A Train Story

Yet another story I wrote for my writing class. This one is based on my fond memories of
riding on trains but most of the facts and the gentleman on the train are fictional.

My daughter and I recently visited the railroad museum in Snoqualmie, WA and it occurred to me that she has never been on a train trip. Telling her about the trains we saw and taking photographs, I was taken back to my childhood and my fondest memories of passenger trains and an era long gone by.

Standing on the platform in the frigid December air, I shiver as I wait with my mother and older brother for the train to pull into the station. We are going to visit our older sister because she couldn’t make it home for Christmas. It was the first time she has been away from home for the holidays and the house seemed empty yesterday without her. To some people the eighteen hour train ride from the Keyser station to Fayetteville, NC would seem unbearably long but I don’t mind. I love trains. I have loved them as long as I can remember and since my father works as a yard master for the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, we receive free passes to ride anywhere we want.

As the beautiful royal blue and gold train pulls into the station at last I grab my new red hat so the gush of freezing wind from the train passing by doesn’t blow it from my head. The pom-pom on top of the hat is as big as my head and I must look quite ridiculous but I love this hat. It had been a gift from my grandmother and I squealed with delight when I opened yesterday afternoon when my family went to visit my grandparents for Christmas dinner.
My father, who had come out from his office in the old red brick station just before the train arrived to say goodbye and help us aboard, teases me, “I’m surprised you didn’t topple over from the weight of that big red ball on your head.” Dad wasn’t coming with us, but would be joining us after his work week was over.

"Daddy, I wish you were coming with us.” I whine.

“Quit being such a baby.” My nine year old brother, Mark says as he grabs my beloved red hat from my head and threatens to throw it under the train.

“Mark” Dad snaps. “You be nice to your little sister. I’d better not hear that you have been picking on her the whole trip. Now give her back her hat.”

Mark gives me back my hat and as I take it from him I stick my tongue out at him and scrunch up my nose. Dad just chuckles and then reaches in his coat pocket and produces two brown bags filled with candy and snacks for the trip. This has become a tradition with our family for long train trips.

I wait on the platform with the family taking in the beloved sounds and smells of the train and the yard. The hissing sound that the engine makes when it is idling is like music to me. Even the smell of the burning engine oil mingling with the smell of the creosote soaked cross ties is dear to me.

Soon the conductor yells, “All Aboard!”

Mark scrambles up the steps onto the platform at the back of the sleeper car and Dad hands him the carryon bag with our toys, books, coloring books and crayons inside. Dad me kisses me goodbye and then lifts me up into our car pretending that I am too heavy for him to lift. He and Mom embrace and kiss each other goodbye. I step to the side of the platform to make room for Mom to climb up the steps.

I wave to Dad and yell, “I love you Daddy, see you this weekend.”

“I love you too, Bugs. I’ll see you this weekend. Be a good girl for Mommy and have fun on the train.” Dad yells back.

“Don’t call me Bugs!” I yell back before Mom steers me toward to the door of the car.

Dad always calls me Bugs because he says I look like Bugs Bunny and I pretend not to like it but secretly I feel special because I am the only one he has given a pet name.

Mom slides the door to the car open and I follow her into the train to find our sleeping berth and seats. As the train starts to pull away from the station I run to the nearest window to find Dad in the crowd of people still standing on the platform. I wave and blow kisses to him as he disappears from site. As the train rounds the first bend, the station and Dad are gone.

The passenger trains in the 60’s were very grand and the train employees seemed like family. Actually sometimes they were family since most of my uncles and my grandfather work on the B&O as well as my dad. We are always treated like royalty. For long trips we always secure sleeping berths and seats in one of the First Class Club cars which are almost as comfortable as our living room at home.

The cars seem very regal to me with their wood paneled walls and seats along the windows upholstered in blue. They look very much like a sofa and even have end tables that match the wood paneling with little lamps on them. These sofa seats fill most of the gigantic club car but one end is filled with banks of four seats, two on either side facing each other with a table in between. Mom usually requests these seats because having the table is a plus as my brother and I can play games or color pretty comfortably. The cars are so comfortable you never really even mind the constant rocking back and forth. In fact, I love the rocking motion and the click clack of the trucks (that’s what train wheels are called) on the tracks.

The best part of riding on the train is walking from car to car. What an adventure it is to walk across the platform between the cars as it shifts and moves back and forth under your feet.

On this trip since it is just the three of us, I am outraged to find a perfect stranger seated in one of the window seats when we finally make our way to the club car after putting our belongings in the berth. My brother pushes me out of his way almost knocking me down and scrambles into the opposite window seat facing the stranger.

“I want the window seat”, I yell.

