Cooking like a Tuscan! And writing Assignment #26 - Recipes

I've discovered that grief doesn't ever go away, not totally. Probably because the sense of loss is always so prevalent. There is no denying that loneliness is a constant companion even in a crowd. I try to fill my life with distractions, not always successfully however because it's a constant 24 hour a day job even after this much time has passed since Dale died.

I grin and bear it but there are some days, like today, when my distractions aren't cutting it. So what's the answer? Oh how I'd love to hop on a plane and head to Italy! But alas, I am well aware that it is not something I can do now. And then, suddenly, the gift of a memory pops into my mind and leads me back to a time in Florence when I decided to take care of my loneliness there. The memory is calming to my agitated mind and seems to slow the pace of the unexplained feeling of a constant revving engine deep within me. Perhaps the recycling remnants of grief? 

I don't know, but for now, I'll use this memory, not as a distraction this time but actually reliving the joy and maybe even pat myself on the back for knowing how to solve the problem for loneliness then which means I should be able to figure out what I still need to do now.

In the meantime, here's my Tuscan memory.....

I bid a fond “Arrivederci” to my fellow students at the University’s Italian evening class that I was taking thanks to the arrangements made by my Polish housekeeper, a full time language student at the school.

It was evening now. The school was in the Altra Arno section of Florence.  I strolled back across the Ponte S. Trinita stopping midway to absorb the beauty of the full moon reflecting on the languid river. My growling stomach reminded me that it had been a long time since my nibble of percorino cheese and a few grapes at noon. I picked up my pace just a bit and made my way through the ancient streets of Florence. I could try a different trattoria each night and still not eat at all the glorious places in Firenze! What did I feel like this evening?   

The door of the Trattoria Maremma stood ajar and I floated in on the delicate fragrance of the roasting main course…roasted wild boar (cinghiale) infused with sage and rosemary.  Seated at a tiny table with a white linen cloth near the window, I nibbled on the crusty bread while I analyzed my homework of verbs and nouns and the rolling r’s that make the language so intoxicating.  Just the sight of the laden plate when it was set before me gave me a thrill…I was in for something very special!  Oh the fragrance, oh the delectable mingling of flavors and textures, oh how I needed to learn how to cook this way! I scurried back to my apartment, full, contented and eager to get to my computer and research cooking schools.   

Just one week later, the early morning bells of Florence chimed as if it were any other Thursday, but I knew better.  The Florentines would be going about their regular activities; meandering their way through the ancient streets on their way to work - stopping first at a cozy café to stand at a counter and sip morning espresso and munch on pastry. Soon, but not too soon, they would be opening their shops and wishing “Buon Giorno” to their holiday shoppers until they closed down again at 12:30 to have a leisurely two hour lunch before opening up their doors again for the afternoon.  I, on the other hand, knew that today was America’s Thanksgiving Day and I was going to celebrate and what better way than cooking! And I was going to learn to cook ITALIAN! Not the boring Roman food but the food of Tuscany!  Besides, without my family and in a far away country, I knew I needed to entertain myself to avoid the dreaded homesickness of explorers like myself far away from family on holidays….

So, I dressed in layers….piling on the thick woolen Florentine scarves and gloves that  I had purchased at the shepherd’s market in Piazza della S.S. Annunziata, my new black Italian coat and my good walking shoes. With my camera slung over my shoulder I headed out the door of my sweet little apartment with the wonderful terrazzo that has the sweeping view of Florence with the Duomo and Campinelle, the Bargello and the Badia, the bridges of the Arno and the Piazelle Michaelangelo all waiting for me to gaze upon…but not today!    I walked to the viale where Elizabeth, from Australia, picked me up her in silver hatchback and we headed out for an adventure.  

For forty minutes we chatted and drove, first on the autostrada and then winding our way on the narrow roads leading to a hillside village - past ancient farms and villas and under the arches of towers that have stood for a thousand years.  We stopped at a charming café to meet my host, a noble looking fellow who was born and raised in the castle Villa Pandofini, a palace dating back to the year 1200, built as a hunting residence for the elite Florentines.  Guests have included Napolean Bonaparte and King Charles VIII of France!  Two other stranieri (foreigners) were also there at the cafe and would be joining us on today’s quest.  We were going to the forest to hunt for the prized and elusive “white truffle” and then return to the massive tiled kitchen with two fireplaces to spend 5 hours learning the art of Tuscan cooking from two prominent Italian chefs followed by a feast of truffle laden dishes.  

