My recently-adopted canary has a new name and a bigger, brighter cage. I’m calling her Sparkle to match her tiny cuteness. She’s very small and barely a handful, unlike my previous and current birds. Sparkle tries to resist being caught and held. She might have originated from a quantity breeder who raised lots of birds and provided minimal physical contact–just enough to describe birds as having been hand-fed and handled. For a bird to feel really comfortable while resting in a hand or perched on a finger, it needs from infancy lots of gentle captures and loving handling.
Sparkle and I have work ahead as I hope to make her comfortable with the handling part. Right now it’s a slippery slope, for if she gets loose from my hands and flies toward my vaulted ceilings, catching her would be iffy and difficult. If that should happened, my best bet would be to set her cage somewhere visible with its door open, and hope she enters for food and comfort.
There’s also my cat, Maxwell. His watching eyes glitter as Sparkle flits in her cage. When Max is inside, she’s safely in another room. Usually in daylight hours, Max is outside and Sparkle can enjoy the company of my other birds–much bigger–a Cockatoo and a former racing pigeon. In large heavy cages, they’re unavailable to Maxwell. But Sparkle’s smaller and lightweight cage is less challenging.
In the beginning, Sparkle’s smallness surprised me. My littlest birds had been Quaker Parrots and a Cockatiel, all at least twice her size and much easier to hold. Sparkle is little enough to slip from between too-open fingers, and of course, she shouldn’t be gripped tightly. So, both of us are learning, about each other and how to live together.
Sparkle may be a tiny canary but all birds have some smarts. Maybe she can learn some new behaviors and expand her life experiences.
Dear Friends: Even the seemingly most-simple pets are big obligations. Diana
I keep tracking how time and history may affect my sense of reality. Time is a huge mystery for it doesn’t exist except in the manner that humans created to dole it out. Eventually, our concept of time becomes blurred, seems to pass more rapidly. Instead of wishing for time to hurry, as we did while young, we begin wanting to hold onto moments. And, as for history, once it made more sense. In school, we learned that between certain years thus and such happened, and in ensuing years so did other major events. We learned a history sectioned into increasing knowledge that led to a modern age of industrialism, technology, and instantaneous communications.
We’ve congratulated ourselves as the smartest creatures on earth, and only lately starting recognizing that we’ve not been smart enough. We understand now that the planet’s resources are limited, that exploding populations will push social and political situations to “something like the max”. Time and history have become blurs of insensitivity.
Recently, I read that a 101-year-old woman, in an assisted-living facility and taking a poetry-writing course, had published her first and only book of poems. This after her years as a productive and creative professional, but not as a writer. I was curious about how she thinks and reflects from her aged and highly alert perspective.
I ordered and loved her book, easily readable and impressive in poems and wisdom. Here’s an example:
Meditations On Time 1 Time becomes slippery as we grow old, yesterday's baby is now forty-five! The past our parents could have told about wasn't important when they were alive.
When she died, my mother was seventy. We did not have the conversations then that I do with my child, who's seventy. Will we remember the where or the when?
Do questions important when we were young remain as pertinent now that we're old, are they not different, since we've lived longer? What are the answers I would have been told?
Should we suggest to our grown children that we use the years left to rid ourselves of Curiosity, Resentments and Fears and other bad thoughts that turn away love?
Clean out closets of Ruined Relations, Hurting Feedings and Unanswered Letters. Strenuous measures, tackled together benefit all, the older the better.
II Time is amorphous drifts hither and yon like a contrail in the sky
or it is stubborn marching inexorably into the unexplored future
often it's rigid cannot be bent from one epoch into another
spirits in this sphere and those who have left can't make tears in Time's web to reach one another
the morning paper tells me that Einstein was right gravity does have waves
Astonishingly, this means that we can just now watch two stars colliding 13,000,000 years ago
Five minutes writing time seems like a day, Five minutes scrubbing floors can last forever.
Nowhere in books of physics have I read that time can be elastic. It can act as holder of a wisp of golden thread or of a long, uninteresting tract.
III Assembling my breakfast tray, one of the rituals I invent helps me to arrange my day.
