A Haunting I Will Go

Yesterday, while shoveling horse poop, the topic of after death came up. The idea of reversal was mentioned. Basically, if you are fat in life, you will be thin in the after life. Size 6 women will end up being size 36. That's my idea of Karma.

I have a few thoughts of my own on the matter.

Okay, in TV shows, movies and documentaries, ghosts are portrayed as "romantic". The forlorn woman wears a long flowing white dress. Her hair blows in the wind and she appears graceful. The ghosts from the mid 1800's wear attire of the era as do ghosts from the Middle Ages. Soldier ghosts are portrayed wearing military garb. Even the Headless Horseman had a long black cloak.
So, what happens if you died naked? Is your ghost doomed to walk this realm in its birthday suit? What happens if you are wearing torn jeans, a mustard stained T-Shirt and a flannel overshirt? Goodness knows it would suck if you were to die barefoot. Can you imagine the pedicure you would need after a 100 plus years of roaming your haunting area?

How about dying while wearing the most uncomfortable pair of shoes of all time? Nothing says agony like walking a mile in shoes that moonlight as bear traps. Perhaps that's why the forlorn woman doesn't go into the light. She's hunting for the jackass who designed those killer shoes.

Ghosts are generally reported to appear as they were when they died. Okay, what if I die and had a BIG FAT zit on the tip of my nose at the time of my departure? Am I forever to be the poster child for Oxy Cleansing Pads and acne medicines? What if I'm having a really bad hair day. A big zit and bad hair...frankly, that just sucks.

As I fully intend on hanging around after I die (mostly for payback to those who have caused me grief; a little poltergeist action sounds like good even-up time to me) I suppose I must prepare for my "Dying Attire". Hmmmm, what to wear, what to wear?

Another publication....unfortunately unpaid

After I returned to the United States from a three year absence, I was struck by all the changes to my "hometown." Althougth I only lived in Golden for a short while, I consider it to be my "hometown" simply because my family lives there. I wrote this article for the local internet news site.


"Return to Golden"

Although I was a short-time resident of Golden, I am still very much a friend and family to many people who consider this delightful city home. Golden will always be a special place because of its quaint, small town feel and the wonderful people who made it possible for me to meet my husband. That not-so-by-chance meeting and matrimonial bliss is what limited my residency in Golden as my military man soon received orders to move to Germany.
Just this past month, we returned to the United States after a three year absence. How things have changed. I never thought it possible to suffer "Culture Shock" simply by returning to my homeland, but I did. While in Germany, I had acclimated myself to hearing undiscernable conversations during daily outings. The spoken word, similar to Charlie Brown's teacher, blended into background noise and was dismissed. I didn't realize the effect of a foreign language until I returned home and picked-up English like pin-point radar zeroing on target. Hearing English spoke around me had been sorely missed and I discovered myself unintentionally eavesdropping into conversations. It is amazing what people talk about when they think nobody is listening. I could tell you things-but that's another story.

During my absence, my adopted home-town of Golden experienced many changes. I would expect that as a local resident, minor changes that occur over time may not seem dramatic, but the development of the city has been just that. Imaging leaving your house for work one morning only to return that evening to discover a decorating/renovating team had painted, landscaped and installed new carpet while you were gone. That's what it was like for me to drive down South Golden Road for the first time in three years.

The roundabout in front of King Sooper's sprouted to life. The 7-11 vanished and Dairy Queen went south of the border. Tequila's guacamole and "gigante" margarita's are a definite improvement over soft-serve ice cream.

Continuing into town, passing the last roundabout, I was delighted to the the statue of the mounted Indian. The vegetation, at the time of my arrival, left something to be desired, but by the end of my initial home-coming, the organic design crew made improvements that exceeded my expectations.

Further into town, I kept my fingers crossed in anticipation of the removal of the unsightly, abandoned convenience store near the bicycle shop and bowling alley. That corner of town has always been like biting into a crisp juicy apple ripened to perfection only to discover half a worm on the inside. Alas, the blemish on what is otherwise an aesthetically pleasing view, remains, much to my dismay. A smile returned when I noticed the evolution of the Muffler Man. No longer a space man, the cowboy fits much better with the theme of Buffalo Bill's final round-up.

