And Johnboy says… well then I’d be like a real writer! And the teacher says…you are a real writer. Before these goats, writing was my life, well, my secret life. I never shared them. I hesitate to post the poems and writings…because they are not who I am now…and I’ve seen a penchance for believing I’m succumbing, when I’m only telling a story. But as a writer, it eats at me that these babies of mine, no matter how depressing, never ever got to be seen. It is the writer in me. Each story, or each entry into a book, is so telling. So telling of the moment I was in. The poems too. I’ve written over a hundred poems. How many have you seen…. 5 or 6? If that?
My poetry has evolved, as I have. Nowadays, my poetry is automatic/free writing. I no longer sit engulfed in emotions for days upon days until I am ready to split wide open and therefore it pours out of me as a rhyming litany of my woes. My emotions don’t last that long anymore. I experience, then I move on. Even while I was in that swirling vortex of wrong path recently, I still was able to maintain.
Now Johnboy is explaining to his dad what he writes about. Us, you write about us? What is there in our life that’s so interesting that someone would want to read it? I think it sounds a lot like me. Me, writing about my days and my family and my animals. Johnboy writes about Reckless the dog, I write about Blue and the pups. I write about my day, the ups and the downs….and I suppose it’s a treat for say, someone living in the city, with people crowded everywhere and the closest they get to a goat is a carriage horse. Or those who live in a repressed, strict law society would like to read about my freedom of wondering something as simple as….. Should I go to town today? Should I watch TV or play with fiber? Should I…?
When will I make enough money to not have to ask my husband for some. How many women out there would just plain like to be safe, let alone have extra money so they don’t have to ask. I am so blessed. Maybe someone like me can help you feel secure that there is hope, there is light, there are people living freely. My life, my stories, even my boring days, could be a ray of light in someone else’s day. I would like that. I would really like that.
I read a lot of blogs. Many of them have 50 or so comments beneath them and I wonder. I think the reason I don’t is because my posts aren’t about one subject. They’re not simple and easy. They go from conversation to conversation and you gotta be paying attention to catch it. Kinda like exercising the brain. I think I challenge you, so I don’t regret how I write….ha, plus it’s just me, how I am, I write in the moment. I don‘t ever plan what I‘m going to talk about, not one iota. Oh ya…..one of my readers said I gave her a laugh about the s’mores. Oops, did I respond to her comment? Oh no, I don’t think I did! I read it on the Iphone during the Saturday chores in town. Darn. In case you guys don’t know….I respond to every comment. 😀 But jeesh folks….it’s not supposed to be so hard to make a s’mores! I’ve been told since that you melt the marshmallow with a flame, like when camping, on a stick. That then somewhat melts the chocolate. Hubby says I can use the flame on the stove…..hahaha. Lol.(truly, laughing out loud)
Ok, back to the Waltons As Johnboy is experiencing the telling of the loss of the historical typewriter, he is hanging his head as he walks in the door,… where the radio is talking about the number of dead in the war. Life has perspectives and life has degrees. One moment you can think you’re the saddest act around and the next…life slaps you in the face and shows you how bad it can be. When that happens…..grab life with both hands and yank!!!!!!!!! Pull it to you. Say Ok….to whatever the tiny signs are saying. If you’re a writer….keep writing and put it out there, shoot…..some blogs are one liners that they didn’t even write. I’m just sayin….it’s a big ole world out there now, with the internet, and at the same time…it’s so very small now too. Small in the essence of love touching no matter how far the distance. No matter how different the language…we are still connecting.
And by the way…. We go about our days as if there are a million to come. There are not. Any day could be our last. Could be your last, could be my last, could be their last……and on down to the animals in our lives….any day could be……. Why not live accordingly?
George called tonight!!! It was her birthday!!! It’s been months, and a few texts here and there and no returned phone calls. So not like George at all. George came here with Summer one time and didn’t leave for 10 months. During that time, she was wacko cokooburrs and was spouting stories that belong on TV, the scifi channel. She was nuts with a capital N and I somehow survived it. I remember telling her that I was leery of sleeping cuz I was afraid she’d hack my daughter to death while I was sleeping. Hahaha. Obviously, I helped her through, and at the same time, she helped me through. I was on my journey, but still in hermit mode then. Ahhh George….Phoenix to everyone else now but nope…not me. Not. She’s George to me and that’s all there is to it. So, George is in an awful gay relationship, they so don’t belong together, and I told her to come here and to stop and grab my daughter Summer on the way. Ya, she grew on me. Goodnight sweet ones. Sleep with the angels hovering over you. 1:34am.
Happy had her head in the hole…..again. So, now that they are used to Moonee, I left their gate open to give them access to the alleyway. Plenty of greenies in there. On the plus side….these girls have been very slow to get near me. With them getting stuck, they know they have to tolerate my touch. This time, I got her head back thru really easy, but her fiber got caught on the piece of wire that I had cut….once upon a time. She was pulling with all her might and I knew that it would pull out a severe chunk of hair if she was allowed to keep pulling so I straddled her, grabbed the offending hair and worked it free of the wire. Then I grabbed some of the blow away tarp and threaded it through some holes. Might work for a day or so. 😀
Feeding the boys. What a chore that is. Not in the way you think though. I love my boys. Today they came to the fence and I didn’t see any cows or horses anywhere. I threw one scoop. By the time I got the 2nd scoop there, here come the cows and horses who were in hiding,…..laying in wait. Murphy the mule got there first. He started kicking at the cows when they arrived. He kept this up, letting the goats eat with him, until the horses arrived. If you’ve ever wondered who wins in a fight over food between horses and cows? It’s always the horses. Everybody backs away when the horses come.
I hadn’t planned on feeding the girls today, but Hopi was acting odd, off by herself. I gave her some peanuts and she ate a few. As I walked away, she cried. This is an old gal who is terrified of me. But she spoke to me. First time we’ve ever had any kind of communication. So, I went back down and got the feed out and here comes Hopi. Apparently there is less grass to eat than I thought. Six acres? Not enough food in 6 acres? How odd is that? But just in case, I fed them. Oh well, guess I’d better go get the wayward pups out of the L again. Signing off at Curly Locks Ranch. And I leave you with one of my other babies…an old poem, written from my broken hearted days.
The tears are endless
As people watch on
I fight to live
People fighting for me, gone
A family stepped aside
A child left alone
I sit here in the night
All alone, on my own
The son they always wanted
They found him in my child
To throw me away and take him
Can never be reconciled
My baby cries for me
I hear him in the night
They say, stay away, he cries
Damn, I wonder why
This child and that child
There are two that are gone
Ones a boy, ones a girl
Ones brunette, one is blonde
Career in a shambles
Guess I’m afraid of success
Any day my mind can break
The world will be one less
The world, it crashes around me
It waits with a question mark
What to do with my life and times
How to find the light from the dark
Questions, questions, questions
Wondering what I should be
What will the people think
What will the people see
My answers have questions
But my questions have none
My reality is horror
So endless, I’m ready, I’m done
Sheri Lee 7/27/98