Another Little Light Bulb

We spent a beautiful Sunday afternoon outside enjoying spring day and our little impromptu birthday party for a certain little boy. (I'm saving the pictures for Wednesday)

The grandma's were flying our Brown Eyed Girl's kite. Handy Man was overseeing their efforts while hitting golf balls for Boji into the pasture. Grandpa Matt was busy chasing butterflies in the yard with our Brown Eyed Girl, trying desperately to catch one for her bug box. Mr Blue Eyes and I were relaxing on the porch.

Mr Blue Eyes had just returned from the driveway, clasping two small rocks, one in each hand. He had this look on his face like...

...he was a man on a mission.

He had spotted the downspout attached to the house. This tube like thing was so interesting, to strange, so amazing! Ohhhh the possibilities...

I am pretty sure his thought process went something like this...

This is a pretty neat tube.

I have two rocks. 

Because he can count of course. He is a genius baby. After these photos you will agree.
 

 

I wonder...

 

Well, will you look-e-there! They fit right inside this tube thing.

Yep, there they are. Right inside.

Well, I'll be darned.

 

I can even reach back inside here and pull them out like this. 

Just. Like. This.

 

Kitty, these are my rocks. 

Maybe I should just stick them back in here again for safe keeping. 

 

Wonder what happens when I lift this up like this?

 

Yep, they are still there.

This is amazing!

 

This tube thing is a fine display of craftsmanship.

 

Imagine the possibilities with this tube.

I wonder what else I could fit in that thing?

 

Up and down like this.

One rock...

Two rocks...

 

Not now Kitty!

Can't you see I am working here?

Shooo! Go on. Get out of here. 

Go find Sissy.

 

Interesting...

Cowgirl

With the nice weather rolling in, I have been letting our Brown Eyed Girl help me with feeding the horses in the evenings when we get home. Being around the horses every afternoon, she has been begging me to ride. I promised her we would ride the horses this week. She was in heaven.

I had her grab a halter and we headed out to catch PC.

As we slipped though the fence, I said, "Come on cowgirl."

"Cowgirl? What's a cowgirl mommy?" She asked innocently. 

"Honey a cowgirl is a girl who loves and rides horses."

And that was that. 

We fed the horses, found PC and I boosted her up.

Her expression is always the same each time you place her on the back of a horse. 

Or donkey...

Bliss.

  

I really don't dress her like this normally. She did have matching shorts on before we went out to ride. I do have to admit, she had her famous dancing shoes on though. 

Remember, we pick our battles.

She is so relaxed and confident up there, centered on PC.

A budding horseman, rewarding her mare for not having a care in the world as long as she can eat everything in her path because she is a piglet  standing so well.

Daddy brought Mr Blue Eyes out to say hello and without any prompting or hesitation our Brown Eyed Girl said, "Daddy! I'm a Cowgirl!"

My heart skipped a beat.

Music to my ears.

The seed has been carefully planted her entire life. 

And I am in love!

Sassie

 

My fondest memories as a horse crazy, teenage girl were either spent at the barn or with my other horse crazy friends. My best friend Cari and I met in Westernaires, a mounted youth equestrian group. For ten years, we spent every Saturday out at Westernaires learning our drills and riding our horses. We dabbled in horse shows, waved in parades and turned a lot of cans in high school rodeo. We floated through our adolescence attached to the hip, leading Lamar and Sassie through life. We built friendships that have lasted well into our adult lives and often reminisce about our red-sweatshirt-bandana-wearing days.

My non-horse parents bought Lamar for me just before high school. He was the perfect example of pairing a green horse with a green/novice rider. But he was gorgeous! A beautiful buckskin with perfect dark points and just a tiny white star centered perfectly on his forehead. It was love at first sight. His looks alone moved the sale. Knowing what I know now as a horsewoman, it was your stereotypical recipe for disaster.

I have never learned so much from any horse in my entire life. He was my everything. My steady boyfriend. My confidant. My straight and narrow. My teacher. He was my foundation. My motivation to make something out of my self. 

Sassie on the other hand was the ever steady mount. She grounded us all. She was broke, a quick learner, versatile... safe. Sassie only had two flaws - her outrageous trot (anyone who has ever ridden Sassie knows what I am talking about. If you haven't, trust me when I say that your seat thanks you) and being a mare. 

Sassie was the epitome of  all things mare. She was a red thunder of PMS when she was in heat.

Sassie loved Lamar. 

I can remember showing up to Cari's barn numerous times to pick up Sassie on our way to a rodeo - Cari's old tan and white F-250 loaded down with panels. After two minutes of being in the trailer with Lamar, Sassie was hussy-ing her self about, winking and flirting with Lamar. I tried not to snicker too loud as Cari yelled, "God damn-it Lamar!" 

