A mother returns in a tulip, and a horse turns 17

On April 4th of 2013, my best friend died-my mother. She was only 87. I say "only" because you never would have guessed her age and I never totally acknowledged she'd ever die.

And on April 4, 1998, another good friend of mine was born. A big red horse with a sturdy build and stoic manner entered the world, far from me in another time-when I still longed for a farm and horse and was living in Minneapolis, my horse had entered the world. I often think of him those first 10 years with out me- what was he doing, what did he look like as a colt?

So when my mother died, suddenly, two years ago, I was in shock. The little birthday ride I had planned on Boone that day did not happen. I felt everything leave my body that day. At first I thought it was a real drag to have my horse's birthday entwined in my mother's death. Anniversaries bring up so much-and now how would I ever forget her death day, as I can't forget it is entwined with Boone.

That day as I did feedings, I told Boone,

"My mom died," and I cried into his neck. He ate his hay in contentment. I cried. He ate, I cried. And I realized, this is a wonderful merging of two circumstances-a death and a birthday. I remember thinking at that moment,

Oh, oh, oh, it's her! She arranged this!

She was still the mother, saying in her matter of fact way,

"Now, look, I know I died and you are sad, but get on that horse! Remember how long you waited for him? Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

I thought this last year on the 4th, and I will think it this year, and in years to come.

We are here in the living. I plan to shed a tear whenever I need to, but I am happy in the living, for now. I suppose at some point, and it may only be a seconds worth of time, I'll be ready to go. But for now, I will celebrate the 4th as a Celebration of the Gifts of Death and Life.

Death is to life as night is day. It has been said in much more poetic ways over and over for centuries. Nature shows us the entwining of the two states of being each day-how can the flower be born if it's seed pod isn't broken apart only to become a shoot breaking through the underworld. The farm of course is the grandest theatrical production of life and death on stage together. Just as life wins the hearts of the audience, a mysterious stranger comes into act two only to take over, again.

The day my mother died many messages were brought to me. I was sending out invisible S.O.S's, and the universe around gave me as many lifts as I was open too. My mother loved tulips, and she gave me a huge quantity of tulip bulbs to plant at my farm-some years before she died. Within time, the bulbs petered out, and each spring there were fewer tulips. And the year she died, I saw only one shoot coming up. And it bloomed at her death. I treated that tulip not like a symbol of my mother-I treated it AS IF IT REALLY WAS my mother. I put a protective cage around her so the sheep wouldn't trample her as they went to the fields in the morning. And as her petals began to fall, it was like losing her all over. But then I remembered the lesson of her death day. It's life that remains to be cherished. There was beauty all around the fallen tulip, that tulip had done her job.

I wasn't sure if Mother Tulip would return this year, but she did. This year, I smiled and smiled when I saw her.  It was like getting a bouquet of one from her. She is still the only tulip in the front yard.

So, this coming week- we are going to celebrate in honor of my mother, and Boone. We are going to celebrate the birthdays of Rosie the grumpy pig who turns 7, and the birthday of our beloved elder matriarch of the flock, Daisy who turns 12. I will be posting ways you can participate in this Celebration of the Gifts of Death and Life very soon. Stay tuned.

The Blue Bridge

The Head Mistress on duty

It may not always look like it, but Marcella is always watching what is going on in her barnyard. She is over a year now and I can see the maturity level rising. She has really good instinct which her breeder worked hard over the years to maintain - he breeds for working farm and has a flock of his own and also educates about the Maremma breed throughout the year.

I sat today at lunch and took this sequence of images of Marcella- all within about ten minutes. She may look beautiful, but I wouldn't want to be a stranger entering her barn at night.

Noses on high alert

I finished this piece the other day and found it really evocative for some reason. I think part of my child soul is in this piece, perhaps residing in that little red barn, peeking out at her landscape, planning her day of adventure. The plum trees have blossomed and there is this slightly sweet scent in the air-all noses of Apifera are engaged in active smelling year round, but I suspect spring makes their nose receptors on high alert.

