Confession - I once believed...

...in abortion.  That's right, I once thought it should be accepted.  The logical, the law of the land, the survival of the fittest in me believed that abortion had its place.  After all, on the farm we are strong enough with the land to know that if a baby is born weak there is a good chance it will not live long and the right thing to do would be to put it out of everyone's misery.  I thought people were no different.

I believed if there was solid proof that the baby would be born with defects wouldn't it be better for the family and everyone around the baby if it were not born?  I also believed that for the sake of the mother's life then yes, abortion should be acceptable.

I NEVER believed it should be used as birth control.  I never believed it should be used as a correction for error in judgment.  I never believed that rape should be used as an excuse for abortion.  Just think of all the heroes that never would have been heroes just because their mama didn't know their daddy.  If you read or watch movies, I'm sure you can think of at least one bastard that became famous!  Would have ruined the story had that baby ...er tissue as it's referred to when discussing the justification of the procedure...been removed.

So what changed my mind?

The answer is fairly simple...experience.

I didn't want to have a baby - oh sure eventually but not then.  It's not always what we want that we get but it's usually what we need. 

I knew the second he was there (in fact I can relate to you almost every single event of that day).  I knew his conscience.  I knew what color his eyes would be - I saw them clearly and they weren't the blue of his father's.   I knew he existed and I knew he wanted to live!!!  I didn't need the two pink lines and I didn't really need for my good friend who worked in the lab to hurry up the blood work to verify.  He was active from the beginning.  He was thinking, he was living, he was thriving.

I didn't suffer any sickness but I tired easily - too easily.  Tests showed my anemia was at an all time high.  No biggie - I could handle that, even when I fell asleep in my own class I thought I was still going to be all right.  No matter what we tried the anemia just got worse.  And there were dreams - vivid dreams.  I was playing with him but he couldn't see or hear me.  He was bald except for a Charlie Brown curl just above his broad forehead.  I was following him as he learned to walk but he couldn't hear my voice.  I thought my gift of intuition was telling me he was in danger.  Yeah, I've always thought myself a little on the invincible side.

The doctor finally gave up on trying to raise the iron and assured me that so long as I had a natural birth all would be well and once he arrived I'd go back to normal.

Back then I thought I was a little normal.  I've since learned that my normal and the world's 'normal' have very little in common.  My 'normal' blood pressure is lower than most.  So when my blood pressure was 'normal'  it was actually 'high' and when I started gaining weight without eating the tests showed everything was still 'normal' - except of course for my iron which had dropped even more.   

Then came the day.  The day when I saw a medical professional go into a near panic attack.  January 29th the doctor induced labor at 5 a.m.  At 5 p.m. we lost his heart beat and I had not dilated at all.  There wasn't going to be a natural delivery and I didn't need to see the doctor's face to know that the odds were not with my survival.  I told her I understood and that this baby had to live.  He wanted to live.  The rest of that day was a blur, a roller coaster of emotions - it certainly wasn't the most pleasant of experiences for this mom to be.  They tried the spinal and missed 5 TIMES!!!  before deciding to put me completely out.  The nurse was whispering something to me and then I saw a tree in my mind and it hit my brain...hard...

It was a little while after I woke before I could hold him and when I looked into those bright, intelligent, hazel eyes (yes, the color was defined at birth and I really don't care how many scientific/logical people believe otherwise.  They were the first pair of eyes I felt truly looked into my soul) I believed differently.  I felt then, there could be no reason for abortion, no amount of justification.  EVERY life had the right to fight for life and thrive.  Who was I to have determined his fate?  Sure, life isn't easy and we don't always get to choose our battles but we do get to choose to fight them.  Even the unborn should have that right.

I didn't get to hold him very long.  Flight for Life isn't called for convenience or to test the equipment.  They are called when there's still a life to save and Ethan wasn't the one in danger.  Adrenaline kicked in when I heard the news and my own fight began in earnest.  I was three days in and out of a coma.  Three days under a drug that could have killed me as easily as it could cure me.  At that point there wasn't much to lose in trying.

There were a lot of blessings discovered in those three days.  Those stories may have to come in another post.     

The important detail in this story is I once believed in abortion under certain circumstances.  I no longer feel that way.  I could have been killed as easily in a car accident as I could have in child birth.  Do I get rid of the car?  No! And it goes without saying but something to think about it this - Why is it those that have already been born are the ones making the decisions for those that can not yet speak?

I do not judge.  I am not so naive as to think this practice is something new.  It is a practice that goes back to the start of time.  Authors of every generation speak of it in their tales.  Shakespeare and Faulkner are two I can quote directly.  We are assured that methods are much safer today - you know kinda in the same way that lethal injection is much nicer than hanging.  I do not believe insurance or society should cover the cost of the decision any more than I believe a child molester can be cured or should be forgiven.  I believe that some decisions should be made and the maker of the decision take on full responsibility.  That too is a character builder and one we need a little more of  sometimes.   

2012 Election Year - Do I approve the messages?

Gonna write this before the whole thing is over.  It's going to look bitter and it might be - I might be a little bitter.  I think this election - in its entirety - has been the worst election EVER.  I'm still proud to be American but some of the things I've seen this year have been shameful and maybe it serves as a reminder that people are not quite as evolved as they'd like to think they are.  The pack mentality, the rising of adrenaline in the blood and the mindless fervor that takes over.  It's all about reality TV!

The media has loved it - have eaten it up and controlled it in as much as they are able to.  It's become this huge reality tv show and I wonder what they're going to do without the campaign ads to support them next week.

The nation's been divided in as many ways as a nation can be divided. 

The poor vs the rich - started by someone who makes at least $400,000 more than your average 'poor' family…and who bailed out the CEO's and then waved t o them as they flew the coop...hmmmm

Race has come across the table.  Aren't we all created equal?  Shouldn't we start acting like it then?  Isn't America the ultimate melting pot?  Not during election years when every race, sex, color, or creed can be and will be used as a platform.  And just look at the media coverage!!!!  The ratings are out of the roof!!!

Sex.  Same sex marriage, traditional marriage...since when should the government know this?  Oh...and let's not forget women...who could forget women...you know those who fought for suffrage only to now turn 180 degrees and be so helpless that the government needs to come in and secure the womb…..yeah I'm particularly bitter about my sex being used as a platform in this election.  At least use a smart woman in the commercial!!!

Religion.  I thought we were of the mind that church and state be separated….not during an election year apparently.  The public has to try and strip the sacred out of the sanctuary.  Again...look at the ratings. 

Gun control, PETA, federal (another word for the government) land grabbing, agriculture issues, immigration, national spending, alternative energy, and other platforms just haven't made as much impact on the ratings - though they've been discussed - and vehemently -  over the course of the year.

This year has shown to be one of those free for all slamming the candidate and dragging the American people into the fray years.   

Any of you recall jumping someone you called friend this year?  Yeah...maybe you'll remember doing that when it's all over...right now you're still filled with the adrenaline of the fight and can't really see who you're hating on.  Don't feel guilty, millions of Americans are right there with you, blindly supporting the media coverage.

Where is Russel Crowe's Gladiator character when you need him - I'd like to see him running across the screen during some of the media coverage of the election screaming "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?"  I feel about the same as he did in the instance he shouted those words.  This is nonsense...and yet...we partake.

I guess now would be a good time to share my two biggest pet peeves of this election.  Really, I only have two!!!  Yes, there's a little sarcasm in there - it is my post!!!    I did say two BIGGEST pet peeves and they are kind of small when you think of everything this election has drawn into it.  

My first pet peeve is $10,000/plate for a fundraising dinner.   You blame the rich but then attend these lunches and dinners?  Kinda contradicts the whole 'it's the rich's fault' there, doesn't it, big guy?  You won't find too many poor people laying out that kind of money to get what they want passed in congress.  Though there are groups that will donate money to send one representative to fight for their joint cause.  Still... $10,000/plate!!!!   

Back when I heard this the selfish side of me said, "That's a lot of barrel racing!"  One plate could send me on the road for over half a year without worrying about pulling a check.  A dinner party of 6 and I'd not have to worry about anything in my hauls!!!

