Monday, February 13, 2017

Trying To Figure Who I Am

The Metaphor 

I believe completely that there are reasons for everything.  I am not disappointed or sad right now just "under-the weather" as in sick with a toothache and this time gives me a chance to write.

I feel I have a huge question hanging over my head. What do I feel are important things in my life right now. What? I don't know. I am blessed and I have comfort and faith. Life is certainly a journey and I know I'm on the right trail. Maybe. I follow my Steve and want to do that, he keeps me in-line.

I need to remember each journey is a  trail and has trials no matter how easy or hard it looks from the beginning path. It's the one that is chosen that brings a great reward or regret.

Switch-backs are on the trail for a reason. The switch-backs give us a chance to recover from a hard climb and prepare for the next steep turn or a chance to rethink our direction. The added advantage is our view of where we have been and hopefully a peek at where we are headed. (Often our view is beautiful)

I've walked a lot of trails and yes this one's a metaphor and but has the realistic view of a true hike. Concepts that match.

Trails are harder sometimes to come down from above. Switchbacks really can give us a break. Muscles can often ache more from the descent. This isn't a metaphor, but it could..because I would have to climb and work hard to get to the mountain top, again. Why do I go back to the flatland? Or in other words...the easy place where I'm not challenged or thinking about goals that I have for myself?

It takes strength to climb a mountain and as we get older the harder it is to make the climb. There's a lot of places I haven't seen or will ever see because of changes in my life. But the goals I can attain have led me on another path. There are fewer switchbacks and the problem with that is...I'm not sure where I've begun. The path where I came from is obscure. I don't stop to think about my path at the switchbacks resting points. I'm dependent on the need of a hiking stick to help me. The trail is still beautiful and hopefully I'm still moving forward in the right way.  I only have brief glimpse of what's ahead. I have a map and compass so those tools help me know where I can end my hike. I never want to be lost. I love hiking. 

Real life:

Do I have a story of my life? I keep my journal and it's filled with accomplishments of my husband and children. I'm not putting myself down. I've never have felt like I had a story of myself when I was younger that I wanted to remember. Hard to explain, really. What have I done?

My grandfather was in rodeo, a rodeo clown, a shop owner that had a great following, he was a big game hunter and an artist. He was excellent at tailoring, making saddles, and tooling leather, and wood carving. He wrote plays for The Boy Scouts and helped build a scout camp called "Three Falls." He was a fireman that never received any compensation. He fought really terrible fires including one that burned his shop. My grandfather rebuilt it better than it was before it burned. Grandpa Joe was in silent and talkie movies with all the great actors. He was a California State judge in horsemanship. He was a parade and rodeo announcer and a deputy sheriff. Grandpa and dad raised beautiful Quarter Horses we had a Doc Bar daughter and her sire was traced backed to Traveler lines. Our mare's name was Barton's Cocoa, she couldn't throw an ugly foal. Grandpa also imported and raised cattle dogs from Australia and they had the grandest barn. I often wonder why the horses were always in the pastures and and didn't get the new barn. The mares had their foals in a converted, old redwood, car garage.

My grandfather is just one example of someone that made their life full. He wasn't perfect and had lots of flaws. My mom constantly pointed-out how much she didn't like her father-in-law. But everyone remembers him and tells me what a great man he was here in this, my hometown. He was voted to be a Grand Marshall in our Festival Parade. I rode next to him and not in a car but we were on horses.

 The flaws. (Grandpa Joe must be looking at this from heaven & clamping his jaw) Grandpa's character came with the time he lived, the home he lived-in, as a young man, and how he was raised. There's such a story there. I have his authentic Teddy Bear from the turn-of-the-century. It has only one ear and he must of carried it around in his mouth. The bear is almost with-out any fuzz at all. It's rough and the Teddy has a special chair in my long room-our living room. I wish I knew less. I wish I knew less of everyone. My memory is too fine and keeps it all, each file not separated by only the good or bad.

I want to lift-out the files on everything that is negative in anyway and shred them, never letting them return. There's nothing I can do right now to forget, except right it down maybr. I can forgive wholeheartedly, but gorgetting is not realistic because I remember. I don't hold it against anyone but myself for remembering. If anyone thinks I hold a grudge, try me. I promise I don't and have tried to make it easy for all to be mended. Could I love more? Yes! I can absolutely. 

My Lineage: 

Everyone in my lineage have been like my grandfather, every single one have wonderful stories. My children and grandchildren are already making their lives great! I'm so proud of them and unconditionally love and adore each of them.

And then there's my "Noah" my husband, Steve. He has never drank, smoked, or said any foul, cuss word, or taken the Lord's name in vain, ever. He's never seen a bad movie... and we have walked out of many. Cartoon movies forever. Ugh! He's always is trying to help others. (Me a lot) Steve is often referred by our church members as their favorite Bishop. I still hear that often and even at our last Stake Conference two weeks ago.