Dear Readers: This small book is a lovely product of a wonderful mind. Diana
Painting: “Rainstorm 2015”, by Cen Long (Chinese Artist)
Sunday, August 11, 2019
Last evening was downright chilly after a rainfall that lasted about a half-hour, and mostly was a deluge. It filled and overpowered gutters with water pouring over sides and through section connections. This storm, preceded by roaring thunder and slices of lightening, terrified my dogs, and up at the house, I found Miles tearing the screen out of a bathroom window to get inside.
This is the high desert! It doesn’t rain much, or at least not until this year. That’s my perception after almost 15 years living here. This isn’t Portland or Seattle where everybody learns to live with rainy days. If asked, I’d have said we have one (okay, maybe a couple) rain storms annually. A week ago the weatherperson said there would be several days of rain this week and I poo-pooed it. In fact, forgot that forecast until three days ago when the sky darkened and thunder began. That was day one of rain, followed by two more of the same.
Each rain began in a late afternoon, producing furious moments and periodic hail. Usually, just as I was in the barn feeding large animals. I had to run to the house through the wet to comfort my dogs who were out of their minds. At least, it was cool and sleeping could have been easier but for my nervous, pacing dogs.
Back when I was in high school, my family lived in Southern California. In those days, we anticipated annual “rainy seasons” when daily rains were too heavy for windshield wipers to clear car windows. These episodes would last about two weeks, followed by typical So Cal weather, and provide good feedings to the area’s trees, flowers, and food crops. Soon after graduating I moved away, not returning to CA for many years. Whereupon I learned that the area no longer received annual stretches of heavy rain.
That significant change didn’t make sense to me, but I didn’t bother to explore the science that might have explained. Today, I wonder if it was an early hint of the climate changes we’ve come to know as global warming. Now as we watch weather changes occur, and here in the high desert, what’s new are frequent rains, variations in the numbers and densities of snow falls, and days that seem unusually hot or cool.
The weatherperson says that for a stretch it’s supposed to clear up and heat up, and this time I believe.
Dear Friends: I will start to understand more by re-reading “Silent Spring.” Diana
Here’s Sunni starting to pull our friend, Julie, and me along a country path east of town. A thunderstorm with some rain on Thursday evening lowered Friday morning’s temperature. Thus, in the hottest part of August our ride felt pleasantly cool. And could there be even more good to say about Sunni? As usual, she was wonderful. Upon being asked, she walked or trotted, or slowed her steps to near-halts in order to thread our cart through occasional rockiness.
It was almost 10 years ago that Julie traveled with me across the state to meet Sunni and to help assess if this mare might be a “right horse” for me, a novice rider. Julie, who rides a Morgan, loves the breed and was eager to meet Sunni. Me, too, for my dream horse had to be the “real deal”–a foundation Morgan, old-fashioned, Calvary-style, and favorite horse of olden-day Americans. Foundation Morgans were popular for riding, plowing, driving, and (sadly) warring.
My new horse had to be sized for a shortie and pony Sunni fit the bill. Plus, her owner-trainer, Jean, a lifelong expert with horses, had trained the little mare impeccably and genuinely loved her. Yesterday, remembering this, Julie reminded me that, in those days, once in Sunni’s saddle I couldn’t stop smiling.
(2010) Meeting Sunni and Merry Leggs (with owner/trainer Jean Kornblum)
That wasn’t all. During that visit I fell in love with another pony, too, a little Welsh beauty, Merry Leggs. Jean assured me she’d be available to provide help to assist me with the two, and thus, began a new chapter in my adventures with horses.
Afterwards for years, Sunni carried me all over Central Oregon–its mountains, BLMs, and National Wilderness areas. She couldn’t have been a more perfect companion. Sadly along the way, I lost Merry Leggs during a severe colic episode. Later, Sunni’s big sister Rosie, a previously-experienced driving horse, joined us. Whereupon, I began thinking about learning to drive.
I had never in my entire life been a bit outdoorsy. Everything about having horses was new. Yesterday, Julie and I reflected on those days of anticipation, excitement, and adventure. We enjoyed recalling that trip to find the perfect horse for a novice rider.