One of my cohorts was a young ragazzo from Ireland who is the head chef on a yacht owned by the heir of the large fortune, he travels around the world stopping at ports to shop for local delicacies for the guests who fly on and off the boat via its helicopter!  The other was a lady from Seattle who has a catering business and teaches classes in Italian cooking and my qualifications the asked?...well … I eat therefore I am! I said.

So together with cups of hot espresso warming their tummies and ciocolata calda warming mine, we headed for the forest…acorn and oak trees not pines.  We met our guide, a 74 year old truffle hunter and his 8 year old dog, Tobia, whose reason for living (and it is a good one) being to sniff out truffle.  The day was crisp but sunny and the golden leaves crunched beneath our feet as we made a path through the foliage following Tobia. To find a white truffle is like hunting for gold in Alaska but before long (about 30 minutes) good old Tobia sniffed out a location and the hunter went to work digging…nearly 12 inches into the mountain soil and up he came with a round truffle about the size of a cotton ball. A prize valued at over 200 Euro…roughly 225 American dollars.  I held it in my hand and smelled the heady aroma that is unique to anything else! 

On we went deeper into the forest until again Tobia’s white tail wagged furiously and another prize was dug up. What luck!  Even the hunter was surprised and very pleased!  

The chefs, who know the real value of such things, were elated and I knew that a special meal was ahead. Our 8 course meal was prepared with great care and frivolity and the finished product was delicioso!!  

I was dropped back at the viale in Florence and walked home heavy laden with leftovers for my refrigerator.  It was a nice day. Little did I know then that it would make it a good day today!

WRITING ASSIGNMENT #26 - FAMILY RECIPES

The food we eat plays a major role is who we are!  Keeping a record of favorite family recipes as part of your autobiography is a good way to keep them alive.

Along with the recipe itself, tell what made it special.  Whose recipe was it? Why is it special? Describe who was with you as you ate it, where you were? 

If you love to cook, share your own recipes and maybe even some secrets to pass down to future generations!

Have Fun and include photos!

WOOHOO TO WHO? and Writing Assignment #25

I watched a parasailer the other day as he floated over the lake, beneath a parachute of many colors and high above the speed boat that kept him aloft.  “Oh the thrill he must be having” I thought, “The panoramic view; the coolness of the air; the”…and then I thought..”But there is no one with him to hear him exclaim "Woohoo!" No one with him to hear him marvel, "Oh look at that!" and "Oh isn’t this fun!”

So really, how much fun could that actually be?

Well I can tell you the answer to that as I sit here alone; it’s no fun at all. And just as I feel my cheek pull into a smirk I remember the bumper sticker I saw the other day:
 

“THE LIFESTYLE YOU ORDERED IS CURRENTLY OUT OF STOCK”

Well if that isn’t the truth! 

I’ve heard it said that whatever words you use to fill in the blank following the word “I AM ______” is who you become. And since it’s my life, I can fill in my own words - I AM SAD!  I am sad that death came between me and my best friend.  Even after 2 ½ years now I realize that I still can’t say I AM HAPPY.  I have happy moments, I can be completely happy for someone else but I am not or at least my heart is not happy.

Is Dale happy now that he is in a heavenly place?  I hope so, I really do but then I’m shocked to hear my mind repeat the words to the song “Jealous”

I'm jealous of the way
You're happy without me

Perhaps I’m ashamed for thinking it - him being happy without me!

Perhaps I’m angry at the thought of it

Perhaps I feel that I would feel guilty if I were to be happy without him

Or Perhaps, just perhaps, if I look beyond the jealousy or fear of guilt, I realize it’s perfectly OK for us both to be happy now. And that doesn't separate us but joins us even more closely.

He spent our married life making me happy (as I did him). Why would that change now?  I’m sure he’s saddened by my unhappiness. And HE wouldn’t be jealous if I said I was happy now.  I somehow feel that he understands that if I were to be Happy that it wouldn't mean that I’m happy without him.  Funny but I can hear his voice now saying as he used to say,” I’m happy if you’re happy!”

I am suddenly aware that I have been spending a lot time thinking of all of the things that I AM NOT. Gasp. That only fosters unhappiness.

