose to share my stories because they tell of my haphazard journey into old age and toward a bonding with the land,” says Bob, who at age 75 joined IRU for our 2006 fund raising river trip to Costa Rica.

Inspired by IRU’s efforts to protect Idaho’s rivers, Bob chose to donate all proceeds from his book (collected voluntarily from friends, family members and acquaintances — the book has no set price) to IRU. He’s not even recouping printing costs.

Bob’s friends have responded. Since the book rolled off the presses last fall, donations in-lieu of payment for books have come to IRU from Arizona to Connecticut, and from France to Alaska. So far, Bob’s book has raised more than $3,000 for IRU and has brought more than 60 new members into the fold.

Copies of Inescapable Journey are still available. If you want one, just send Bob a note at robertatwell1034@msn.com. When you receive your book, just send IRU a check for whatever amount you’re inspired to give.

Turquoise Moon Gallery - Buffalo In The Snow

2009-04-08T16:07:00.002-07:00

Buffalo In The Snow

John Nieto

Nieto Fine Art

Sunday's Serenade: Katie Melua

2009-04-05T00:01:00.004-07:00

Katie Melua performs, Blues in the Night, an American classic written by Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer. Enjoy your Sunday.

Turquoise Moon Gallery - West Wing Sunset

2009-04-01T05:08:00.005-07:00

West Wing Sunset

Kevin Miller

49"x69" acrylic on canvas

One Vision Art Studio

click on painting for larger view

Hummingbirds II

2009-03-30T09:41:00.005-07:00

In my post Hummingbirds, I spoke of the mating and nest building of a female Ruby-Throated hummingbird here at the ranch. Since then, she has laid 2 tiny white eggs and sits her nest most of the day. She has come accustomed to my presence and allows me to get rather close. Within the next two weeks, I hope to be providing pictures of the two new hummingbird babies.

Sunday's Serenade: Diana Krall

2009-03-29T01:56:00.003-07:00

Sit back, relax and enjoy the soothing sounds of Diana Krall as she performs Joni Mitchell's A Case of You.

Bloggers Unite: Earth Hour 03/28/09

2009-03-27T23:58:00.014-07:00

Remember to turn off the lights at 8:30 pm for one hour this evening.

Support Earth Hour.

The Turquoise Moon Gallery - Charreada

2009-03-26T02:20:00.011-07:00

Charreada

SJ Shaffer

47"x25" acrylic on wood

Shaffer Gallery

click on painting for larger view

Bloggers Unite: It's A Good Thing

2009-03-23T15:47:00.009-07:00

Bloggers Unite is a community that cares.

Bloggers Unite is an attempt to harness the power of the blogosphere to make the world a better place. By asking bloggers to write about a particular subject on 1 day of the month, a single voice can be joined with thousands to help make a difference; from raising awareness for cancer, to an effort to better education systems or supporting 3rd world countries.

Bloggers like you!

Lets face it, the most important part of Bloggers Unite are the bloggers themselves. Without bloggers like you none of this could be possible. We at Bloggers Unite are proud to be a part of a movement to make the blogosphere a vehicle for greatness. We as bloggers have not only the opportunity but the ability to spread the word about organizations and topics like no other group or organization has ever been able to before. Our reach is worldwide and our information is shared instantly over the world wide web. The BloggersUnite team want to thank you for your participation and we welcome you into our family. A single voice can only yell so loud but an entire blogoshpere can make a difference like never before.

Please, take the tour of the Bloggers Unite website, join us and we'll change the world together.

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Turquoise Moon Gallery - Mayan Migration

2009-03-17T16:10:00.003-07:00

Mayan Migration

Dennis Numkena

7'x7' oil on canvas

numkena.com

click painting for larger view

Cloudbusting

2009-03-16T13:43:00.005-07:00

"Cloudbusting" is a song that was written, produced and performed by the British singer Kate Bush. The song is a look at a special relationship between a boy and his father. It describes psychologist Wilhelm Reich's arrest and imprisonment through the eyes of his young son, Peter. Reich's son later wrote his father's story in the book A Book Of Dreams, published in 1973, on which the song is based. Wilhelm Reich is the inventor of the cloudbuster, a rain machine. The original cloudbuster, built by Reich, is featured during this production and on the record cover.

The music video, directed by Julian Doyle was conceived by Terry Gilliam and Kate Bush. The video features Canadian actor Donald Sutherland playing the role of Wilhelm Reich, and Bush playing the part of his young son, Peter. In the UK it was shown at some cinemas as an accompaniment to the main feature. Kate Bush's lyrics can be found here. Enjoy!

Hummingbirds

2009-03-13T12:44:00.013-07:00

Spring is definitely upon us. Just last week I was observing a couple of male Ruby Throated hummingbirds as they vied for the attention of a little female. They were fussing and dive-bombing one another until the stronger prevailed. I grabbed my camera and caught this little guy defending his turf.

Now, I have always watched Discovery and Animal Planet and I have seen the mating habits of most species roaming this planet. However, I had never seen hummingbirds mate until that day. Such grace in mid-air.

I walked out onto the porch yesterday and found the little female building her nest in a wind chime made of horseshoes. I carefully snapped a shot to document the success of the mating. Stay tuned, love is in the air.

Click photos for a closer look

The Turquoise Moon Gallery - Gracias

2009-03-11T00:00:00.005-07:00

Gracias

RC Gorman

First People

Click on painting for larger view

Bloggers Unite: International Women's Day

2009-03-08T03:44:00.019-07:00

Phenomenal Woman

Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

The Turquoise Moon Gallery: Coyote

2009-03-03T22:40:00.006-07:00

Coyote Self-Portrait

John Nieto

Nieto Fine Art

Click on painting for larger view

Righteousness: Patricia Tye

2009-02-27T09:11:00.010-07:00

Please welcome my special guest author, Patricia Tye. Patti has recently published her first book and has more in the works.

RIGHTEOUSNESS is a poignant, suspenseful story about Tom Black and Sara Dobbs’ journey to save one of the world’s largest legacies that includes a
groundbreaking discovery ─ a potential cure that can save his client’s life.

Reclusive multibillionaire, David Sims, is dying from cancer so he must settle his estate quickly and quietly. Without any living relatives, he entrusts his lawyer, Tom Black to bring four people to Michigan for a meeting that will change their lives forever.

Word leaks out and Black and Dobbs, an Afghanistan battle-trained FBI special agent, find themselves on a collision course with criminals intent on killing the heirs and stealing Sims fortune. They travel to Austin, Lake Tahoe and Silicon Valley to solve the overwhelming case and restore Sims legacy.

