Tuesday, April 12, 2022

A middle-aged couple came into the store where I sell baby chickens. They explained their interest in getting chicks for the first time and had questions. What are chicks like, what do they need, how do mixed breeds get along, how long do they live, and what equipment is required? And so on. I’m used to answering questions and am patient about explaining. Often shoppers compliment my sales performance. Actually, I enjoy talking with folks.

This guy offered a twenty-dollar bill, “Here’s a tip, you’ve been very helpful.”

I thanked him and refused the money. He asked about coops set up outside. I led them to the structures and explained chicken-housing components. He again tried giving me money. When I refused it, he tossed the bill at me. I said, “Please, pick it up from the ground.”

“How then can I thank you?”

“I’m pleased you’re happy, and that makes me happy. I’ve done nothing unusual, am simply doing my job.”

“There must be something I can do for you.”

“Tell the store manager, that would be nice.”

Who knows if he talked to the manager? But I think about the incident. Occasionally, I’m offered tips, but with less insistence. Our warehouse guys who haul, load, and unload heavy items are salaried and always accept tips. I’ve observed at gas stations customers tipping guys operating the pumps.

I don’t see myself as that sort of service employee. I’m a retiree working part-time who’s educated and experienced. I understand selling well by learning a customer’s needs. My style is to listen, assess, and help. That initially surprised co-workers, who felt I took too much time with customers. By doing “my thing” and making good sales, I’ve more permission to sell my way.

I don’t need cash tips for what I’m good at doing. My reward is being able to sell my style.

Dear Friends: One’s approach to performing work can change significantly. Diana

Monday, April 11, 2022

I can’t relax for having left my handbag at work. Worst, having left it sitting on the break-room table. Here’s hoping I find it there this morning.

In that workplace, we are casual. Ladies leave purses and whatever around in the break room, guys, too, and most lockers stay unlocked. I’m a little tense, for only recently I started carrying a handbag. Forgetting to keep it safe signals an inattention that’s not good.

Two days ago, the warehouse guys discovered a feral cat’s nest high atop stacked straw. They were excited and invited me over to look at the kittens. I climbed onto the straw. Mom wasn’t around. The tiny babies weren’t bothered by my presence. Their eyes were open, so they were about three weeks old.

Soon, I learned that all the store’s workers knew about the nest. Many had climbed onto the straw and looked at the kittens. Everybody wanted to take them home. I hoped that nobody had touched them and wondered if momma cat would move them.

The guys knew the mom. They had seen her hunting often in areas where large items are stored. That afternoon, they discovered there had been a third kitten. It had fallen off the haystack and become stuck in an unfortunate spot.

Yesterday morning on arriving at work, I heard that the mom had moved her kittens. One of the young warehouse workers muttered to me, “I’m glad she moved them.”

I replied, “I’m glad she did too.”

Dear Friends: I once hand-raised two feral infant kittens, and loved them dearly. Diana

Saturday, April 09, 2022

From two years ago, the header photo shows my friends, Bill and Grant, with Ray and Katy, their beloved German Wirehair Pointers. Katy, after recently turning fourteen, was diagnosed with cancer.

Bill came over to tell me. He (and I know, Grant, too) felt brokenhearted, because an unwelcome decision was on the horizon. Katy received optimal medical treatments, until yesterday, when Bill and Grant had to let her cross the Rainbow Bridge.

Yesterday, Bill wrote that Katy had declined rapidly, had collapsed the night before. It was time to say their goodbyes. They took her to the Center treating her cancer and received emotional support and assistance to end Katy’s pain.

As a friend and neighbor to Bill and Grant, I have known Ray and Katy. I share their pain in this event, and more, as it triggers my painful memories of losing a beloved dog to cancer. His cancer came quickly, caused great pain and promptly ended his life. Even after four years, the memory is gut-punching. Oh, how I wanted to keep holding onto that fabulous pet.

I “get it,” Bill and Grant. As do all your friends. You made Katy, from birth, one of the world’s luckiest dogs. As you do for Ray. It’s a mitzvah having Ray, to help offset family sadness.

Sending love!

Dear Friends: Wish they could live longer, but glad they don’t outlive us. Diana

Saturday, April 09, 2022

Yesterday, I didn’t succeed in bringing home two baby ducks. The feed store where I work received a big shipment of chicks and ducklings. People knowing they were coming crowded into the store, waiting impatiently for assistance. The ducklings sold out before I could zero in on a couple for myself. Not many sights are cuter than quacking big-foot infants.

That’s not saying I came home empty-handed. From the store’s “chick watch tub,” I’m caring for a days-old, very weak “Easter Egger.” With help, she drinks and eats but cannot independently stand upright. She has a “splatter-foot” condition. I’ve worked with and lost several splatter-foots. I hope continuing may reveal how to strengthen and stabilize legs and feet.