“Shh!” Mom says. “Your brother got here first and you two can take turns sitting there.”

I decide that now is the perfect time for one of my classic temper tantrums. I fall to floor yelling, “It’s not fair, why does he always get his way and why do we have to sit with someone we don’t know anyway. I said I want the window seat!!!! Mommy, make him move. Make him move.”
I never take my eyes off the gentleman who has the nerve to be sitting in my seat. Mom apologized to the gentleman and tried to get me to calm down.

“I am so sorry.” She says to the gentleman trying to smile through her embarrassment. “She is a bit spoiled when it comes to riding on the train. I think she thinks she owns them.”

Moms face is turning as red as the hat I that I am still wearing because everyone is watching the spoiled brat having a tantrum, but I don’t care. I want my way and I don’t care how I get it.

Lucky for us the gentleman is very kind, he says “it is perfectly understandable why the young lady would want the window and as I’ve traveled this route many times, I’ll be happy to give the window to her.”

He moves over to the aisle seat and I awkwardly take the window seat smiling from ear to ear like the old Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. I begin the watch the snow covered landscape souring by. The fields are like a patchwork quilt with the fences as the stitching and the fields between the fences the patches.

“Thank you so much for your kindness.” Mom says to him as she takes the seat opposite of him.

“You know when I your age, I had to travel all the way from Billings, Mt to Washington, DC on the train.” The gentleman says to me and Mark. “The trains were still powered by steam back in those days and they left a trail of black suit and smoke behind them. They traveled much slower than the fancy diesel engines we have now.” The gentleman’s voice trailed off as if he were lost in his memories.

I turned to him and asked, “Where’s Billings, Moun--taina?”

“Montana.” He said with a smile. “Montana is state out west where lot’s of cowboys live.”

“Ooooh!, Are there lots of Indians too?” I ask, anxious now to hear more.

“Oh yes” he explained. “But most of them live on reservations now. A hundred years ago they used to live all over the land and there were many great battles between the cowboys and Indians.”

“Just like in the John Wayne movies Daddy always watches. I like the Indians best. They have the prettiest horses.” I say.

“I agree.” The gentleman says. “When my mother and I were traveling across the country on the train, we saw some buffalo and I liked to imagine the Indians hunting the buffalo.”

“Where was your daddy?” I ask.

“Suzy, don’t be so nosy!” mom said.

“It’s ok. I don’t mind.” He told Mom. “My father had been injured in the First World War and was in an army hospital in Washington. We were on our way to go be with him while he recovered.”

Mark has decided to join the conversation. “We’re studying World War I in school. I like history. It’s my favorite class.”

“I like history too.” The gentleman said.

“What’s your name?” I ask finally deciding I liked him enough to be on a first name basis with him.

“My name is Mr. Mueller but you can call me John.” He answered.

“Hi, John, I’m Rhonda but everyone in my family calls me Suzy, except Daddy. He calls me Bugs.” I say puffing myself up proudly. “That’s my brother Mark and my mom’s name is Virginia.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” He says politely bowing his head slightly.

“Can you tell us more stories please?” I ask.

“I think it’s time for lunch. Would you like to join us in the dining car for a bite, Mr. Mueller?” Mom asks

“I would love to and please call me John.” John replies.

“Great”, Mark said. “Maybe you can tell me more about the war your dad fought in. Did you fight in a war too?”

“Or you can tell us more about the cowboys and Indians in Mon—toun--, Montana. And about the long train trip you took to Washington.”

“Kids, can you let Mr. Muel—, I mean John, have a moment’s peace.” Mom interjected as she smiles at John.

We spend the rest of that day with Mr. Mueller. He tells us many more wonderful stories about Montana and the places he has visited and even the war he fought in.
We finally retire to our sleeping berth and I am exhausted. I fall asleep to the trains lullaby. “ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk”.

Its morning and I am sad to discover that John has already gotten off the train sometime during the night. I will miss him.

We finally arrive in Fayetteville and I am so happy to see my older sister and excited for her to show us her new home. All too soon it will be time to board the train again for the return trip to Keyser.

As my mind snaps back to the present, I smile at the memory and think to myself, “I really do need to plan a family train vacation very soon.”

Lenora's Ghost

This is another story I wrote for my writing class. This one is also very very loosely based on a story my grandmother used to tell us about when she was a kid growing up as an undertaker’s daughter. I have no idea what the house they lived in was like so I greatly embellished the details but the idea is based on the real story. This photo is what I based my description of the house on. Isn’t it beautiful? I want to live in it.

It's May 10, 1915 and today is my ninth birthday. My mother is letting me have my first birthday party and I hope the girls I’ve invited will come. My family just moved to Martinsburg six months ago and it has been difficult making friends. When your father is an undertaker and you live above the funeral parlor where your father works, kids don’t really want to spend a lot time in your house. I can’t blame them.