Then the other side of me, the louder voice, the one that really seems to know that I'm not the only person in this world said, "A dinner party of 6 people could pay first year teaching salaries for two teachers"  That's a yearly salary and an estimate, mind you.  It could provide a homeless shelter meals for maybe several months.  12 dinner plates could buy houses for the homeless (our homeless, those on American soil).  If they're fed with food grown in America - that should help out America's farmers.   All of that out of one dinner ( and sometimes it was lunch!!!) but instead it is spent at the chance to buy the presidential election.   Right...but the poor should hate the rich  - it's all their fault.  Sorry, media...my bitterness leans more to the intelligence(or lack there of) bought by this money.  OH...and then...then...and I love this...after this election!!!!  AFTER THIS ELECTION...there might be a change in the campaign spending regulations!!!!!!  REALLY?!?!?!  You think we need one?  More government control!!!!  Power to the people....righttttttttt

My second pet peeve.  Using my sex as a platform!!!  You know my being a woman.  Again I'll mention this $10,000/plate!!!!!!!! $10,000/plate and that's the best commercials you could come up with?  You couldn't buy an intelligent woman to do the acting? 

 THIS is what you come up with

"...this is such a tragic time for women in America."  

Really?   Did you study history?

I hope I am not the only woman in this country who watches that commercial and thinks, "Woman, get your big girl panties on and deal!"  Someone needs to slap the helpless out of those commercials and I'll go further and say slap the women who believe we're lost and alone and HELPLESS.   I have been slow to say much on this because I know I wasn't raised the way the average American woman might have been raised.  Not everyone had my Grandmas, my mom, and my dad as teachers.  I was sat down from an early age and taught about the responsibilities of being a woman.  Those responsibilities being that it is my body, MY BODY, and it is my duty and obligation to take care of it.  It is my duty, MY DUTY, to make the decisions of what happens to it and it is up to me, UP TO ME, to live with those decisions.  And that includes in instances of rape (yes, learning about my rights in such cases was part of my upbringing as well and again I accept the fact that not every woman had the luxury of an open family).

 I'm not going to say 'and incest' with that because I think that adds stupid to an already stupid campaign ad.  Why?  Well...because…. If the incest isn't consensual isn't it rape? And if it was consensual doesn't that make the woman partly responsible and therefore as intelligent as...yeah...I'm gonna stop there cuz it doesn't sound intelligent at all.  And there are those that will say, 'but she was drunk...or...high' yeah, that fact makes the woman sound smarter. Can you feel my sarcasm and disappointment in this campaign platform? 

I'd like to feel that women are smarter than the campaign ads make them out to be.  I'd like to feel that the government doesn't need to step in and take care of us - because I've seen how governments step in and take care of situations and it's not pretty.  I'd like to still believe that a woman's body is hers, and SHE is going to take care of her and her children regardless of what the public might have to say about her.  I'd also like to point out in cases of abortion it has been around as long as the second oldest profession has been around.  Why...suddenly...is it coming across the table now?  

Two words.  Media coverage.   More than two words.  The reality tv show mentality behind it. 

 

I've written this blog and I have felt this blog.  I have not approved too many messages of this year's election.

Parr for the Course

I'm writing again - yay? 

Life is finally slowing down a little - as it will so often do this time of year.  It'll pick up again before long, rest assured.  We've cattle yearning to leave the mountain pasture, basketball waiting around the corner with the practice schedules, and of course school trips.  For now, though, we are at a calm and I can take a few minutes to resume the written accounts.  With luck, I might just be able to share the whole of the summer.  For now, I'm going to share my most recent of accounts - my first meeting with Dale Knobb of Knobb's Chiropractic LLC.

Knobbs Chiropractic is one of the sponsors for some of the bigger races I try to attend - the most recent of which was the Mile Hi finals - The DR Horton Classic.  My lower back was at an all time high in pain (not the first time - it's parr for the course considering my past) so I paid his table a visit.  He asked about the pain and the start, I explained I'd been shoeing horses - he said, "So you're a farrier" My reply was "Somewhat, I just shoe my own horses now." 

He told me to lay down and he'd see what he could do.  Me - gullible me - thought he was just going to work on the back. 

Ha!

First thing he does is grab both my ankles and twist.  Ouch doesn't go through my head quite as fast as the tensing reflex of my left leg, a reflex years in the training - so much training that pain doesn't register with the twisting of the ankle anymore. 

He asks "Did you recently turn your left ankle?" 

My reply, "Nope, I have a dislocated tendon in that one." 

His return, "That explains how loose it is." 

"Yeah," I start to say as his hand takes hold of my neck and I hear 14- I'm sure it was 14 (that was the number that came to mind) -cracks both ways.

"Have any headaches lately?"  He asked.  There was instant clarity to the back of my head - a portion of which has felt a little heavy of late.

Before I can answer he's going down the back.  I don't recall any one chiropractor drawing so many sounds from one back before.  And I think he even nailed the pain in the lower back but I'm still recovering and savoring the newly found clarity of the head.

"Everything goes in easy enough," he says.  "Very easy to work on."  I might have had a reply but he was already moving to the shoulders and I'm finding that answering him in a slow polite manner just isn't going to happen. 

"Part of the job," he says as he pops my shoulder back in - I've been needing that done since college.

I can only nod and he's asking about the knees.  "Left knee is bad," I say, "right knee is good." 

"Can I use them to pop the hips?"  I nod but I think before my chin drops in the motion he is already popping the hips through the knees.

He's quick, I have to hand it to him.  But I'm getting quicker and when he takes hold of my right hand I stop him before I hear any unwanted crunching.  He lifts his eyes and I explain, "Reconstructive surgery to the wrist."

"Glad you caught that," he says with a grin.  I am too.  I'm feeling too good to have this meeting end badly.

As I dig into my pocket to thank him with the monetary fee he adds, "Most might tell you it's time to quit.  I'm not going to tell you that.  I'm going to tell you to keep doing what you're doing until you can't do it anymore."   I nod and thank him for the advice.  I don't tell him that's my intention, that I don't feel I have any other choice in the matter.  I've come this far, might as well see it through to the end.

It's when I walk away that I wonder if he wasn't using reverse psychology on me.

(note:  Dale Knobb is very good at what he does - he works on people as well as horses - and everyone I've talked to is extremely pleased with his work, including myself.  If you're ever in his neighborhood or at a race where he's sponsoring the event I give my recommendation to see him.  Might want to give him the heads up on the injury list though ;) )

Hunting the Healing

The dried herbs crumbled in the mortar beneath the gentle pressing of his pestle.  The whisper of a sound alerted him he had company.  Without pausing in his labor he closed his eyes and drew in a long deep breath.  His thin lips stretched and curled at the corners into a smile that parted to expose his razor sharp teeth.

"I smell dried blood, sweat - horse and mortal - leather, polished steel, the remains of polishing compound, roses, and…" The pause was caused by his frown.  His eyes looked ahead then dropped down to the crushed herb.  "I smell a traitorous liniment, no doubt taken from a dead man.  Likely it is his blood I smell and not your own.  It has far too salty a scent to have come from your slender self.  It was a recent squabble and squabble it must have been.  I smell no recently shed blood of your own so fight it could not have been."

"If it helps," she said as her body moved through the dark sheer fabric separating his quarters from the world outside, "I used the liniment on my horse."

He breathed through his nostrils.  "It doesn't.  The stench still remains.  I thought you cared for your horse."  He turned then and greeted her with a bow.  "It is always a good sight to see you, Aislinn."  When he straightened from the bowing, his catlike eyes moved over her form.  Already all but her undergarments had been removed and were likely being seen to by his hand maids.  Quickly, he ascertained new wounds and stress placed on old injuries.  Again, he'd have his work cut out for him.  He expected nothing less from her visits.  "However, before I come near enough to lay a healing hand on your overworked body you will bathe."  And with that he lifted his hand toward the door to his right.  His brows arched as he tilted his head toward his patient as though waiting for quarrel.