Sophie's content morning

I had noticed the fog had begun swooping over the valley after we awoke to a beautiful, sunny morning. It often happens and I suspect by afternoon it will be sunny again. It is beautiful and always catches me in the throat as much as the heart,

"Have to get my camera," I thought.

I was returning from a few minutes of photo play and saw a white mop in the barnyard, perfect positioned against her barn of red. It is a spot she is often in, but today she seemed to pose for me. I didn't have my favorite lens on, darn it, but still, caught her. A photo to look at now, and years to come, and remember,

"That was Sophie."

{You can make a monthly sponsorship to help me with the many Misfits-the special needs animals who come to spend their elder years here, no matter how long they have}

Preparing for wings now

I'm focusing on painting and creating for both my September show and Sundance. Always a balancing act because you get some pieces done and someone might want a piece, and you the artist want the income, but you need to build a show and get a feel for how it is evolving. For me that means seeing the pieces together. So I just decided the only way around it is to paint my eyeballs out through May! Then break to prep for Pino Pie Day and the Workshop, then continue to create puppets and other creatures in clay or fabric for the show. I'm excited about the show as I haven't done one since 2013 and this one is a 2 hour drive so I have a bit more wiggle room with the types of things I will be able to drive there, versus shipping.

This piece is called "Preparing for Wings Now".

Commune like a donkey...sometimes

One of the graces of my life here is I have many creatures around me without opinions. I have many opinions, I'm sure you do too. Opinions are important, especially to the person with the opinion. With technology today, opinions come all day long. It's hard to look away sometimes, isn't it? I know many people that are irritated by so and so online, yet they continue to peek at their news feeds. I do it too. I hate it, but I do. Such a waste of time and energy. I have a note on my wall in front of me,

"What do you need right now?"

to help me walk away from that compulsive human behavior. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

It seems some people, many with strong Facebook presences, take glory in their opinions to the point where they become bullies. And they are the worst kind of bullies-the ones that claim they don't tolerate bad behavior on their pages, but they turn around and act cynically to certain commenters. Some of those commenters might need a push out the door, but some are just sharing their opinions, or asking the wrong questions in the poster's mind. These same bullies that constantly shame commenters on their Facebook pages, can then turn around and are flabbergasted when that same person stands up to them-and the initial bully calls the commenter a bully. 

It's ridonkulous!

Recently in an interview, President Clinton was asked about race relations in our country, and if he thought they were getting better or worse. Part of his answer resonated with me. He said part of all the problems in the world right now, including race issues, is we care too much about being right, not necessarily discussing issues and exploring facets of opinions.

Like the Buddhist saying,

"Do you want to be right, or do you want to be at peace?"

My interactions with the animals do not require that we sit around and discuss politics or hot button issues- thank goodness, because you know The Head Troll would probably be right about everything. There is no right way for the goat to chew, there is no right way to dress, and the color of my skin or the sagging of it is not important to any of my gang. All the chatter of the outside world can be put in a box while I sit and do chores with the animals.

The trouble is, one still has to live with it and hone our communication skills, and our listening skills, to deal with online aggression and over shouting of opinion.

More and more, I just want to be. I want to paint, and create, and just do it. I love sharing to an audience. I do. I admit it. I see my work as a cycle-it gets created, but it is when it is shown to the outside world that it fulfills its own destiny. It is out of my control after that. It goes off and emotes whatever it has in it to whoever cares to sit in front of it.

I had a thought this past week that has kept coming to me. What if I just disappeared-socially? I lived unconnected before, we all did. Would I be like the tree that falls in the forest-if I wasn't sharing constantly, would anyone hear me? Would anyone remember to check in once in awhile? Would it matter?