From the Author…

The coolest part of writing a novel is that you decide the story, the characters, the setting and the intrigue. If you’re like me, you’ll write down everything about your characters on separate pages. Not only to flesh them out, but to remember them all.

As a fiction writer, you also decide what happens -- the good, the bad and the ugly. The most difficult task was to create the evil characters, but it was also the most fun and creative aspect. In the beginning, I wrote several possible endings and as I came close, I didn’t use any of them. The story and the characters produced a more powerful ending that I had planned.

My next project has already begun and it’s a mystery, taking a few characters from Righteousness along with me.

Patricia Tye

To learn more about Patti, her writing or to order a copy of this thrilling novel, please click here to view her blog. --MK

The Turquoise Moon Gallery - Cow's Skull

2009-02-24T22:03:00.011-07:00

Cow's Skull: Red, White and Blue

Georgia O'Keefe

35 7/8" x 37 7/8" Oil on Canvas

Click on painting for larger view

He Feels The Need. The Need For Speed!

2009-02-21T02:23:00.011-07:00

As a mother, all you want for your children is happiness and prosperity. And, when it comes to my son, he fills the bill. He's educated, independent and has a beautiful family of his own. He has also excelled in his career as a design engineer. What more could a mother ask for?

Since he was a little boy, Zac, has been a daredevil. It all started with his big wheel. It wasn't enough to peddle himself along the sidewalk, he had to find a hill to ride down; peddling with all his might he'd zoom down the hills faster than a speeding bullet. Oh, his outfit of choice - superman underoos with a towel-cape pinned to his shoulders along with a pair of cowboy boots. Weeeeeeee! Get the picture?

Zac went through a number of bicycles and obtained the usual scrapes and bruises; however, nothing a little Bactine and a Bandaid couldn't fix. Then we went through our on-the-way-to-the-hospital-for-stitches phase. After two visits in one month, it was suggested by the ER physician that I chain Zac to the bed for the next few years. Yeah, right.

He then moved on to horses. Zac had, what I referred to as, "Black Beauty Syndrome". He would mount up (yep, still wearing cowboy boots) and off he'd ride at a dead run. I would remind him that were other gaits his pony was capable of; he ignored me. One afternoon his pony, Scout, decided to show Zac a thing or two - he ran away - out of control - with Zac holding on for dear life. "Pull back", I yelled as they neared the fence. Scout stopped just short of the fence and Zac flew head first into the barbed-wire strands. Twenty-six stitches later, I restricted his riding.

Then came a series of four-wheelers and motorcycles...I held my breath. Aside from one minor accident, he made it through okay. Shortly after graduating from high school, Zac stripped the inside of his car, added nitros and participated in the 1/4-mile drags at the local raceway. He was awesome on the track; but, he did get a few tickets on the streets and roads for exhibition of speed. One night, as a friend and I listened to the police scanner, we heard the state police receiving registration and insurance verification for, none other than, Zac.

His fascination for speed was never really satisfied until he began racing motorcycles on a flat track at 193 mph. The first time I went to the track to support my son in his latest thrill, well, I was taken aback by the equipment required - a one-piece, fully padded leather suit, heavy-duty leather gloves, special boots and, of course, a full helmet. He looked like a storm trooper. So, I asked him to explain the object and the rules of the race. Remember, he's an engineer; his response turned into a dissertation, "First, you buy a bike...blah, blah, blah". However, the glaze cleared from my eyes when he began to talk about "the rush".....

"It starts 15 minutes before you are called to the grid. That nervous anticipation/excitement of putting your ass on the line to show your stuff and live out your dream. Then you roll out for the warm-up lap. Your excitement turns into sharp focus as you circle the track and line up in the grid. Now, the adrenaline really kicks in. The countdown starts with a two, then one - it can't happen fast enough. You are waiting for the release. Then it comes. GREEN! You do your best to get the throttle pinned and the clutch out. You tip into turn one with five to ten other lunatics hell bent on being first, you stake your claim and then rip the shit out of it!"

Good, lord! Funny, I still see that little boy with the towel-cape as he laps the track. No doubt, he was born with the need. The need for speed!

The Turquoise Moon Gallery - Dream Song

2009-02-19T10:33:00.003-07:00

Dream Song

JD Challenger

First People

Click painting for larger view

Excessive Gambling and Sexual Urges?

2009-02-14T00:50:00.006-07:00

Last night I was enjoying TIVO - catching up on several TV programs I had missed during the past week. The beauty of TIVO is you can skip the commercials that ordinarily demand your absolute attention and, subsequently, turn you into a zombie-like consumer.

During a trip to the kitchen (okay, so I gave into a commercial for popcorn), I overheard an ad for Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS). At first I was numb to the agony of such an affliction, but what really drew my attention was the list of side effects for the medication recommended to ease the symptoms.

There were the usual: nausea, headaches and dizziness. But, as the announcer continued listing the side effects talking as fast as he could so maybe you wouldn't catch exactly what he was saying, I was dumb-founded.

"You may fall asleep without warning during daily activities such as driving." If texting drivers aren't bad enough, now we have to worry about those behind the wheel with RLS?

"If you have urges that lead to pathological gambling and/or excessive/inappropriate sexual activity, contact your physician at once." This one leaves me half-tempted to visit a local casino to conduct a poll of couples leaving together. I'd give them my best in-the-name-of-medical-research posture and, with all the seriousness I could possibly muster, ask, "Excuse me, are either of you currently taking medication for RLS?".

"Hallucinations." Hallucinations? Yes, the FDA has approved this medication. Can you imagine the patients that participated in the test studies? "Legs, what legs?". "I can fly!"

I returned to watching The Cho Show and empathized with Margaret during the episode about her writer's block; however, her attempt to relieve this type of block with a colonic is nothing I've ever considered when I've needed to get past my blocks. Anyway, my mind kept drifting back to that commercial and the side effects listed. Just what is in this medication and how does it relate to the treatment of RLS? Watching the TIVO-ed ad over and over wasn't answering my questions. It was time for me to conduct my own independent research.

RLS is a severe and often disabling neurological disorder which afflicts 10-15% of the general population due to dopaminergic abnormalities. The medications for treating RLS contain dopamine. Of course, it's dopaminergic drugs that bring on these unwelcomed (or welcomed) side effects according to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, AZ.

So, as you're trying to sleep and your legs are performing a smashing rendition of Michael Flatley's River Dance, the medication could possibly trick your mind into believing that you are much better off falling asleep at the throttle while attempting to land your Buick at the casino for slots and sluts. Sad, but true.

The Turquoise Moon Gallery - Ascension

2009-02-11T07:56:00.005-07:00

Ascension

Artist Unknown

firstpeople.us

Click on painting for larger view

Kool-Aid: The Official Drink Of The Ghetto?