She gave none.  She never did.  Despite the deaths of friend and foe that haunted her dreams, the bodies laid to rest by her hand, the calluses shielding her hands and heart, she was very much a woman and as such never turned down the offer of a bath. 

"At your leisure, my lady," he said with a wink. He watched her disappear then turned back to his mortar and pestle, returning to his work.  The 'lady's leisure' gave him plenty of time to finish tonight's work.

By the time she'd finished her bathing, candles had been lit and scattered throughout the main room as well as the healing chamber.  His long ebony hair had been pulled back from his face, braided and wrapped in a white band.  His darker robes had been changed to the white silk he wore when healing.  It was a stark contrast to his dark skin and hair, but when he smiled it accentuated the bright white of his teeth. 

When Aislinn entered the chamber he bowed to her then turned his back to allow her privacy enough to slip out of her own white robe and beneath the silken sheet of the bed.  Once he'd heard her body still he turned.

"It is a much more pleasant smell," he commented as he stepped to the side of the bed.  "Not that there isn't anything amiss with the smell of blood and gore, exertion, all that sort of thing."  He gave a mock shudder and glanced down to see if his bedside manner got the desired grin.  She never disappointed.  There it was and her hazel eyes danced in their brightness.  She was among a friend and as such showed the rare side of her - the woman.  He raised his hands up and held them inches above her body.  "I dare not bore you with the tedious nature of what it is I do.  By now I'm sure you could trade places with me and do just as well.  Seriously, Aislinn, do you not worry about your reputation?  As often as you visit me in secret there must be whispered rumors about a love affair?"   

He caught the roll of her eye and frowned at her.  "If not your reputation what of mine…" he paused as he came to a cracked rib.  His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed.  His focus turned to the pain in the injury.  He saw to the pain first, then he saw to the mending of it and did so without so much as laying a finger upon her flesh.  A breath indicated his finish for the particular injury an he continued both with examination and with banter.  "You might be surprised to hear this but I am quite the catch.  Should the whispers continue I can see my social life taking a serious dive."

She started to speak only to bite her lip as he came across a deeper wound than the first.  He liked to start with the simple ones and gradually make his way to those that would draw forth tears in even the bravest of warriors.  "Would that have been surprise in your tone?" he asked as he moved from the healed spot to another, this one by her shoulder.  "You think me a lonely old bachelor, is it?  Picture me comfortable in my solace? This one is going to hurt," he said and lowered his hand toward the injured shoulder.  He closed his eyes, he didn't need to see her writhing beneath him.  He could feel the pain as it left her body and came into his, only to be released into the energies that surrounded him.  The breeze and the light of the candles drawing them unto themselves and taking the pain into the natural world where it would be better put to use. 

When her breathing eased he moved on both in conversation and in search of those wounds base healers would not dare touch. "I'm offended," he declared, "that you'd even consider me the miserly sort.  Were you on your horse when you took this tumble?"  Her collar bone wasn't broken but the strain placed on it was enough to have caused a break on a frailer body.  She wasn't breathing enough to give him answer.  "You must remember to breath," he reminded her.  "Otherwise all that I do is fight through your shields and you know I always win when you are without your sword.  It is my will against your pain and my will the stronger of the two as pain is - as they say - weakness leaving the body.  If you're not breathing you're not letting it leave your body."

She took his council and breathed in and then out.  He felt her tremble and considered giving her rest before continuing.  "You wouldn't have it that way though would you, my lady warrior.  You will finish what you've started, show me that you're stronger than anyone could possibly fathom.  After all, you must be," his hands moved over her face, pausing on either side of her head.  His voice lowered now as he spoke seriously.  "Impossibly strong or cursed, isn't it?"  He knew she could not move, would not move and could not argue with his logic.  

He held her where she lay without so much as touching his cool hands to her warm flushed cheeks.  He couldn't get inside her head either.  Her shields were up and strong as ever.  "Cursed to watch everyone who fought with you yield up their lives," he continued in a voice that soothed the savage sea,  "cursed to wander alone, not daring to love again knowing all too well the dangers, finding solace in your exile, coming to savor every beating you take from the foe, secretly hoping that one day you will join those that have gone before you but at the same time feeling the unexplainable revelation each and every time your sword strikes home into the villain.  You are hardly a riddle, Aislinn."  Then as though he spoke of the weather he continued with, "Roll over.  I dare say there's a pretty good wound waiting my attention beneath your shoulder blade.  You trusted the one that struck there."

He released his hold on her and waited for her to settle again on the table, watched as the wave of red tresses fell over her shoulders off the bed and toward the floor.   "The worst kind of wound," he commented.  "But also the best kind.  The kind that shows you are still willing to trust, still willing to sacrifice, the strongest kind of strong.  Breath in," he said and he fell silent to work out the pain and scarring from the wound dealt to her by one she considered a friend.  It took longer to draw forth, she had to be convinced to release the pain before he could heal it.  "There is no need to draw so tightly into yourself," he assured her.  "You are among the safest of the safe, after all.  By now, you should know we are involved, lady warrior. I might be the only living person to k now you so well."

 

And then he paused, then he withdrew from her and stepped back.  He looked down upon her covered form as though seeing her for the first time this evening.  His heart thundered in his chest but his arrogance could not allow him admittance.  "And now you will sleep," he said waving his hand to silence the loud light offered by the candles.  As he turned, he waved his hand in the air, "And when you wake, you will dress and have dinner with me.  After all, we must give those whispers something of a warrant."

May and June - A fitting name for a Bull or Bronc?

I know on the surface it seems too soft a name for a bull, bronc, or even a tornado - I might go so far as to name a hurricane May and June.  Thoughts of May for many people entice images of flowers, caps and gowns, bbq's.  June entices images of camping, of proud dads receiving Hallmark cards from their doting children.

RIGHTTTTTTTT.....

Here's another look at May.   It's the last month of school which usually means field trips, state finals, and class finals.  Final grades, students madly trying to get the last minute projects, tests, or extra credit finalized before letting go of the year and entering into the next grade level. Teacher meetings, banquets, award ceremonies... Yes, there's graduation - several of them in fact - and congratulations to all the graduating seniors.  You've reached another milestone on your journey into the crazy fantastic future.  Enjoy and remember as much as you can!!!

There's more to May!

In the agriculture world of Northern New Mexico and Southern Colorado there's so much more to May. May is when the New Mexico 4H state shoot is held.  It's when 4H animals need to have been purchased.  Paper work for small animals needs filing.  Paperwork and payment for camps and schools and clinics needs turning in. Fortunately, all large livestock paperwork is usually taken care of by February. It's when water is released from the reservoirs.  Ditches need cleaning, sprinklers need servicing, ground needs worked, crops need planting. It's when calves need branding, cattle need sorting and then shipped to their perspective summer pastures.  It's when shoes need resetting (horse's shoes that is).  Health papers for hauling and inspection papers for hauling need be double checked lest someone get stopped.   Oh yeah...and Mother's Day is in there somewhere. We're either branding or sorting and shipping on a day when many mothers get to sleep in and have breakfast in bed.  The moms on this place do get thanked for lunch though - if the morning has gone smoothly.  The moms are also covered in as much dust, blood, smoke, and cow pucky as anyone else is.

June!  We can't forget June, though it kind of sort of bleeds into May and if not for the arrival of bills we might not know of the transition.  June brings its own mix to the ride.  With the coming of June come 4H livestock weigh-ins, 4H horse school, 4H livestock school, summer camps, little league (and no two kids in one family can ever seem to have practices or games on the same evenings), sports camps, rodeos, shows...*sigh*  and then some.  Also in June is irrigating (provided we have water in this season of drought), servicing equipment, fixing equipment, trips to the parts store...trips BACK to the part store, trips to the summer pasture to ride fence, keep count, check water holes, and the constant replenishing of ice cold sweet tea (our fridge is rarely without it - past lessons having been learned). 