My father bought the business from the family who had owned it for almost 30 years. The house, built in 1882 is, as Mother explained, called a Queen Anne style house. To me it looks like a gigantic gingerbread house painted gray. The window trim, balusters and the ornate trim along the roof and front porch are painted white and a deep blood red. The front steps lead directly up to the front door where this is a small covered stoop. There is a veranda accessible only from the main parlor where mourners can sit and rest when the weather is warm. There is also a large bay window on the side of the house next to the veranda. There is a four story tower that rises above the front door with a widow’s walk on top but Mother has never let me go up to the fourth floor or up on the widow’s walk. I imagine the view must be amazing from up there. I’m not sure why it’s called a widow’s walk but it is kind of funny to have something called a widow’s walk on a funeral parlor. I must say, it is one of the nicest houses in town and looks very regal. If only it wasn’t a funeral parlor.

I didn’t sleep well last night and woke up very early. It must be because I am so nervous about the party today. Even though it is so early the town is coming to life. Sitting on my bed looking out the window, I can see a few of the shop owners preparing their shops down the street for the day’s business even though the sun isn’t yet fully over the horizon. Mr. Clancy is placing large baskets of bright red and yellow apples, oranges and even some exotic looking pineapples out on the front stoop in hopes of luring customers into the King Street Emporium. Across the street from the Emporium, Mrs. McAllister is sweeping the dirt from the floor of her dress shop out the front door, onto the sidewalk and then out into the street. She calls out a greeting to Mr. Clancy. I can’t hear what she is saying but I can see her smile and wave. From the other direction I can hear the steady clip clop of horse’s hooves on the brick pavement and turn to see Mr. Burke’s ice wagon being pulled by a lovely grey Percheron making their way into town. I see Mr. Rockwell carefully maneuvering his milk wagon around the ruts in the street so as not spill any of the bottles of fresh milk his 10 cows gave him this morning. He has two majestic Clydesdales pulling his wagon.

The sun is finally up now and my room is filled with a heavenly glow. I decide it’s time to get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast.

“Mother, since it’s my birthday and it’s so nice outside, can eat my breakfast on the veranda? There is no one in the parlor so it wouldn’t be disrespectful to anyone.” I ask.

“I don’t see why you can’t eat your birthday breakfast outside on such a warm day. I sure your father won’t object. Why don’t you go ask him if he would like to join you on the veranda and have a cup of coffee? I’ll bring it out to you as soon as it is ready.” She says smiling. “But remember you still have chores to do even if it is your birthday.” She adds.

Since Mother seems to be in an agreeable mood I decide to ask another question. “Can I explore the tower later? I’ve never been up there and I promise I’ll be careful.” I ask tentatively.

“Perhaps if your older brother agrees to go with you.” She replies.

“Mother, I’m nine years old now. I don’t need George to go with me.” I complain.

“You are right. Maybe I will even have you start going up there a couple times a week and keep the room tidy and dusted just in case we get company that needs to sleep there.” She said.

“Thanks Mother!” I exclaim as I leave the room to go out on the veranda. I am excited about the idea of finally getting to go up to the tower room but I really didn’t want another chore in the bargain.

It’s a glorious day and I’m glad I asked to have breakfast on the veranda. Along the fence by the sidewalk there is a sea of yellow because the forsythia bushes are in full bloom. The lilacs bushes along the veranda fill the air with their sweet scent and I close my eyes and take it in. A pair of cardinals in the big oak tree is busy talking to each other. As I listen to their conversation I decide it sounds as if they are calling, “Vir-gin-ia, Vir-gin-ia”.

Father comes through the door and sits on the swing. I turn from the spot where I had been standing taking in the sights and smells of our home to greet him.

“Happy Birthday, Lenora.” He says happily. “Are you excited about your party this afternoon?”

“Oh yes.” I reply. “I just hope everyone will come and not be afraid of the dead people in the basement.”

Father worked on the bodies in the basement before bringing them up to the parlor for viewings. I never go down there!

“Well, there aren’t any dead people in the basement at the moment. So I don’t think it should be a problem.” He replies.

“You know that and I know that but they don’t know that!” I say “Everyone is always teasing me about having dead people in the basement of my house.”

“It will be a lovely party I’m sure.” Father says. “Here comes your mother with breakfast and when we are finished you can get to your chores and then get ready for the party.”

After breakfast I finish my chores in record time. “Mother, do want me to go clean up the tower room now?” I ask.

“Yes go ahead but don’t take too long. “she says.

