I'm not a feminist, but. . .

I am pro-woman, if that means anything at all. I love to be pampered and treated 'like a woman'. Sure, you can open my door for me, carry that heavy bag, pay for my dinner. . . (heh, heh). I don't get all the militant feminists insisting that they are the same as men, because I have one big, fat "does the word 'duh' mean anything to you?" for them on that one. Man - Woman. Pretty different, and it's not a bad thing. Women are entirely capable of most anything a man is, and then some. I do think we have to reserve a few things for each sex though. Men, you can have taking out the garbage and digging post holes. (On second thought, there are a lot of other things I would add to that list, but I don't have all night.) This woman (that's me.) would like to reserve not being the bread winner and all things mocha-flavored for herself. (Of course there's the obvious 'I can have a baby' thing lurking in the shadows, but I'm certainly not going to pull out that faulty card - we all know it takes two to tango.) Something I really have no patience for, however, is the assumption by any man that we women as a whole are a little lower on the intellectual ladder than men. It is astounding to me that this opinion really still exists. (It's really quite preposterous, if you ask me.) Seriously.
So, Saturday evening I was on my way home from the amazing massage my wonderful husband (not a chauvinist) had sent me to for my birthday. I had to stop for some fuel for the car - and I say fuel because I drive a diesel which, of course, doesn't run on 'gas'. There was a man filling up his minivan (who's the girl now, minivan guy?) on the other side of the pump I pulled up to. He was standing next to his car, so he both saw and heard me pull up. Diesel engines are not quiet even when they're little. As I filled up my car I noticed him watching me; looking at my little car, looking at the green diesel nozzle I was using, and looking at the dumb girl ruining her car by putting the wrong kind of fuel in it. Finally as he was driving away he decided it was time to put a stop to the madness.
MVG- Uh, you do know that's a diesel hose?
Me- Mm-huh. Sure do.
MVG- (staring) Uh, so, you can only use it in diesels.
Me- Yeah. Okay. Thanks. (Weird, You can only use diesel fuel in a diesel engine? That's just so unfair. Nobody told me!)
MVG- (Still staring - from the safety of his minivan) Uh, so is your car a diesel?
Me- Uh-huh. (No, actually I thought it might be fun to pay an extra fifty cents per gallon. It is my birthday, you know. I feel like splurging, and this seemed like the perfect way to do it! Dork.)
MVG- Oh, really, 'cause it's a car. Cars aren't usually diesels.
Me- Yep, it's a diesel. Promise. (What do you think these pumps are for, tractors?)
Mini-Van-Guy gave me one more suspicious look and drove s-l-o-w-l-y away. He was probably calling the diesel police. A.) If you don't know what you're talking about in the first place - don't talk. B.) It's a good thing it was my birthday or he would have really irritated me. (No one's allowed to tick me off on my birthday, it's my unwritten law. Deal with it. It should be an everyday law but sometimes I'm just too tired (ie:irritated) to enforce it.) C.) Minivans are stupid. Unless the doors open and shut by themselves, because that's pretty cool. BUT they'll never be pretty.
Oh yeah, and my point? There are a lot of less-than-smart people out there, I don't think one sex or the other really has dibs on having the majority.

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na!

The boys wanted me to post their current favorite song. Yeah, check my flow. They especially like the "na-nas" and the "_______'s going to start a fight". What can I say, they don't go for the slow moody stuff but they DO have good taste. No radio Disney here. We can all do a serious groove to the Tings Tings though - even better than our 'Psyche' theme song dancing. (I know that's hard to believe. . . if only you could see it.)
I turn a year older in two-and-a-half hours, by the way. Woo-hoo! I would tell you to hurry up and be the first one to wish me a Happy Birthday, but my little brother, Josh called this morning from Russia to be the first. He's convinced it should count since it was one-thirty a.m. on Saturday there. I'll let it slide.

Farewell Summer. . . Hello Beautiful Fall!