It was going to be an entertaining weekend.

The summer before my senior year in high school Lamar got hurt. 

One of our annual summer shows was just around the corner and I was without a horse. I was in a pinch. Cari and I were on different teams in Westernaires, but the two most elite teams in the organization non the less. As a best friend, Cari volunteered to let me ride Sassie through Estes Park while I looked for another mount - we were unsure if Lamar would ever be able to run drill team again. 

That sturdy red mare carried us both through the show. She went in for Grand Entry with me (quick change), Precisionettes with Cari (quick change), all of Cari's specialty classes (quick change, quick change) and then closed out each performance with me on the Red Team. She never tired. She was always willing. Her only revenge was refusing to lope with me in the propeller. That blasted mare trotted the whole thing, keeping pace and her formation with every other horse that was loping. I was pretty sure I had internal bruising by the time that last drill was over. 

I loved "sharing" Sassie in Estes with Cari.

Don't kill me for the butt shot Cari...

After high school, Cari and I packed up our F-250s, hitched up our horse trailers, loaded up Lamar and Sassie and convoyed up to Sterling, Colo for college. We spent the first year in college riding Lamar and Sassie every day - for a grade! We learned to train horses - finally Lamar got some discipline. We hit the road as members of the collegiate rodeo team. We shared the college experience together. 

We were going places, two girls and their trusted mounts. The four of us concurring life one day at a time. 

After two years in junior college, Cari and I kissed their soft noses, packed our bags for the summer and headed to Texas for our internships.

Two weeks before I returned, Lamar was struck by lightning...

A tiny black mark on our singular timeline of life. 

I returned to Colorado and moved to Fort Collins - alone. 

Cari and Sassie stayed back in Lakewood. 

There were no more rodeos.

No more horse shows.

Life had changed. 

While I trudged though more books at CSU, Cari started her beautiful family. Sassie has spent the last several years teaching Cari's kids how to ride and adore horses.

 

A few years ago, Sassie was diagnosed with Cushings Disease - a small benign tumor in the pituitary gland that affects the horse's natural hormone production.

Cari and her family continued to give Sassie the forever home she deserved. Special treats. Lots of love.

Year after year, Sassie has taken on more and more characteristics of her Cushings disease. Especially, the long, wooly mammoth appearance due to abnormal hair growth and shedding.

How could you not love a face like that? Even in her twenties, Sassie is beautiful.

Every year, the winters get a little harder on her. Sassie battles chronic laminitis. She has a hard time regulating her body temperature. Her legs stay swollen. And lately, she feels pain. 

Cari has one of the biggest hearts I have ever known. She would do anything for her animals, especially Sassie. A long road has finally come to the end today. Cari had to make one of the hardest decisions you can make. Not just for a "horse", but for a member of her family. The keeper of her deepest secrets.

Today, Sassie will meet Lamar again. He's been running a muck up there with Grey and a handful of other trusted Westernaire mounts. No doubt they will nicker, kick up their heels and graze the evening away knee deep in lush pastures. 

Cari's daughter Lizzie has followed in her mother's footsteps. 

Lizzie has an unwavering passion for horses.

This fall, Lizzie wants to be a Westernaire, just like her mom.

I can just feel it... someday Lizzie will be an accomplished horsewoman, just like her mom. 

Because just like her mom, Lizzie shared special moments, secret conversations, and that special bond that can only be formed between a horse crazy girl and her horse, Sassie.

Sassie, my friend, you will forever be missed and remembered. Say hello to my boy for me. 

xoxo

Flying Kites

When Handy Man was a kid, every Easter he and his sister would receive a new kite in their baskets. Our Brown Eyed Girl got her first kite this year. It's been two weeks since Easter, long overdue for flying a kite. Saturday evening, Handy Man assembled the kite and took our Brown Eyed Girl outside. She was so excited to see the kite fly.

We live on a hill. Our little house on the prairie, where the wind blows...and blows...and blows. Every day the wind blows. Sometimes it blows so hard that you can't help but cringe waiting for the roof to get ripped off. At least once a month I have to wrangle patio furniture and our Brown Eyed Girls cozy coupe. We hold inside bar-b-ques. It's a windy view out there on the prairie.

So wouldn't you know of all the days to want to fly a kite, there was no wind.

While I was feeding horses last night, Handy Man decided to give it another go. We had just enough wind where the breeze was enjoyable. Perfect for flying a kite.

Our Brown Eyed girl was elated.

She did so good holding onto the string all by her self!

 

Yep.