Well I can see that I have some work to do, it won't just happen because I want it to. It will take work filling in the spaces after I AM ___________.

• Not filling them with negative things, or the self deprecating I AMs as in "I'm so dumb" or I'm so clumsy" Or the I'm Nots as in I'm not as talented or healthy, wealthy or wise as someone else) 
• And of course not the I AMs with things that would be prideful or conceited at all
• But with positive observances, as in I AM __________Therefore I can Be _____________.(and reserve my comparison with others who are better than me as a way to improve myself not to discourage my growth)

Ok, here I go, I should start my list with I AM A CHILD OF GOD and then I AM LOVED for the perfect base for happiness and then go on from there in a more specific way.  Adding more each day and becoming those positive things until as faith would have it I will be able to exclaim I AM HAPPY ~ Even if I’m floating through life now under a one person parasail.  I can still yell WOOHOO!

WRITING ASSIGNMENT #25 I LOVE / I HATE

Love and Hate are emotions that help determine who you are and have been so be specific, be thoughtful and answers these questions:

• To this very day I love__________________________. And I can trace it back to.
• To this very day I hate__________________________. And I can trace it back to.

Repeat as many times as you'd like.

Who am I? and Writing Assignment #24 - Ancestors

 

Perhaps I may as well admit it; I believe that I was one of those inquisitive children who always ask, “Why?” And I didn’t want to hear the obvious, I wanted the DETAILS!

As early as just having learned to write, I would sit at my Grandmother’s dining room table; the lace tablecloth had been neatly folded and carefully tucked into the bottom drawer of the buffet, leaving the polished wood of the table peaking through the piles of papers and black genealogy books. Grandma would hand me a blank pedigree chart and a completed one and have me transpose the names from the full one to the empty page. I never asked the purpose of this assignment but felt it was important. I was always intrigued by the names and the old dates. Dates that completed the questions: B for birth, M for married, D for death. I felt a strange pang of sadness as with a few scribbles of my pencil I was able to sum up a person’s life in those few dates; life’s Beginning, Middle and End and then on to the next name.

“WHO was this person?” I’d ask. Grandma always knew their story and was willing to take the time to tell me, I would often say, “But Why?” And invariably she would know the answer. I fell in love with those people. Those grandmas and grandpas with all of the “greats” attached. Also being a child with an overactive imagination…it was easy to put myself right with them in their exciting lives filled with adventure, hard work, love for the Gospel and each other.

Perhaps that is the reason that many years later I was able to fulfill my lifelong need to walk where they walked and see what they saw. I wanted to stroll through the English villages and I wanted to look up at the Swiss Alps; I wanted to buy a coo-coo clock in the Black Forest of Germany and I wanted to eat frikadeller & rødkål in Copenhagen and see if I could actually locate the very spot in the Danish picture hanging in Grandpa’s home.

That’s why I found myself one summer many years later perched on a chair outside Det Gamle Thehus at the foot of an ancient windmill in the tiny hamlet of Viby Denmark eating a Polar Is with a small pink spoon. My Danish genealogist friend, Jytte, waved her own spoon at the surrounding area pointing out the rooftops and lanes that my great-greats knew so well in their lives.

 “The large house you can see down the road was an uncle’s of yours over 250 years ago”, she said.

I was well aware that these homes were not tourist sites, but where people are still born, get married and die. Those same three vital dates - but oh so much more real to me now that I could walk on the same roads, smell the straw on the roofs, feel the sunshine that lasts way into the night and marvel at the blue sky and fields lined with red poppies, white daisies and blue cornflowers. The same fields where so many of my family sowed, cultivated and gathered wheat to feed their families. 

Jytte explained the dynamics of the Danish family. The families were close, the Grandparents were honored and were given the responsibility of caring for the little grandchildren and teaching them to plant the household gardens, care for the smaller animals; create handiwork and to read and understand the scriptures. Each generation devoted to and loving the next. I could feel their love for me…another granddaughter only separated by time. 

But even more important than seeing where they lived, discovering the personal life stories of our ancestors and getting to really know them with their trials, their hardships and challenges are what gives us our identity and our courage and our desire to make something of our own lives. 

The lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime and departing leave behind us footprints on the sands of time. - Thoreau

Truly the ancestors for which I feel the closest connection are those who wrote their autobiographies, sharing not only their experiences but their emotions and their faith and the things they learned in life. Things I try to pass on to my own sons and their children.