Ohhhh and Father's Day.  It's in there somewhere and usually we have to be reminded of it via the big signs and posters popping up everywhere in Wal Mart stores.   There's been more than once when I've told myself to remember and told myself to remember, only to be in a Wal Mart frowning up at one of those posters because...that was today?   I didn't forget the dads on the place, I just forgot what day I was in. No matter how far I've gone from home or how busy I've gotten I will NEVER forget the dads!!!  or the moms for that matter!!!  and I will never stop loving them.  Back to June.  June ends - sometimes - with first cutting alfalfa.  In other parts of the agriculture world, June brings wheat to cut as well, but here it's mostly alfalfa which in itself can promise hours of waiting on the dew and watching rain clouds as they threaten their wrath.  We can't forget more trips to the parts stores.  They are friendly faces and usually have the coffee waiting for us when we get there :)
.                                                                            
The combination of May and June is one crazy ride.  It could be called a roller coaster but a roller coaster has a defined path - yeah up and down but you know when the ups and downs are coming and can see the path before you strap yourself in for the ride.  May and June don't give you the opportunity to get a good look at the ride you're about to embark on.   Yes, there's the familiar schedule and we usually know what we're up against - we did sign up for this life after all and were well aware of the fine print.  However, there's those dips, bumps, and gullies that come up throughout the ride.

Maybe after some thought May and June wouldn't make a good name for a bull or bronc.  After all, stock contractors need something that will sometimes unseat the rider.  We've felt the pressure and might have lost a stirrup or our center a time or two but when July arrives we're all still in the saddle.  

ShortyBellesSite: Welcome the Wind - maybe

ShortyBellesSite: Welcome the Wind - maybe: It is spring in the valley - the San Luis Valley.  And although drier than most years it has come with the wind we've all grown ....slightly...

Welcome the Wind - maybe

It is spring in the valley - the San Luis Valley.  And although drier than most years it has come with the wind we've all grown ....slightly...somewhat...well...we really don't like it but we've kinda learned to deal with it because not a single one of us has slightest hint of control at all on the weather.  The wind is about the only thing the weather people can get right.  We can bet on it when he/she says wind, it will be an accurate prediction.  We can't always be sure when we hear "Rain in the forecast today"  but when there's even mention of a 'breeze across south central Colorado' we can bet on wind.  Unfortunately, the lottery companies know this so there's no such chance of winning money on gambling where the wind is concerned.  If there were a chance, we here in the valley would all put  money down on the chance of wind, all be right and have to share the pot, and all come up three dollars to our one in debt.

The wind is like one of those people - yeah, you know THOSE people. The people that come into our lives and try to change or control us.  The people that seem the most difficult to deal with, understand, and just don't go away.  We don't really want it - admit it we all know how easy it would be to have sunshine and rainbows and people we understand easily always around us -  but it's there.  It saps all moisture from anything that might have moisture.  It takes the top soil to another yard, farm, or state.  It chaps the hide and the soul.  It bends trees and backs.  It can take the hard work of callused hands and turn it into something of its own design.  It can drain all our physical and emotional strength.  You know, just like those people that come into our lives and try to change or control us.

I've said it before of those people that come into our lives trying to change or control "You can not control what other people do or say about us but you can control how you handle what people do or say about us."  In other words - we can let it build or break us.

It's the same with the wind.  We can chose how we handle it's arrival and seemingly ever consistent presence.  We can grow very bitter about forces we can not control or we can turn and look at ourselves and see how our character and constitution can possibly grow from the challenges it brings.  And in facing wind we've been tested and tried just as when we face THOSE people come into our lives. 

We've learned how to channel and direct its power into energy.  We've learned how to bend with it so we don't break, walk with it at our backs and let it lift us along the way.  Sometimes we've turned to face it and fight it as best we can, build wind breaks to protect from it for example and...of course...watched some of those wind breaks actually break.  We've learned - though sometimes it's hard to remember those lessons - there's good things to be had from the wind.  The Sand Dunes National Park would not exist save for the wind that winds its way through the valley picking up and carrying as much sand as possible into the ever changing dunes of the northeastern corner of the Valley.  I've noticed that when the wind is blowing there's no bugs - no millers or locust and no mosquitoes.  It is my wish that these bugs all have been blown to the North Pole where they freeze and are someday found by a scientist who can not recall what species they once were.  However, it's more likely they've just been blown to the Sand Dunes where they will remain safely buried beneath the sand until the wind dies down and they can return to their duties of annoyance. 

We've also learned - though sometimes bitterly - to accept our own strengths and weaknesses where the wind is concerned.  With the wind comes diseases and such often test our mortality.  It is one of those facts that weaken the body and spirit, pain the heart, and torture the mind.   It saps the much needed moisture those crops well known to the Valley crave - livestock included.  Having to watch is sometimes as painful to the heart as suffering from our own injuries.   Then there's the politicians that seem to have the answers to everything during election years - even the wind.  Ahhh, sadly the wind can carry away the locusts but the politicians, like those weeds we can't poison during a drought, remain ever present.

Like THOSE people the wind tests us.  It questions our strength, makes us question our strength, and sometimes rubs salt- or dirt - into the wound of injured pride.  It can blur the bright of the day and tempt us to turn our backs on what we know and trust.   How we handle the tests of the wind is completely in our hands.   Like THOSE people we could welcome the wind and let it test its worth against us, show that we are capable of adjusting, capable of being among the unvanquished, worthy of sharing the globe with its power.  We are in the Valley because those that have gone before us survived such times.  They've been mirrored in books and movies because of their courage an fortuity. 

They couldn't have done that without the wind.

    

Grandma's Dash Part 5

You'd think I'd remember more about Grandma's life at this time in her life.  I was alive for it, after all.  And maybe it's not that I 'don't' remember, it's just that there's so much to remember, it's hard to do so in  one little written segment. 

She and Grandpa bought their first camper trailer and set off to discover America.  They were sure to send all three of us grand-kids postcards and t-shirts from all the places they stopped.  They wrote letters and took pictures so they could share their adventures with us when they came back home.

She was my confidante when they were home from traveling.  She irrigated with us, she moved cattle with us, she branded with us.  She taught me how to play poker, gin rummy, aggravation, and backgammon, and she'd listen to my growing up pains.  She taught me how to sew and crochet granny squares.  She could COOK!!!! 

I remember more than once while working with the cattle or horses everyone thinking "We killed Grandma"  only to have her pop up, madder and more than determined than ever.  One particular memory is of a large Charolais steer that might have been as stubborn as Grandma.  We'd finished branding for the day and because there was still daylight in the day we sorted him from the herd so  to take him to the packer in the next couple of days.  We had a rough time convincing him to stay in the corral by himself.  He jumped - cleared by the way - three gates already.  When we got him corralled one again, Grandma stood behind one gate thinking that'd be enough to sway his jumping again.  It wasn't.  The steer jumped over the gate, knocking her to the ground.  Then, for no other reason than because he could, the steer turned around just as Grandma got back to her feet and jumped back over her an the gate knocking Grandma to the ground again.  We were all surprised when she stood the first time but after the second time being knocked down we thought she had to have died.  The steer jumped over another fence and headed north but we were too worried about Grandma to care about his direction.  She stood up, shaking her first, and I believe that German brogue was coming out in her voice when she looked at my dad and told him he'd better catch that *insert German swearing here*  because she was gonna enjoy every steak she ate outta him.

I remember admiring her strength and courage when Uncle Allen died - those many surgeries he'd gone through as a child finally got the better of his body.  I remember that strength when she had her hips replaced.  I remembered it again when we lost Grandpa to cancer.  I remember her breaking for the first time I'd known her then and still thinking she strong.  We were alone when she looked over at me and said - as though in apology for her tears, "You don't just forget 45 years over night."  It couldn't have been easy for her but she wouldn't fall down, she wouldn't 'become the old lady'.