Continued exploration of the changes in Golden likened itself to a treasure hunt. Each street corned a new surprise of wondrous gems. Of all the statues adorning main street, the miner and burro is my favorite. The artist really captured the joyous expression of the discovery of a golden nugget on both the miner and his companion. The cowboy on vacation statue near Clear Creek pays homage to the connection with nature and the abundant life in and around the creek. Then there is the bridge. Kudos to whomever decided to design a comfortable resting spot for travelers. I could spend hours sipping a cool beverage and watching the water flow downstream. During Buffalo Bill Days, it was the perfect location to witness hundreds of little yellow rubber duckies float by.

The walking foot trail under the bridge was too much to resist. It beckoned to me. I walked along that trail and delighted in the wondrous creations that weren't there three years ago. The huge fish, in my opinion, second only to the butterflies. As always, the benches aligned the trail are a welcome sight. It makes it easier for a visitor to just sit and smell the roses, well, more accurately, to sit and watch the world go by. I find it refreshing to watch the water and all those who find enjoyment in the creek. The kayaks are always fascinating to watch and happiness can be found in watching a dogs leap into the water having just as much super fun-time as it can stand.

The fire that destroyed part of the Buffalo Rose clearly had a beneficial impact in the downtown area. The beer garden is definitely the silver lining behind the cloud of smoke. Seeing the office/retail spaces filling up in the new buildings across the street from the downtown post office is refreshing. The western town of yester-year is vibrant and alive with modern day amenities and new construction, which blends well with the older buildings. To the casual observer, the growth and development of Golden has been carefully thought out and planned making it an even more desirable place to live. My return to my accepted home town of Golden, Colorado, was cut short by the demands of the United States Army. Now I am only a state away rather than a continent and look forward to my next visit. I can only imagine what tremendous ideas will have come to fruition.

Kelly Hanson
Part time Golden Resident.....

What are YOU making for dinner?

As the traditional day of eating way too much is rapidly approaching, I am beginning to panic. I haven't made a Thanksgiving dinner since 1996. The minor meal in 2004 doesn't really count because a tiny breast and a baked potato is not a "Thanksgiving Dinner." {Scully--I guess the Canadian pilgrims didn't need any extra help from the Indians to survive the winter months. Seeing how Canada doesn't do Thanksgiving, I suppose the Canadian pilgrims were better at hunting beaver than the American pilgrims.) Usually, I stick to the philosophy that I make only one thing for dinner--Reservations. In the past, I either traveled to my sister's home for Thanksgiving or attended the Holiday Buffet at the local hotel and/or cafeteria.

My older sister has been preparing the traditional meal for many, may years: pretty much ever since Mom decided we would have hotdogs. My sister was having none of the Weenie Roast and skipped off to the grocery store for a turkey. The result of mom's decision: my sister cooks.

This year, my sister, her family and my mother are coming to my house for Thanksgiving. I suppose they are all curious about what I'm going to serve. I suspect they are taking bets on what I shall present to them. It's no secret that I make pretty food. I'm best at Frankenstein Cups and Witch's Bubbling Brew, eyeballs and brain jello, vertebrae roll-ups and finger sandwiches. Yep, Halloween type foods, not typical, autumn, family gathering foods.

I suppose I can heat up a can of corn and open a can of cranberry sauce. Even so, my family is bringing food to my house. My brother-in-law is bringing bread and my niece is bringing the pie. I wonder, does apple pie go with burritos? I make a mean burrito. I can also make the Juevos Rancheros. But that doesn't quite say "Thanksgiving", does it?

So, I'll accept my task and broil a turkey, fry up some corn, roast a green bean caserole, and bake up some mashed potatoes. It'll be good.

The Bell Ain't Done Rang Yet.

Is it any wonder why American students perform so poorly on academic tests? Yesterday, while earning my paycheck as a substitute teacher for 8th grade math, I actually heard the above sentence spoken to me. I began taking attendence and one girl graciously informed me that I shouldn't because, THE BELL AIN'T DONE RANG YET. This was a student in the 8th grade. What makes it even more appauling is that English is her first language. Now, I could forgive the poor grammar had she been a foreign student having been exposed to English as maybe her second or third language, but she was a native speaker! How horrible is that?