2009-02-07T00:10:00.004-07:00

I am 50-something and, recently, it was brought to my attention that drinking Kool-Aid is considered ghetto. How in the world did I miss this endorsement?

As kids we were treated to Fizzies soft drink tablets. These magical tablets more often ended on our tongues rather than in a tall glass of water. My younger sisters and I would run through the house snarling at one another with various colors of foam oozing from our mouths as we pretended to be rabid animals. No wonder there were those times when our mother would throw up her hands and, for a brief moment, surrender to our “un-lady-like” behavior. Days would then go by without our afternoon Fizzies frenzy. Enough of this prohibition; we would drag a chair from the dining table to the kitchen counter. As one of us would climb up to search the cabinets, the other two would serve as lookouts and wait for the victory cry, “Found ‘em!”.

One Saturday morning, during our ritual cartoon marathon, we were introduced to a giant talking pitcher as it crashed through the garden wall, “Oh, yeah”. The kids in the commercial were happy and having lots of fun and the mom seemed very pleased as she poured glasses of this icy concoction. How could we get our hands on this new drink? This drink called Kool-Aid was sure to change our lives.

The older we became the less we were invited to participate in the family grocery shopping. I guess our mother began to tire of her basket being filled with boxes of the latest sugar coated cereals and forbidden snacks. Not to mention the scene at the checkout with three whining kids as she set aside the items she had not placed in her basket. It did, however, take her several trips to realize it was her “seen-not-heard” daughters placing those unwanted items because she would blame other shoppers for mistaking her basket for theirs. We knew tagging along with her to the market was not an option.

We set about our plan to obtain this life-changing refreshment. We tried peer pressure, “Vicki’s mother buys Kool-Aid and so does Linda and Debbie’s mom”. She ignored us. We also tried, “They say Kool-Aid is good for you”. That didn’t work either. Still faced with the quest of obtaining our drink mix, we remembered Mother jotting down a list before leaving for the market. This list would rest on top of a stack of McCall’s and Woman’s Day magazines for several days as she poured through the pages discovering new recipes. We would simply add Kool-Aid to her list. And, with very little thought, we’d use forgery.

I tore three pages from my Big Chief tablet and, with her list in front of us, we gave our creative best to copy her cursive writing. Oddly, it was the youngest (only 4 years old) that seemed to have the artistic ability to forge Mother’s handwriting. Well, sort of, okay…not really, but she was the “baby” and the least likely to get in trouble if our scheme was discovered. She took Mother’s pen and carefully scrawled our request to the bottom of the list. Then, giggling all the way, we ran to my bedroom, closed the door behind us and hid under the bed. We were excited! We were scared!

The next day we noticed the list was gone. Had she been to the market? Was the Kool-Aid up in the cabinets? No. Our daddy had taken the list. We waited outside for Daddy’s return and offered to wag the bags from the car to the kitchen. After the first trip I remained behind to do some snooping. I rustled through the bags until my eyes finally focused on the brightly colored envelopes. I swear, the angels began to sing as I pulled the Holy Grail from the bag; our quest for the coveted drink mix was over.

Lo and behold our lives began to change. We were no longer forgers; we were now entrepreneurs. We set up a folding card table and taped a sign to it that announced our Kool-Aid stand was open for business. We sat diligently, waved at all the passers-by until they had to stop for a refreshing glass - it was delicious. We had regular customers and we were rolling in the dough. On really hot days we offered popsicles made from Kool-Aid we had frozen in our molds. We blended flavors together for new taste sensations. We were happy and having lots of fun.

Yes, there have been times in my life where I put aside my Kool-Aid for the sophistication of more adult-like drinks, but I always came back. I raised my children on Kool-Aid. Even as I write this piece, I am enjoying a Kool-Aid cocktail made by blending mango and cherry flavors. Now, I ask you, when did drinking Kool-Aid become ghetto?

Turquoise Moon Gallery - An American Portrait

2009-02-04T00:13:00.005-07:00

An American Portrait

Fritz Scholder

Oil on Canvas

scholder.com

firstpeople.us

Click on painting for larger view

Road Trip Travails

2009-01-31T07:36:00.016-07:00

Some years ago I was traveling back to Arizona from Colorado when I noticed my gas gauge was fast approaching “the red zone” and so was my bladder. Unfortunately, I was in a part of the country where gas stations are few and far between. And, pulling to the side of the road was not an option as you’re winding through mountain passes.

It had come to the point where I was doing everything I could to distract myself from my immediate situation. Just how many verses does “She’ll Be Coming Around the Mountain” have? As I hit the flatland, I spied a gas station just up the road and, bonus, the sign said, “Clean Restrooms”.

Thank goodness there was little traffic and I crossed to the other side of the highway to stake my claim at the pump. I quickly swiped my credit card at the pump, placed the nozzle in the tank and skipped my way to the restroom. Damn! The door was locked. Skipping my way back to the island-cashier, I asked for the key. She opened the door to her bulletproofed dominion and handed me a bright pink hula hoop with the key attached. What the.....? This was definitely a first.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, again I’m skipping to make my way to relieve myself of an uncomfortable situation. I placed the key in the door, opened it and flipped on the light. Horror or all horrors – no toilet paper! Okay, back to the booth to ask for toilet paper. For some reason or another, the lady in the booth seemed to be put out with me as I made my request. Through the money slot, she slipped me four; four mind you, sections of toilet paper. No time to argue, I’m back to the rest room with hula hoop and toilet paper in hand.

I entered the restroom and, as I was assessing the toilet seat, I discovered a small packet of Kleenex in my purse. Yea, I can cover the seat and will have plenty to spare. Ahhhhh. I washed my hands, grabbed the hula hoop and strolled back to my truck. I threw out some soda cans, the remainder of the three-day old bag of Cheetos and a banana peel. I then returned the nozzle to the pump.

I approached the booth to ask for my receipt and to return the restroom key. She opened the door for me to slip the hula hoop through and, back at her window, she slipped me the receipt through the cash slot. I’m telling you, she was not the friendliest person I’ve ever encountered. I walked a few steps towards my truck, reached into my pocket and tore off two of the sections the toilet paper I’d been given. I then pivoted to return to the booth.

I had to wait a minute for her to complete her phone conversation with, what sounded like, her husband. As she hung up the phone, she looked over her glasses at me and questioned, “Yeeessss?” I slipped the two sections back through the money slot and proudly stated, “Thanks, but I didn’t need all of this.” Back on the road again, I had to smile.

Turquoise Moon Gallery - Desert Glow

2009-01-28T00:05:00.005-07:00

Desert Glow

Ed Mell

24x18 Oil on Linen

Medicine Man Gallery

The Jackalope

2009-01-24T01:34:00.020-07:00

It’s surprising to me how many are still so curious about the existance of the jackalope here in the desert southwest. So, I thought I’d share a bit of information regarding this rare and illusive creature.