After Grandpa's death she continued her volunteer service for the VA in Truth or Consequences, NM.  She continued helping with the annual Fiddler's Contest.  She continued taking classes.  She learned how to use the computer and learned about the internet.  She emailed her family and friends, and started researching her own history.  She had both of her knees replaced and she walked out of the hospital the same day.  Yes, that's right, she had both knees replaced at the same time.  Most doctors don't suggest doing that.  Most weren't Grandma either.  I was in the hospital with her when she had to have her middle finger removed.  She wasn't afraid at all and was using the hand later that day.  My dad said it was because she still couldn't feel anything but I was still in awe because I don't know too many people who would have moved the hand after the procedure, much less use it to hold her glass.  

Yes, there's a lot of life that didn't get published, a lot of memories that might not get written down but the important thing to remember is that Grandma had 94 years of living - really living.  

Grandma's Dash Part 4

Grandma's life didn't end when she married Grandpa.  She was still independent and still strong, only now she wasn't alone in that independence and strength.  The building they'd started their marriage in was the building my mom raised chickens in when I was a kid so it was hard for me to picture anyone - much less my Grandma and Grandpa - calling it a home. 

It was a temporary home while they built their new home - a place of efficiency where everything was within easy reach.  "The perfect home of the 50's".  It was a house not 25 yards from the home Grandpa grew up in. In her later years Grandma often wished she had been a little more frivolous in the design and a little less efficient.  It was the sort of house you saw in the 'perfect sitcoms' of the 50's.  Grandma wasn't quite the June Cleaver but she could have taken that perfect woman down in two snaps of her wet towel.  (I heard many a person tell me the snapping of her towel could silence the quarreling of her two sons in less than a breath).

Jaroso was a busy town at this time.  The train made its last stop here and with it Jaroso received business from both sides of the state line.  Also bringing both states together was the grain elevator.  A grocery store, a restaurant, hotel, bank, tractor implement, and the pool hall were kept hopping.  There was also plenty of farming to do.  Sheep, cattle, pigs, and crops had to be cared for.   Not to mention KIDS.  Rumors were rampant when Grandma gave birth to the first of two boys shortly after the wedding.  It was said the marriage forced when Allen was born premature in 1950.  Grandma and Grandpa didn't seem to mind the rumors.  They had other things to worry about.  Allen was a miracle child in that he survived birth but his childhood wasn't an easy one with many trips to the children's hospital in Denver.

January 1952 brought a flood for Grandma and Grandpa to survive.  December 1952 brought their second son, Harold, for them to survive.  Raising two boys in the 50s had as many adventures for Grandma and Grandpa as any of their other endeavors did.  One of those adventures was having lost Allen and not knowing he was gone until after the train left the depot heading back north.  They searched everywhere and when they still couldn't find him they called the depot in Fort Garland and asked them to be on alert for a 3 year old on the lamb.  It was to their relief when a neighbor called to tell them the child had made the mile trek for a visit.  Another such adventure - aka near heart attack - came later when the two boys were old enough to 'show their affection for one another'.  It was a discrepancy involving a hammer and Harold's head.  Grandma was busy loading the milk into the store fridge when Allen came over and informed her that "Harold's dying."  Grandma recalled saying, "That's nice.  Hope you boys are having fun."  Then realizing what Allen had said and rushing over to find Harold laying on the concrete porch with his head cracked open.

They did get those two boy raised and even sent off to college - not a suggestion for the Anderson family but a requirement.   The house was built, they survived the ups and downs of farming and the town dying.  The many camping/hiking trips, the trips to Alaska, the CAP duty times, the many crash landings of more than one small airplane....and somewhere amidst all that living Grandma went back to the classroom, teaching in Centennial High School, San Luis.  

Grandma was a good teacher - or at least all of the reports I've received from her students were that she was good.  She was firm but fair.  Many of the boys would rather take home ec with Mrs. Anderson than many of the other classes offered.  More than one person has recalled a memory or two from my Grandma's lessons.  Those that worked with her respected her as well. 

As for me, I thought it was kinda cool to have a Grandma teaching in the same school I was attending.  When I'd have those coordinationally challenged moments of my young life the first and second grade teachers would guide me to the high school and Grandma would take care of the problem.  Most kids had their parents called.  I remember holding a hand of cards in a game of 7 card rummy, sitting in the 'big kid chair,' wearing an over-sized skirt while waiting for the drier.  I remember sitting in an all school assembly and hearing them call my Grandma to the front so she could receive an honor the year she retired.  I was sitting next to my teacher and when she pointed and said "There's your Grandma," I remember replying with, "I know," and smiling. 

I don't know how the high school worked without her the next year but I know I was one terrified kid getting on the bus for the first time knowing my Grandma wouldn't be there when I fell.

Grandma's Dash Part 3

Grandma loved school and even at a young age read everything she could get her hands on.  Her parents encouraged the learning as well but given the time period and their means no one - not even she - expected that college was in her future.  That all changed when grandma's teacher and superintendent suggested her for a program at Iowa State College (now Iowa State university).  Through this program, Grandma was able to earn her college degree if she worked for the school.  Some of her duties included helping in the kitchen and in cleaning.  She took a great deal of pride in being able to work for her studies.

When she graduated she had a Bachelors of Science in what was then called Life Sciences.  One of the classes she told me about required that the students care for a child.  When she told me about this I thought she meant a doll but I was mistaken.  It was during the depression and there were families that could not afford to feed all their children, especially those that had needs above and beyond that of a normal child.  Some times those children were given into the care of the universities so they could have the care they needed while giving others the experience of caring for them.  The child Grandma and her group were given had several medical needs and could often try their patience while they were caring for her.  There were many doctor visits, many nights without sleep, and many other experiences she said she'd not forget. 

After graduating she took a job teaching in the town of Delhi, Iowa.  She taught two years there.  When she left she didn't plan on teaching ever again.  Her parents encouraged her to visit the nearby town of Ocheyedan where she was called to do an interview.  She was patronizing them when she made the drive, determined that she would not accept the job no matter what they offered.  However, when she left the interview she left with a teaching contract in hand.  Her salary was $125/month and she was very proud of that salary.  She taught one year there before her supervisor encouraged her to further her education.  This drew her west to Colorado where she once again found herself working for the college - this time Colorado State University - to get her Master's Degree.  One of the stories she shared about that experience was having to kick the now Dr. Ben Konishi out of the girl's dorms when he was visiting his future wife.

Grandma was teaching in Pueblo when she was introduced to Grandpa.  She actually met him in his own kitchen in the house my mom and dad live in now.  She was dating a friend of his when they were introduced.  Not long after that her relationship with his friend was dissolved and their own was created.  The only story I can remember right now about their courtship, other than her meeting him in his own kitchen, was that Grandpa had his pilot's license and in the effort to impress him, Grandma signed up for flight instruction in Pueblo.  While making a surprise visit, Grandpa found her with the flight instructor so the surprise was ruined.  I would have liked to have heard more and I'm sure I did.  I've often thought it had to be something of romantic.  And it must have been a successful courtship because on July 30, 1949 she became Mrs. Anderson and moved into the back room of the pool hall in Jaroso.

Grandma's Dash Part 2

After passing through Ellis Island, the new family traveled to Iowa to meet with Marie's cousins and start working for the large farm there.  The owner of the farm introduced Grandma to his son who was older than she.  Grandma said he considered her a nuisance but he did look after her as his father requested.  The made sure she got to the school alright and to the classroom she was supposed to be in.  Her first task in school was to learn English.  The farmer gave her his sons old school books and her first grade teacher also gave her plenty of books to help her with her education.  Her first grade teacher also spent time with her during lunch to help her understand the language. 

Grandma's second grade teacher wasn't as patient and grandma's stubborn nature likely didn't help the situation any either.  She failed the second grade but she recalled it being the best thing that could have happened to her.  She had the chance to fully understand what she'd been unable to understand before.  This repeating second grade helped her out down the road.  There are times I wish people could look at failing in the same light today.  As Grandma learned English she taught Marie and Antone English.  When farming allowed the time she helped her parents study for the citizenship test. The teachers, principals, and superintendents that came into her life also helped by giving her materials that would help her parents pass the citizenship test.