It's a beautiful day here. There was no bully behavior in the barnyard at breakfast. There is a big blue sky of opportunity above me and paintings sitting waiting for my non opinion. I hope you might stumble on a donkey waiting to commune with you- or any other creature or human that might sit with you for moments of uninterrupted non opinion time.

Watch out for outsiders

I did this piece yesterday, and when I finished, I thought,

"What an odd little piece..."

but I soon realized it is a perfect reenactment of what I feel is going on in my life right now. I can't really figure out how to write about it, yet, or if I should write about it in an public and honest way. So I guess my muses just helped me paint it for now.

Paynes gray and sheep

The sky this time of year can bring incredible displays of Payne's Gray, and juxtaposed next to my sheep is always so striking. I never grow tired of it, never see it without an internal gasp.

Aliens land at Apifera

In the past months, we've been working on developing our upper fields so that we can graze the flock there and give our lower fields more of a rest. This means a lot more fencing, which is half done. It also means I get nervous about passing coyotes and other predators who can easily go under a fences. We've been hearing them more passing through. I still bring my flock in at night to be in paddocks by the barns or the house. And since Marcella is still a work in progress, and Benedetto is still a runner in process and I don't trust them completely yet, I decided to acquire more llamas.

Rather than get adults, I opted to raise some up. I found a great llama breeder nearby who also has sheep. It was a pleasure working with her to pick a couple youngsters out. I am still so new to llamas but find them very interesting. Aldo the Elder was adopted a year or so ago and while he defiantly knows sheep and guards, he is old and his pasterns have fallen. It would be inappropriate to put him in the upper fields. He does really love it when the flock is in the lower field where he can watch over them. Sometimes when he sees them up in the higher fields, he does his little llama whine, telling me he is a bit agitated his flock is so far away.

So, I came home with two 10 month old llamas. My reasoning-yes, I actually had a plan- is that I will put the male up in the upper fields with the flock. When the flock moves down to the lower fields, he will come along, but he will be separate from the female llama. The female llama [the white one in the photos] will stay with Aldo and she will eventually be separate from the black male. This separation will happen in the next couple weeks. I will have to castrate the male when he is about 15 months. I learned you want to wait to castrate the llama male due to growth requirements.

I really wasn't thinking of getting two llamas, but since the Maremmas are being problematic for me, I wanted to know that I would always have a llama in my lower and middle fields where Aldo is now. So when I went to look at the llamas, this little white girl was all lovely with me, and I thought Aldo would love having a mate again since he lost his long time partner to old age. The black male was much more skittish, which is fine. He is to bond with his flock, not necessarily me. I will have to do a bit of work in the coming two weeks though to gain his trust more. He leads very well and his former farm worked with putting halters on them.

We brought them home yesterday and they traveled just fine. The poor boy though was shaking a lot getting in the trailer-so many new experiences all at once. The girl is very calm, more personable. They led well into the orchard area and Aldo immediately rushed over, not so much friendly, as,

"Hey, wait a minute who is coming into MY area with MY sheep!?"

I let the llamas off their leads and there was no real trouble, but within minutes, Aldo retreated from them, which surprised me. But by day's end, he let me know, and them, that he was the lead llama, fallen pasterns or not! It is the first time I've seen Aldo spit, and he did so when the girl kept trying to make friends.

At the end of the day, I wanted to try and catch them both for some one on one time. This was problematic. It didn't help that the White Dogs stood at the gate barking. It became more of a lesson for the dogs, that these two odd looking aliens are now living here, no need to bark at them. I've heard no barking today, they learn fast. But when I did try to catch the two youngsters, I couldn't, and tried all my tricks for llama catching. The boy was getting stressed, and at one point Aldo tried to guard me from them, but then a minute later, Aldo spit on the young arrivals. So I quit for the night.

This morning, I awoke to find the two youngsters under the big Doug Fir out back, surrounded by the flock, and Aldo was nearby. Aldo is still a bit peeved at me, I'm not sure exactly why, I think because he saw me trying to round up the young ones. In time, I know the girl will tender up pretty good, but right now, I'm just letting them relax, there is time for separation and learning in the weeks to come.