Steve's going on TV this next month, again! He endures pain without complaint even after falling while fighting a fire. He's still working (he can't do anything but talk and direct the families of disasters in the right direction, he can phyisically work, even mending our pens on our place) My Steve has a great path and he's forging on, always helping someone every single day. He doesn't let his injuries slow him down... he's always working for the good of others. My Steve has saved many lives. He has a huge legacy and amazes me. Steve has a story, a passion, and works hard at keeping himself going on his hike and journey. I'm married to him and hooked to his side. However, I do hold him back. I'm supremely slow.

What can I do at age 62 to have a story? If someone were to ask me what I could do or what have I accomplished, I couldn't answer. Yes, I have a great memory and could tell you exactly the clothes I've worn, the way my hair looked, and even if I was wearing a certain fragrance. I just remember, it doesn't mean I looked good and I DO remember so very long ago trying to take pictures and remember events before there was video. I eanted to remember good and bad. That's actually weird or funny because I could've done something great and remembered it. My memory clicks in of what I've done that day and I wish I could remember ALL that I've done that was worthwhile? Guess it's ok, I remember today.

If my kids are great, it was because of my wonderful and grand husband whose full of common sense. I think I covet his "common sense" more all the time.

My mind has a few empty files. I remember my flaws, sins, weaknesses, and regrets. I've relived those often at home from the generosity of my family filling-in all the extra things they saw in me. And, there has never been forgiveness in their hearts, ever... except my dad. How did he know I needed that?

 I can spell every homonym and use it three different ways in the same essay and all incorrectly. So, I have a file on that, and I can't unlock the file or fix it. It's the same with colons, semi-colons, yeah, all that. Thank you everyone that enjoys leaving a comment on my mistakes and commenting me on super-long paragraphs. Yes, I had grammar lessons. I was meant to speak Spanish. No offense taken on my grammar or subject matter.  I already know I do that, I'm old.

Changing my life: (no heading)

 The  "ifs?"  My "if" life would be to go back to school. I would love "Pathway" at BYU Idaho... I hope someday the program can come closer to home. Be something, know something, and help others. It's a far-away dream.

The subject would be genealogy. I do know history, even strategic battles of the Revolutionary War, Civil War, Korean War, and Viet Nam War. I've turned-off the TV since my before my youngest was born. (almost 30 years) Thst's a long time ago... I know what's happening. No need to see first hand or video. The reason I mention the wars is because in each of the wars I've mentioned (1812, Mexican Wars, too) I have a family member directly involved in the battles.

I'm praying for a new (different) copy machine to record all that I have. The good works thsy I vould do are not known by most of people that are not L.D.S. or Mormon. I hope I can make-up for lost time.

New Post. The News From Here

We aren't having puppies. If I haven't responded to your emails lately, I'm so sorry. I'm hearing our male dog, Duelly... crying again and it's been constant for a couple weeks. Darby was his best friend and my husband hasn't been able to fill the void left by Darby's death.

It has been exceptionally colder this year and Darby seemed slower except, when she was in with the goats and sheep. Darby loved herding! I looked forward to having her here with me and milking this Spring.

Darby seemed to tuck her legs in like she was cold a couple months ago. Once in awhile she wanted to stay inside until the afternoon and she'd hobble-up on the porch to see the grandchildren. My daughter noticed she didn't want to walk and was shivering. It was a normal day and not less than 70•. I panicked!

 My Steve, my daughter, and I went up to the vet's I held her in my arms. All the way, I held her tightly knowing it was the last time. I couldn't go in. The dog, my daughter, and my husband returned. It was only arthritis and she'd be herself with her medication morning and night.

Darby was herself and played, fetched everything, growled at Duelly to be gentle each time he was to close her. A few weeks went by with her medication and then, she couldn't uncurl herself, and we all knew she hurt. Darby couldn't eat or drink and I this time I knew this was it. Steve and Kiely took her back to the vet and Steve took Darby into see her doctor. Steve said she wasn't afraid, was relaxed and my husband said she went away slowly while he held her.

My daughter in Colorado is breeding stumpy Red and Blue Queenslands. She sent a note to me saying she would give me the first of her stumpy puppies. I'm not ready. PeeWee is getting a lot of attention.

Our Duelly, is even sadder than I am. Of course, we all know dogs die before we do and we mourn their passing. There's a huge reason that this isn't nearly like any other dog that has died in our care. Someday I may blog about it. Nothing really odd, just gratefulness for her and more. Miss you so much and can't believe you're gone, Darby Dog.

Happy Day