As history will tell you, immigrants from Germany at this time didn't always have it easy.  Fear breeds suspicion and often will lead to misunderstandings.  Antone, especially, felt the scrutiny.  As he learned English he struggled to disguise the German brogue from his speech, thinking it would help him better fit in and not get them deported back to Germany or worse.  The German temper did not always aide his efforts.  More than once Grandma and Marie thought they'd be in trouble when his temper got the better of him.  Whenever Grandma told me stories of Great Grandpa's temper and brogue I always pictured Popeye and his little cartoon fits.  I'm sure it wasn't nearly as funny as my imaginings made it seem.  Learning how to cuss in English and the slang that comes with the language was another lesson the family struggled to adapt to.  Grandma told of misunderstandings that started only because Antone thought the swear word the name of the horse the farmer was yelling at.  It was apparent that some 'horse names' were not appropriate to mention in mixed company.

It wasn't easy but they were free to make their choices now and choose they did.  Grandma continued to help her parents learn the language and study for the tests.  It was a joyful day when Marie and Antone passed the test necessary to make the entire family American!  To add to their blessings, eventually, they had their own farm to work, their own livestock to raise, and their own crops to harvest.  Marie had two tubal pregnancies that both ended in miscarriages.  This left Grandma as an only child and as such she was both son and daughter.  She helped with the cleaning and cooking as well as helped with the livestock and farming.  She could harness a horse and work behind the plow and many other tasks that would have been required of a son.  As payment for her labor she'd get her choice of calf and piglet.  When the animals were sold she could use the money from the sales to purchase books, material for dresses, and shoes for school. 

Grandma told many a story about growing up this way.   She related how important school was and how she often played school with the farm animals.  When they wouldn't sit still or it got too cold to play outside she moved to the corn crib where she'd set the corn cobs upright and teach them a good and proper lesson.  If they minded well enough she'd even supervise a recess for the star pupils. 

She also shared some of her adventures with the horses they raised.  One particular horse was named Kate and Kate had those natural herding instincts that some horses are known for.  Grandma rode Kate on an errand for her mother.  She was taking something to a neighbor.  The trip to the neighbor's house was uneventful.  The trip back was another story entirely.  The neighbor gave Grandma a large bucket (I can't remember what was in the bucket but it was flour or something along those lines).  Grandma couldn't see around the bucket as she rode so she trusted Kate to know the road home.  She said it did seem like a longer ride back but didn't know why until she heard her mother's gasp from the porch of their house.  With the bucket out of her tired arms and into the waiting arms of Marie Grandma could see what Kate had done.  Filling their yard were animals from the farms between the home she'd visited and their own.  Kate had taken it upon herself to gather and herd every sheep and cow along the way back.   Grandma and Kate spent the rest of the afternoon returning the livestock to the proper homes as well as apologizing to the somewhat irate farmers.

Grandma's Dash

Edith Margarete Anderson
April 4, 1918 - April 27, 2012

Grandma's Dash 

Part 1

Yeah, the dash - you know, that little line that signifies the life spent between life and death.  That little dash that signifies so much.  Grandma's dash, though tiny on the tombstone and in the obituary,  was anything but little.  It was grand, it was adventurous, it was significant.

Grandma was born on the Wilhelmshaven Naval Base in Rustringen, Germany to Albert and Marie Henning. Albert served in the German navy and left Marie with his family on the base during WWI.  He learned of my grandma's coming via letters.  To be honest he was not expecting to have a child so shortly after marrying Marie.  He was still thrilled at the news and in one letter home he asked that they name the baby Edith if born a girl.  Albert never got to see his beautiful daughter come into the world.  His ship was sunk - in what battle or what part of the ocean I'm still not sure of - and he didn't make it home. To honor Albert's wishes, Marie named the baby girl Edith but had to fight the German authorities in order to do so.  Edith was an English name.  To appease the authorities Marie added Margarete to the name and until they came to the states Grandma went by Margarete.

The first five years of Grandma's life were spent in the chaos of the fallen Germany.  She told stories about those early days and of what she remembered.  Her mother had family in the country so when they visited Grandma and her mother wore heavy coats with secret pockets.  Inside those secret pockets they  hid the food their country relatives gave them. If caught with this hidden treasure they could have been in a lot of trouble.  During this same time Antone (her soon to be father) and his brother made a living killing, skinning, and selling rabbits.  When there were no longer rabbits they killed and skinned cats for the meat.  Grandma also talked about other times when walking in the streets it was no big deal to hear gunfire and duck down into the alleys to take cover only to return to the walking when the gunfire subsided as though nothing at all had gone down.  She said at the time she thought everyone lived like that.

As things in the country worsened letters came to Marie from family in the United States.  One letter told of the farms needing help in Iowa.  Marie and Antone had started seeing each other but not long enough to have considered marriage.  However, with the worsening times they felt they needed to leave Germany and do so soon.  They married and soon after they boarded the SS Canopic for the United States.  Grandma was 5 and thrilled to have a dad.  She was not as happy to have to leave her grandfather who'd taken care of her and her mother.  It was even more difficult to learn of his death when his home was blown up in the chaos of a people searching for leadership.

Marriage to a member of the German navy had not much influence on Marie where the sea was concerned.  She spent the entire trip across the ocean below deck suffering from motion sickness.  With Marie being sick the entire trip and Antone being new to fatherhood it wasn't too difficult for the curious Edith to escape and explore.  One such exploration found her above deck pushing buttons and turning knobs.  One of the knobs she turned opened the pipes and water spewed recklessly across the deck.  Like any child in such circumstances she did what she could to stop the water but her efforts only made the matter worse.  She remembered being caught by a grown up and pulled away from the knobs and buttons.  When the rushing water was stopped she looked up into the eyes of ... yeah, the Captain of the ship and he wasn't happy.  He took her with him to his quarters where Edith claims she knew she'd get punished.  She expected a spanking or worse.  However, what she got instead was an orange - her first ever - and lessons in how to peel and eat it.  The Captain was Norwegian and Edith only spoke German so neither could communicate with one another beyond the lessons of the shared fruit.  The Captain returned her safely to her parents and adventures aboard the SS Canopic were more cautiously approached after that incident.  It would seem that even the tenacious Edith didn't want to push her luck too far.

On December 22, 1923 they arrived at Ellis Island - the gateway to the home of the free and the land of the brave.   Grandma talks about how large it was, how vast, and how exciting everything felt.  They weren't American citizens yet but they were closer and already they could feel the release from the pressures of post war Germany.

Aislinn's Tale

This is part of the super long novel - or trilogy I'm working on...I know I know...gotta get some publishing done sometime soon!!!-working on it!!!

Like Ariel, Jirair thought she may turn jack rabbit on them and take flight from the table.  What had she to fear?  Had she been struck down in flight?  Had she abandoned her men?  What struck such terror through her now?  What had she to hide?  Or was it just as Ariel had feared?  Had she suffered a stroke in the taking of the wound?  Could she speak now?

And then with the parting of her lips their question was answered.  She frowned as her lips parted, then trembled, closed and then opened again.  She struggled, they could tell in the paling of her face and the quickening of her pulse.  She wasn’t breathing either.  Finally, words left her trembling lips.  “Since a child, I struggle with words,” she explained and each word she spoke was one thought before spoken.  She bowed her head and lifted her finger to touch upon her forehead.  “The words are here,” she said then touched her lip, “but rarely … right… here.”  She meant the words never quite came out the way she thought them and even as she spoke her face twisted into a frown knowing what she said wasn’t what she wanted to say. 

 “My brother…” and her voice cracked with emotion, “…told the tales.  It is he who would tell our story with such skill as to make you feel you were with us the entire time.”  She paused and looked at each of them in turn.  A blush replaced the pale of her face. She’d said what she’d thought and that didn’t happen very often.  “The sailors said he died after dragging me to the ship.”  Her eyes dimmed and her hands rubbed against her thighs.  The room was getting warmer by the word. 