She is only wearing underwear and her dancing shoes.


Perfect attire for flying kites if you ask me. 

We live in the country...

First moments like this only happen once.

Sometimes you have to work with what the moment gives you. 

My happy family, flying a kite, enjoying this beautiful April day. 

This mom was all smiles. 

Even Boji took a little break from digging out behind the barn to enjoy the nice weather with us.

My handsome old man.

You can really see the gray around his muzzle when you are outside.

What an awesome day!

Columbine

Before 1999, Columbine was just the name of a flower.

The state flower of Colorado.

Before 1999, Columbine was the place I spent 4 years of my life. It was a place that I walked the halls, attended classes, played volleyball and lacrosse, attended football games, laughed with friends, and eventually graduated from.

Since 1999, the word Columbine is now synonymous with tragedy. Columbine has become the title to an event in history. A stereotype. At times a cliche.

The way today makes me feel hasn't changed much over thirteen years.

I am pretty sure I am not alone.

I can still recall where I was and every chain of event as if it were yesterday.

I was a freshmen in college. My best friend, Cari, and I were hanging out at a friends house eating lunch - a McDonald's Big Mac - between classes. Cari turned on the TV and there was a picture of an all too familiar building. "BREAKING NEWS" flashed across the screen. The journalist's commentary failed to register as I stared at the words, "School Shooting" and "Columbine High School." I shook my head in disbelief and asked Cari if this was real.

She didn't answer.

"Is this real?"

Still no answer

I raised my voice, "Cari? Is this real?"

"I think so..." was all she was able to mutter.

I immediately glanced at my watch. Much like recess in elementary school, lunch breaks were easily ingrained in your memories as a student. My younger sister, Christi, was a sophomore still at Columbine. This was her lunch break.  

I reached for the phone as I started to registered words like shooters... cafeteria... library...

As I fumbled with a calling card - wouldn't you know the kid didn't have long distance on his phone - my adrenaline surged. I probably entered in that calling card number 20 times, my shaking hands fumbling to push the numbers and having to start over again and again. I was starting to hyperventilate. I couldn't get the damn calling card to work. What I would have given for my iPhone back then. Cari took the phone from me and dialed the number.

I called home.

I've traveled across the world - I have never felt so far away from home in my entire life.

My mother answered.

"Is. She. Okay."

It took every thing in my power at that moment to get those three words out of my mouth with any sense of control I had left.

"Yes! She is Here. Hold on..."

Yes... and my heart could beat again, my lungs breath again.

And when she spoke, "Sissy, I love you!"

...I cried. 

Christi was on her lunch period, standing in line in the cafeteria. While waiting, she remembered she never finished her homework for one of her afternoon classes that day. She stepped out of line and headed up the stairs towards the library. About half way up the stairs, she remembered she had left over Baskin Robins at home in the freezer. As she reached the top of the stairs, she thought to hell with the homework. There was something about that ice cream calling her name. She turned left instead of right, away from the library, exited the building, and walked three blocks home to indulge in her ice cream.

My Grandpa Eveleth loved ice cream. He passed away five months before Columbine. I can't help but believe that he was our guardian angel that day. On any other day, Christi would have known she wouldn't have enough time to walk home and get back in time for her next class, especially for just ice cream. But there was just something about that ice cream that she had to have, on that very day. 

I thank God every day for procrastination and ice cream whispers.

She missed the shooters entering the building by minutes.

She ate her ice cream and then started to walk back to school.

Some of her friends had made it to their car and fled the school. They saw her walking back towards Columbine, pulled over and told her what was happening.

She returned home.

Safe.

Alive.

The hours and days after that moment are no secret. They were televised nationally... globally. For months, this small community grieved - they still do. Families buried children. Physical wounds healed. Slowly picking up the pieces, life began to exist again.

There are still dark shadows lurking in memories. Broken hearts. Fear.

That's the hard part about anniversaries, sometimes they are sad.

Thirteen years...

Thirteen innocent lives lost...

The one good thing about anniversaries...

Columbine - NEVER FORGET!

An Old Lady

I have always been an animal lover. As kids, my sister and I had everything from hamsters, beta fish and rabbits to cats, dogs and horses as pets. We learned responsibility. We learned compassion. We learned about new life though baby bunnies, baby hamsters and kittens. We learned about death, grieving and the need to move forward.

Life lessons.

Valuable lessons that have helped to shape the woman I am today - the mother that I am today.

All of my childhood pets are gone by now... well, except for one very old lady. My mom still has our old farm kitty, Cara. 

Cara is 20 now. 

That is pretty old for a cat. 