The best thing about living in an area that actually has seasons - in contrast to my years in the desert - is that just when you start to get a little tired of one extreme it's time to move to something else. So now that I've had enough of being dirty, sticky, tired and hot (do keep in mind I have to wear jeans and boots to work no matter what the weather is!) it's finally time to layer on the clothes instead of the sunblock. (So now I'll just be dirty and tired!) I love Fall. The colors are spectacular here - in the mountains especially.

So, before I inundate you with a bazillion fall-color pics I have to say good bye to summer! Farewell my favorite late summer beauties:

P.S. We ran into this guy yesterday and I took a ton of pictures of him (from about thirty feet away - apparently we're not very scary humans - don't know if that's an 'on horseback' thing or a girlie thing). We were waiting for him to stand up and run away, and by the time he finally did my batteries were 'exhausted'. I love that my camera says that, by the way. Poor batteries, are you EXHAUSTED?! Have I been working you too hard? Seeing gorgeous animals like this up close is my other favorite thing about Fall in the mountains!

I seriously don't get how they cruise around with something that massive on their heads. Why don't they tip over?

How Did This Happen?

I'm a little late with this post, but if I gave up all the things I'm late for, sadly, I wouldn't do a whole lot. (Since tardiness is my ONLY flaw I've decided to embrace it rather than try to overcome it. Oh, sorry, that was a lie. . . so I guess I have two faults.) ANYWAY, enough about me, my BABY BOY is three. HOW, I ax you, did that happen? Apparently letting him keep his binki at bedtime didn't stay the hands of time. Now he has officially even given the binki the boot. He tossed his last two into the stinky garbage can last night in a moment of reckless abandon. An hour or so later when we headed for bed, he tiptoed back downstairs for them but came back empty handed because the garbage can smell almost made him sick! (You see, there are advantages to not taking the garbage out immediately. Although, that's really the only one that comes to mind.) We'll have to see how he does without one tonight!

I feel like I've been able to enjoy Nick's crazy antics a little more than Max and Grey's because I don't have a new baby to steal some of the attention. He's such a character - so sweet, goofy, and mischievous! Even though when I ask him if he's 'my boy' he always says 'NO, I Daddy boy. You Max and Grey boy'. Apart from from the obvious mix-up of me being the older boys' boy, rather than them being mine . . . he's really quite precise in how he feels the family is split up. But I know - deep down inside - he's my boy too!

Happy Birthday Little Man!

It's so easy. . .

Oh no, here it is. Part of me feels so evil and mean to post this picture, but the other part laughs too hard to not. I apologize in advance to the person in the photo. I'm sure he is a really good person. Really. . . it's Geico's fault in the end.

Ah-ha!

Thanks for showing me the error of my ways Alyssa! We have playlist liftoff! If I would have done it on my own I would toot my horn, instead I'm tooting for Alyssa.
(I tend to lean toward the moody stuff, but maybe I'll have to shake it up a bit, eh?)

5 Things

I know I have been a big whiner for over a week - or at least you think I have since I haven't posted forever. BUT I swore I wouldn't post again until I got the blasted 'personal playlist' gadget working. You are now realizing that this is still a silent blog. I know. I can see you sitting there with you head tipped slightly toward your monitor. No, the volume isn't muted, your speakers are fine. It's me. I swear I'm following the directions, at least I think I am. Oh, who am I kidding- I am obviously NOT following the directions the way I should be or you would be enjoying my latest musical obsession. HOWEVER, I can't take it anymore - the not posting thing - and just like my oath to never enter another Walmart as long I live, I'm back sans the music.
I have the greatest picture on my phone and as soon as I can get it from my phone to the computer (yes, my technological savvy is lacking in many ways) I have to post it, and then we'll all laugh. And feel a little guilty about laughing. And laugh again. On the edge of your seats? Uh-huh.
What I really meant to tell you all is that I hurt my back a couple of weeks ago and while I've been waiting for it to heal (ie: I REALLY feel like an old woman now) I learned some very important things . . .about backs.

5 Things I Never Knew My Back Was Involved In:

1. Laying Down - I mean really! If you can't lay down, what can you do?
2. Vacuuming ( I know. That's pure naivety.)
3. Painting My Toenails
4. Laundry. (Good excuse to ignore it if I could justify sending the boys to school without underwear . . .)
5. Putting on My Pants. (You may also substitute 'pants' with 'underwear', if you feel like you must.)