Jirair raised his glass to spare her and give her time to think.  Dawni and Ariel did likewise.  “To your brother, in his life and death.”  The three spoke in unison and Aislinn bit her lip as she hesitated to follow their tradition with the raising of her own glass.  “To Samuel,” she said when she raised it. 

They each drank down their mugs.  Dawnie rose to refill the glasses and then silence fell upon them as they all turned to Aislinn, waiting for her to say more.  She didn’t but it was evident she was thinking – or hoping she had said enough.  The speech impediment must have been a real issue for her.  “We’ve heard tell tales of Branwen’s finest,” Jirair prodded.  As much as it pained her to speak, they all wanted to know.  “The Seven.  Lady, were you the Lady of the Seven?”

She glanced away, looked as though searching for the rabbit hole to flee into, then gained courage and lifted her eyes.  “Feich led us,” she said by way of answer, confirming she was indeed one of Branwen’s knights.  Thus she had to be the fierce redheaded Lady knight, whose passion was told by many a fire.  Here, in their tavern…and alone.  Jirair sank a little more into the chair he sat.  And not by her choice. “Our second was Wulfbane.”  She spoke now their names and held her head high in reverence for her fallen comrades.  “Samuel rode to Feich’s left.  Behind them rode Ailen and myself.  Rehroane and Calin pulled up the rear.”  And only she was left to ride again.  Silence fell again and she seemed not to notice the agonizing loss of sound. She’d her own agony to contend with.

Dawni rose and filled their plates.  She nudged her husband with her elbow as she piled food onto the pewter plate before him.  Jirair looked to Ariel for help in drawing her out, drawing out the story of what happened to cause Branwen to fall.  Ariel caught the hint and cleared his throat.  Once Aislinn’s eyes were focused on him he tipped his head in her direction.  “It would do us a great honor to learn of your last battle,” Ariel suggested kindly.  “It would do your comrades a great service as well to know their feats were shared with others.”

She nodded, knowing that was what they waited for, just unsure of how to put the tale into words.  She sighed.  No matter how she told it, the tale would not have the flair as it would if Samuel was telling it.  Her heart ached and her shoulders slumped forward.  They needed telling of, she told herself.  They deserved to be known and from what the sailors told her it was likely only she could tell it.  The injustice of said choosing did not go unnoticed by her.  Someone who struggled with speech as she did, telling the story of the greatest warriors she’d ever known.  It was a terrible injustice.  “Would that Samuel could speak through me,” she said and closed her eyes.  She sat straighter and thought of her brother, remembered the ease with which he told such tales – how he would even get up and dance as though replaying the battle for his audience.  She couldn’t dance the tale either in her condition.

“We were caught unawares,” she began its telling pushing the words forward, drawing from all her courage – the courage that came so easily on the battle field, in the arena, and on the dance floor.  She found it helped if she kept her eyes closed and pictured Samuel telling the story.  “Branwen celebrated the marriage – a union of the Seven.”  A smile lit her face as she recalled.  “Calin’s and my wedding.  It was a wedding a long time anticipated but battles and wars prevented it.  When at last we thought Branwen at peace, the wedding was planned and the feast prepared.”  Her words struck them all as though by swords to their very lungs.  She nodded her head, still smiling as she relieved those days prior to the slaughter then continued.  “The feast was the largest since the union of the king and queen.  All the kingdom came for the celebration.  There were watchmen, of course, but the surprise came through magic and with such a force that no one could have been prepared to stop it.”  She winced.  If not in their minds, in her own she clearly relived the event.  The vibrating of the floor beneath her in the chambers where she and the queen prepared. Her dress hung from the ceiling of the antechamber to the chapel.  It was an arm’s reach away.  Her sword was the same distance in the other direction.  The vibration was followed by an explosion that shook the walls with such force the top layer of bricks crumbled and then rained down around them.  Aislinn and the queen were dressed for battle.  In the madness that followed, the queen then was escorted to the tower where she could weave the seeking spells.  It was these spells which enabled the Seven and the others to see the enemy.  “The wizards were taken first, a clever move on the part of the enemy.  Without them, we had no magic with which to fight back.  The queen – our only sorceress was struck down before she could even weave her first spell.  She’d barely reached her place in the tower when one of their spells destroyed first her soul and then her body.  The walls – walls never before penetrated dissolved before our very eyes. They were made as sand and then seemed to melt into sugar like candies at our feet.  They weren’t people we fought.  They were…” she paused and frowned, pursing her lips and wrinkling her brow as she thought how to describe that which danced before her mind’s eye.

“It was like…”  she stopped again.  Everyone at the table stood transfixed, daring not to move or whisper, even breath lest it cause her to open her eyes and the scene she unfolded for them be shattered.  Jirair guessed that even if she were good with speech she’d not be able to describe their enemy.  “Their steel wasn’t steel…their shields venom to our blades.”  Her brow furrowed, the lines of her brow deepened and she shook her head.  “We fought,” she said and that was something she could be sure of.  “We fought with all we were, as we always did.  We couldn’t win and we knew it but we fought.  We’d faced such odds before – not exactly like this, no, but with the odds against us.  I heard Feich scream – it was a sound I will live with forever.  It was a sound I’d never heard before.  Like the sorceress it was like his soul was ripped form his body before his heart was stilled.”  She shuddered  and Jirair thought to reach out for her but didn’t, held his desire to comfort in check.  “The others did the same when they fell.  Cailin, I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, but Samuel was beside and behind me.  I was struck, I remember feeling the blade – but it wasn’t a blade – it was…it was…”  she tilted her head, thought a moment, and continued once again, “it was like being struck by lightning, or so I imagine lightning to feel.  I felt everything light up inside me, I felt it pulled from me and thought my soul jerked through my teeth.  It’s strange to face an enemy that can play with a soul, stranger still to think of being alive when you feel your soul leave.  Strange or no, it is the best way I can describe what happened.  I remember calling for Cailin, thinking I saw him but my eyes weren’t open.  He was bidding me forward or pushing me back – I could not tell.  Samuel’s voice to was there.  It was calm – like it was in battle.  As though we were simply sparring and not fighting for our lives.  He was telling me … ”  she bowed her head and sighed.  “I can’t remember what he was telling me.  It was his voice though.”

They guessed right if they assumed this was the most the lady knight talked.  They were impressed with her tale and sat transfixed while she spoke.  Their attention seemed to unnerve her some and she shrunk back in her seat.  “I woke,” she said after a long pause but still did not open her eyes, “on the ship.  The sailors told me Samuel had died from his wounds and there was naught but a pile of rubble left of Branwen.”  Her lips trembled again.  “They gave me their condolences and promised to take me to the next port without charge.  They’d healers but they’d never seen such a wound.  In all honesty, they’d figured to sell our horses and equipment when they arrived at port.”  She opened her eyes and looked at them, blushing fiercely to see all their gazes upon her.  “They…did not think I’d live.”

...didn't always come during one's lifetime.

And I've also borne witness to the profit of such action - though such profit didn't always come during one's lifetime.  I'll repeat that...didn't always come during one's lifetime.

You'll recall this was written in the last post.  Below reads one of those examples in which profit didn't come during one's lifetime.

A few years back my satellite was struck by lightning.  At the time, it was not in the budget to replace  so I had full intentions of going without until the time one could be afforded.  At the same time one of the local satellite TV and internet providers in our area was looking for land to put up a new tower.  The owner was in the area and talking to my dad about possible tower positions on the farm.  The predicament of having to go without satellite  came up in conversation while he visited.  The owner told me to go in and get it replaced.  When I assured him I would as soon as the budget came open he suggested more strongly that I go in and get it replaced immediately.  "Tell 'em Grandpa sent you," he said.

I let the conversation go and didn't think about it again until I was in town.  Dad called me and reminded me of the suggestion - twice.  I finally promised I'd go - and I have a hard time breaking promises so into the store I walked.

I can assure you I felt a little odd going into the business and telling the clerk that 'Grandpa sent me' like it was a codeword or something.  I felt even odder when two boxes were carried to my car free of charge.  OK maybe not odd...maybe a little guilty.  See, I didn't know why he'd do something like that for me - having just met me.

