Mothers Day started out with an event that all moms encounter, hmmm,… not. As I was heading toward Lovey’s pen to give him his bottle, he is crying his little goat cry, eheheh, and I’m calling back to him with the same sound. My MOM ears hear another eheheh, from a direction I should not be hearing it. Now I’m running. Through the huge garden, through the girls gate, and I see all the girls inside the shelter(house). The cry is coming from the left and I see Milky at the far end of the pasture, stuck in the gate. Stuck? We just paid big money for this fancy 3 inch goat fence, how could she be stuck? I run back to the house to get Andy, run back out there and, turns out, remember I told you we had to put a hog panel up at each gate, so the girls couldn’t squeeze through where the gate meets the post? Well, her body was on the outside of the pen, in the huge main pasture and her head is through first the hog panel, then the 3 in square of the gate. We get her out, I let go,.. dumb, and she goes running along the fence line, all 6 acres worth, and her mom is running to get her, not knowing she’s on the outside. What fun. Andy is telling me I shouldn’t have let her go, no kidding. At least he helped me carry her back to the gate. 🙂 What a way to start the day. I was plum tuckered. Gave the bottle, started to leave for lunch and grocery store when Bubba shows up(he got out when we went running after Milky)and I have to run to let him in or he’ll find a way out. I must’ve run a mile this morning. Hard on these old frail lungs.
At feeding time, I wanted a picture of Milky so I went inside their house and sat on the shearing stand. Sweetpea decides to challenge Shortcake. Here’s the deal. Shortcake is 2 but very very tiny. Sweetpea will be 6 months old in July and will be the same size as Shortcake, so she feels the need to return the chalenge.
And I do mean challenge. The baby was tucking her chin down as far as she could, so she could then get the tippy tip of her horns into Shortcake.
My daughter called tonight to wish me Happy Mothers Day. Said she was so glad I was her mom and that she was born. I said, so then you’re glad I laid in bed for 8 months of my life so you could be born alive? She didn’t know that story. Kids, ha, she’s only 26. She says she’s going to see how my blog flows She’s a flowy hippified fairyish elf medicine woman, so who knows what she expects. She is wanting me to tell stories. I said don’t worry baby, I will be telling stories. Here’s a sort of story now, so Signing off at Curly Locks Ranch but leaving you with:
People are always telling me that I have talent. Someone just the other day said I had more talent in my finger than she had in her whole body. I just disagree. Words, now I do have a talent for that. Been doing it since I was a kid. Started out with poetry then went to writings, like this one, and a few books, that either never got published or never got finished. One book is the story of my life with my abusive husband Bobby. It’s hand written and I can only type a few paragraphs at a time, every few years or so, because the memories are too harsh. Who knows if it will ever get finished.
But that’s my writing. Speaking of writing, I have a pocket calendar for every year since 1977, with the exception of a yr or maybe it was a double calendar, so that would be 2 years, due to my purse being stolen in 1997. They all have little tiny explanations of my day, well, not all days, in fact some years I didn’t log much at all, but the point is, my whole life is charted, as is my life with Bobby. Parts of this new happy life are charted but not nearly enough, because I just hadn’t been drawn to writing as much as I was, my goats being the culprit. I love them more than writing. More than painting or working with clay.
Oh ya, I digress. Talent. Hmmm, so I’ve been posting some of my paintings at a grief website for a few weeks and they all say I have talent. I don’t. If I try to copy a scene, like another painting or a photo, it comes out bad. But if I just have something I want to say, I paint that in whatever way I think will get my point across quickly. I do not have painting skills, as such. Bad at perspective, bad at detail, bad at recreating. What I can do however, is paint from the heart. It may not look great, but you can usually get my drift. The same goes for my clay pieces. Which brings me back to my words. It all started at the grief website, well, face book actually, but anyways, it’s http://www.tomzuba.com. Same name for FB. My friend Tom, asked me to post 5 things I know now that I didn’t know when I was suicidal. He suggested I accompany that with a photo of some kind. It turned out that the photos I used were my paintings. Then he asked me to post a painting every Thursday and call it Sheri’s Painting Day. So, it started with the words, added in the art(which is not talent), and finished off with a blog where I am displaying one of my books, the Wiggles, and people are reading…..My words. Here is a poem I wrote once about my words.
Legacy Of Words
Words are pouring out of me
Pouring down like a hard rain
I sit here & try to capture them all
For you, I try to capture the pain
For a lifetime or just a minute
Or possibly even eternity
If my words can awaken or console
Then that’s my legacy
It’s a gift I leave to anyone
Anyone who wants to feel
Because my heart is inside each word
And every word is real…feel
I’ve lived too many lives
In the years I’ve been on this earth
I guess it’s really kinda sad
That words are all I grant as my worth
Sometimes I have to struggle
Just to get thru each minute
It’s a war between demons & angels
So far, the angels are winning it
I’m certain my life has a purpose
It may be these words I impart
I may never really know
So here, I leave…my heart.
As you can clearly see, the Angels won. And I am still, leaving my heart.