I run up stairs two at a time and almost trip on the hem of my dress on the way up. When I get to the top of the stairs I pause. Something has always seemed kind of mysterious about this room. The previous owner moved out and left the bedroom fully furnished.

I am surprised when I open the door to find that it looks as if someone had been lying on the bed. I am pretty sure no one ever comes up here. “I must remember to ask mother about the bed when I go back downstairs.” I say to myself.

As soon as I am finished dusting the furniture and straightening up the bed I leave the room, closing the door behind me. I sprint up the steps to the widow’s walk and step out into the bright sun. You can see the whole town from here. I can see the roofs of most of the buildings on King Street and the tall steeples of the Methodist and Catholic churches as well as the roof of the school house which is next to the Presbyterian Church on Winchester Avenue. In the distance I can even see the railroad yards and I think about all the travelers passing through our small town on their way to someplace great like New York or Chicago.

As I head back down the stairs, I pause outside the tower room thinking about the messed up bed. “That really is very strange.” I think again.

I find Mother in the kitchen and I ask her about the tower room.

“George has probably been sneaking up there to read or something.” She explains.

George, who just walked through the back door and heard the conversation says, “I’ve only been up in the drab old room twice; just to close the windows. I’ve never even sat on the bed.”

“Well, that is curious then.” Mother shrugs with a puzzled look on her face. “You should go get ready for the party. Everything is set up in the yard and the guests should be arriving soon.”

The party is long over and everyone has gone home. Mother calls me in from the stable for dinner and then it’s off to bed. I lie in bed thinking of what a wonderful day it has been. Everyone I invited came to my party and we had a grand time. My thoughts wonder back to the tower room and I wonder why the bed was mussed up like someone had been lying on it. I decide to make it a point to go back up there tomorrow morning and check on it first thing.

First thing next morning, I sneak out of my room and up the stairs to the tower room careful not to let the steps creak on the way. I stand outside the room for a few minutes breathing hard from nerves before opening the door. I almost scream as I notice that again the bed looks as if someone has been lying on it. There is a perfect indentation on the pillow where a head might have lain and the covers are slightly askew. I decide that George is playing a trick on me and so I am not going to say anything to him or to Mother about this. I simply go to the bed, straighten it back up and leave the room.

It’s been three weeks since my birthday and the first time I went into the tower room. I go up there now every morning and straighten the bed and every morning it is mussed up in the exact same way. I know longer think George is playing a trick on me but rather I think one of the dead people decided a long time ago that they liked the house too and didn’t want to leave. I’m sure the previous owner knew this and that’s why he left the room as it is. I think I will keep this from all my new friends. They will never come over to play with me if they know there is a ghost living in our tower.

Henry

This is a short story I wrote for my writing class. It is loosely based on an actual Christmas from my childhood although the scene has been slightly enhanced.

The little girl’s joy can only be described as simple and complete. Her long chocolate brown hair is braided into two pig tails. She is wearing bright red pajamas with candy canes on the front. On her feet is a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. Around her neck is a blue scarf the color of the sky on a summer day. The scarf was a gift she just opened and discarded the pretty wrapping paper and bow in a pile in by her side. She sits next a mountain of vibrantly wrapped presents in green, red and gold all decorated with matching ribbons and bows under a brightly lit Christmas tree.

The lights from the tree reflect off of the antique painted glass ornaments and send chards of light all around the room. The fire in the fireplace adds to the warm glow and joyful feeling in the room. The pungent pine fragrance from the Christmas tree and the smell of cinnamon rolls baking in the oven wafts through the air while the sound of Christmas carols softly fills the room and competes with the static scratching sound of the needle on the phonograph, tearing paper, laughter and squeals of delight.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la.”

The little girl starts to sing along as she bobs her head from side to side “Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la la la la la”.

Her older brother is sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the Christmas trees frantically opening his presents as fast as he can. There is a flurry of flying paper and bows around him and a pile of paper fragments, broken ribbon and discarded bows littering the floor all around him. His pajama top has been exchanged for a Superman hooded sweatshirt and his slippers have been thrown across the room to be replaced with new Converse Chuck Taylor high tops; bright red of course.

Her mother and father sit side by side on the old brown sofa, holding hands, sipping coffee and watching their children enjoy Christmas morning as only children can. A shiny gold watch gleams in the light on her father’s wrist and around her mother’s neck is a string of white freshwater pearls.


On her lap sits a big fluffy yellow dog. Henry, as the embroidered patch on his chest proclaims. His golden yellow fur is as soft as a new born kitten and every once in a while she stops opening presents long enough to give the dog another squeeze or rub his soft black floppy ears against her cheek. The dog looks content sitting on her lap with his fire engine red tongue sticking out as if he is teasing you. His big fat belly is accentuated by a black fuzzy belly button and his arms and legs flop around making him perfect for cuddling.