Flashback - LONG before I was born.  The Anderson grain elevator and scale was in full swing.   Anderson - yeah, that'd be my family, more specifically my Grandpa Don and Great Grandpa Fred (I think I can get away with mentioning their names).  As in any elevator and scale there is often a long wait in a long line of trucks and sometimes that meant a long time between meals.

The owner of the local satellite internet and TV provider and his young son were among those that hauled their grain to the Anderson elevator.  They were among the last in line one particular day and both faced a long trip home before dinner.  Grandpa saw the need and brought the two into his home for dinner.  The specifics of the meal are a little vague and Grandpa's not around to ask.  If we ask Grandma - and we have - her explanation is "It was one of many."  Grandma was a good cook but I never once would have thought it a meal to have lasted in one man's memory for close to 50 years.

It wasn't the meal necessarily but the act of kindness behind the meal, the stepping out of business character and recalling that people have needs outside the office - a meal, a good conversation, an ear to bend.  It was that simple act that 50 years later brought his granddaughter the return of one of today's conveniences.

And...in return...his granddaughter is now a loyal customer to the man and his business because he remembered my Grandpa.

Now this is just one of many examples of profit not coming during one's lifetime.  There have been other times when we were given something simply because "your Grandpa/Grandma were good people".  No other explanation than that.

That's good business.

It's Just Good Business

This is a topic I've wanted to touch on for some time now but lacked the focus to do justice to it's blogging.  Thanks to a friend, I think I found the direction I wanted to go with this.

How often is it heard, "No offense to you, it's just good business"  or "Being nice is all well and fine but there just isn't a profit in it."?  My guess might be too often.

Is there a profit?  Is it good business?  I admit and have seen first hand that there is definitely a gamble involved in providing good customer service or in having a heart when it comes to doing business with the public - not just for yourself but your entire family.  And I've also borne witness to the profit of such action - though such profit didn't always come during one's lifetime.  I'll repeat that...didn't always come during one's lifetime.

Profit isn't always in monetary gain .... I might need to repeat that as well....'Profit isn't always in monetary gain'.  Sometimes it's a little longer lasting than money - money can be as easily lost as it is gained.  Respect, honor, loyalty - those are profits that will carry down through the generations. 

From here my blog gets difficult to write - mostly because there are names I'd like to mention, businesses I'd like to make note of , and I really should be careful about all of that without the proper permissions (even if they are in the most positive light).  Some of you know me so it may go without my mentioning the business  names or the people.  You might recognize them.  Others - it may not matter so much, only know that respect, honor, and loyalty all go beyond monetary value into something deeper.  It is something that will continue long after the tombstone has been etched.

In the next blog - shortly to follow this one I'll make mention of one of the first businesses - hopefully without letting names slip in the process of honoring them!  

Quip from the Writings :)

It was long into the night when Ailen finally made it to Brenna’s tent.  He stood outside the door and waited without making a sound.

“Come in, Shadow,” she called.  “I’m sure ye’ve wounds needing repair and armor needing polished.  It’s taken ye long enough to find yer way to me.”

Any smile he might have worn beneath the mask faded when he stepped through the tent flap to see her stiffly rise from her seat.  She sat the shield she’d just finished repairs on aside and wiped her hands against her thigh.  When she turned to him, the first thing he noted was the pale of her skin.  She walked to him, her eyes scanning every feature of his chiseled body. 

Often he’d wondered if she ever looked past the wounds and torn cloth to see him for him.  Her clever tender fingers reached to his forearm where a darkened stain and tear in his shirt marked a wound. 

Before her fingers ever touched him he caught her hand in his.  Her eyes widened and she let out a sharp hiss in alarm.  He waited for her large eyes to connect with his own before speaking.  “Ariel,” he said, “tended me while you worked to save young Airon.”

“Ahh,” she said moving her gaze from his back to the shirt.  “Then ye’ve come for me needle to mend the shirt.”

He shrugged as he still held her hand in his.  “You can do that after you’ve been tended.”

Her eyes narrowed on him.  “Tended?”  she pulled away from him.

He held her gently but firmly in his grasp.  Keeping his eyes locked with her own he nodded his head.  “Lay down, Brenna.”  His voice was tender yet still very strong.  “So that I may have a look.”

“I…” she started to say but the tent flap opened again and Cuin stepped in.

“Lay down Brenna,” he said pointing to her mat.  “Let’s get you taken care of.”

Brenna’s head snapped from Cuinn back to Ailen.  Her eyes narrowed and the green turned greener as her glare spoke her silent words of betrayal.

“He’s better than I, Brenna.”  Ailin kept his eyes steady so she would not see how her glare cut through him.

“Ailen has told me, Brenna my lady,” Cuinn said with a bow.  “He worried the wound might be mortal if not tended.  Let me look at it.”

She looked from Ailin to Cuinn then back again.  “If there were any other way, Brenna, I would do it.  But I see your pain and,” he motioned with his eyes to her stomach.  She sighed heavily not having to look to know he spoke of the darkening stain on her own shirt.  The wound had reopened during the battle with the goblins, venom from her mare’s dying blood had mingled with her own.  She’d not had time to have Ariel or anyone else give her their opinion.  It didn’t take a healer to know what the goblin blood was already doing to her.  Without Cuinn she would be dead by morning.

With Ailen’s help she lay down and watched as Cuinn knelt down beside her and drew up the tail of her shirt.  She wasn’t sure if his gasp was the result of the jewels or the wound but either way she was feeling lightheaded and feverish.

“It is bad,” Cuinn reported.  “Goblin poison has seeped into the wound.”

“Mary,” she turned her head to explain to Ailen, “was brought down by the vermin.  I held her during her last struggles.”

“Brenna…” Ailen started to scold her only to be interrupted by the bellow of a bull.

“BRENNA!” Jirair snapped the tent open and barged on through the door.  She started to rise only to be pushed down by both Cuinn and Ailen.

“You are going to rest, my lady Brenna,” Cuinn instructed in a gentle voice. 

“I will see to Jirair,” Ailin said and stood.  He crossed the floor of the tent.

“Where is Brenna?” Jirair demanded.

Ailen motioned toward the kneeling Cuinn.  “She is being tended,” he said simply.

Jirair’s expression immediately softened as he took in the sight.  “The wound is bad then?”  It had to be if the Shadow was trusting another with her secret.

“It is worse even than I had thought,” Ailen explained in a whisper.  “Goblin venom seeped into it…”  he couldn’t finish his sentence.

Jirair rubbed his chin in deep thought.  “Other injuries are mild, casualties were few.  We have to keep moving.  We must keep moving until we are in safer lands.”

“You once said you’d never run from a fight,” Ailen reminded him careful not to raise his voice.  If Brenna heard them she’d fight Cuinn to stand with them.

“Things are different now,” Jirair explained.

“They are no different,” Ailen corrected.  “You still have a good team.  We can hold whatever follows us.  We do not need to leave her.”

The giant of a man shook his head.  “The three…”  he sighed heavily then continued.  “Cuinn will stay with Brenna.  They can catch up to us in the morning.”  He would not be deterred from his decision to move.

Ailen stiffened, seeming to grow in stature as he stood against his friend.  Jirair could see the dangerous glint in the Shadow’s eyes.  He shrugged off the hostility and continued with his plans.  “In a day’s ride, with luck, we’ll be in the Elven lands.  It will be safe there.  We will all be safe.”

“Except for the two we leave here to die!” Ailen’s voice rose as he spoke. 

“If they do not catch up we will return for them,” Jirair countered.  “We will return once everyone is safe.”

“You mean,” Dawnie came up behind Jirair and slipped her delicate fingers over his forearm, “once I am safe.  You think he comes after me.”

Jirair’s composure softened at her touch.  Ailen’s did not.  If anything his glare hardened as his eyes turned toward her.

“You will feed Brenna to the wolves even after she sacrificed so much for us to be together?” She asked him with a shake of her head.  “I will not allow that.  Particularly since it’s not me he’s after.”