The jackalope is a rare hybrid of the pygmy-deer and a species of "killer rabbit". Female jackalopes can be milked as they sleep belly up and the milk can be used for a variety of medicinal purposes. It has also known that the jackalope can convincingly imitate any sound, including the human voice. It uses this ability to elude pursuers, chiefly by using phrases such as "There he goes! That way!" The jackalope may be caught by putting a flask of whiskey out at night. The jackalope will drink its fill of whiskey and its intoxication will make it easier to hunt – the meat tastes very similar to lobster. And, if you find yourself in my part of the country, there are special tours and guides that will take you right to the jackalopes’ natural habitat. Careful though, they can be quite dangerous when approached. Read on; Hilma Volk’s poem, Jackalope, will enlighten you further.

Jackalope

by Hilma (Volcano) Volk

"Are there jackalope around here?"
The dude from Chicago asked.
"Well up here there's too much elevation;
They're down on sagebrush flats."

"Course the females don't have antlers.
Males shed theirs in early spring.
They'll bed down during the day
And come out in the late evening.

"They're masters of camouflage,
When scared they'll lay out flat.
Them antlers blend in like a bush,
An' they're silent as a cat.

"They're pretty cunning creatures, too,
Like if a coyote's giving chase,
A different one will whistle
An' throw him off his pace.

"They say they're mostly loners
But I've seen them in a pack
An' make a circle, antlers out,
To fend off a dog attack."

The Chicago man looked quite confused.
He said, "You're a pretty good liar
'Cause we both know they're a myth
Dreamed up 'round some campfire."

"Not so," I said, "they're real enough.
Every word I said was true.
Why, Friday night at the Longhorn
They'll serve up Jack'lope stew.

"And Max Green, the taxidermist,
Has a whole bunch he has trapped.
An' there's photos at the gallery
That you can get gift wrapped."

He said, "I want to see one alive."
"You'll need binocs and a good spot light.
Best time and place to see 'em
Is Rattler Flats at night."

He asked if I'd be his guide.
I drawled, "For a hundred buck
I'll guarantee you'll see least one.
If not, I'm out of luck."

Next night our light reflected eyes.
I said, "Look, there's a doe."
"Malarkey, that's a rabbit!"
"Nope, there's differences, ya know.

"Like see that faint stripe on the back
Or that light spot on the chest.
Them are jackalope for sure.
But a buck will be our quest.

"Them males are awful wary
'Cause they're hunted all the time.
Ain't no season on them,
An' right now them horns is prime.

"Look there!" I shined the scope,
"That there rack's a pretty sight."
"I don't see a thing," he said.
"Scan that bush that's on the right."

"I see it, yes I see it!
But wait, it doesn't budge."
"You wouldn't either if you was hunted,
You big fat tub of fudge."

We went on and spied three more.
"Them ain't fiction," I rebuffed.
Still them jack'lope didn't move.
He declared, "I think they're stuffed."

He sneered, "Let's go out there.
If they're real, they swill scoot."
Said I, "No one goes out on Rattler Flats
Lest they're wearing snake proof boot."

He stayed in the truck a grumblin'
Till I shone another critter
Whose head was slowly turning
An' his right ear gave a twitter.

The man left town that next day.
I handed Max Green fifty.
In my pocket's a big bonus tip.
Yep, mechanical things are nifty.

Turquoise Moon Gallery - The Horseman

2009-01-21T01:14:00.007-07:00

The Horseman

Michael Broadway

Acrylic/Airbrush on Canvas

http://wildheartgallery.net

Gone Fishing - Meet Me In Trottersville!

2009-01-16T09:37:00.013-07:00

Well, I haven't really gone fishing. I was asked by the suburban pigs in Trottersville to appear as their guest author. Join me for a humorus look at the collapsing tradition of the daily newspaper - For The Times They Are A-Changin'. See ya there!

Turquoise Moon Gallery - Court House Rock

2009-01-14T02:38:00.005-07:00

Court House Rock

Kevin Miller

24"x30" Oil on Canvas

http://millerarizonalandscapes.com

Click on painting for larger view

I Hate Grocery Shopping - Seriously, I Mean It!

2009-01-09T01:26:00.016-07:00

Living in this remote location, it’s a 1.5-hour trip to the nearest grocery store. Naturally, I try to only make the trek once a month. I decided to be neighborly and ask my neighbor (5 miles up the canyon) if I could pick anything up for her and her husband, you know, to save them a trip.

Helen agreed and dropped off her list of 20 items early last evening. As she handed me her list, I asked if there were any special instructions. Helen said that her list was self-explanatory, just regular stuff. As she left, she thanked me and asked me call her tomorrow when I’ve returned.

I hate grocery shopping! I mean I really hate it and I have always procrastinated when it comes to grocery shopping. Once I was down to a few saltines and a can of sardines before I gave in. To this day, I’m still not sure how those sardines, marinated in mustard sauce no less, ended up in my pantry. You know how things seem to make their way to the back of the shelf and don’t ever really resurface until you clean? Not this can of sardines, it was always staring me in the face every single time I opened the pantry door. I took it on camping trips – it came home with me. I took it fishing thinking I might use the little sardines as bait – nope, back to the pantry. No one ever copped to knowing anything about these sardines. When I moved, some three years later, I finally pitched it.

Anyway, back to why I hate grocery shopping, I’m the one you always see walking from the hinter lands across the parking lot just to get to the front door. For the life of me I can never find a parking place close in. I’m the one that can’t separate the carts. Then, after some cursing and a tug of war, I’m the one going down the aisles with the mismatched wheels that causes steering problems and the annoying squeak. I’m the one that pushes the button repeatedly at the meat counter. And, yes, I’m the one at check-out that has more than one price check. I hate that loud speaker! And, one more sigh from that man behind me with his 30-pack of Keystone and a bag of peanuts, I’ll have to turn around and give him “the look”.

Then it’s back to the hinter lands to unload my gimped-up cart. I pray as I load my truck I won’t tear one of those overloaded bags and have to chase cans around the parking lot or fish-out the one can that manages to end up under the vehicle with the lowest clearance. Whew, all done. Seat belt buckled and I’m on my way back home with my load.

Now, here’s a service I’ve often wished grocery stores offered. That kid, the one that overloads your bags, has to come home with you, unload your groceries and place them by aisle-order in your pantry. I swear I’d pay for such a service. So many times, three days later, I’m stepping over the groceries to make my way into the kitchen.