Julie with Jean’s “Jackson” (2012)
Dear Friends: A bit back in time, none of this could have been predicted! Diana
I laughed out loud on stumbling across this photo, snapped on an afternoon years ago as I rode Sunni. We were in the Badlands, a large Federal Wilderness area east of town. Ahead of us, my pony, Merry Leggs, is trotting at liberty and leading Ranger and Louie. This picture brings up great memories of that adorable pony, how I loved her.
Today, I’ll load Sunni and head toward similar trails. We’ll meet up with our friend, Julie, for a little driving on Bend’s east side. Julie’s going to show us where to find wide and sandy trails good for driving a horse. Some of those trails lead to the Badlands and should be worth another visit soon.
I always want to take pictures while driving a horse. I love the combination of pathway, horse-butt motor, terrain and sky. But busy hands can’t handle a camera. Today, with Julie on board maybe we’ll have some pictures!
Yesterday, my impulse was to take Sunni, she’s super easy to drive. There’s another nagging thought, to take Rosie instead. Both mares are nice to drive out on trails. My “push-button Sunni” could care less where we’re driving and goes willingly. Rosie, on the other hand, seems more at ease more on BLM or Wilderness trails than when she’s traveling on paved neighborhood streets. I’ve a bit of time before heading toward the barn to capture a horse, and don’t feel like doing any chasing, so they’ll help me decide which to take. Either is a fine choice.
Anyway, I’ve already loaded the cart into the horse trailer, and also couldn’t help loading the driving tack for both horses, because I couldn’t decide. Stay tuned!
Dear Friends: If pretty little Merry Leggs still were with me, she’d be driving, too. Diana
My three little African Dwarf Goats keep me laughing. There’s mama, Sego Lily (foreground in the photo), and her twins, Breeze (on mama’s right) and Poppy (the darker-coated one). They’ve been with me since the twins were six months old, and that was nine years ago. Heaven knows how old mama is, and hints of her age show up as arthritis. She’s nevertheless tough and determined to keep contributing her own goaty nonsense.
They share special rations from that pan in the photo, while also head butting one another to make space and claim portions. Sometimes they quit eating altogether and head-butt in a dance that circles the pan, before suddenly stopping to resume eating. Their other shared feed is hay, always available from a hanging bag.
Something interesting is that, in a trio formation, they always participate as shown in the picture with Breeze on mama’s right and Poppy on her left. If a goat leaves the community platter or hay-bag and then returns, she resumes her understood position.
Mama was rescued from a herd while young but old enough to distrust people. Because of this, it takes time and patience for a new person to get near or to handle her. Sego Lily is alert and cautious, but perhaps no longer the herd’s most dominate, beause often, Breeze seems to make decisions for the group.
Like all animals, they need work. For starters, I’d like to go hiking with my goats! But they’re not trained, so that “like” is a plan. Even before I could start to carve out time to work with the goats, Pimmy (my donkey, my biggest hanger-0ut needing a job) must be trained to pull a cart, and with me riding in it.
These little goats are delightful to have around, to enjoy, and to appreciate their smarts and interactions. Even with minimal training, they’re useful, say, in a fenced area with overly tall grass or lots of weeds. They follow me around, and specially eagerly on hearing the rattling of grain in a bucket. Like my other animals, the goats can recognize the sounds of my truck’s motor coming along the roadway toward home, and also like the others, all three cuties are incredibly alert to noises and changes in the environment.
Sometimes I wish it were possible to push the calendar back ten years, to start over with these same critters. I’d not let them just hang around, but would make sure they’re trained, useful, and enjoying their work. But always when it comes to time, first we must learn, right? And there’s no pushing back of time, right?
We can’t do anything over, but in future rounds could do everything better.
Dear Friends: What living with farm critters teaches could fill books. Diana
Today, we’re again crossing the mountains, and this time with a new set of brakes on the truck, for lessons with our trainer, Megan. In the first photo, she’s driving the (then) inexperienced Sunni, and in the second, I’m driving the very-experienced Rosie, and also, was the learner. Now, we’re beginning to melt through this August, and since both horses are driving well with me handling the reins, I wonder about goals ahead for the horses and me.