As she pauses to squeeze him again she exclaims, “I just knew Santa wouldn’t forget to bring Henry to me!”

Her father looks at her mother and smiles wearily. He is happy to let her keep thinking that it was all Santa even though he spent the better part of Christmas Eve driving 200 miles round trip to Martinsburg to get Henry from her Aunt who managed to find him in a department store that got a last minute shipment on the 23rd. Henry was very hard to find this year. He would do anything to make sure that his little girl has the best Christmas ever and he knows how disappointed she would have been if Henry hadn’t been under the tree this morning.

“I’m glad Santa brought Henry too. You love Henry very much don’t you?”

“Henry is the best dog I’ve ever had and this is the best Christmas ever.” With that she jumped up and still carrying Henry in her arms, she leapt onto the couch and hugged both her parents. “I’m hungry. Can we have breakfast now?”

Burning Man 2008 - To go or not go

I've been going back and forth for sometime about whether I want to go to the Playa again this year.

Last year was my first trip to Burning Man and I had a pretty good time. I loved the art. It is amazing to me that people spend so much time, money and effort to carry these large (and I mean very large) art project out to the middle of the dessert and build them only to tear them down or worse burn them at the end of the week.



I really enjoyed meeting all the unique and fun people that I met throughout the week. The weather was hot but not too unbearable. The fire truck was so awesome. Yea we had a fire truck that shot fire instead of water. It was pretty cool and the New York folks that owned the truck were awesome.

Honestly we camped with a pretty cushy camp. We had really good meals every evening, snacks, food and drink available 24/7, our own camp porta potty, showers and nice comfy chill space to hang out in during the hottest hours of the days. For the first couple days we even had our own coffee bar until our espresso machine finally gave up the ghost. Yay lattes!

Richard and I had a really cool tent setup. We two identical square tents that we connected together with a fabric tube. The outer tent was our dressing and storage tent and the inner tent was our bedroom. The whole structure was covered with mesh shade structure. The whole setup was pretty nice and we even had fans in the tents to keep it cooler than normal and blow the hot air out.

From what I have been told 2007 was a great year to go for the first time. Many unique things happened in 2007. The man burned early, there was a lunar eclipse and an amazing rainbow over the playa after a rain storm.

Burning Man is a photographers dream and my best memories were of going out first thing in the morning while the sun was still low with Richard and visiting the art projects and taking photos.

Those were great times. Richard and I had some great bonding experiences on the playa.

But there were also some negative things that happened. There were some emotional things that I really don't want to spend too much time thinking about but I think it's fair to mention that I had a few emotional and even lonely moments.

The day we left, the transmission went out of our van one mile down the road from the entrance to Black Rock City. That was a traumatic thing in one case but it also proved to be a great bonding experience for Richard and I. We managed to get home to Seattle that night thanks to our dear friend Barry but Richard and I had to turn around and drive back to Black Rock City 2 days later to empty the van and arrange to have it towed to Reno for repair. So I guess in a way, I went to the Playa twice in one year. :-)

I definately know that I want to go back to Burning Man again someday. I just don't think I have the energy to do again so soon. The amount of thought and preperation that goes into this event is mind boggling. I can't believe that some people do this every year. I know a lot of people that live and breath burning may 365 days a year. I just can't be one of those people. Besides, I have a limited amount of time off each year and there are other things I want and need to do with my time off.

Maybe every other year would be good.

BTW did I happen to mention that on our return trip to the playa to take care of the van, we ran into Larry Harvey, the BM founder, at the cafe in Gerlach? Yea that was kind of cool.

Is someone trying to tell me something?

Last night I was tired pretty early so I went to bed around 9 and turned on Oprah. Maria Shriver was the guest and she was there to promote her new book, Just Who Will You Be.

She talked candidly about growing up in the "fairytale" family that she did, her relationship with her mother, her marriage and her career. She told how when Arnold ran for Governor of CA she had to leave her job and how she felt lost and uncertain for a long time after that. The book is about her finding herself again. Or as she put it, trying to figure out what she wants to be when grows up.

I found it refreshing to find that someone who has spent a lifetime in the spotlight and always appears to have it together and a perfect life struggles with the same issues that the rest of us do. I have been struggling with the same issue for some time. I feel lost. I need to learn to say no and I need to learn to stand up for myself and for what I want. I too often find myself putting myself. It's what a mother is supposed to do right? I have a tendency to let people tell me what I need to do and I have a hard time saying this is what I want and this is what I am going to do. I guess it comes from a fear of losing the people I love if I don't do and say exactly what it is they want me to. That's not ok.