As I prepared my list this morning, I decided to add Helen’s items to my list so, quite frankly, I wouldn’t forget. I unfolded the piece of paper that contained her list and $40. I gave it a quick glance and could not believe what I saw. Look at this list!

1 – Avocado
5 – Cans El Paso whole green chilies
2 – Bottles Tabasco sauce
7 – Cans pinto beans with jalapenos
2 – 1# blocks of hot pepper cheese
1 – 2# block Velveeta and
1 – Unbreakable plastic comb

Good lord! These are not items I would buy and I’m a little embarrassed that they will go down the same mini-conveyor with my fresh fruits and vegetables, the organic milk and juice and the wild salmon. C’mon, Velveeta is a processed cheese food – it says so right on the box. I shudder to think what this diet is doing to Helen and her husband’s gastrointestinal and septic systems. Notice, she did not include Beano, toilet paper or a plunger on her list. But, what she did include was an unbreakable plastic comb. Huh? I had half a mind to call Helen just before I left for town to ask if she had thought of anything else she needed or to gently make mention of my suggestions. I would have, but I was afraid I would not have been able to without laughing.

I managed to make it to-and-from the grocery store without anything extraordinary happening. I am pleased to say I actually got a cart with matching wheels this time – bonus. I gave Helen a call to let her know I had returned. I sifted through the bags and placed her order out on the dining table while I waited for her arrival. This way she could check to make sure I had purchased all the items she had asked for.

When Helen arrived she checked her groceries and placed them in a box she had brought with her. As she thanked me, she took a look around and asked if I needed any help with putting my things away before she left. I guess I looked a little frazzled, being a post-menopausal, pre-osteoporosis woman and all. I just smiled and told her I was in the process (yeah, right) of putting them away. After the refrigerated things were put up, I stepped over the rest of the items, grabbed a bag of grapes and settled in to watch Wife Swap. After all, I have a whole month before I have to go back.

Turquoise Moon Gallery - Hopi Migration

2009-01-07T00:22:00.009-07:00

Hopi Migration

Dennis Numkena

7'x7' Oil on Canvas

http://numkena.com

Click on painting for larger view.

Welcome and Happy New Year!

2009-01-05T15:46:00.013-07:00

Welcome! Many of you are familiar with my writings from The Screaming Me-Me!!!. As my blog developed, it took a different direction that has led me to publish an additional blog, The Turquoise Moon, a collection of colorful stories.

I hope you will join me as I write about my adventures here at the ranch, stories from special memories and humorus observations. And, don't forget you can still find me at The Screaming Me-Me!!! - bringing you the best of the wild, the weird and the wacky from the Internet. Happy New Year!

Photo by Me-Me King, 01/05/09

Christmas Past: A Turkey, A Goat, Plus A Prank

2008-12-14T14:51:00.011-07:00

My dad has had the same best friend since high school. From the simple to the extreme, they have always played practical jokes on one another. As their children aged, we often were part of their mischievous endeavors.

One year, near Christmas, we received a rather large package delivered by a local courier. We assumed it was from one of our dad’s customers. This beautifully gift wrapped box was about the size of a large television. Although the tag said, “To the family of”, we waited for our dad to return home from his office. As soon as Daddy arrived, we gathered around. He took out his pocket knife and slowly opened the box. Just as he removed the last of the tape and the top from the box, out jumped a live turkey.

This was not a domesticated turkey – it was wild! The turkey began running around the house and entered the den with the vaulted ceiling. Daddy had gone into the garage and retrieved his bass fishing net. Chasing this wild bird became quite the ordeal. We had it cornered and just as Daddy was about to net this beast – it took flight.

The focal point in the den was an antique armoire that stood eight feet high. This beautiful piece of furniture had been in my mom’s family for generations and was shipped from Ireland along with other family heirlooms. The front of the armoire was burled maple – truly a magnificent piece of craftsmanship. Wouldn't you know, the turkey clawed its way up the front of the armoire, finally resting on top. Needless to say, Mother was horrified. Not to cause any further damage, Daddy decided to let it roost there until it fell asleep – then he could capture it. The phone rang and we could hear him talking with “Uncle” Ed. There was laughter and a promise of a return surprise. My sisters and I knew it was game on.

The next morning at 4:00 am Daddy wakes me and tells me to get ready to go out to the farm. Our farm was 12 miles from town where we raised cattle, kept our horses and other assorted farm animals – including goats. As we made the drive, he told me of his plan. I thought he might be taking things a bit too far; but, he was my dad. We pulled through the gate and took one of the goats and placed it securely in the back of his truck. Daddy went into the tack room and returned with a burlap bag. I didn’t ask what was in the bag; I knew better.

On the drive back into town, he gave me my instructions – okay, now I’m an accomplice to his madness. We arrived at Ed’s around 5:30 and Daddy took a spike and drove it into the center of Ed’s freshly planted winter lawn. We then took a dog collar and placed it around the goat’s neck. A 10 foot chain was attached to the spike and, at the other end, a snap hook was then attached to the goat’s collar. Daddy used Ed’s hose to fill a bucket of water for the goat. Then we hopped back into to the truck and sped off. He was like some maniac laughing all the way back to the house.

We waited for the phone call from Ed to come and get the goat; but, a couple of hours had passed and Daddy could not leave well enough alone. He talked me into to driving us by Ed’s in my car. I agreed and waited in the car. After a few minutes, here comes Daddy wearing Mother’s blonde wig and a large pair of sunglasses. I looked at him as if he had lost his damn mind; but, I couldn’t help but laugh. We drove by Ed’s and the goat had eaten a perfect circle on the lawn. I guess this might could have been one of the first crop circles had we removed the goat. Daddy was laughing and feeling pretty proud of himself. Back at the house, Daddy was still wearing his disguise, Mother threw up her hands, “I don’t want to know!” I figured plausible deniability. About a half hour later the expected phone call came, there was laughter and a "gotcha".

Later in the week when both families gathered for some peaceful Christmas cheer, Daddy greeted them at the door wearing none other than his prank’s disguise. Several rounds of laughter went up as the two men recanted the tale of their latest escapade and stories of other pranks. Mother served dinner - smoked ham, Daddy whipped up several batches of egg nog plus we exchanged gifts - real gifts. The warmth of the season embraced us; truly, a memorable Christmas was had by all. Happy Holidays!

Disclaimer: There were no animals hurt during this prank. My dad released the turkey back into the wild no worse for the wear and the goat was returned to the farm a little fatter than when it left.

Foxy Ladies, Pink vs. Blue

2008-12-06T14:42:00.004-07:00

It’s been rather uneventful this week here at the ranch. Thanksgiving was extremely lovely; several friends came and went. I do have a new visitor though, Molly the gray fox. She’s been making an appearance for the past week or so and seems very healthy. Her coat is thick and beautiful and her tail is bushy. I did some reading about the fox. When the fox picks a mate, they mate for life. If the female dies, the male remains solo. If the male dies, the female chooses a new mate. Interesting.

