Sunday, June 07, 2020

We’re nearing this year’s midpoint and also it’s longest day, and the weather in this part of the country is cold! Last evening, in a ski jacket and wool hat, I shivered while feeding the large animals. There’s an old joke about Bend, that it has only two seasons: winter and the 4th of July. Very believable nowadays.

Escaping the weather, I turned to my old buddy, streaming television, and found on Hulu another old buddy–a British sitcom, “Absolutely Fabulous”, which first aired in the early 90s and stopped around 2012. In the early days, I never missed an episode and along with many friends ranked it the funniest satire ever. Since then, I’ve wondered occasionally if by today it would seem funny still or instead be very dated and obsolete.

A new viewing provides the answers. It’s back, still funny, and a reminder of much that years ago was fresh. Nothing’s obsolete because great humor, being just that, always makes us laugh out loud. The series has Edina, Patsy, Saffron, Bubble, and other memorable characters attempting to face-up-to, ignore, or try fitting-into modern times. Great humor is a stable product.

The show’s primary creator, Jennifer Saunders (nothing less than a modern-day Charlie Chaplin), plays Edina, specializing in PR and operating a modeling agency. Edina’s side-kick is Patsy, drunken, drugged-out, and man-crazy, played by the gorgeous Joanna Lumley (in reality, Lumley totally is Patsy’s opposite, she’s memorable as one of 1970’s original “New Avengers”). A young woman, Julia Sawaltha, plays Saffron, who’s Edina’s straight-laced, superego daughter. The series has spots using famous models and actors (e.g., Twiggy, Helen Bonham Carter).

The TV series concluded after the production of “Absolutely Fabulous, the Movie”, which starred the television cast. I recall Rosanne Barr buying the rights to “Ab Fab”, intending to turn it into an American television series. That didn’t happen, perhaps because it might be very difficult to translate effectively British humor into American humor, although all humors share commonalities.

The series consisted of five seasons and included several additional “special episodes”. During this area’s midsummer chilly evenings, I’ll be inside, rewatching the lot and laughing bunches.

Dear Friends: A gem, it stresses friendship and laughs at self-critique and social angst. Diana

Saturday, June 06, 2020

I’m sitting near the big birdcage that’s home to Peaches, my Cockatoo, and streaming an excellent documentary covering Bob Dylan’s artistry and career. Somewhere in the film’s middle, I’m listening closely to Dylan’s poetry-as-song when Peaches begins screaming loudly and blotting-out Dylan.

His rackets often interrupt my attempts to concentrate on things highly interesting. I pause to wait until the bird stops declaring his presence. This time he won’t shut up, continues the high-pitched screaming. He’s hanging on a side of his cage, has a view clear down to the horses. Maybe putting the dogs outside will interrupt Peaches’ focus, but the screaming continues.

The dogs are outside only an instant before they began barking full-tilt and rushing down the hill. “Deer”, I thought, peering without seeing anything. The bird and dogs killed any listening to Dylan. “Where are those deer?” I walked outside onto the deck looking for them.

Deer indeed! How about my goats and chickens, unpenned!–on the loose, wandering around!

I rushed into the house, paused for boots (a rainy day), and hurried downhill. When was I careless with that gate! The horses were hanging their heads over the fence and watching the free animals, none far from their pen and confused about where to go. Good! They’d just become free.

The goats hurried toward me as I ran to a feed-keeper. I grabbed a container, scooped and rattled grain, and now the goats followed me back to their area. Chickens, too, at my heels. I dumped feed for all the critters, closed and double-secured their gate, and whispered to my now-silent bird, “Thank you, Peaches”.

This bird never misses a beat when it’s about activities on this property. He recognizes a stranger’s approach, quickly spots when deer are crossing, knows when I leave the property and sees my returns. Always, he’s very noisy, about what he sees, or just wants to make a racket.

Now, four things happen: I beat-up on myself mentally for leaving unlatched a critical gate; salute my bird’s watchfulness and rackety-informing; give thanks to the dogs for underscoring bird noises; and wondered what had motivated my unusual venturing-outside to see a common sight.

Dear Friends: Life teaches of serendipitous-knittings among spontaneous events. Diana

Friday, June 05, 2020

Yesterday I didn’t ride because my screwball dog, Osix, decided against loading into the truck and instead hid from me. It’s her game, hiding. She’s an expert, made herself invisible and unresponsive to calls. The other dogs and the horses were loaded and ready to go. I walked twice over the property and calling, but to no avail. Finally, fearing she’d try to follow my vehicle on the highway, I unloaded the animals. Happily for the horses. They walked across the street and enjoyed time on my neighbor’s lush pasture.