"I saw behind me those who had gone, and before me those who are to come. I looked back and saw my father, and his father, and all our fathers, and in front to see my son, and his son, and the sons upon sons beyond. And their eyes were my eyes."  - Richard Llewellyn

So write, record your story for those who come.  Keep adding to your story as events unfold in your own life and also, as you discover stories of your ancestors....pass them down to the next generation as they will never really know who they are until they know from whence they came!

WRITING ASSIGNMENT #24 - ANCESTORS

Chances are, throughout your life you have been inspired by stories of your ancestors.

Retell some of your favorite ones here.

Remember to give the full name, birth date and birth location of the ancestor and exactly how you are related.

It would be good to include a pedigree chart here (and any photos you  may have of them) with your writing.

Have fun. Be inspired, share the inspiration.

The Heat of Summer and Writing Assignment #23 - Vacations and Travel

I love being cool. Alas, not Cool as in being “with it” in a way that would impress my teenage grandson… it’s too hard to keep up with the current trends to be that kind of cool.  I mean I love being cool, as in 65 degrees, partly cloudy, wear a sweater in the morning hours cool.

It’s officially summer now, and the heat has arrived outside my door but I’m not letting it in!  I have always given myself a summer pep talk about how the hot summer sun is God’s way of cooking the wheat fields so the bakers can grind the wheat and make their loaves of golden bread but…I’m not buying my own sales pitch today, it’s too hot and I’m miserable.

It has happened to me every year (of my adult life) at this time, I see it coming, I don’t want to accept it, I don’t want to embrace it and I’m certainly NOT going to enjoy it!  

A sudden memory takes me back to a distant summer, when I was 18, I had a dear friend who was blind.  He had been sightless all of his life, he’d never seen anything.  To ask him if he saw white or black was a silly question since he didn’t know the difference between the two.  He was a phenomenal musician however, and his music was vibrant with a full spectrum of colorful emotions. 

He could play a sunset on his piano. Through people's descriptions he recreated Orange played out as a slow moving “adagio” that would then  “crescendo” into an “allegro” and  “forte” Red and transition to a slow solemn “grave” Golden and “decrescendo” to a very slow “largo” and “pianissimo” almost silent Gray.

He could play winter and I would feel cold and his summer would leave me sweltering.   But he didn’t just portray the oppressive heat of July and August, no his music also encompassed the joyful pool splashing frivolity and joy of summer and all of it's colors as he felt them.

I must admit as I look out my window today that the flowers seem to like the heat.  They burst out with their most showy colors and finest greenery, the trees put on their full cloaks of leaves and the animals all seem to be contented all the while I’m grumbling about hot July and wishing for cool October.  

I’ve lived enough summers to know that by the end of August I will have forgotten my disgruntled shift from delicious spring to the oppressive heat of this unwelcomed season and start to entertain the fickle notion that I will actually miss the things that only summer and its heat can bring.

It’s only Day One of the first heat wave of the season but I’ll get a head start and try to "feel" the beauty and complexity of these next few months instead of just focusing on the soaring temperatures. I'll feel it the way my friend did and say “Hello summer, I welcome you and the heat you bring!” And I realize as I make this declaration that like so many things in life, it will come whether I bid it welcome or not. Might as well seek out the golden, shimmering moments with gratitude and anticipation. What's that old saying? "Two men looked through prison bars - one saw mud the other saw stars!"  I can choose my perception of this and of all things.  I think again of my grain baking in the fields analogy and....I'm sold this time.

To kick it off - perhaps in the morning I’ll stop by the new French bakery in the village and bring home a golden baguette.  Don’t you just love summer! 

WRITING ASSIGNMENT #23 - VACATIONS AND TRAVEL

• Start with your summer vacations as a child then move on to your teenage years.

Take the reader with you by recreating the experience. More great word pictures.

• Just keep answering the questions: Who, What, When, Where and Why and How it looked, tasted, felt and sounded!
• Then move on to your adult years. Vacations, travel!  Include photos if you'd like. But keep answering those same questions as above...Who, What, When, Where, Why and How it looked, tasted, felt and sounded!
• Have fun!