Last time I was in town for supplies, I stopped at Marie Calendar’s in Sun City for a bite to eat before making the trek home. Sun City is a community designed for retirees. The majority live there full time while the others are snowbirds taking advantage of the extremely mild winters here. I’ve never seen so many Cadillacs and RVs in one place. Needless to say, driving in Sun City is done at your own risk – look out for those tanks!

I placed my order for the Fish ‘n Chips and my server quickly returned with my Arnold Palmer and dinner bread. I noticed a couple of tables occupied by elderly gentlemen dining solo. One nodded and smiled as I scanned the restaurant. Just as my dinner was brought to the table, two elderly ladies were sat at a table next to my booth. As they looked over the menu, a foursome of ladies was sat at the booth in front of me. I couldn’t help but stare – I’d seen blue-hair, but pink-hair? Wow!

As I munched on my delicious fish, I overheard the ladies at the table as they scoped out the gentlemen dining solo. One said, as she motioned towards the gentleman, “Bert’s available; he’s been widowed for seven years”. “His wife was from Norway, they came here from Minnesota.” “He used to drive a gold Cadillac, blah, blah, blah.” Her companion asked, “Does he date anyone?” Well, I wasn’t the only one eaves-dropping. One of the pink-haireds leaned towards the table and said, “No, not now anyway”. “You remember Myrtle, Myrtle Baker?” “They broke up when she moved to South Carolina to live with her son", then in a whispered tone, "the alcoholic.” Good grief - is no one’s life story sacred?!?

Both tables were rubber-necking to check who else was dining solo. Some conversation went back and forth again between the two tables. They were not at all shy about their motives. They all wore their casual best, painted faces, coiffed hair and, good lord, lots of perfume. I could not believe it when one of the pink-haireds got up from the booth and approached Bert. She had a flyer in her hand. She walked up and boldly asked if she could sit down. He agreed. She went on and on about her bingo as the others would sneak a peek at their friend and would giggle after a comment was made under their breath. After 10 minutes of rambling, the pink-haired lady returned to her seat. I was surprised there wasn’t a round of high-fives the way they were carrying on.

Everyone had been served and was comparing their selections and trying to decide which pie they would order later. Then one of the pink-haireds offered the blue-haireds a flyer, an invitation to their bingo night. The blue-haireds were obviously pissed-off that they had made a move on the gentleman and refused the flyer. Talk about poor losers! They were behaving like junior high girls, "I saw him first." "No, I saw him first." Jeeez!

So, like the fox, I observed the same behavior in humans. It was the unmated females looking to hook-up and the unmated males were solo. Although I wanted to stay and take in more of this competitive nature; however, it was time for me to make my way back to the ranch. Pink Hair – 1, Blue Hair – 0.

Neighbor - Bloggers Unite! World AIDS Day

2008-12-01T13:37:00.015-07:00

Neighbor
Stephan Jerrome

I walked daily
near the window of the house
which framed the dying man.

Saw his silhouette
sometimes seated,
usually reclined
always thinner
as the sounds of television,
muted talk of visiting friends
made shadows around his bed.
Once I caught the outline
of a nurse hovered over
his extended arm
heard a twisted groaning
as I hurried, late to work...

In the morning, light
from uncurtained windows
on the far side of his house
would shine across the hardwood floor
stopping at the
bed a whisper-reach from where I passed;
I saw highlights
on the blankets,
his young man's sleeping head
cheeks hollow, mouth agape
propped up on pillows --
later, on a rolling bed
with railings high that bound his wrists.

I hoped my routine footsteps,
the gate lock turning
would not wake him
as I went about my day
a little guilty of my health
my freedom, my mobility
speeding past the sports car
sunken, now and dust-brown
with four flat tires.

I was glad to see a cute new tenant
when Rick moved into the house next door
another artist on the hill
would be a welcome neighbor;
saw his photographs
through an open window
large color prints of high-style women
but he never asked me in.

Recently I saw him at a local bar
he kissed someone, it caught my eye
but he brushed past me
for the door.
Was I mistaken? Did he not see me?
Was there something
I was not supposed to know?

Now I watched while passing by
shadows of an ominous play,
nurses, buddies, twelve hour shifts,
hospital smells in the morning air
Meals on Wheels each afternoon;
sullen, narrow shoulders
of an oxygen tank
beside the high profile of an IV bag
dangling high like a hanged man,
lights ablaze at four a.m.
as I wake up to take a pee;
the rushing, flushing
commotions of a private war.

I said little.
Went to work.
Came home.
Entertained.
Made the motions
of the walking well.

His friend said in the last few days
he clung to a life
which had become unsustainable.
"Why are you holding on?"
he asked his dying friend.
They were all exhausted
aiding, comforting,
at last facilitating
an uncontestable passage;
there were no more breaths
for euphemism;
the buttress of manners
redundant as scaffold
on a finished building
so the dying man was asked
Why do you linger?
"It must have helped," the friend concluded.
"Rick died the next day."

After that the house went dark
possessions carted off and
scattered his friends all thanked me --
but what did I do?
Took out the trash on Tuesday night
swept the path and kept my distance.
They thanked me, hugged me -- why?
I didn't go to say hello
didn't want to say good-bye,
pretending we were friends'
cause we were not.
We were only neighbors.
Copyright 2000

Hunting Near An Active Volcano is Dangerous!

2008-11-22T11:46:00.017-07:00

I was out earlier this week checking the progress of the citrus trees. I am excited by the number of fresh, juicy oranges, lemons and grapefruits that will soon be ripe for the pickin’. While taking inventory, a shot rang out. I ducked! Seconds later, more shots. I hit the ground! Holy shit!

Laying on the ground and biting the dust during shotgun fire is a weird experience. All kinds of things run through your mind – like, when is it safe to stand to a crouch and run like hell for cover. After a few minutes, I bravely headed back up to the house. Half way to the security of hiding in my bathroom with the door locked, another shot rang out. And, it was much closer than the previous shots. I hit the ground…again!

If I could just reach my truck, I would honk the horn to let them know there are people in the general vicinity. I began crawling along the ground like Rambo. Man, am I out of shape! Belly-crawling takes a lot of energy, especially when your heart is already pumping 90-to-nothing. Okay, I…can…make…it. Not to mention, this would be an inopportune time to meet up with, yep, a rattlesnake. I had to put that fear behind me and continue crawling.