That's pretty old for a farm cat from Iowa that probably would have never made it past her third birthday living on a farm as a Ferrel cat. Farm life is tough on cats. Especially REAL farm life. Not like the farm life Miss Kitty has. She is a pampered princess compared to real farm cats. The only thing she has in common with a real farm cat is the farm.

Cara and her sister Calo were born on my Great Aunt Phillis and Great Uncle Jr's pig farm in Iowa. We had gone back to Iowa to visit family and spent a day out on Phillis and Jr's farm. Christi and I ran a muck chasing the new farm kittens. I am pretty sure we chased those poor kittens for hours until two of them finally decided to just give up and let us catch them. Once we did - oh we were keeping them! 

Even back then I had superb negotiation skills and sales pitches. We were able to convince my mom to let us keep not just one, but BOTH kittens. After all, they needed each other. They were sisters. Not too mention, Christi and I would have fought over the one for sure. It was both or non. I have to admit that my mom can be a push over when it comes to animals. She was an easy sell, especially since my dad was still in Colorado and had not made the trip to Iowa with us. Had be been there...

For the next few days we were in Iowa, we had to sneak the kittens into my Grandma Eveleth's house. She was not a huge animal lover. We would make sure to take the kittens out to use the lawn. That very night we adopted the cute little darlings, one got away. We spent a couple hours calling for the kitten, using her sister as a decoy, until we finally found her in a tree. We should have known right then that these two kittens would be quite the adventure.

The ride home was comical. At the time, my sister and I thought it was magical. Twelve hours in a car with two baby kittens to play with - what more could two little girls dream for? It was gumdrops and rainbows until about 6 hours in and suddenly my mom and my Aunt Shelly thought they smelled something strange. Something that definitely resembled - cat poop. 

One of the darling little kittens had used my sister's beloved blanket as a litter box. 

As soon as Christi saw poop, she freaked out and started screaming and shaking her blanket in furry trying to get the poop off her blanket. 

75 miles an hour on  highway 80 across Nebraska...

Cat poop flying through the air...

Mom and Aunt Shelly screaming...

Two kittens scurrying...

Priceless!

Our wonderful dad sure did miss us. He was so happy to see us - and then he saw the kittens. Surprise! He didn't have much of a choice at that junction. We were attached and pretty far from the farm to just go put them back. Animal ambush. 

Once word got out, we were the most popular girls among all our friends. All of our neighborhood friends, school friends, my horse friends came to see the new sister kittens. They snuggled, pet and held Calo and Cara. Such blissful days!

A little over a week after we got home, we noticed Calo and Cara were suddenly losing some hair in random places. A little patch here... a little patch there. Off to the vet for their first vet appointment!

After a quick examination, the vet smiled slightly and gave us the diagnosis, "Well I am sorry to say, but both of these kittens have ring worm. You see that little rash on your daughter's arm... the kittens have given your daughter's ring worm too. Your daughters will need to see a doctor as well to get some topical ointment to clear that up. It's very contagious."

Over the next couple days, my mom began receiving calls from the neighborhood parents, the school parents, the horse parents... We were the ring worm family and we had given all of our friends and their families ring worm. 

My dad cussed under his breath and swore if he got one spot on his body the kittens were gone. A few mornings later... he had a spot. 

Obviously, he didn't make us get rid of the kittens. 

Once the ring worm was gone it was back to rainbows and butterflies. 

Months went by and then one night we heard this god-awful guttural noise coming from Calo. All night long she howled. Finally, she was evicted to the garage by my parents. The next morning, there were several stray tom cats hanging around the house. That afternoon we came home from school and right there in the driveway my sister and I got a lesson on the birds and the bees.   

Cara was shipped off to the vets office to be spayed. 

Calo became a mommy. Christi and I watched as her belly grew. We made a little birthing box and watched her deliver her four little kittens. A memory I will never forget.

Midnight, Katherine, Mommy Calo, Sierra and Socks.

Go ahead and say it...

Dork is an appropriate word here.

We found homes for all of the kittens except Midnight. He was the mightiest hunter I ever knew. He could catch mice, moles, squirrels, you name it. 

Over the years we lost Calo and then our smokey colored Midnight a few years later. 

But petite, little Cara still calls my mom's house home after all these years. She barely weighs anything anymore. She is become a frail old lady. She spends a lot of time napping - time well deserved after all these years. 

Our Brown Eyed Girl, loving cats the way she does, tries desperately to play with Cara. Our Brown Eyed Girl loves the fact that she can pick Cara up. She is so light. 

I of course cringe. Poor Cara.

Even in her old age, she is so patient, so kind.

A little old Lady.

I pray the kids don't torment her too much on Thursdays.