The fiber from the male will be beautiful, so I will learn how to get a good shearer for their fiber.

I am awaiting their names, which will come to me as I get to know them better.

Today's guest blogger: Paco the Poet

{I have asked Paco to write today's post. It's a good way to let him express himself and it gives you all a fresh view on life. Paco is our resident poet, and worrier, but he's very loved and no donkeys have been mismanaged to bring you this post.}

They keep telling me to come over.

"On that wood? It seems skinny. I am not skinny," I told them.

I was worried. I might float away on the skinny rivulet below.

They could hear my thoughts.

"Don't worry, Paco, it won't break or float away. We want you to come. There is so much to eat up here."

That was Pino. He is the star. He was the first donkey and he is a star. He has books and a pie day and he is a star. I am a normal donkey.

"Mother Matilda, are you going to go over it?" I asked her.

She just trotted by me and never even looked back. She does that. She is confidant. She shows me in action what to do, without words.

"Wait, you are leaving me here?" I asked them as they turned away.

And they did. They climbed the hill and left me in the pasture.

I will be brave. I will eat here today.

This isn't so bad.

Wait, I can see their ear tips up on the hill. I must call them so they know I am still here.

"I am still here!" and I brayed and brayed.

I see their ear tips again. They acknowledge me with their ears forward. But now their ears are relaxed, in bramble. They are not worried about me.

I was brave all day. The sheep came down and I took them to the barn. I protected them from possible hawks. You never know when a huge hawk is going to swoop out of the sky and pick up a 200# sheep. I worry about that. It could happen. So it is good I'm here for them.

Snapshot moment

Sometimes, often really, nature gives us such unexpected and beautiful juxtapositions like Uno the rooster against the little, young weeping cherry tree.

Look carefully and you shall find

Sophie has this knack for finding the best places to take a nap, nearby so she doesn't miss anything, hidden so the pigs and hooligans don't bug her.

Workshop is filling up

If you are pondering taking the June 27th workshop here at Apifera, you might want to consider enrolling now to secure a spot. We have a wonderful group coming from all over the country-I'm just thrilled! This is going to be a day of soul and story, merged with animal energy all around. It will be a gift for me too, believe me.

There are still at least 5 spots left, and I might allow a few more after that. So just a heads up for you.

You can read all about the workshop and sign up if you are ready.

"Hey, lady!"

I get a lot of,

"Hey, lady!" shout outs around here. They have a good point, I think.

"Put that thing down and get us some breakfast!"

And I did!

Marcella and shepherdess confrontation

Marcella at this gate this morning, ready to start over, as am I.

{Update- Marcella has moved on, so have I. We had a great working day yesterday and all is well. Chalk it up to life.}

Marcella and I had a confrontation yesterday. I failed her in a big way. I made a mistake and I am disappointed with myself because I knew the second I was doing it I was pushing her too far.

I got up Saturday all ready to get my flock into the barn to begin the job of giving them spring shots, trimming their feet and deworming them. I would have 32 ewes to do and it would be good day of work with my flock even though it would also be tiring. Tasks like this can clip along at a nice pace, or one snafu in the barnyard can set things off track. I have to bring the flock into the goat barn, but first I have to put any Misfits, and the dogs, into stalls so I can have my sheep in the front two stalls and isle. I herd a few sheep at a time out of the stall into the isle, halter one at a time and work on them; after each one is done, they get sent out to the barnyard so I don't get confused. Much easier than keeping a list like I did in the early days.

I arrived at the barnyard gate in the morning ready for action.

Hmmm, no dogs. No goats, or pigs. It was raining, but that never stops Marcella. I sensed a barnyard mischief session was going on somewhere.