I finally made it to the truck, but why in this world did I lock the damn thing? I’m out in the middle of nowhere, last check - zero crime. Just a little further and I’d be in the house. (And, speaking of bathrooms…) I finally reached the door, whew, safe and sound. I grabbed the keys and ran back to the truck as if I were Flo Jo and could outrun the spray of speeding bullets. Adrenaline, obviously, gives me a false sense of my true abilities. What a rush!

Looking like some whacked out cartoon character - dirt on my face and clothing, darting from cactus-to-cactus and then fumbling with the keys - just to honk the horn. I decided to play a little tune rather than laying on it, figuring they’d think someone was in trouble and come running to help. So, I played “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”. I kind of got into it, I was singing along as I beeped. It was a difficult selection to play on the truck-horn, but effective nonetheless.

I did have enough sense about me to know they weren’t shooting at me, I hoped. But, who wants to be in the line of fire? I walked back into the house and checked the Arizona Game and Fish site and discovered it was deer season. (Reminder to self: Print and post hunting schedules to refrigerator.) The landscaping hides the ranch house from all angles, they probably weren’t aware they were so close to anyone’s home. I’m sure they were aware after my tribute to AC/DC.

As I thought more about the hunters, I decided putting signs up along the property line might be a good thing. I wondered what would capture their attention. You know, so they’d be more careful. I went back to the computer and began designing warnings to hunters. Here’s a few I have placed in clear plastic sleeves and posted along the fence:

PRIVATE PROPERTY
KEEP OUT
If You Want To Keep Your Privates

WARNING
Hunting Near An Active Volcano
Is Dangerous!

DANGER
Armed Wildlife
On The Premises

And, my personal favorite…

LISTEN UP!
I Don’t Hunt in Your Front Yard
Don’t You Dare Hunt In Mine!

I can only assume these signs are working, no shots have been fired anywhere near the ranch since their placement. And, if I do here shots again, I already have my next truck-horn song prepared – “Janie’s Got A Gun”. I did hear a truck stop down on the road late this afternoon. It was really quiet and out of the silence came laughter from a couple of guys - the truck then pulled away. I high-fived myself and went about gathering wood for my evening fire. Ahhhh, life here at the ranch is good.

Makin' Lemonade From Lemons!

2008-11-21T14:19:00.012-07:00

My lemon tree is full of luscious fruit...
just ripe for the pickin'!

It's humbling when your time and effort by blogging actually inspires others. This morning I was nominated for the "Lemonade Award" by Red, SassynSappy. I am thrilled and also touched that someone recognized my struggle and my triumph in my post, Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch...

I am inspired by the many who share their story by writing or through their art within this community. They are givers. I'm constantly amazed. I am passing this award nomination along to those who have touched me, made me laugh and/or "wowed" me. Thank you!

Midwest Mom
Baby Bundles International
O My Word!
Life As I Know It
Cancer Isn't Scary
Diabetes Chat
Earth To Holly
Naked In Eden
Wasted Lola
Manduke Journal

Western Daze

2008-11-19T14:00:00.015-07:00

Things here at the ranch are becoming somewhat routine. Like the herd of 30-some-odd javelina that come through daily, the skunk that comes to the door nightly and the occasional sighting of wild burros. However, last night and early this morning were definitely out of the ordinary.

Around 2 AM I awoke to the sounds of howling, squealing and barking. I grabbed a flashlight to investigate, opened my window and no more than thirty feet away was a pack of 12 or so coyote. Okay, its nothing more than a pack of coyotes having a feeding frenzy. A couple of them actually paused for a few seconds and stared into the light then returned to their feeding. This went on for about 20 minutes before they left my front yard to find other prey.

I went back to bed and, just as I was returning to my dream-state, I heard the yelping of a young pup, he had been left behind. Oh, boy. This pup carried on for, what seemed like, forever. I figured, with the pack just down the canyon, they would return to rescue the little fella. But, no! It was 6 AM when quietness finally returned to the canyon.

As soon as the sun was up, I went out to the front yard looking for whatever. Interestingly enough, the coyotes left no trace. No carcass, not a bone, nothing. Okay, at least they left the place clean. I went up to the porch swing to finish my coffee. I was watching a hawk hunt when I heard, "Hello to the house". Huh? Now, wait a minute, what in the hell is someone doing out here at this time of the morning? And, on foot?

I walked down the front steps and looked across the orchard towards the gate. I could see a young man dressed in cammies standing at the gate. So, I hollered back, "How can I help you?" He proceeded to tell me that he had high-centered his truck yesterday up in Walker's Gulch and had no cell signal to call for help. Well, no shit you don't have a cell signal; you are at least 45 minutes from the closest highway and you're surrounded by mountains. "Come on up", I invited him. As he approached the house, I knew he was harmless.

He was a clean cut guy in his mid-twenties; newly married, I figured, still wearing his wedding band. He told me it got dark on him fast and he had slept in his truck. I invited him in to use the phone to call his wife plus I gave him a cup of coffee. I offered to take him to his truck to give him the nudge he needed to start his way back home. He grabbed his backpack and, as he swung it over his shoulder, I noticed the .45 on his belt. Great, I thought! "I'll grab my gun and meet you outside." Once inside the truck he asked, "Seen many rattlesnakes?" Jeeeeeez!

We headed up the canyon and I played tour guide. "Yep, this ranch over here is 2460 acres and this one over here is 16,640 acres - largest operating ranch in Arizona." The road is single lane and winds through the main wash of the canyon. It's rocky and, in places, you hold your breath. We met up with a few cows along the way that were headed to the watering tanks. About a half hour later we arrived where his truck sat. I checked my odometer, good grief, this guy had walked 6.2 miles. We hooked a strap between our bumpers and jacked his truck up a bit to allow for clearance over the rocks. And, in a matter of minutes, he backed right out of the mess he was in. We then made our way back to the ranch without incident.

As I entered my drive, I honked and waved and he stopped to thank me once again. I came back up to the house, still a little dazed from the lack of sleep from the night before and this morning's adventure, I decided to rest. All-in-all, it was another beautiful, peaceful day.

Related Posts: Meanwhile Back At the Ranch and Call Me Ellie Mae!

O' Brothers and Sisters - Bloggers Unite, Refugees Reunited!

2008-11-10T13:32:00.005-07:00

This poem is dedicated to the tens of thousands war-weary citizens that have been displaced amid the surging violence behind the Congo's refugee crisis. I hope the powerful message this poem delivers will serve as an inspiration to those fleeing fighting rebel forces and raise awareness for the basic rights and freedom to which all people are entitled.

O'Brothers and Sisters
by Bhuwan Thapaliya

Your eyes, your face, and your grace
they look like museum specimens,
so lifeless and antiquated they are.

Your behaviors and modes of life,
makes me feel that you are
a mere replica of the living corpse.