What's in the Box? and Writing Assignment #22 - School Days K-6

“Are you  Ok?” the banker asked as I sat across from her at the mahogany desk in the center of the bank. I was only slightly aware that I had stopped mid-motion, my pen in hand but in mid-air, staring at the form in front of me as suddenly and without warning a sense of bewilderment caused by the question that followed my name and address made me freeze and brought a quizzical furrow to my brow.  A question I’ve seen a hundred times but this time, for some reason, I wasn’t ready to answer quite so mechanically. All I had to do was put a checkmark in a box:

[ ] Single  [ ] Married  [ ] Divorced or [ ] Widowed

I don’t deny that the box I fit into now is [ ]Widowed but it surely isn’t a box I asked to be in. I’m happy to say that four lovely decades ago I freely chose to be in the  [X] Married category and happily put my checkmark there for all those years. I jumped out of the [X] Single box into the Oh so very comfortable [X] Married box when at 19 I happily and blissfully said “I Do! For now and forever, I really Do!”

Forcing myself out of my stupor, I looked at the banker, sighed and put a small mark in the [x] Widow box and moved on to the next question.

I think what bothered me the most that day was not the realization that I am a widow but that I was becoming comfortable with that moniker.  And maybe even becoming comfortable in that box. Gasp!

There is an old saying…Not even the God’s can change the past.  As much as I’d like to wake up and find that it is Dale lying next to me each morning and not just a pile of toss pillows, the fact is, it’s just pillows now. That can’t and won’t ever change. 

It was a milestone and fortuitous day when it occurred to me that when I come upon a situation or a thought or a place, or hear an ambulance siren that no amount of thinking, or reliving that dreadful day; no amount of pain or tears will ever change what happened.  I am able to say to myself, It happened, re-living it won’t change it – go ahead - move forward you brave warrior you. I don’t deny that it happened; I just realize that focusing on it won’t change it! And I have been able to avoid many breakdowns that way.  I freely admit that it took time and many tearful experiences to get to that point.

But having conquered that, I'm wondering...am I now a little too comfortable in the [x] Widow box? I have no desire or intentions of ever checking the    

[ ]Married box again but I think I can start examining the confines of the   

[ ]Widow box that is created by society and then as is always sage advice…think outside the box before I lose …me.

The poet Seamus Heaney warns: “Unless that underground level of the self is preserved as a verified and verifying element in your makeup, you are going to be in danger of settling into whatever profile the world prepares for you and accepting whatever profile the world provides for you.  You’ll be in danger of molding yourselves in accordance with laws of growth other than those of your own intuitive being.”

And to avoid becoming a bit too comfortable…David A. Bednar explains "The journey of mortality is to go from bad to good to better and to have our very natures changed."  Or in other words…always be progressing. Which means that the discomfort I felt at the bank with the question of which box to check was a good nudge in the direction that I need to keep striving and learning and reaching for the sky.  There is just too much I still want to do that's outside the comfort of this cocoon!

My hand instinctively goes to my neck to touch the butterfly necklace pendant I’ve worn for nearly 2 ½ years now (a gift from my son) I smile, draw a box on the open page of my notebook and write next to it the words… 

[ ] Starting to fly.

And I make a big red checkmark in my new box - [X] Starting to fly.   I’m not sure a bank would accept that write-in description but I am sure going to!

[ ] Single  [ ] Married  [ ] Divorced  [ ] Widowed [X] Starting to fly

WRITING ASSIGNMENT #22  SCHOOL DAYS...

KINDERGARTEN - 6TH GRADE

• Do you remember your first day of school?
• Who took you?
• What did you wear?
• What did you do?
• How did you feel?
• What were the names of the schools you attended? (K-6th)
• How did you get to and from school?  
• How far was it from your home?
• What time did it start?  End?
• Can you describe your classrooms, your desk, who you sat by?
• Any special school friends?
• Any problems?
• How did you handle or solve these problems?
• What was your Elementary School playground like?
• What games did you play?  Were you good at them?
• Elaborate on any of these experiences whether they be frightening, fulfilling and/or humorous.
• What were your teachers' names?
• Give your impression of them.
• To this day do you remember something they taught/said/did that had an influence upon you?

Dogs and Horses and Birds Oh My and Writing Assignment #21 - Pets

I hate dogs.  (No, that’s a bit strong).  I like dogs.  (No, that’s a lie).  I tolerate dogs.