As I got to the goat barn, Marcella stuck her head out. She looked happy. Happy in a way a kid looks after he just stole the entire cookie jar and ate it before mom came home. The goats were standing around looking like they knew something wasn't quite right but weren't able to pinpoint what it was. And Benedetto, sweet Buddha Benedetto was lying in the corner, staying out of all of it.

There in the isle was a white bucket, a white bucket I had hung over six feet off the ground. I had left it there last week, high up on the wall, after I had wormed and trimmed the goats. It had stayed there safely and I thought it was safe from Marcella. I don't know why I didn't take it into the hay barn where I now keep all my meds in safety from her, but I didn't. Marcella loves to chew on plastic, she is getting better with age, but still does it if given a chance.

She had taken the new jar of dewormer that was in the said bucket and dumped it by chewing off the top. I had just bought it. All the needles I had used to give shots the week before were strewn about, fortunately I always recap them, and she had chewed anything that was plastic-all the syringes and wrappings. Thank goodness it was Valbazon and not Ivermectin, the latter is much more lethal in large doses and the wormer had soaked into the straw bedding underfoot.

I was livid. We had a financial snafu this past week , right before my birthday. We will work through it in time, not looking for pity, but the timing of it stunk, like most financial surprises. It put a damper on an already emotional birthday. I was having to really scramble with juggling money and when I went to the feed store to buy supplies, I made a big sigh when I saw Valbazon was up to $50. It seems to go up and up every year. Ah well, all is well, things will be okay, suck it up.

So, besides the fact my day of routine was now altered, $50 was down the drain, and that is a lot of money to lose when you are trying to break even on a small flock.

I scolded her, and she went on her side, submissive. But I'll be brutally honest, I sort of snapped. Maybe from the financial stress, or the emotional issues of grief and loss that came to a head over my birthday, I don't know, but I over reacted. Marcella got up and went into the front stall to be away from me because I was still mad. I followed her and just asked her why she had done that, and went on and on how hard things were right now. But she was up against the back wall, and I was walking towards her as I spoke in an angry tone.

That was so stupid of me. I'm ashamed. My anger got in the way of a good training moment with my working partner.

Of course she took it as a threat. This is not a pet dog. This is not a pug, or a lab or any other non guard dog. This is a breed that for centuries has been bred to protect. And I was in a stall with some of her charges - Victor and Sophie- and I was acting threatening with my tone, and was walking toward her when she was backed up to a wall.

She jumped on me, growling, and latched onto my arm. I had a coat on, and it was a soft latch- but it was to tell me,

"Look, I'm not going to take your threats, stop it."

I turned my face from hers and relaxed and she let go. And I walked away. But it didn't end there.

I took her into the hay barn to feed her, and did other feedings. Eventually I went back to the hay area and I kneeled down about 10 feet from her, and called her over. She came right away, submissively, tail wagging and head down. I petted her and told her I was sorry, that I had done that all improperly, and I went to lean my head near her, onto her shoulder which I often do. I had my big, floppy hat on. I don't know why, but she let out a soft growl at me. Then stopped when I moved my head away. I thought maybe it was my hat, but I got up and went about my business. She was not ready to trust me yet.

Not long after, I was doing more chores in the barnyard, and Benedetto was hanging out with me and over comes Marcella. She leaned her head into my shoulders ad we just sat together for some time, in silence.

I told Martyn about it and I told him how I had really failed out there, I snapped in anger. I wasn't even mad about what she had done, it was all the other stuff that happened that week and I let it take over. They always tell you not to ever get in the arena to train when you are mad. This is so true with any kind of teaching of any creature. I know this, and somehow I didn't have the skills that morning to walk away from my own anger.

It deeply saddened me that I failed her that way. But today, was a new day. I will strive not to fail her again.

Walking with moons and other stuff

Just some donkey house keeping. The new Donkey Wisdom journals are at the printer and I should have them by mid April if all goes well. I'm really excited to get them out to those who have taken time to pre-order.