The moment my “good dogs” were released into their fenced area, Osix raced up the hill to join them. I’d been certain she wasn’t simply running loose around the neighborhood. For it’s her style, that the game on was hide-and-seek. I’ve never had another dog that didn’t eagery leap into a vehicle. What’s odd is that Osix mostly does, but this new game might become common. Beyond my worries about invisible Osix, it’s hot inside truck and trailer for the animals waiting.

That was her second time refusing to load and instead hiding. The first time, she responded finally to my calls and loaded willingly, but not this time. From here on, family outings will exclude Osix to curtail kooky behaviors that make me search, worry, and change plans. Her hiding behavior is beyond a mere irritant, for she could become lost. Osix, now eight years old, came to me at eight weeks. I want her visible and safe.

Today, I’ll deal with how to get all the other dogs away. She’ll be vocal, but too bad, Osix, because it’s about your safety.

Dear Friends: The odd-one-out usually winds up dictating much of the group’s action. Diana

Thursday, June 04, 2020

I’ve been driving instead of riding my horses. That’s granted Rosie a lengthy, no doubt enjoyable, saddle-free vacation. Yesterday, after seeming slightly shocked as a saddle pad landed on her back, she didn’t argue. Rosie is a very experienced trail horse, tolerated the tacking-up, and waited in place as I mounted. My dogs, recognizing we were about to leave, excitedly circled and barked at Rosie’s hooves. She fussed, before settling quickly, and let herself be maneuvered into a position where my free hand could grasp Sunni’s lead rope. And we were off.

Rosie and Sunni are full sisters, each easy to ride but in some ways different. Rosie’s style was apparent as we started walking on a familiar trail. She was hyper-alert, with what seemed “lead mare” caution. Her ears in careful-listening mode, her head turning frequently to observe surroundings, and her body prepared for some instance of fright. I knew her hypervigilance would ease as this walking exercise became relaxing.

These sisters are different while being ponied. Rosie knows the drill, tends to be responsive to a lead rope. Sunni ignores a rope-handler and tries to eat grass all along the trail. Her determined stops sometimes nearly pull me from the saddle. So, I usually ride Sunni and lead Rosie. Yesterday’s ride reminded me to keep us on wide pathways so that grasses are harder for Sunni to reach.

We’ll get more into the groove. These horses are perfect, it’s me who’s the problem. I’m having to renew my riding skills and to relearn the trail issues associated to all horses. As I become more confident and skilled, my horses will settle more. Rosie will become less hyper-alert when I am also. Sunni knows her ponying role and will stop insisting on having her way.

Yes, I’m back in the saddle.

Dear Friends: Our pets’ behaviors (horses included) reflect our own confidence & skills. Diana

Wednesday, June 03, 2020

I stumbled across this gorgeous wing on the floor of my barn and felt awed by its beauty. I did some research and learned it belonged to an Emperor moth. Now more aware, I’ll be watching and hoping to see an alive version of this insect.

That wing’s fluffy featherness, its pattern and texture, fired my imagination. My mind tried to visualize it in a larger version, perhaps as an impressive headdress that could suggest one’s stature and intent.

Sure, it’s only a moth’s feather, but “only” may be a conclusion way too-limiting. More research reveals that Emperor moth wing textures and patterns have inspired fine-art.

Finally and it’s hard to believe, I’ve never pursued an answer to a long-standing question: What’s the difference between moths and butterflies? This wing, forcing more research, has taught there are few differences. Moths and butterflies look alike and belong to the same insect family (Lepidoptera). According to “Science Bob”, their differences are visual:

• Butterflies usually rest with their wings closed, while moths rest with their wings open.
• Butterflies have long, thin antenna, while moths have shorter feathery antennas.
• Butterflies generally gather food during the day while moths are seen more at nighttime.
• Most moths make a silky cocoon, while butterflies usually make a shiny chrysalis

There was no research that suggested moths do create holes in clothing and butterflies do not.

Becoming better informed is a pleasantry in this new life. There’s plenty of free time to explore various and often obscure notions and ideas. I’ve already rambled on about breadmaking. Here’s a new one: today’s first cup of coffee is from a little Mr. Coffee instead of a big Keurig. Finally, I’ve laid to rest a giant countertop machine and erased having to purchase uber-expensive coffees.

Even the smallest learnings, the smallest simplifications of daily living, can be feel goods.

Dear Friends: Ideas that float on butterfly wings, now may also on moth wings. Diana

Tuesday, June 02, 2020

I drove to Redmond yesterday to pick up an equine supplement and while there visited Bi-Mart. I don’t often visit Bi-Mart, an interesting store and sort of a mini-Costco. Anyway, I found a bread maker (they’ve stopped calling these “bread machines”). I’ve found that the big retailers have bread makers, but they’re highly expensive, and the cheap ones are out of stock. Mine, ordered from Amazon, has been on back-order without an estimated shipping date.