Don't go worrying though. I went to the doctor and he 'adjusted' the worst of it away. (I can't begin to spell the nerve that was being pinched. Let's just not go there.) I thought the doc's advice on how to let my back heal was rather inspirational though: No standing. No sitting. Try to just walk and lie down. Seriously. Thought he was making a joke at first. How is that even possible? Anyway, now I'm just mildly sore and fairly functional. It's like old times! Woo-hoo!

Oh, oh, oh. I almost forgot. I have a new favorite word : PREPOSTEROUS! ('Inexplicably' was my old favorite and is still very close to my heart.) I love it because it sounds preposterous if you actually use it. Try it. I dare you. Say it out loud, try to slip it into a conversation without smirking when you say it. Don't be preposterous!

The Duke of Escalante Oct. 29, 1995 - Sept. 4, 2008

"We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals. Remote from universal nature, and living by complicated artifice, man in civilization surveys the creature through the glass of his own knowledge and sees thereby a feather magnified and the whole image in distortion. We patronize them (animals) for their incompleteness, for their tragic fate of having taken form so far below ourselves. Therein we err, and greatly err. For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. The animals are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth." - Henry Beston

My heart is broken. My friend, my old running and riding partner, my protector, my confidant, my first 'baby' - is gone. We have known it was coming for years, but as much as that makes it seem like it should be easier to say goodbye, it doesn't make it so. Knowing he was failing horribly doesn't make it easier. Feeling he is in a better place now doesn't make it hurt less.

We got Duke the summer that we got married as a hyper one-and-a-half-year-old from some friends that didn't have the time to put into training him. That was eleven and a half years ago. We already had an older Golden Retriever, Gert, that surprisingly took him under her wing. Between her training and Tyler's I hardly had to do anything. Duke came to work with me when I used to guide horseback tours and ran back and forth in front of the horses as we went - the same way he did when I took him running. It was like he couldn't help but run on ahead to see what was there, but he kept coming back to make sure I was still there. He must have covered at least twice as much ground with all his doubling back. If ever there was a dog whose physical makeup resembled 'Tigger', it was Duke. His 'bottoms were made out of springs'. He could jump vertically past my shoulders - from a stand-still, and would just because he was happy to see us.
Duke was all about being a retriever - if he didn't have a toy to be thrown he would find one - sticks (of course) and old water bottles were his favorite 'found' treasures. He would fetch as long as he could find someone to throw. If there was water involved there was no dog happier. He would leap with reckless abandon off of docks, the boat deck, rock walls, you name it. If you threw his toy - he would fly first, and then swim to bring it back.

Thunderstorms and fireworks, however, melted the poor thing into a quivering mess. Everyone knows animals act differently before a storm and if you know what signs to look for you can predict the weather. Duke was far more accurate than the weatherman, and an open book with his signs. Until the last year or so he never slept in our room, and a cold wet nose pressed into my side or nuzzling my palm in the middle of the night could only mean one thing. If a storm came when we weren't home Duke would burrow into the corner of our closet until either we came home, or the storm passed. His 'Tigger'-like hind end came in handy for him if he was outside when thunder started to roll - no fence could hold him. He ran, and ran, and ran - apparently he was trying to outrun the storm because he would turn up miles and miles away from home and never in the same area twice.