Later the same day, I actually heard a member of the faculty say, "I growed up with these kids." An educator actually uttered growed and used it in a sentence. It's not even a word! Frankly, if faculty can't speak English, how can the students be expected to speak properly?
GROWED.

I would really like to see a community where folks have a command of the spoken and written word. I'm sorry that our society condones celebrities who can't speak a coherent sentence nor write one. I'm disgusted with the whole eubonics approach to literacy.

I don't be nothing. I ain't no sick mess, aw'right. I don't want to be axing no pacific questions to none of them inbred igits. Aw'ight. My peeps don't be needing to be trippin' like dat. Peace out. Word. Oh, no you din't just go there. I sho nuff did. Don't be gittin' all like dat. Aw'ight.

This isn't an issue of race. It is simply an issue of education. These examples of unacceptable English are spoken by both whites and blacks. I have heard white faculty members slaughter English grammar. I have heard both white and black students speak horribly. Sometimes, the written submissions are not even legible. The chicken scratch that passes for penmanship is pitiful and that doesn't even take into consideration the "hooked on phonics" spelling. Granted, I am not the best speller, but I know that "my techr is nis," is a poor display of middle school academic performance.

These headstones are just on the otherside of my fence line. The Hofstra's aren't side by side, but I suspect they were married in life.

With the weather what it is here, it's not surprising to see that some headstones have fallen. That, and rumor has it there are some vandals who like to knock them over. I'm not too sure if I believe that. I tried to lift one back up and let me tell you.....THEY ARE HEAVY.

That's right. Oscar died July 31, 1898.

This is my backyard.

Oh, the telemarketers

Well, now that we are back in the good ol' USA, we have received several telephone calls from solicitors. Seems that once a person purchases a home, the "THEY" get it. That's when "THEY" start calling. Not only that, but also "THEY" send lots of solicitations in the mail. "THEY" aren't interested in welcoming me to the area/neighborhood. All "THEY" want in my money.

And...that just sucks.

The magazine "THEY" folks just love to call. I've had three calls in as many days. I guess I was so used to not having "THEY" call me. That's one perk of living abroad. Unfortunately, I fell for a deal I just couldn't refuse and "THEY" got me. Yes, I bought some magazines. CRAP. Now, I'm really on the "THEY" list.

Then the charity "THEY" called. "THEY" wanted money for Katrina relief. "THEY" wanted money to support the Amber Alert system. "THEY" wanted money for the State Police.

Then "THEY" ambushed drivers at stop lights. There "THEY" were, waiting for the light to turn red so "THEY" could run up and encourage folks to toss spare change into the bucket. "THEY" were not the firefighters who ask folks to Fill The Boot. I do contribute to that cause, so I don't mind them at all. Okay, within reason. I don't like the firefighters at each traffic signal in town. By the end of a short trip to the grocery store, I don't have and spare change anymore. As a matter of fact, now I don't have money for my groceries.

Anyway......"THEY" have found my blog. Frankly, it really bums me out that "THEY" try to sell me stuff on MY OWN BLOG! I would have thought that this would be one place that "THEY" leave alone.

How much wood?

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? I don't know, but he sure does love to eat my corn.

Yesterday, the pups were going crazy at the window. I assumed they were fretting because of the deer. They come around in the early evening to munch on the goodies I have left them. Well, the pups didn't calm down after several minutes so I took a peek out the window. Hmmmm, it was no deer sitting there nibbling on the cracked corn I set out for the deer. At first, I thought maybe it was a rabbit since we have those, too. It's ears were way too small to be a rabbit. So, I went outside.

It turned and looked at me for a second then darted off for a wood pile. Definitely a woodchuck/ground hog. They are the same thing, aren't they? Anyway, I have seen some big ones munching in other people's yards around town. This one must be a baby guy. He was much smaller than the ones I have seen.