My relationship with dogs may have been ill fated from the very beginning:  Mother announces she’s going into labor, she’s quiet, lovely and in control, Dad grabs the pre-packed overnight bag, helps her down the stairs, tucks her into the car and closes her door, he runs around to his side. He’s anxious, his heart is palpitating; he steps on the clutch and jerks the stick shift into reverse.  He looks back over his shoulder, puts on the gas and runs over the family dog. I was born a few hours later.

Now whether it was that or the fact that when I was 7 years old I was walking up the hill to our home holding onto the hand of my 2-year-old brother when two large and angry Dalmatians attacked me.  One clenched his jaws around my thigh and shook me around like a rag doll. The other stood snarling, showing his angry teeth.  I was trying to protect my brother and screamed and kicked at the other dog, I heard a man’s voice yell a single command, I was dropped without ceremony and the attackers ran away.  I pulled myself up and took my brother’s hand and we walked painfully the rest of the way up the hill.  A neighbor lady came running out of her house to ask if I was ok and helped us home. A few days later, at Dad’s insistence, the owner of the dogs came to “look” at my injury; wildly purple, black and blue and with a perfect set of teeth marks surrounding my thigh.  We had heard this man crack a bullwhip in his backyard in the past as we walked by his house and we could hear satanic, frenzied barks with each crack. That particular day he had taken them to the vet to get their rabies shots and said they were feeling a bit anxious so he let them out to run.  Nice guy.

Or it may just be the fact that I have “dog poop” issues (very low gag reflex) but in any case, I’m really not a dog person.  Well in reality there was one time when I actually reconsidered my position.  My Mother-in-law who was famous for blurting out things that either sent shivers up your spine, raised the hair on the back our your neck, totally demoralized you or left you speechless, told my sons out of the blue one day at dinner that if they wanted a dog they would have to choose between the dog and her.  Hmmmm, my mind lapsed into a game of mental ping-pong; “Grandma…a dog…Grandma… a dog” as I awaited their response that seemed to be a long time in coming.  The boys chose to keep Grandma.

I remember very early on in my young life, Dad saying that if we wanted a dog we would have to clean up after it and I thought.  "OK…I’m through, that’s it for me!"  But my sister would happily tend to their every need, love them and clean up after them and they would follow her around as if she were the Pied Piper of Hamelin.  

She wanted a horse more than anything though.  Our bedroom was lined with her horse statues and books about horses, and one day Copper became her very own real life horse. It was so thrilling to see the herd and watch her pick out her favorite steed (I was 9).  I remember the thrill of watching Dad break Copper in the pasture next to Grandma and Grandpa's house.  The gentle coaxing of the bit into its mouth, the cautious placement of the saddle blanket on its coppery back, the way Copper froze and then protested when Dad flipped the saddle on.  But then Dad tightened the strap and slowly raised his foot to the stirrup lifted his other leg up over the top and off he went!  Bucking and kicking and…Yah HOO!!  I loved it! My Dad, my hero! Soon Copper was walking around the pasture with Dad riding atop, giving gentle nudges and calming words. He came back to the fence where I was sitting, along with my uncle, dismounted and stroked Copper’s wet neck telling him he was a good boy.  I was mesmerized. It was all so wonderful.  But Copper was my sister's horse.

I was also there the day a man with a trailer came and took Copper away because we were moving to the suburbs of Los Angeles where there was no room for a horse. Dad said that my sister would be too heartbroken to watch that happen. It didn’t matter, she was heartbroken anyway.

Grandpa’s neighbor had a daughter my age and they pastured their Pinto there at Grandpa’s field.  That was Trigger and I loved him! From the time I was about 6 years old, he would always come when I called and I would climb up on the white picket fence to be able to hop onto his back. He was brown and white and let me climb onto his bare back and ride for hours around the pasture, jumping over the tiny stream and he’d even let me kneel up on his back to pick apples out of the tree for us both to munch on.  When he got tired he would walk under the apple tree branches and try to brush me off.  I got pretty good at lying low on his back and sometimes even holding onto his mane and tipping way to the side.  When that failed to dislodge me he would curl his neck down to the ground, buck his hind legs and I would go toppling head over heels, landing on my back in the soft dirt, looking up at him looking down at me. 