I don't want anyone to think that I am unhappy. I'm not. I have a great husband that loves me, a beautiful smart daughter that I have a great relationship with. I have an awesome close family, even though the all live on the other side of the country and I don't see them that much. I have an amazing group of friends who are loving and supportive. I have a job that I like with people that I enjoy being around. But I still feel that something is missing. I often feel stuck. I don't know what I want to be or do when I grow up.

Bees Pleazzzzz

My father used to have many interesting hobbies. Every year he had the most amazing garden and we had the best fresh vegetables all summer long. My mother would spend long days canning beans, corn, tomatoes, etc. for the winter so we rarely had to buy vegetables from the grocery store.

When we moved to the country and had lots of property, he started a small orchard which was something he always dreamed of having. Now in addition to the fresh veggies, we had all the fresh peaches, apples and pears we could ever want. Again my mother would can peaches and homemade applesauce to store for the winter.

His most fascinating and “exotic” hobby was beekeeping. He kept anywhere from 2 – 6 active hives and had them located in our orchard and on my uncles farm. I spent many fall days helping to box and jar honey. For a long time after I left home I simply couldn’t stand the thought of eating honey. I was just so sick of it. Luckily I love it again and always have a container of honey in my house.

Recently Richard has taken an interest in keeping bees. This past weekend he went to a bee shop in Snohomish, WA and picked up a starter hive. He has the hive painted and set up in the back yard and today he goes to pick up the bees. It’s a very strange flashback for me and I’m not sure how I feel about it. If you want to read more about his adventures in beekeeping, check out his bee blog.

Unfortunately my father's health doesn't allow to keep any of his hobbies any longer but he is happy, I think, to see someone in the family take an interest in at least one of his hobbies. We are getting a large package soon from my father containing a lot of his unused bee equipment.

A healthy horse is a happy horse

As anyone who knows me knows, I love horses. I have my whole life. The last few years I have been interested in herbal supplements and remedies for horses. I have several books that I refer to often when we have a problem with Beauty. I had thought about a year ago that I would like to get into the business of packaging herbal remedies to sell locally to horse owners. That turned out to be rather daunting. It was difficult to find the herbs that I needed in bulk at prices that would make it worth doing.


The practice of herbal / holistic healing for animals and humans has been much more popular in other countries around the world than it has in the US and it has just recently started taking off here. The books I have were all written by Vets in the UK or New Zealand.

There is a company out of the UK called Hilton Herbs that does exactly what I wanted to do and their recipes are almost identical to the ones I wanted to make. I contacted them recently and made arrangements to become a distributer in the Seattle area. Currently there is only one place that I have found that sells them and the prices they have are unbelievably high. I can sell at a slight discount and still make money.

I don’t imagine for a second that this endeavor will make me rich by any means but I am hoping to make a little extra money each month with not a great deal of extra work. This is something I believe in and I have seen the effects of feeding herbal supplements on Beauty.

For now, I am going to try to keep it local and not have to ship items as that could get costly and time consuming.

In addition to Equine herbal supplements I will also have access to Canine supplements but I will mostly be focusing on Equines.

If you would like to learn more about Hilton Herbs here the link to the website.

Grabbing the bull by the horns or Living Life to the fullest

This may seem like a bit of rambling but I’ve been wondering about a lot of things lately.

1. Why do we wait until someone is gone to tell them how much we love and appreciate them?
2. Why do we become trapped by the negative in the world and forget to see the magnificent beauty that surrounds us every day?
3. Why do we put off doing the things that make us happy, “the things we’ve always wanted to do”?
· There isn’t enough money
· There isn’t enough time
· There isn’t anyone to do it with and I don’t want to do it alone
· I’m afraid to try
· I’m afraid I will look like a fool

I certainly don’t have answers to all of these yet but I am working on it.

When we are children we believe that the people we love will always be here and we’ll never have to be alone. We take for granted that if we have a “boo boo”, our mommy’s will kiss it and make it better or if we need help with our homework or we are having trouble with a friend our parents are there to give us help and advice. When we become adults and have our children of our own we become the “boo boo” kissers but we never really stop depending on our parents for help and support. When I cooked my first Thanksgiving dinner completely on my own, I wasn’t really on my own. I called my mom what must have been 25 times that day to ask advice and get her recipes. Whenever I have trouble with growing tomatoes or planting flowers, I call my dad for his advice.

My parents are aging and their health is slowly deteriorating. My father has been pretty ill for some time and is now undergoing dialysis 3 times a week and has a pace maker. That’s pretty serious stuff and a real eye opener. I have to come to grips with the realization that my parents aren’t always going to be here. It’s a fact.

