Sunday, October 30, 2005

Simple Pleasures

What ever happened to the simple pleasures of life…those that cost little if anything and readily supply a plethora of lovely memories in our semi-golden years?? Now days, everyone is in a rush to buy the latest marvel of technology, to be the included in the stream to be one of the first thousand to view the latest Hollywood’s productions, or to own the largest and fanciest car or house money can buy…………….even if it means signing your next lifetime’s worth of hard earned paycheck over to someone else? I simply don’t understand the logic. How can it be pleasurable if you have to suffer to enjoy it?
Pleasure, to me, means something that one enjoys, either the doing of or the feeling it sensations it causes you to feel. It isn’t about money, or how someone else perceives you. It should be about feeling happiness and serenity……..not a constant race to one-up anyone. I remember simple joys from childhood. Things I still enjoy today, that are free for the taking if your imagination is up to the challenge. If you are daring enough to dream …
Growing up, life was simple, we worked when we were told to, we played at every opportunity, and we enjoyed most all of it with an enthusiasm I would give anything to have back. Chores shared became the simplest of tasks. Rarely, if ever, were we given a job without one or both of our parents involved to hasten the undertaking along. And with Mom, we sang together as we worked, be it the current Rock and Roll tunes blaring from the radio, or the golden oldies that Mom heard growing up in the 40’s and 50’s. Even church hymns. We sang them all, loud, off key, and with elation and exuberance in our voices and hearts. The chores were soon done, with little squabbling or fuss. That was a pleasure, because when the jailers are happy, the inmates tend to be as well.
Pleasure was home made ice cream… in flavor, laden with eggs and milk and vanilla. We had an old ice cream churn, the wooden bucket and discolored with age and salt brine. Hot summer afternoons, Mom would whip up a big bowl full of this mixture and we knew what was coming. Layers of crushed ice and large flakes of salt would, after an hour or so, turn into heaven melting in the mouths of us kids. But only if you worked for it….if you didn’t turn the crank, you didn’t get any. That was the law. Every neighbor kid would soon come over to take their turn at the crank for just one small helping of the ice cold cream. I miss it. Oh, not the turning of the crank, but the rich taste of the ice cream.
Pleasure was wading the creek with my Sis. Knee deep, with the cool water rushing past our bare legs, the bottom slick with mud and fish darting about as we violated their sanctuaries. A deep thrill we enjoyed without Mom’s knowledge or consent. Neither of us could swim a lick. And the creek bottom was littered with craggy rocks, both large and small. If we fell, we could drown. ( The voice of doom………errrrr rather Mom). That was contentment, both in the doing and in the secrecy of the adventure.
Pleasure was tromping through the woods, the air icy and laden with snow. Barren grapevines hanging from trees, just begging to be used to propel ourselves across branches. All around was a stillness, the only sounds the rasp of our breaths as we climbed our way to the top of the ravine we had decided to explore. There was a cedar tree, surrounded by honeysuckle vines long stripped of their leaves by winter’s frigid air. And under these vines was a cave…..dark and dank, but just right for 2 girls to curl up in. It was our lair, a clubhouse of sorts. One we told few about.
Today, pleasure costs money or involves travel, possessions or other people. I am still a simple soul, much preferring a beautiful sunset to going shopping. My Grandchildren are going to benefit from my memories, I think. I plan to take them walking as soon as it is cold enough. I want them to hear the silence of the woods and see the beauty of that silence. To know peace and inner happiness comes from within ourselves and can’t be bought at the local Wal-Mart for any amount of money. Our parents taught us that. For that I am thankful.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

The Smell of Freedom...........or Dog

OK, I admit I am not the most knowledgeable person about equines……………………but having been around horses all my life……….I thought I remembered the basics. But apparently I don’t remember all that much. I made a terrible mistake yesterday and turned my back on a jackass who doesn’t like humans. Or dogs! Especially dogs. An error that won’t happen again anytime soon.
Now, having a pet is a wonderful thing. I mean I have fish and turtles, even a few cats outside, both wild and tame. What potential problem could one more little animal possibly cause? When my son asked me about getting these jacks, I was tickled to death at his thoughtfulness and caring for me and my little sister. We would have one apiece, to train, love and care for. Being in the barn and around animals would bring back memories of helping Daddy and be all to the good. Little sister has little time since she works, but I thought, well hey, I do nothing all day. I can feed and water these babies all alone. An added bonus was that I’d have to leave the house and get some exercise for a change. The depression makes it hard for me to get motivated, but I will do what has to be done, be it cooking, laundry or feeding. A noble endeavor with the added benefit that he could possibly be trained to pull a cart for my Grandsons……..
So yesterday, I left the house in the gusting wind, sweats and shoes on with a hoodie zipped up tight to my chin. I tromped uphill and across the lawn of my parent’s house to the barn, unlatched the front gate and went into the shadowy barn. I opened the stall and there they stood……….two beautiful sweet jacks giving me the evil eye. I could tell they had already been fed sweet feed and corn since some was still in the trough. I thought well, gee, I’ll grab em up some of this hay and put in here for them to much on later. After the 2 first armfuls of loose hay I pulled from the bale were in the trough, I turned my back and went back for one more, leaving the door to the stall open just like we have done all week. These animals were so afraid they never ventured to the door much less out of it. I heard a commotion as I grasped the last handful of hay and looked behind me……….and there was Zeke…………my ass, galloping out the stall door with a dead-eye beam on my little sister’s dog! He ran by me full gallop….or as full as a short jackass can get. I was thing oh my God…….what now. He is chasing this little speckled dog all over the lot in front of the barn and the dog runs towards the gate…….when suddenly I realized the gate wasn’t fastened!/ It wasn’t even pulled all the way closed!
I ran forward with my hands full of hay, yelling and waving it around to frighten the ass back away from the gate. The dog escaped under that darn gate and the ass stopped dead still and stared at me like I was an idiot. I was so humiliated! I ran to the gate and fastened it and turned around….and noticed the other ass had smelled freedom as well and joined his partner in crime. I slapped my pocket searching for my phone…which I had of course left at home. The house next to the barn lot is another of my sons and they were gone. My little sister was gone as well and I had no keys with me to get in to use her phone. So I walked around the lot, checked all the gates and stumbled for home.
When I got home, my daughter was on the phone. I said……….come on Windi. My ass got out. I need some help. Now! She yelled Mom’s ass has run off and she would call em back and we ran out the door lickedy split for the barn……well we ran to her car and she drove us there but ..oh well. I called my son Duane, the son who gifted me with this nice, nice pet. I had orders I couldn’t run them up, it would scare them. I was supposed to come down in the morning, put food in their stall, hide, and when they entered to eat….run out and lock the door. I thought NO WAY! After a lot of debate, with my suggestions being shot down quickly, Duane got on the tractor to go to the pasture to get some……….errrrrrr…………hmmmmm….he called them something but I have forgotten. Basically they look like gates but can be used to make a catch pen, chute, etc. anywhere. While he was gone……….I politely placed an old gate across the hallway of the barn, opened their stall door wide and walked them around the barn. She pranced and frolicked as if they didn’t have a care in the world…..and proceeded to walk into their nice warm stall. He was so angry at me for having bested him. Soon as he got back, I turned around and came home, all the while knowing Mom shouldn’t have pushed the envelope. Tonight……….I received a phone call….not irate, just with attitude…….when he went to check them after work today…they tried to kick him. I wasn’t even there and it was MY fault. I give up……

