I guess it’s true that time flies, even when you’re not having fun. Not that I haven’t had any fun, but I still have no idea how I lost track of this year. No, I’m not trying to rhyme, sometimes it just happens. My Thanksgiving was good. Peaceful, quiet and plenty to be thankful for.
I began writing this blog back in 2004. At that time I wrote of daily happenings on our farm and in the area that I live. I steered as clear of politics on-line as I try to in real life. With the purchase of my first digital camera, I began adding more photos to the blog. Instant gratification! Not only could someone read my words, they could see exactly what I was writing about.
This blog took on a life of its own, often more photos than written content, especially when I began posting photos on flickr. I was amazed that so many people believe that because their photos are beautiful, unusual, cute, ugly, add an adjective here – that those photos are worth buckets of money, and they are now professional photographers. I think that it’s great when we find talents and a place to use them. I have no delusions of grandeur. I am no more a photographer than a journalist. I enjoy telling stories and taking photos (snapshots). One of my talents is writing run-on sentences. Unfortunately, some poor souls read them.
Fortunately, I do have a life. The farm used up most of the time I had, especially after losing Allan. I did not want this to become another health blog, just as I did not want it to be a political blog. It went through changes like I did. No, not those changes. . . my hysterectomy took place long before the birth of my blog.
Yes, I still live in Karbon Kounty, and there will always be moos. No, I am not on the farm. I gave myself three years to take care of the place and then decide what to do next. I did exactly that. Of course, I was smacked in the head again. I was diagnosed with RA a few years ago. Google it if you want. I am doing okay, keeping busy, trying to keep up with the dogs.
Look ma, no photos!
If you want a thing well done, get a couple of old broads to do it.
– Bette Davis
If there is anything we “old broads” know how to do, it is to get things done. We women are so practical. We have an uncanny ability to see what needs to be done, roll up our sleeves and do it. We are rarely too proud, too prissy, or too elitist to do what needs to be done.
Sometimes we fail to see how important our practical everydayness is. We long for the great inspiration, the important recognition, or the big breakthrough. Yet all our lives are made up of common tasks that need to be done. When something is common and ordinary, we frequently fail to see its real importance. What we do is important, and we do it well. Failing to see that is a form of dishonesty. And we don’t want to be dishonest, do we?
I AM a competent “old broad.” At least Bette Davis appreciated me. Maybe I can appreciate myself.
Directly from today’s meditation – June 27 – Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much - by Anne Wilson Schaef
I type this with my left index finger on an ipad, my right arm in a shoulder sling/pillow/albatross. I’m thinking of all the “old broads” who have given so much of themselves these last weeks. You know who you are. And yes, a few of you are male!
“Cheers!”
If we can’t enjoy a cocktail, how about a smile?
Time to take the bird feeders down.
Actually, the bear took them down, I just picked them up. Notice that the pole was not knocked over, but bent over by its weight.
It doesn’t seem like it on a morning like this.
Bridger Cemetery, Bridger, Carbon County, Montana
PRESERVING THE MEMORY OF THE FALLEN
THAT WE ARE REMEMBERING A SPECIAL CLASS OF CITIZEN ON MEMORIAL DAY GOES WITHOUT SAYING
May 26, 2011
Memorial Day needs a public revival. Far too few Americans genuinely appreciate the sacrifices made on their behalf.
“Let no neglect, no ravages of time, testify to the present or to the coming generations that we have forgotten as a people the cost of a free and undivided republic.”
It is only appropriate that on the 150th anniversary of the Civil War’s beginning that we quote the founding words of Decoration Day, long since called Memorial Day. John Logan, then head of the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR), called General Order No. 11 (issued May 5, 1868) the proudest act of his life.
That’s saying a lot considering his military record as a Civil War general. Declaring May 30 a national day of remembrance throughout the North was indeed a monumental moment. However, the divisions caused by the war prevented that day from being universally accepted until WWI.
Today, the problem is an apathetic public. Back then, after the Civil War, most American families had a personal connection to a death in uniform. Now, only a handful does. (The holiday’s commercialization in 1968—when its observation was changed to the last Monday in May—minimized its true meaning, too.)
“Few Americans are touched personally by the ongoing conflicts overseas,” editorialized The Washington Times. “The vast majority have no direct contact with the war in any form, much less knowing someone who fell.”
Yet it is precisely in wartime that Memorial Day is most poignant. This is especially so because less than 1% of the population is bearing the burden. A survey taken among military families revealed that 94% felt disconnected from the larger society, feeling that their sacrifices are unappreciated.
Remembering is vital. “Memory is the key to the character not only of a person, but a country,” Kathy Roth-Douquet, a Marine wife and founder of Blue Star Families, wrote in USA Today. “Memory is necessary for both historic and moral understanding.”
That we are remembering a special class of citizen on Memorial Day goes without saying. Since time immemorial, Western societies have canonized warriors who sacrificed their lives. Exactly what makes up the character of those willing to sacrifice their lives in battle?
Ancient Athenian statesman Pericles described them in making a plea to honor the dead who had faced the vast armies of Persia on the plains of Greece.
“…In the face of death they resolved to rely upon themselves alone,” he said. “And when the moment came, they were minded to resist and suffer, rather than to fly and save their lives; they ran away from the word dishonor; but on the battlefield their feet stood fast, and in an instant, at the height of their fortune, they passed away from the scene, not of their fear, but of their glory.”
These words apply equally to the Americans who have died in Afghanistan and Iraq, and to those who preceded them dating back to the Revolutionary War. As our society drifts further away from the realities of war, it is necessary to remind the public of what the tiny minority does for the vast majority. That is what Memorial Day is all about.
From the May 2011 VFW Magazine.
U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs
At least it is for Springers.
This was taken on Thursday. Wild phlox, popping out of the cracked earth in the hills out of Bridger.
It was so windy, the dogs didn’t even want to stay out and walk around. It was grey and windy all day. I woke Friday morning to snow again. Not much accumulation, but it’s still blowing and bitter for April.
I have a clump of chives by the front door that keeps exposing itself when the snow recedes. And then it snows again, and again. Oh, and then again. Well, two days ago I noticed something purple next to it, under the leaf litter and other interesting things accumulated over the last few (six) months. Could it be? It was in the violet family by the foliage, and I did bring some hardy johnny jump ups from the farm.
Yesterday morning I brushed away some of the litter and behold!
I drove to Laurel yesterday and saw the clincher, though. The rest area north of Roberts was open, now that means it is spring.
Of course it is supposed to snow today and the rest of the week. It was nice while it lasted.