My father has always been an inspiration to me. He is one of the most affectionate people I have ever known. He is always hugging and kissing people he knows when he runs into them on the streets, sometimes to my mother’s chagrin, and is always friendly and kind to everyone. He is very passionate about the things he enjoys: gardening, hunting, beekeeping and his orchard. He is deeply spiritual and peaceful and it shows in everything he does. He’s never been one to talk just for the sake of talking so you know that when he says something it is from his heart. I like to think I’ve inherited some of these traits.

Some acquaintances of ours had twin daughters in November. One of the twins was seriously ill from birth and spent her entire short life in Children’s Hospital. After 4 months of surgeries, infections and illness she passed away 2 weeks ago. Her parents kept a blog of the experience and I find myself reading the blog every day. It is very sad but at the same time uplifting and inspirational to think how this little person gave so much love and touched so many people in so short a time on earth. I couldn’t possibly do her story justice so if you would like to read more, here is her blog.

Last week I was at the barn visiting Beauty and hanging out with my “horsey” friends. It was about 7:30 and just after sunset. As I was standing in the pasture letting Beauty graze a little bit and watching the sky change from brilliant gold to red to pink and then finally to dark I was awe struck by the beauty. Later I asked one of my friends if she saw the amazing sky a little earlier and she replied that she had not. She said she didn’t have the “Photographers eye” that I have. I was flattered by her remark, mostly because she thinks of me as a photographer and that makes me happy, but I also think it would be very sad if only photographers could see the beauty in a late evening sky, a bee on a sunflower or any of the wonders that I marvel at on a daily basis. There is beauty in absolutely everything on this planet if we only look. That is why so many times I am compelled to take photographs of rusty chains, a drop of water dripping off of an old rusty train car or an old bottle stuck in mud. To me those things have as much beauty as a beautiful flower or a sunset.

I’ve been hearing from a lot of people lately that they are doing things they have always wanted to do. My niece is getting a Harley, Richard is starting to keep bees, friends are traveling to distant lands, and the list goes on and on. I’ve always been a firm believer in doing the things that make you happy. Don’t put them off. You may not have the opportunity tomorrow. As for myself, I’ve just recently discovered this. I am starting to do more of the things I’ve always wanted to do like photography and writing and will continue to do more and more. Next on my list is riding. Tori has been riding for 9 years and has her own horse. When she started taking an interest in horses and riding it was always my intention to ride with her. I wanted it to be something that we could do together but 9 years later I still haven’t started. The biggest reason for it is the expense. It’s an expensive endeavor and a long term commitment but it is something I have wanted since I was a little girl myself and I am going to make it happen. If I don’t do it soon, I may never have the chance again and why risk that. Tori will be going away to college in a few years and I want to be able to spend as much time as possible with her doing the things we enjoy doing together before she goes.

What's in a name (originally written for Memoir writing class)

My father hated cats.

I was always bringing home stray cats hoping beyond hope that eventually I would be allowed to keep one for my very own.

We lived in a two bedroom duplex on Main Street in a small town in West Virginia. My older brother had a room of his own and I had a bed in the corner of my parent’s room surrounded by curtains hanging from the ceiling for privacy. The house was crowded to be sure. “We simply don’t have room to keep a pet in this house.” Mom would say. “Someday we’ll get a house in the country and you can have a cat and a dog.” Dad would always add, “I won’t have an old cat living in my house."

Sunshine, that’s what I called him at first, the big yellow tabby cat came into our lives quite by accident and it must have something in those huge emerald colored eyes of his that made everyone fall in love with him. Or perhaps it was because he looked so much like Morris the cat that everyone loved him. You know Morris, the famous cat from the TV commercials. He had the same personality as the famous TV cat as well. He was a whimsical character that had an air of superiority about him. He wanted to be pampered and that was all.

To say that he was my cat would be a lie. He belonged to everyone and no one at the same time. His real owners were dirt poor and he was sadly neglected by them although they didn’t mind pointing out to anyone that would listen that he was in fact “their cat”. Never mind that they never fed him or never once took him to the vet or played with him. He was theirs only in their minds. On the occasions when they would come looking around the neighborhood complaining that we had taken their beloved Tiger, which is the name they had for him, they would cart him home only to have him slip out again as soon as he could manage it and come right back to our part of the neighborhood.

It wasn’t difficult for him to find a family or two that would love him for his many charms and take him in. He became the neighborhood cat and he had his daily routine down to a science. First thing in the morning he would arrive on Mrs. Larke’s back porch announcing that he was starving and surely she had a bowl of fresh milk and some tuna for him. He would spend the mornings lounging in the shade of the thick wisteria that grew all around Mrs. Larke’s porch. Mrs. Larke decided that of course, his name must be Morris because as she said, “Isn’t he the spitting image of the real Morris?”