I might sound like a broken record, but want to emphasize how important pre-sales are to me as an indie creator. It allows me to pay for printing in larger quantities so I can keep the product price down, as well as keeping me out of debt. The money goal on the pre-order site pays for printing only, so I don't see income until after that is paid off. I'm a bit disappointed we haven't had the pre orders for the journal as we have for the last two books. I'm not sure why and we all have our limits of products, sales, crowd sourcing and donkey power...wait, we have no limits with donkey power.

So if you are thinking of buying a journal, it helps a lot if you do it now. And the pre-order pricing is going to be the lowest retail price.

And one other garish mention-the $20 doodle sale ends tonight.

Eerie journey through the woods of light

Yesterday morning I went for an early ride, alone. I am very fortunate to have access to my nearby friend's land with riding trails, free of cars and wandering dogs–although we run into an occasional critter, as there are many living on the 200+ acres of property-all in protected lands.

I know there is the occasional cougar up there but have never seen one. It's ridiculous to think they aren't there, as it is high up, remote and the males have large territories. I have always been afraid of cougars, having read some bounty hunter website when I first moved to the farm that scared the britches off me. Coyotes I can handle, bobcats, hawks, eagles–but I've always felt if I ran into a cougar that would be it. I've heard differing opinions on this, but what most will say is you can't outrun them, and you can't lay down for them. One hunter told me that they are always looking at me if I'm in a remote wooded area. The area where I ride is country, but there are properties of 100 acre parcels around, cow farms, sheep breeders and horses, and of course- filberts, orchards and grapes.

My riding friend had an incident where her very seasoned horse became very agitated on a solo wooded ride. She respected it, and they headed back to more open trails. My other friend was hiking in this area and knew the land well, but it was nearing dusk. She said she had a 'feeling' on the back of her neck, and knew she was being watched by something, and decided to head back since it was getting a bit dark.

So on my ride yesterday, I was pondering how many creatures might have been watching me and Boone. Boone is a very good trail horse. When I bought him, the man told me he was sure footed-which he is- but also that he was very attentive but not in a high strung way. Anyone that knows Boone knows that "high strung" is his opposite! On trails, Boone will often stop, and watch. I allow this-as I feel it is his personality and instinct. Sometimes I know it is a trick to eat grass, but when he stops in a certain way, I assume he is sensing one of our forest friends.

We entered the woods, a nice trail, somewhat spooky but in a beautiful way. The light was exceptionally eerie yesterday-maybe it was my melancholy mood. Yes, it was my birthday, but I was a bit blue. I had certain people on my mind that are aging and failing, and I felt a huge void for my family that are mostly gone now. As wonderful a life as it is, I just felt sad yesterday, sort of like I could feel as a little girl when scared. I felt vulnerable.

As Boone and I rode, I sensed there were many messengers in that forest with me. I don't like to combine technology on many of my rides-but I did take my phone out to capture the light if possible. I did not alter these images but when I got home I felt it was a document of that forest being alive-both in reality but also in a spiritual sense.

When I got home, I had a letter from my only surviving Uncle, my mother's brother. He is a wonderful guy, and health issues are catching up to him and his wife. He always remembers my birthday. He is the final blood elder who will be in my life. He told me he was looking at a photo of my mom as he wrote the letter, and that he too missed their chats.

I think that was my sadness in the forest. It was my sadness, but also the sadness of my Uncle and maybe my mother knew it and just wanted everyone to be okay, she is okay, she said it through the branches in the wind. The light of the forest seemed like the sadness we face after we lose everyone, and the weight it takes on all of us, especially the last remaining elders who are still at the party with one foot in the room and one out the door. But when I looked up through the trees, there was sky, a different kind of light, a light of life here on earth.

I might have been a Bridgette

I was born this day fifty seven year ago, in 1958. That same day, my Grandmother Katherine died–she was fifty seven and left me with the name I now bare. I was supposed to named Bridgette, which really upset me as I was young since I thought Bridgette Bardot was fabulously exotic. I think I could have been a Bridgette, but Katherine is a well suited name for me.