A newborn with splattered feet gets picked-on by more stable brooder mates. I’ve learned that anxious single chicks may be calmed by fuzzy stuffed animals and tiny mirrors. Chicks instinctively snuggle with fuzzy objects; they’re attracted to their mirror images. My splatter-foot rescue is reassured by a fuzzy snake and isn’t crying for companionship. If only, at least, she manages to stand upright.

Dear Friends: Another tiny story in Nature’s world of mystery and hope. Diana

Friday, April 08, 2022

A physical problem slowly is becoming more frequent. I am awakened from sleep by leg muscle cramping, commonly called a “Charlie horse.” It’s a painful condition. Managing to get on my feet and walking may fade the cramping. I understand that cramping may arise from drinking too little water and eating too few bananas.

I’m attempting to head off the cramps by adding electrolytes to water, and making a point of drinking loaded water instead of sugarless soft drinks. Electrolytes are okay, by giving the water a reasonably good taste, and hopefully hydrating me better.

Yesterday at work, I spent my shift working at a cash register. A familiar customer came through my line, and we talked about muscle cramping. She said, “I coach baseball and basketball teams, and travel. Frequently, my muscles start cramping.” She opened her bag, produced a jar of green-looking fluid. Holding it up, she said, “Here’s your solution, and right from your refrigerator. Say hello to pickle juice!”

“Huh!”

“Yes,” she nodded, “Works every time! The instant I start feeling a cramp, I swallow a couple of big slugs, and immediately, the cramp disappears. I always have pickle juice with me, everywhere, whether or not I’m actively coaching, because I get lots of cramps.” She shook the jar, “This stuff keeps me going.”

“Must it be refrigerated? Would it still work if overnight it’s on a nightstand?”

“Sure! Just make sure it’s dill pickle juice.”

Who argues with an experienced athletic coach? I remembered long ago buying dill pickles, but where could they be?

After work, I discovered an unopened jar of Claussen Dill Spears in a back corner of my refrigerator. I ate a spear and tasted the juice, not bad. I set the jar in front on a shelf. Around midnight, I awakened, feeling a tiny business occurring in a leg muscle. Ordinarily, maybe not enough to worry about, but I went to the refrig for that jar, ate a pickle and sipped some juice.

Immediately, I forgot the tiny cramp.

Dear Friends: Suggesting again, a brain’s incredible power over how a body feels. Diana

Thursday, April 07, 2022

Two days off, busy and productive. My taxes have been completed well before this month’s deadline for a change. I won’t get a refund, but neither will need to face quarterly estimates. I dislike having periodic tax obligations.

The horses, or one of them, chose a wooden fence post to rub against often, breaking the aging post at its base. The sagging affected a neighboring post, putting an essential gate lock out of whack. That’s a key gate needing a lock that clicks quickly and securely into place.

High need forced me to focus on fixing the post and lock. I had to study the problems and experiment. My learning required multiple dashes to the hardware store for cement and tools. The fixes needed completion before today when I must return to work. A significant factor was adrenaline, helping me do whatever (including pounding in a t-post). Once the damaged post seemed stable, I turned to the gate lock. Now all is done, and I’ll not worry about the horses knocking over a fence or opening a gate.

Rosie’s colic wasn’t severe, and she appears normal, on her feet and eating, eliminating, and bullying Sunni. I will watch her closely and take her to Bend Equine for an exam and meds.

There’s no pet relationship like that with a horse. They’re around for a long time, are big, fragile, expensive, need bunches of attention, and are always on one’s mind. They also teach us and are enormous fun.

Dear Friends: Next week will be warm; I hope to saddle up and find a trail. Diana

Wednesday, April 06, 2022

Almost twenty-five years old, Rosie has been with me for nine years. She’s carried me in every local mountain and forest. An elegant mover, she arrived here already an experienced driving horse. I wanted to learn to drive, and she’s been a fun partner.

Yesterday afternoon, Rosie seemed a little strange. I saw her lying in one position and then shifting to another. Unusual, so I watched her. After a bit of rolling, she stood. Well, maybe okay. I went into the house and wasn’t away long from the barn. On returning, I saw Rosie again lying down. Now she was making me worry.

I hung a bag of hay which Rosie ignored. A horse that won’t eat is A Red Flag for serious concern. All happening pointed to colic. Rosie wandered, looking for another spot to lay down, and I followed with a halter and lead rope. I haltered her hanging head and gave a little tug, “Let’s walk, Rosie.”