I learned to ride saddleback from my cousin when we were both eight. Her family had a ranch and she could ride like the wind that girl!  They had many horses to choose from and we would have to stalk the ones that were hobbled in the sage brush fields (their back legs connected with a hobble so they could walk but not run), put on their bridles and saddles, take off the hobbles and off we’d go at break neck speed.  The horses, jubilant to be freed from their hobbles, would go into an instant gallop. Over the hills flew two little girls with blond ponytails flying in the wind and trails of dry dust rising behind us. My cousin leaning forward and holding the reins like a pro, her young legs sticking out from the belly of the horse and then kicking his flanks to go Faster ! Faster! Faster!  Me, holding onto the reins in one hand and the saddle horn in the other, (against the laws of good horsemanship but that didn’t seem to matter at the time) my feet too far forward in the stirrups and my knees clenched tightly against the saddle.  Slow Down!  Slow Down!  Slow Down!  But oh what thrilling times we would have.

We did have parakeets at one point. They had such a pretty song to sing, one was turquoise blue and the other was brilliant yellow.  I remember hating that they were caged and wished that they could have been singing in the forest at the cabin along with the chickadees.

Now it's your turn.....

WRITING ASSIGNMENT #21 - PETS

Pets can be a vital part of a person's life.  

Describe your childhood pet(s) and your special relationship with them. Don't just say what breed it was, detail it's unique markings and personality traits and any experiences you had with them.  

Then continue on to all of the pets you have had up to the present, include descriptions and photos if you have them...especially photos you might have of you with the pet(s).

Be Still and Know that I Am God & Writing Assignment #20 - Illnessess

In what would be Dale’s last weeks of life, he was in horrendous pain and couldn’t sleep and couldn’t recline in bed. With a courage that I can’t begin to comprehend, he bravely took on each day without anger or complaint and insisted on continuing to work.  I set up a little makeshift desk that rolled up to his leather chair to hold his laptop computer, his work files and his yellow notepad.  I remember one day when I was bringing a bowl of soup for his lunch I happily discovered that he was actually asleep and looked peaceful. I glanced at the yellow pad on his desk.  His hand was still holding his pen as he had just written the words… “Be Still and know that I am God”.  I realized with a sudden lump in my throat and with tears in my eyes that this was the source of his strength and the peace that he was feeling that allowed him to fall asleep.

Recently as I pushed the cart down the aisles of the local market appearing to all the world as normal with my basket full of organic vegetables and a package of brownie bites, I was in fact silently fighting health demons of my own that had of late joined forces with that dreaded silent woe – discouragement.

I passed by the greeting card section and my eye caught site of a card with yet another adaptation of the current world-wide love affair with “Keep Calm and Carry On”. I stood for a moment, closed my eyes and did what it said.  To keep calm, I thought of Dale and what helped him that day and I became still in my mind and spirit and felt a strength that hadn't been there a minute before.  I opened my eyes, put one foot in front of the other and pushing my cart to the check out stand....I carried on with the responsibilities of the day.

How very delicious these little nuggets of thoughts are in helping me journey on down this road of life.  They capture my attention and remind me of the good things in the world.  They give me hope and encouragement.  Bless the dear people that think of them and share them!!

Statements like these…

"Keep loving. Keep trying. Keep trusting. Keep believing. Keep growing. Heaven is cheering you on today, tomorrow, and forever." —Jeffrey R. Holland

"An old proverb says, “The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second-best time is now.” Now is the best time to start becoming the person we eventually want to be—not only 20 years from now but also for all eternity." —Dieter F. Uchtdorf,

"Do not expect to become perfect at once. If you do, you will be disappointed. Be better today than you were yesterday, and be better tomorrow than you are today." —Lorenzo Snow

And this from an unknown author:  “You never know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice”.

And the unexpected but thought provoking….”Sometimes we Win…and Sometimes we Learn”.

And the reminder…”Any sailor can navigate on smooth seas, it takes courage to take on a storm”

WRITING ASSIGNMENT #20 – ILLNESSES

In our lives we encounter certain illnesses and afflictions we must overcome or persevere.

Discuss your malady(ies), your attitude and how you have been able to endure or cure this (these) burden(s).

What have you learned from these experiences that could help your descendants?

Did your parents or grandparents or relatives have the same issues that could indicate that it is genetic?  This information is valuable to future generations that will be reading your autobiography.