Mr. Johnson was the widower who lived down the street and he always came home for lunch. He always had some extra lunch to share with Scat and the yellow cat would always be patiently waiting by his front door for him to arrive. After lunch he would head to our house where my mother would secretly let him inside. He would follow her around while she did the laundry or cleaned, then would lie on her lap in the afternoon while she watched her “stories”.

As soon as my brother and I would get home from school it was his job to help us with our homework, or more to the point, distract us while we tried to do our homework, and keep us company while we watched “I Dream of Jeannie” or “Dark Shadows” on the old black and white TV. At 5:15, just before our father was due home from work, we would open the back door and he would reluctantly head back outside for the night. His nights were spent prowling around and getting into fights with the other cats in the neighborhood. Many times I would be awakened by the sound of growling and hissing in the backyard.

One winter, a few days before Christmas he decided it was too cold to go outside so at 5:15 he decided to take up residence under our Christmas tree. My brother and I were scrambling trying to coax him out and catch him but he would have none of it. At 5:30 the front door opened and Dad stepped in. My brother and I tried to look innocent as if nothing was going on. “We were just checking the water level in the tree stand.” My brother said in an attempt to explain why we were under the tree. Dad just shrugged and said, “How was your day at school?” “Fine,” we both exclaimed, “but we are glad that Christmas break starts tomorrow and we heard on the TV that it’s supposed to snow tonight so maybe we won’t have to go to school tomorrow either.” I added with a nervous smile.

Dad put his coat and boots in the closet and after going to the kitchen to kiss Mom on the cheek and ask “What’s for dinner?”, he returned to the living room to sit in his favorite chair and watch the news. About that time the cat decided it was time high he and Dad met face to face and he came slinking out from behind the Christmas tree covered in silvery icicles and holding a bow he had taken from a present in his mouth. He marched right over to Dad’s chair, dropped the bow by his feet, jumped in Dad’s lap, lay down and started purring like a freight train. After the initial shock wore off, Dad started laughing so hard he was crying. How could anyone resist that charm and charisma wrapped up in soft amber fur with the huge friendly green eyes? Dad finally pulled himself together and said “he looks like he’s all dressed up for the Christmas pageant or something. Do you think we should tell him there were no cats in the stable that night? Maybe he thinks he is a TV star like Morris. I think old Tom here had better stay inside tonight, it’s going to be a cold one and he might enjoy watching Rudolph with us.”

From that night on, Tom, which is what we ultimately decided would be our name for him, slept in a basket by the gas furnace grate in the living room and gave up his life as a prize cat fighter. He still insisted on going outside first thing in the morning to make his rounds around the neighborhood and he would even occasionally put in an appearance at his “real” owners house for an hour or two. Until the day he died he was known as the neighborhood cat with four names.

Finding Myself Again

I used to write a lot when I was younger. I think as I got older and my life became filled with so many other tasks such as job, being a parent and housework I put writing aside for lack of time. I seem to have done that with many things in my life. Photography and reading as well as writing.

I am not complaining and I certainly don't regret my choices. I am finding however, now that my daughter is driving and becoming more independent she no longer needs me as much as she used to. This was a difficult concept for me to get used to. I cried the day she passed her driver's test. I was excited for her but at the same time I felt like I had lost a little piece of our relationship. I have since gotten over that feeling and I'm enjoying the extra time that I have for me.

I began working part time in January, going from 40+ hours a week to 32. I'm working 6 and a half hour days 4 days a week and only 6 hours on Friday. It's amazing how just having an extra hour and half to 2 hours a day has changed my life.

I have enrolled in several classes at our local Community college including a memoir writing class as well as working on getting a Project Management Certificate.

I have discovered my passion for reading again having completed four novels since Christmas. That's probably more than I have read in two years. I should also mention that part of the reason I have been reading so much is I received an Amazon Kindle digital reader from my husband, Richard, for Christmas. The thing is amazing. It holds up to 200 books and is the size and weight of a single paperback. But the very best feature, for me at least, is the ability to change font size. I can see it so much better than text on the page of a book. I love love love it. I can't say enough good things about it.

I started taking photography seriously again about four years ago and I am constantly taking classes and working on improving my skills as a photographer. I think I am a little OCD when it comes to cameras. I recently purchased my third digital SLR. A Canon 40D. It's a great camera. Will it make me a better photographer? Probably not, but one can always hope. And since it gives me great joy, I'm not going to worry about that too much.

I have started working out in the mornings and spending some time reading before I start my day.

It's been great finding myself again and life is good.