Sunday, October 23, 2005

The Smell of Ass

As I stated in an earlier entry, I am now the proud owner of an Ass! Not just any run of the mill Ass, but a genuine, full-blooded, beautiful gun-metal gray ass. I have named him Zeke. He is a bit on the short side, but being only 4 months old, I am assuming he will grow some. Not that being short is bad, a short ass will be just the right size considering I am 5 foot nothing. He is so cute, with his big lips and mobile ears that can twist and turn any direction at the drop of the proverbial hat.

Each and every day since I received the ass as an early Christmas present, I have treked up the hill and across a huge yard to play with my ass. But does he appreciate my thoughtfullness? NO!. I have yet to touch the thing more than a glancing blow as he backed away from my outstretched hand. Zeke isn't tame by any means. He and his......errrr.........stablemate are equally distant and scared of all humans. Go figure, me, who by no means is an accomplished brave woman, am now the owner of an ass that doesn't want to be petted.

Being of a noble nature, tho, I am determined that this ass will grow to accept me as his owner. To date, and I have only had him for a week, he is willing to eat sweet feed and corn from a bowl that I am holding out in front of me. But you can raise a hand to pet, and he runs away. Ah well, at least he doesn't turn his back to me anymore when I unlatch the stable gate. That is progress at least.

Yesterday as I entered the barn, dimly lit with the dust from hay and or manure wafting on the breeze, I encountered a horendous smell. I couldn't imagine anything smelling that bad.As I opened the stall door, my delicate nose was assaulted with the smell of manure. I looked at Zeke and Zeb and asked was that smell coming from them? Of course, they rolled there little eyes and stamped their hoofs..............which sent up another cloud of dust right into my eyes.

Why is it when we get older, our sense of smell seems to be enhanced? Sis and I spent countless hours locked into the dim barns of our childhood, constructing numerous mansions amoung the bales of hay. With hidden entrances, we could be assured of hours of time away from our pesky younger sisters. I don't remember it smelling that bad back then. I certainly don't remember the dust and smell stopping my nose up for days on end. It can't be the barn that smells so it must be the ass.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Re - Rooted and Lovin It

I am turnin over a new leaf yall. I am goin back in time to my country roots, dang it! I have decided that the government is takin control of my life and I ain't standin for it no more. Gas prices are outrageous, it costs more for my ole man to drive to work than he makes. You can almost eat out at a fast food place for what it costs you to cook a decent meal every night. Heck, you can't even die without it costing a fortune. I, for one, am fed up to the back teeth with the government bleeding us dry.

I grew up with homemade clothes and hand-me-downs. We lived well in those days. Now it seems if you don't have a certain name brand of jeans or type of tennis shoe you are trash. We grew all our own vegetables and most of the meat we ate, canning and freezing all summer to provide for the winter. Now a can of beans can cost as much as a dollar! And some weeks hot dogs and mac and cheese are gourmet fare. Sheesh!

Next year, I will have a garden and grow my own food. I am determined to become more self-reliant and less dependant on the government to decide if I can afford hamburger or steak this month. I don't have a lot of use for fancy anything, be it clothes or shoes. Barefoot is fine and old sweats work great for what my life is day to day.

My son gave me an early Christmas present.............a baby jackass. So cute....for now. I aim to buy me a few chickens and a couple of goats. Farmer Donna will be back in business this time next year. Maybe even a calf or two. Who knows where I will go.

Feels nice to be back. Sis has been riding me to start this up again so here I am Vicki. Not a funny from long ago, but oh well. I WILL be back with more. This is fun again, for now anyway. Bye yall!

Friday, October 07, 2005


Donna, this is your Older but Better Looking (hee hee) and Smarter (etc etc) Sister, and I have temporarily hijacked your blog since you never write anything anymore. I've been playing with TypoGenerator and came up with these. Ain't they neat!! Now write something, dang it.

Love Ya, Vicki