It’s been interesting during our period of semi-shut-down, that much baking is occurring even though people are worrying greatly about gaining weight. At first it seemed odd all that baking, but after awhile became an interesting phenomenon. I wondered if baking has value as an outlet for energy or is a way of creating and producing art. I began wanting to explore.

My friend, Grant, a bread baker by hand not machine, has lots of sourdough starter. He kindly gave me a container of starter and instructions for “feeding it”. That’s a living mass and creates the pressure of now-limited time, for sourdough will continue growing and must be used. I had to start baking.

My online research suggests that sourdough breads aren’t made in machines. The process with sourdough seems less about kneading and pounding, than repeatedly folding and hand-pushing on sections of a raw mixture. My new machine won’t help in making a sourdough loaf, but its presence has pushed me to start bread-baking. Today, I’ll scoop up some of the starter and by machine or hand create my first loaf of sourdough.

Oh, so many questions floating around in my head.

Might I bake scrumptious bread without gaining weight? Will having a living starter force me into baking routinely? Might some neighbors enjoy receiving fresh sourdough loaves? How will bread making activities interact with my energy and imagination? Well soon, won’t I know answers to these questions and surely others about to rise (no pun intended)?

Dear Friends: We who are guinea pigs to curiosity & imagination are liberated or entrapped. Diana

Monday, June 01, 2020

I’ve been riding routinely latey in the Horse Butte area and on a nearly bicyclist-free route that other horseback riders have recommended. It’s smooth going for my little group. I’m on horseback, ponying another, and being followed by our loyal donkey. My dogs out again and running free are in dog heaven.

Yesterday, while descending a tricky hill I heard distant sounds without focusing on them. I was very busy trying to prevent my horses’ stopping mid-descent for fresh grass underfoot from the previous day’s big rain. We finally had begun traveling on the flats and had settled down, before I noticed Osix missing among the dogs. I called and called, to no avail, and then understood the distant noises. They were gunshots, those terrify Osix. I paused and considered turning back to find her, but had another couple of thoughts about this. We were on a lightly-trod trail, and in an after-rain environment with heavy air holding our scents. Osix could find us if she wanted. Most likely, the gun-firings had driven her back to our rig where she’d wait. I decided not to turn back and end this ride.

Later, while returning to the trailhead, a horseback rider coming toward me said she’d seen a dog at my rig. Smart Osix, the quirky one.

Actually, my mind is on the Horse Butte itself. Years ago while frequenting the area, often I climbed that butte, it was steep-going with gravel-slippery spots. I would support my ascents using a walking stick for steadiness, and now, I wonder what might have happened to that nice device.

The Horse Butte is a spent, small volcano. On reaching its top, one can see into its valley, a desertscape with interesting rocks and twisted junipers. Strolling around in that trough to examine plants and rock formations is fun. I’ve always, especially, been fond of the high lone juniper on the Butte’s far side, a unique sight, where often I’ve stood and enjoyed a wide perspective of the territory below.

Those were early days in my horseback experience. Eventually, I learned of other places for good riding. Here in Central Oregon are mountain paths, wilderness areas, desert stretches, and well-trodden urban horse trails. Along with my growing riding skills were wishes to know better this whole area. I began wandering on horseback without returning to Horse Butte, until now.

Dear Friends: There’s often loveliness in re-experiencing an old stomping ground. Diana

Sunday, May 31, 2020

To me, a “critical element of being” is human creativity–something I’m always considering and seeking. We find examples everywhere of ways in which individuals express their creative energies. Understanding this is a matter of looking around and while observing, actively thinking and allowing ourselves to “feel” what we see.

We’re into this mode, say, while observing formal art in a gallery, or seeing works of art in casual settings. We have accessible and wonderful opportunities to see motion pictures. Movies encompass both the performing and visual arts. They let us “get into” the actual experiences of observing, thinking, and feeling.

These months of semi-isolation, mask- and glove-wearing, have been encouraging new forms of creativity. Take Zoom for example, a meeting method that works to connect and also is boring. The technology that fosters Zoom has allowed those who present the news to continue broadcasting, and now from their homes and with guests speaking to the news from their own homes. We’re becoming used to this and no longer missing broadcasts from studio settings.