Your arms, your legs, and your fists
they look like hollow straw
beaten by the frost of time.

O’ Brothers and sisters!
Listen, listen to me please!

“Stand up for what you believe in
and then fight for your rights.
Speak up for what you believe in
and then shout for your rights.

Then those who are weak
will get inspiration from you,
and in the future
they shall rise from their slumber too.

There are millions of unfortunate ones,
who are left behind by the human rights.
Think about these people, and act.”

Brothers and sisters!
Listen, listen to me please!

There is an eternal joy
and a real power for standing up
for what you believe in.

There is a silken pleasure
in doing the thing
that you think is right
for the betterment of us all.

Let the humanity’s will be done.

Let there be freedom amongst the earthly stars.
Let the blazing humanity burn the suppressor’s core.

Let the sons and daughters of this earth
dwell under the perpetual light of the liberation.

Brothers and sisters!
Listen, listen to me please!

Don’t cry, sob, and break out.
Don’t act as a half-starved limping snail
and let your life pass away
in a succession of listless restrains.

Gather strength from within you
Don’t let anybody suppress you.

Believe in yourself, my friend!

Empower yourself
to fight for your rights.
Copyright 2008

Bhuwan Thapaliya
Born in Nepal in the 1970’s, Bhuwan Thapaliya was
raised and educated in Kathmandu. He studied economics and finance before
turning to poetry in his mid twenties. His writing is imbued with the art and
culture of Nepal that he grew up with but he is eminently qualified as an
Oriental and as an Occidental poet, for his poetry truly represents a marriage
between the traditions of East and West, and in a way that is immediately
appealing and cohesive. Bhuwan is not just a poet; he is a man with a mission,
seeking world peace. He is a prolific poet and is writing his own Everest, but
his writing is not only about statistics. It is about spreading the message of
global peace, universal solidarity and love.

Call Me Ellie Mae

2008-10-31T11:42:00.017-07:00

Critters, I've got critters! Here at the ranch there are all kinds of critters. And, being in the desert southwest, most are unique to this part of the country. Since I have to co-exist with these animals, needless to say, I’m cautious, give them respect and plenty of distance.

There are javelina, which can be quite nasty. Reports of people being seriously injured and killed by large groups of javelina run through my mind as my little herd moves through the ranch in the early morning. I sit on the porch swing and watch them graze on cacti and fruit that has fallen from the trees. They "clack" their tusks when danger approaches. I'm not sure what danger lurks, but the "clacking" always precedes a hurried exit into the nearby thickets.

My first night here was spent lying in bed with my eyes wide open and the sheet pulled tight up under my chin. I wandered what in the hell it was that kept running along the upper deck - all night long! I finally got a glimpse of "it" the next evening. This creature had a long black and white tail and, of all things, very large purple eyes. What kind of hell-cat monster is this? Google reassured me though. It's a ringtail cat, not to be confused with the cotamundi, a member of the raccoon family. They eat fruits, berries, lizards and mice. Apparently, they are easily tamed, make affectionate pets and are great mousers. Okay, he can stay.

And, speaking of cats, there's the cougar or mountain lion. I haven't seen one here - yet. So, I've brushed up on my cougar safety. One expert said "playing dead" is not recommended. Another stated, "don't run". "They" tell you to face the cougar, keep direct eye contact and retreat slowly, backwards. You should also try to appear larger than life by waving your arms and make a lot of noise by yelling at the lion. To me, this says, "Here I am, come and get me". Then, to top it all off, not to mention really pissing the big cat off, "they" tell you to throw rocks at the lion. Uh, huh.

Reptiles! I discussed my loathing for rattlesnakes in my previous post. But, the gila monster is a deadly lizard. Their venom is as toxic as the rattler. Yes, I've seen one and it was beautiful. The good news is, I could probably out run it - even with my bad knees. And, I won't have to yell or throw rocks at it. They feed primarily on bird and reptile eggs and only feed 5-10 times a year. Guess I'll need to gila-monster-proof the chicken coop.

It's a wildlife paradise out here at the ranch. Lots of deer, rabbits, birds of prey, badgers and even a occasional bear sighting. All only add to the wonderment of this desert oasis. I have a great pair of binoculars and hope most of my encounters are only from the front porch swing. Move over Ellie Mae!

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch...

2008-10-25T11:03:00.006-07:00

For the past several months, my mind has been racing. How can I persevere during these tenuous economic times? I truly believe it's time we all take a closer look at our situations and decide what is important to us.

I remember wanting to "live off the land" as early as my teens. To find a remote piece of ground far from the maddening crowd. To build a modest shelter, grow my own food and live a peaceful life. During my college days, I subscribed to Mother Earth News and bought the Firefox collection to prepare myself for a life of self-sufficiency, but those dreams quickly faded as I joined the status quo and began a life of accumulation and bad choices.

I worked for coporate America, raised my children and then worked some more. However, after a merger, or, dare I say, a hostile take over, my company stock was devalued. I watched my retirement vaporize. This was going to make the difference for me in my elder years, the difference between eating real food instead of cat food. It's been seven years since I walked out on my mortgage banking career.

I dabbled in creating art pieces, I looked to friends for odd jobs until I was taken under the wing and mentored by a local tradesman (whom I later married and divorced, but that's another story) in the art of construction for five years. Then, lo and behold, the bottom of the housing market began to rear its ugly head. What the fuck? I can frame up a house, put it in the dry, install drywall and do the finish work. My skills are useless in this market. The past several months have been chaotic. I've been paralyzed by my circumstances.

One night, however, I was able to see through the fog enough to develop a plan. To live that simple life I had once dreamed of. I was excited. I placed ads and emailed friends seeking a care taking position and in less than two months I had a solid offer. A long-time friend needed a caretaker for his 93 acre ranch 50 miles north of Phoenix. This beautiful oasis sits deep in a canyon surrounded by saguaros and wildlife, plus a 40-ft waterfall when, and if, it ever rains.

There's a huge rose garden with blossoms as big as my fist. An orchard with every fruit tree imaginable including the largest fig tree I've ever seen. Just next to the large garden spot is the grape arbor. All I have to do is move the water hose around and keep a vigil over the large 2-story adobe house. The chicken coop needs some repair before I fill it with layers. And, I think I'll get a couple of sheep to help maintain the landscaping. Sounds perfect doesn't it? Well, it is, except for the god damn rattlesnakes. Jeez, I hate a fuckin' snake. I'm just waiting for the cold snap that will send them all deep into their dens until April. This will give me the time I need to walk around, make some improvements and prepare the garden for its bounty without having to worry about something slithering between my feet or rattling from a nearby bush.

Yea, me! My dreams and skills are now in place. I am comfortable and at peace.