Personally, I think he is just as cute as a button and I'll continue to put out special treats for my backyard wildlife. Okay, except for the mole. Unfortunately, there were new tracks in the yard this morning, so I think the trap is not working. We set it again. Tomorrow is another day for trapping/spearing moles.

A few days ago, my neighbor commented that we have the assorted wildlife; deer, raccoon, birds, chipmunks, moles, rabbits, squirrels and then she mentioned the worst creature of all----OPOSSUM. I really, really, really don't like the possum. It's a long story. Okay, it goes like this...

When I was a child of 11 years of age, my family lived in Panama. As I was adventuresome and was not usually frightened by insects or other unusual creatures, I found that it was a fascinating place to live. Some animal of some sort or another crept into our lives and sometimes into our house nearly everyday. I remember one afternoon when my mother asked me to take the garbage outside. This was a typical request and I did as I was instructed. I tied up the ends of the Hefty bag and took it outside to the big metal tragicomic. I set the big green plastic trash bag on the ground next to the trash bins so I could use both hands to open the lid of one of the cans. As I did so, a hideous beast feasting inside the can protested my intrusion. It spun around and stared at me. Its glistening black eyes were wide open and it hissed at me showing its shiny white teeth. Its rat-tail curled around its black body. I screamed! I slammed the metal lid back down on the can and ran inside the house. I was still screaming. My mother rushed into the kitchen asking me what was wrong. I told her there was an animal in the trash. She laughed. I guess she thought I must have been hurt or something. Afterall, I was screaming as if my arm had been severed from my body. Clearly, my mother thought I had overreacted to a simple animal, probably a mouse, inside the trash can.

Imagine her surprise when she went to investigate my outlandish claim. I knew what was in the trash can and wanted nothing to do with it. I stayed in the doorway to the kitchen watching. When she lifted up the grey metal lid, that creature inside hissed at her. I could hear it from where I was.

My mother closed the lid, now a believer. She simply stated that it was a possum and that it was probably much more afraid of me than I was of it. Well, that meant it was scared out of its mind because I was terrified.

And you know what? That wasn't my ONLY run in with a possum. To this day, I get the heeby geebies whenever I think about those nasty creatures. So, heaven help the possum who decides to get a snack in MY yard. Oh no no. That would not be a good thing. No way. No how.

I put the bird feeders on the other side of the fence. That way when the spilled seeds sprout, it won't mess up my flower bed. The can grow all they want in the wooded area outside my fence. We left that area alone for the most part.

In the dirt patch behind me, I have planted lots of tulips. They will be so pretty in the spring, provided that the mole doesn't eat the roots and the deer don't eat the stems.

My amazing husband and our patio/deck.

Check out this mess that I get to clean up. She had a good time and that's for sure.

Look Mom! Look what I did. This is so EXCITING!

Sydney just discovered where the mole might live.

Another shot of the hole.

This in the hole.

Directly at the bottom center of this picture, you might see a speck of orange just to the right of the base of the tree. That is a salt lick. Yep. I put it there.

The deer get even closer than this.

Yes, I have deer in my back yard. I also have headstones.

You might think Annabelle is looking at my fish, but my fish are all hiding. They know they are "feeder" fish.

terrier \ literally earth dog,

Terrier \ literally earth dog. From Latin terra. Small dogs originally used by hunters to dig for small furred game and engage the quarry underground or drive it out.

I have three of them. Jake, my Westie, prefers letting the others get dirty. He's more of a lover than a fighter. Annabelle, my Scottie, is more inclined to KILL her squeaky toys. However, Sydney, my Schnauzer (originally bred to hunt and kill rats), is a true terrier. She is a digger.

When we first moved into our house, we noticed long skinny bulges in our yard. Absently, I assumed they were surface roots from the many trees. Even when we began our extensive landscaping, we would pull up long surface roots and continue. Then I began to notice these long skinny bulges in circles and no where near trees. And...I might add, all the grass along those long skinny bulges was dead. I suspected a mole.

