Picture of the day...

One week until Sky Haven, snow, the Emerald log, and a lodgepole pine A-frame that points to heaven. Almost home.

Happy Book Second Edition

1. making applesauce and eating it hot with cinnamon
2. doing puzzles with Grandpa, my twenty pieces to his two
3. children's menus that require crayons
4. dimples
5. using a shoe to hammer a nail
6. flat tires
7. singing the Hallelujah chorus
8. gumball banks
9. porch sitting
10. mistletoe hopes

Update: mid June to date...

June, rain, rain, rain, wind, sit at work, rain some more, goodbye Jake-don't die in Manaus, more rain, more work, finally July, the 4th, fireworks, doing the Twist, cry, crack of dawn, watch little kids run and then crash and burn, lots of salt water taffy, squeal for pink Cadillac, illegal fireworks, brothers fight, making monkey noises, more work, sweat, pony rides, whiny kids, impatience, can't sleep, Gunnison groceries, Nine Mile Canyon, Twelve Mile Flat, Ferron Reservoir, sigh of relief, cry again, pine beams, A frame points to heaven, Emerald Lake, fat log rotting, cling, squeal, splash, fight, horsefly bites, walk, mud, fish, oars, sleep, sleep, sleep, lovely fat bunk, eat, read, walk, drive dirt road, pack, cry one more time, hugs, wave, see you Sunday, drive safe, not fair, stay longer, Ferron Reservoir, Twelve Mile Flat, Nine Mile Canyon, Gunnison Subway, gas station, fidget, fuss, push, shove, four hours, home, hot, sleep on the floor, rise and shine, back to work, stupid people, lady rummages my basket, pioneers are people too, Olive Garden, manna, corset, gasp, red red dress, flirt, waltz, flutter fan, evade chaperone, break some hearts, wave goodbye, drive in corset, try to sing, Grandma's house, homemade ice cream, corset off, breathe, eat,
breathe,
breathe,
breathe...

Happy Book

I like to make lists. I have a list that I'll write for the rest of my life. It's covered in baby blue and simply called my Happy Book. You betcha. It's a list of all the things that make me happy. Here's the first five:

1. hat hair
2. lemon pie
3. golfing with Dad
4. Candyland
5. taking your sweet time

Sometimes it's hard to remember that life is essentially good. This helps.

Westward Ho, Westward Go

There's been rain for the last two days. It's been much anticipated, at least by me. Yesterday the clouds rolled up from the west desert as I was driving home from work and I wanted to just take off into it past the tower of Mordor, past the Salt Flats, and way past Wendover with pouring rain the whole way. But I dutifully went home for dinner instead. Then today another smaller squall blew up in the late afternoon when work is typically deserted. A gentlemanly coworker came over to check on me since there wasn't a building nearby for me to hunker down in until it stopped blowing. I laughed and he looked at me funny when he realized I was enjoying myself and all the smells of rain in the desert: still dry dust, just a little rust, precious water, and beaten down sage that can't decide if it prefers being thrashed by the sun or the storm. I stood there for twenty minutes in the middle of an open field: not about to move for man or tornado. The ponies must have thought I was crazy; them all huddling with their backsides to the wind. What's the fun of that? For the most part I'm a homebody with not much interest in running away but I can't deny that my face is most often turned to the west. Like going off the deep end, I'd answer the call of the days of '47 or perhaps the largely hapless 49ers; maybe I'd even have beaten them there. Westward ho, westward go. It would have been even better in the rain.

Heavy

I stood in my orchard today at work. Just stood. The whole place was empty and so was my heavy head. The horses chewed with a swish and a grind. Jeremiah stared morosely; Honey couldn't even hold still long enough to eat, sidestepping all the while; Dunroe glanced at me balefully when he couldn't reach any more grass; Founder was asleep; and Happy was just that, happy. They all ignored me. I was grateful for that. I didn't daydream; didn't meditate or contemplate; didn't plan, scheme, or prioritize. I just stood in the long grass with a halo of apple leaves gilded by muted sunshine filtering through; with the horses and bees and Queen Anne's lace in a spot where no one could see, I stood like I was part of a museum piece.

Untitled #1

I went for a run last night along fourth east like I always do if I decide not to go to the gym. I made it the mile and a half to Dick's before I realized I was going way too fast. So heck with exercise, I stopped, turned around, and satisfactorily walked the whole way home. This is what I saw:

• a river that runs nowhere


• and one that does


• fifteen lilac bushes


• weeds I'd love in my yard


• green snowballs


• the man in the moon, I've missed him


• half a pine tree


• a hayfield half mowed and almost gone


• a flying soccer ball and no player in sight


• a kissing gate


• a kitchen chair under a tree far from the house


• three hundred nine


• a person whose name I know and I still didn't say hello


• the last orchard


• Centerville's oldest resident


• twins in mourning, their backs turned to each other


• a tree house made without nails or boards


• an old swing set, the kind I love best


• the kind of wall you walk on


• sprinkler wet sidewalk, first I've seen this season


• a plastic castle, I was the lady fair in one once


• an enormous, stylish house dwarfing an old, ugly one that I like better


• a cat enjoying the witching hour


• and fifty three porch lights

Life is better than anyone expects. I've been looking at myself too much lately.