We walked around and around in the dry lot. At first, although reluctant, Rosie didn’t try stopping to lay down. To my joy, she had a bowel movement and afterward seemed to lead easier. Eventually, in promising signs, she snorted and licked her lips. I had no medications at the barn, nor would I have left her for some, fearing she’d lay down and not want to get up. My ear against her body picked up slight gut sounds.

We walked nearly for an hour, and my iWatch recorded 17,000 steps.

She wasn’t showing an interest in the hay bag. I led her to it, and she nibbled. I watched until she was eating with vigor. The evening was darkening; I felt exhausted.

I’m waiting for the light to dawn and will check on Rosie.

Dear Friends: Horses are powerful and also fragile. Diana

Tuesday, April 05, 2022

I have the honor of being one of a very few women who’ve ever ridden behind Dale. Susie accompanied us on her bike. It was great fun.

Many years ago, I’d ride behind my neighbor, Reiko, on his Harley. We traveled on Pacific Coast Highway, ignoring passing “Ninja bikes” and making “special salutes” to Harleys. Our destination was in Malibu, at an eating spot where bikers accumulated. That place specialized in seafood, and I recall it simply as Fish House.

It had lots of light through oversized windows and large in-common tables. We’d eat fresh crab or whatever while watching the Pacific rolling toward us. Afterward, we’d walk across the highway to the water’s edge and drink in that big ocean world.

These days and similarly, I’m awed and in love with a “moon world.” Central Oregon’s dryness doesn’t hinder moons from encouraging in watchers strong senses of joy and mystery. In my experience, moon activities are as motivating and strength-delivering as ocean activities.

Dear Friends: Following a motorcycle ride, fond memories and reflections. Diana

Monday, April 04, 2022

Late in the afternoon, on arriving home from work, I found MOTORCYCLES. Dale and Susie had left their HeliLadder Company early, and after taking a ride paused at my barn, to help with chores. We hung hay bags for hungry horses and filled a bunch more that I’ll hang today, before leaving for work and during my lunchtime.

We didn’t forget the goats and chickens. Entered their area while watching out for my two roosters; they didn’t bother us. A customer at the feed store where I work said to start carrying a broom into the chicken coop and that roosters fear brooms. I’ve not tried that but shall.

We took a motorcycle ride through the neighborhood. Susie has come a long way in the few months she’s been riding. I’m proud of her progress, for in the beginning she was wary. I rode behind Dale, a motorcycle-lifer. Their bikes rolled as a smooth pair, and our little ride exhilarated, woke me up, as if I’d not worked that day.

Dale made us laugh, said I’m one of very few women who have ridden behind him on his motorcycle. Susie said there might have been one or two before they got together. The couple are very close, and (miraculously still so, from my perspective) despite years of collaborating to their bones to make HeliLadder a success.

I did a little business consulting back in the old days, and a key objective was to avoid working with family-owned businesses. There’s a problem in that decision-making in families differs from decision-making among unrelated individuals in typical workplaces. With family businesses, consultants are essentially outsiders and often receivers of decisions they didn’t help formulate and might evaluate as unworthy.

So guess what? I’m going to do some “Facebooking” for HeliLadder. Maybe that will make better known one of this area’s unique and growing businesses. A successful venture could inspire other creative minds to move their ideas forward. Who knows, without trying?

Dear Friends: It’s cold and blustery out, and I must go to hang hay bags. Diana

Sunday, April 03, 2022

So much is on my mind; I don’t know how to take off while keeping ideas short for a blog. I’d choose a simple topic, except there’s no simple topic. So here goes.

We who’ve lived in wealthy democratic nations are fortunate, despite our many complaints and grumbles. Most of us have enough to eat, can become educated, and can choose preferred working environments. We can see our children grow up healthy and with opportunities to live in relative safety.

Trying to follow what’s happening in other parts of the world where philosophies are different is excruciating. Where people often live in hiding and fear and are hungry. Where the powerful want more power and often achieve it by suppressing those weaker than themselves.

Heartbreaking stories coming out of the Middle East are being told by brave people. They do so eloquently, but seem to lack realistic hope for visible improvements.

Equal heartbreak occurs in the free nation of Ukraine. People fleeing, hiding, hungry, fighting. But there, the little guy who’s standing up to a big guy is an inspiration.

What’s best seems to be believing in a worthwhile process, and allowing free choices for its leadership.

In America, a country of wealth and opportunity, a vast portion of the population worships leaders that seek to remain powerful by expressing primitive ideas. Their goals are to keep equality unequal. Butter versus guns, so to speak.

I wonder what about human nature limits a sharing of all that’s good and best. Any ideas?

Dear Friends: If a busy brain’s rants make no sense, here they are anyway. Diana