When I starting working at the ranch Duke and our new(er) Golden came to work with me most every day. While Sadie was still learning to control herself and would endlessly disappear after elk herds, sage hens or anything else we came across on the trail, Duke would simply perk up his ears, take a couple of deer-like bounds towards the wildlife in question and come dutifully back to me. The only occasion I can think of that he didn't come back the first time I called, I'm convinced he thought he was protecting me. Maybe he was. I used to ride a lot by myself - I felt safe enough being on horseback and having the dogs there as well. It was late Spring and the elk herds had temporarily scattered a bit for the pregnant cows to have their babies. We startled one just off the trail. Her baby must have just been born because it wasn't standing yet. The new 'mama' charged us. Sadie, miraculously, came running to me but Duke ran straight at the elk barking like crazy. The elk kept lifting up onto her hind legs and then crashing down low with her fronts out straight, almost like she was doing a very exaggerated bow - but with a completely different meaning. Duke was doing the same thing. They were facing each other and turning in large crazy circles with the point between them as the axis, Duke barking and snarling the whole time. I'd seen him act that way before when he was playing with us, with other dogs (even with some coyote pups), but this was different - it was more serious. His tail wasn't wagging, his tongue wasn't lolling playfully out of his mouth. Instead his lips were pulled back over teeth in a snarl. My sweet boy looked absolutely ferocious. I was riding a young horse that wanted out of the situation and I had a hard time just keeping him from bolting as I yelled for Duke to come. About one-hundred yards up the trail I got my horse to stop. When we got to that point it was as if Duke decided we were far away enough to be safe and came bounding after us. Instead of his usual spot out in front, however, he tailed us until the cow elk finally turned around and went back to her baby. Then he moved to the front clearly high from his encounter. I had always felt safe hiking, running, and riding with Duke. I felt like he would protect me, although I imagined a human attacker rather than another animal. After that incident I knew I had been right. We protected him from his fears and he was ready to protect us.

We told ourselves once he couldn't get around well it would 'be time'. That stage came and went. He still seemed happy when he was with us and rarely let any chance to follow us around outside pass him by, even though he was moving in an increasingly slow shuffle. The arthritis in his front elbows had fused his joints stiff and straight. We tried every medication the vets offered. The nerves in his back had begun dying a few years ago and slowly his back legs had lost feeling, which is why he shuffled. He moved his front legs and the back legs would follow. Stairs became impossible for him to maneuver over the last two months, we carried him up and down. Once he couldn't stand up by himself we would pick him up and steady him and then he would be okay. And then suddenly he wasn't. He couldn't stay standing unless we held onto him for awhile and positioned his legs. Still, sometimes even then he would fall right back down. He could barely hear anymore, his eyes had started to cloud over and we couldn't keep weight on him. The look in his eyes said everything, and we knew we couldn't put him through it any more.

As Tyler dug Duke's grave and I tried to do something - anything to keep myself from thinking and crying more, I found poor tender-hearted Grey standing on the back bumper of the Suburban. He was peering through the open window at Duke wrapped up in a blanket and had the saddest expression I've ever seen on his face. I put my arm around him and told him it's okay to cry when you feel sad. Glad for a tender-hearted husband, I pointed out that 'Daddy' had cried too. He got down and hugged me and I could tell then that he had already been crying. I still remember the way I felt as a child the first time I lost a pet. I know it's a part of life. I know the level of joy can only reach as deep as the level of our sorrow. I know each loss helps us grow and cherish what we have. I know these things, and I'm still sad. I am sad to lose my friend and sad to watch my boys dealing with losing their friend too. Duke has always been an immediate part of their world, and now the world has changed, and I can't kiss it to make it better. More than sending the boys off to a new year of school, I feel like we all grew older today.

Duke, you are greatly loved and missed.

What's bugging Tyler

The kids are in school. The leaves are changing. The a/c isn't on half the time. The boat has barely moved all summer. It sits clean and shiny in the garage, waiting. . .

Poor Tyler waits all year - literally counting the days - for the warm months to arrive. He has the harbor weather report lines for the local lakes on his speed dial. I'm not kidding. By the time March hits each year he has checked water temperatures at lakes that take a day just to drive to. We normally take at least one early Spring boating getaway to a warmer area only to freeze our little wetsuits off in the still icy waters. He prices drysuits and rubs his hands like an evil villain type as he plots his escape to a more boat-friendly climate.

This spring and early summer was all about getting the house done. The rest of the summer has been about getting moved in and situated, and now it's gone. If the weather doesn't warm up enough for a few late summer days on the lake I fear the road trips he has already hatched out in his mind. I'm crossing my fingers for a bit more heat before we plunge all the way into cold, wet Fall.