Oddly, I don’t feel particularly attracted to showing. For sure, while in training it’s fun driving through cones and racing around obstacles. We’re not ready for the big time and could get up to speed by pursuing training to show. That’s an option, but what appeals to me is an idea of driving the mares as a pair. They’re full sisters and although Rosie’s a little bigger, they look enough-alike to be eye-catching.
Driving a pair of horses invites expenses. It requires outlays for a heavier vehicle and special harnessing. Thinking on, it means a larger trailer for hauling two horses and their vehicle. Maybe the next logical step are shows and lesser expenses–for health certifications, entry, travel, and lodging, and for me appropriate clothing. (Imagine me in a big-brimmed, feathered hat and wearing formal driving dress.)
Those are thought sketches, but what’s clear is that regular driving must continue. It’s fabulous exercise for the horses and they’re in great condition. For me, it has wins in improved knowledge and handling skills. And the best part is that our pathways lead to new friends.
Dear Friends: Finding such pleasure in my retirement years has been a mitzvah. Diana
I’m lucky to have a bit of land and barn, a few equines, and some dogs. (Well, assorted others, too: a cockatoo, canary, pigeon, some goldfish, and a cat.) They create a busy and calming space. But a person needs other people, and I force myself into a more public world by working part-time and following national trends. The larger world introduces a tangle of murders, guns, politics and money. It causes insecurity and doubts for a healthy future, or any future at all.
In today’s NYT, a scientist who specializes in artificial intelligence asserts that it will be possible to build robots programmed to kill independently, and without showing definable origins. Ultimately, these robots could be created cheaply and easily (for example, by using 3-D printers). They could be programmed to kill certain types of persons (children, mothers, fathers, politicians, etc.) randomly, or specifically by adding software with facial recognition.
I’m sorry to have learned that and feel apologetic for speaking about it, for it adds to fears for the future. Because human curiosity and aggression is what it is, someone will start (if not already) tinkering with warlike robots. Goodness gracious!
Many people avoid much of the larger world because it’s too uncomfortable, unbelievable, and interrupts what they might prefer to think about or become involved in. I understand their shutting-out of fears and doubts. Although I’m somehow compelled to absorb much of the outer environment, I also have a method of “shutting out”.
Mine is to to retrieve a sense of balance by diving into my little world. It has horses to clean up after and play with; dogs to clean up after and hike with, and assorted captivating critters that fascinate and entertain to create fun moments. It has trees to limb, rocks to move, fences to build, and paths to design.
I’m certain that most people have some sort of private space where they seek calm and comfort when it’s needed. Otherwise, we’d never be able to absorb all we’re learning that’s both real and possible. We certainly are becoming smarter from the technology and sociology that impacts even the most private among us.
Dear Friends: It’s about accepting and learning to survive in a new world. Diana
I’ve written that a neighbor, Sherry, who lives about a mile away, recently flagged me to a stop as my driving horse and I cruised the neighborhood on an exercise run. Sherry wondered if next Sunday, I might be willing give her mom, Scooter, a former horsewoman, a ride in my driving cart. That day would be Scooter’s 80th birthday. Saying yes was easy, because my driving horse Sunni is kind, dependable, and well-trained. Fast forward to yesterday, Scooter’s birthday, and time for Sherry’s intended surprise for her mom, the planned “horse fix”.
Last Friday, I injected vaccinations into the necks of my equines–a process usually without incident. But Sunni had reacted with a stiff neck–similar to how a human arm may react after an injection. I knew that in a few days Sunni’s neck would be normal, but right now she couldn’t be harnessed and driven. Unfortunately, by Scooter’s birthday Sunni’ wasn’t okay, I didn’t want to disappoint Sherry and also wanted to help her former-horsewoman mom have a “horse-fix”.
The alternative would be to drive Rosie, an well-trained horse but with a strong mind and imagination. Driving Rosie makes me work hard, to keep her from jigging and hopping instead of walking. Keeping her while trotting from stretching her head from side to side and looking around. Keeping her from weaving and not staying near the roadway’s right side. Oh, yes, and those dangerous trash cans, especially the ones overturned that can bite. Would Rosie’s over-alertness frighten Scooter? On the other hand, do I really distrust Rosie? After all, several times weekly, I’m in a cart behind the moving mare. Driving her demands attention, is work, but she’s not done anything to make me fear being on the road with her. So, when Sherry called, Rosie it was.