Grandmother's photographs did not show a fifty seven year old-part of it was the era, the hair styles and clothes. And part of it was she worked full time as a nurse, helping start one of the first settings for crippled [the term then] children in Minneapols. She had three sons, one was my father. And when those boys were young pre-teens, their father left my grandmother for his younger secretary. It was a shocker for everyone, as he was a prominent physician in Rochester, Minnesota-a small town of wealthy doctors who all knew the comings and goings of everybody. Divorce was unheard of then, it was a black badge you wore about the town. She did not want a divorce and she carried a torch for my grandfather for many years. My mother told me a really heartbreaking story-a year or so after my grandfather left her, and was with his secretary living in Washington D.C., my grandfather paid for his young sons, and my grandmother, to come out to visit. He paid for everything and put them all up in a hotel. The trip just happened to coincide with their wedding anniversary so my grandmother was sure he was going to reconcile. But he didn't and he had cluelessly planned the trip without even remembering the anniversary. I can feel her body sinking that day.

I was never told about the divorce until my twenties. My parents thought it would tarnish the image of my grandfather in my mind, and they didn't want that. Each year I'd get books for Christmas from my grandfather, and sometimes I'd go visit him in Washington D.C. I did not like my step-grandmother. Nobody did. As my grandfather grew elderly, he invited me out again when I was 17. He hadn't seen me for many years and he kept accidentally calling me "Kappie". This was my grandmother's nickname. He would sit and talk to me, with this adoring look on his face-and he'd slip and call me Kappie. This riled my step-grandmother. But I liked it, as I had grown up thinking of my real grandmother as a mystical creature-one I was named after, and had many similar traits too. The photos I had of her when she was a young woman showed angelic but strong beauty-in my young mind. I'd examine her face, wondering if I could be so lovely someday, and brave. When I turned eighteen, I was given her wedding ring by my father. I cherished it and wore it every day on my right hand, until I married Martyn.

I think of my grandmother a lot, and how she died at the age I turn today. It seems so young, even though back then fifty seven was more like seventy plus. She had diabetes and had a stroke on the cold Minnesota morning I was born, falling to the sidewalk while she waited for the bus to take her to work. My father told me after I was older that he had been called to the hospital and was told that at the scene passers by didn't help her, they thought she was drunk. It haunted him his entire life, and it does me too, that maybe she would have lived-who can know. If that had happened to my mother-I am not sure what scare it would have left-so the older I grow, the more credit I give my father, with all his flaws, to have gone on as well as he did after that.

The juxtaposition of my first day of life with my grandmother's last never fails to capture my imagination. The upheaval it must have caused everyone. But it reminds me of life here, and it helps me feel how my father might have felt. A lamb is born on the same morning an old goat falters, fades and lays its head down one last time. It happens everywhere in the world over and over-light and dark, salt and pepper- come in quickly without choice. Without the upheaval of death there wouldn't be life. It is the only way of nature. A tree seed bursts though the dirt, destroying that smooth surface of ground, to sprout its new trunk. We don't mourn that, we notice the sprout. Somehow I've grown to see death this way-it makes room for other things that might be looking right at us.

I don't want to die on my 57th birthday. But I'll share something. I do think if it all came down to one moment like she had on that street, I think I might take a deep breath, and rest. I plan to go on living, and will relish it, but life does begin to take small chinks out of the armour. These chinks don't make me sad, they just make me realize that the last breaths might be a soft, gossamer piece of relief.

Little $20 gems

Little gems all for only $20 each-I rarely lower things to this extant, but it is time to freshen up and clean up...and make some pocket money for donkey cookies.

Visit the shop-this little sale ends Friday.

Not in the mood for art? You can pre-order the Donkey Wisdoms blank journal-also at a low price that will go up once it is on the retail market.