This morning, in a unique and creative take on remote meetings, the Washington Post is reporting that it held an unique spelling bee. The “Washington Post Opinion Spelling Bee” is a substitute for the annual Scripts Spelling Bee, cancelled this year. The seven WP Opinion Bee contestants are some of its producers and writers. The eighth contestant is last year’s Scripts Bee winner, Vanya Shivashankar, who’s just completed her first year as a Yale student. The WP Bee’s moderator, Dr. Jacques Bailly, is the “official pronouncer” during actual nationally-broadcasted Scripts Spelling Bees.

The WP participants are participating from their homes, are very bright and some wonderful spellers, and they’re all having fun. Dr. Bailly has formatted the contest into a Scripts type bee. In fascination I watched, hoping for correct spellings by all participants and enjoying my anticipations of who might wind up winning.

Here’s clever creativity in a Zoom-type format. See for yourself: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vP__gIxk40&feature=youtu.be&utm_campaign=wp_week_in_ideas&utm_medium=email&utm_source=newsletter&wpisrc=nl_ideas

Dear Friends: Being is about seeing, processing, playing, and above all, finding. Diana

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Saturday, May 30, 2020

I promised myself that before the end of this month I’d have written a short story. That creation couldn’t be about horses, dogs, birds, or living on a small acreage. The new effort would be outside my ordinary experiences, and be believable to average readers. I’m an almost-failure.

Recently, I’ve parked myself before a laptop to fiddle with ideas but not coming up with anything different and workable. While writing about something I’ve experienced or want to learn about, it seems easy to find words that explain and describe. Maybe drawing on creativity from more abstract sources might not be my bag. So, achieving fails.

Maybe not so fast, for humans have dreaming states and mine often seem productive. Several nights recently, I’ve awakened to find myself having deeply created a story. “I’ll write that,” I mumble and recreate the production in my sleepy brain. For a few seconds, all’s good, but soon, lines, logic, and theme begin disappearing, become irretrievable. Those are “almost fails”.

I believe that captured dream stories would provide a start, or idea, to help me tap into deeper creativity. Of course, a popular way to capture dreams is by keeping pad and pencil on a nightstand. My past experience teaches that by mornings my nighttime sleepy-scribbles offer little (if any) value.

Yesterday, I had hoped to formulate a creative story while riding on horseback in a beautiful area. As usual, realities kept interfering. My saddle was cinched too loosely and trying to slip. My ponied horse kept dipping her head to graze, forcing me to keep pulling on her rope. We were a couple miles from the trailhead and seemingly in the middle of nowhere, when it became impossible to avoid dismounting to straighten my saddle, while somehow, continuing to hang onto that ponying-rope.

Dear Friends: I will keep hoping to find and write from an alternate universe. Diana

Friday, May 29, 2020

I’m back in the saddle!

Took both horses, donkey Pimmy, and the four dogs, off to horse trails at the Tumalo Reservoir, one of my favorite places where there’s a meandering natural spring to water horses and dogs. To my surprise the trailhead was closed. I looked for signs of recent horse traffic but the parking area was clean, and so, we left.

I didn’t want to come home without first riding and so headed toward a different Tumalo area, to find a BLM I’ve ridden in and know exists. Getting there wasn’t easy as anticipated. We came across a gravel road that seemed familiar and might have taken us there, but had a dead end. I feared taking a chance and maybe winding up someplace too small to turn around.

By now, irritated and tired, my best options were trails on the city’s other side. Maybe it would have been best to forget the outing and go home. In that warm afternoon, horses and dogs were hot in the rig, tired of riding, so time to quit. Somehow, I couldn’t and drove straight past our place, heading for Horse Butte.

I’ve avoided for years riding horseback at the Butte. Word long has been out among horseback riders that many bicyclists routinely are taking over the Butte’s established horse trails. Central Oregon has many bikers. They’ve found “bicycle heaven” on our horse trails in beautiful areas. Always on trails, horses are supposed to have the right-of-way. Many cyclists are polite about this, and others just pop-up, in front of or behind a horse, going full-tilt and frightening an animal. It’s dangerous-scary for a horse-rider. When confronted, cyclists often don’t care, considering themselves as extreme athletes, loving to pedal at highest-speeds over complex terrains.

I digress, sorry, but bicyclists are increasing. They’re narrowing a horseback rider’s safe-trail choices. Anyway, in yesterday’s late afternoon, the Butte had not another soul in sight. I unloaded, tacked-up, and our little group started off. I was on Sunni and ponying Rosie, Pimmy followed loosely, and all the dogs were in absolute heaven.

Later at home, I dozed before the television with every dog laying around, asleep and quiet. Those are my favorite moments with them. I relish extreme peace and quiet after they’ve been let loose to run long and hard. They do crave action, extreme athletes.

Dear Friends: With summer here, we’ll find still-safe local horseback riding trails. Diana