After I harnessed, hitched, and forced Rosie to walk a bit, we began trotting so she could warm up and loosen joints. Our ride to Sherry’s gave me a chance to be certain nothing in the neighborhood was alarming–no loose kids or dogs, nor overturned trash cans. After reaching Sherry’s and pulling to a halt, Scooter’s adult children helped the birthday girl board and don a protective helmet. Meanwhile, Rosie, although a bit impatient, seemed to enjoy having Sherry at her head, massaging her ears.
We started off at a slow trot, before I realized that Scooter was frightened in the bouncing cart. She said she feared being bounced out, asking if we could walk. I slowed Rosie for whom walking nearly is impossible, she jigs and hops. To my absolute shock, she easily slowed and began walking, pulling the cart steadily without looking around nor worrying about anything in the world, including passing cars. In another quarter mile, on reaching our turnaround point, Rosie turned walking and back toward Sherry’s.
Meanwhile, Scooter and I talked. She’d moved to Bend about 40 years ago, and soon afterwards became a single parent. To support her family, she worked in the mills, and afterwards for years worked as a bartender. She had grown up with a beloved horse and referred to its breed as an “Oregon Broomtail”. She describes the “old Bend”, long a teeny-tiny town–a great perspective to hear from one who’s lived in this place since way before it became popular.
I asked Scooter if she’d be okay now if Rosie goes into a slow trot. She decided, yes, at first gripping the cart, but relaxed as we rocked along behind the horse, toward Sherry’s home and to welcoming cheers from Scooter’s kids. Rosie stood patiently while Scooter dismounted, excited. I looked at my horse and thought, “Bless you, Rosie.” As we headed home, she swung into an easy trot, going without a single distraction.
That afternoon was wonderful. Not only could I offer something special to a “birthday girl” and meet a nice family, but Rosie had seemed different–easy and cooperative. Once home and unharnessed, she cuddled by pushing her head against me for some face-rubbing. Oh, my, is this Rosie?
Well, it’s all about perspective, isn’t it? That evening I stood watching Rosie, and now, from her seemed to flow rainbows instead of lightening rods. Really! Is it a dream or has our relationship evolved?
Dear Friends: Scooter’s birthday turned over that glass, made it half-full. Diana
In my young years as an aspiring artist, I was particularly attracted to a style of drawing–spare and emotional. This style was well-represented by early 20th Century German artists in response to brutal government oppression. One of the most powerful representatives of this art was Kathe Kollwitz. I studied her works with fascination and awe, the artwork of others, too, but Kollwitz remains most-burned in my memory.
Just the other day, a blogger I follow wrote a piece about Eva Frankfurther, a German-born artist who grew up in England. I’d never heard of Frankfurter, but her drawings and lithographs immediately captured my attention. Her art made clear that she understood the terrors of Nazi Germany, and that her expressionism was influenced by the works of Kathe Kollwitz.
Kollwitz’s Woman in Despair
Kollwitz’s Mother and Child
Kollwitz lived in Germany during the terrible years. Her art is a compassionate history of the experience of terror for humans of all ages. Frankfurter’s experience was different. She was removed from Germany as an infant just as the Nazi terrors began, but her mind and imagination were impressed by all happening in the homeland of her people. Her entire emphasis through art is on people, those in the streets of London where she lived and in Italy where she studied. She explained their taunt emotions with spare lines and made amazing art.
Unfortunately, she was one of those super-bright, creative and capable artists unable to tolerate the pressures of genius. In the 1950s, she self-imploded, committed suicide in her mid-twenties, leaving hundreds of unpublished and unsold drawings and lithographs–results of her never-ending preoccupation, studies of people on the streets and at their work.
Her art and persona have captured my thoughts and imagination. I intend to learn more about this talented individual who before now was lost to me.
Dear Readers: You will be invited to learn, along with me. Diana