Turns out, I was correct. I stamped down those bulgy trails and cursed the rodents. I encouraged them to move out of my yard into my neighbors yard. Of course, my neighbor adamantly protested. My other neighbor allowed my to borrow the Killer Mole Trap. Basically it works similar to a mouse trap, but instead of a snapping wire, it has six vicious looking spikes. The trap is set along the mole trail and when the mole digs under it, SNAP, the spikes sink into the ground and impale the little beasties.

A few days with nothing, then yesterday I noticed the spikes were down. Part of my was happy and part of my was sad. I didn't want to kill it, but I didn't want it tearing up my yard. I really didn't want to poison it for fear that my pups would be poisoned or eat one that had been poisoned. Anyway, I decided to check to see if I indeed had a dead mole.

When I pulled up the trap, a big chunk of dirt/clay came up revealing the hole. No mole, but definitely mole smell. Suddenly, I had a helper. Sydney was....let's say...very curious. Okay, she was really SUPER EXCITED!! Into the hole she went. There was no stopping her. Naturally, since I spoil her rotten I just encouraged the assault. In a high squeaky voice I told her to "Get it!" and to "Kill it!"

Lots and lots of digging. Eventually, her head disappeared. Her bum was up in the air and a little tiny tail was wiggling like it had been turn onto vibrate. She was having the big time Super Fun Time. All her effort was to no avail. No mole.

When it was all said and done, I had a worn out, filthy dog and a big hole in my yard. So much for a long skinny bulge. It's more like a giant pot hole.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it.....

Having accepted the mission, I set out on my quest.

Store closed. Sorry! Come again!

Later...store open. Sign in window proclaims "All fish 10% off!" Excellent. That is until I noticed the fine print, "except feeder fish."

"I need some feeder fish."
"How many would you like?"
"Hmmm, I think 5 would be plenty."
"We only sell by the dozen."
"Well then, I'll take 12."

Two hours later....all the fish are dead.

I anticipated them being eaten by the local wildlife, but they didn't last that long. The first clue was seeing them suck air at the surface of the water. The next clue was me being able to scoop them up by hand with no resistance.

In order to make sure I collected all the bodies, I counted the dead. One by one. Guess what. Even the bonus fish, #13, died. Unlucky for him.

Two days and two aquarium prep anti-chlorine tablets, I set off to accomplish my mission.

In go the next batch of feeder fish. Good thing they are only 15 cents each. No way am I spending $5.oo on a fish that will ultimately be eaten or flushed.

An hour later.....I still have living fish.

Another hour later.....still swimming.

The next day.....still swimming.

The next morning.....hmmmm for some reason, there are lots more rocks in my pond than there were the night before. Also, no fish. I picked out the rocks that had been resting on the edge of the pond and discover fish. They are still alive!! Rejoice!

My pond has goldfish. Mission accomplished.

The deck is still missing lattice, railing and steps. That's tomorrow's project. Lucky for me, that's not my job. I get to work inside tomorrow.

A few more plants and presto, the pond is finished. Of course, I still have plenty of boxes in my basement waiting for me to unpack, but my pond is finished. Notice the big fat frog. Once the section of fence to the left is replaced, I can finish up with the mulch and really begin to enjoy all the hard work.

Clear out the trash and things are really looking good.

A stroll down the walkway, past the pond, and finally to a shady spot to relax.

Phew! Break time.

Lots done, but more to go.

My husband and father-in-law putting together the giant puzzle.

Still digging the trench.

My wonderful pond begins to take shape. If you use your imagination, you might be able to picture the finished product.

Maybe some more sand would help.

And the flagstone begins.

The trench.

Here I am digging a trench for the electical wiring for the pond. Don't I look "purty"?

Believe it or not, we are still speaking to each other at this point.

Work in progress.

Big changes ahead for this space.

More of the "before". Just wait for the "after".

Although we trimmed out all the underbrush, there is still plenty more work ahead.

We had to dig out three to five inches of dirt and move it someplace else. My husband, the most patient man in the world, was thankful that we had a nice tree line where we could dumb the 50+ wheel barrel loads full.

This is where the pond will go.

The Joys of Owning a Home

Although we were offered the opportunity to live on post in military quarters, we declined. The quarters that we were eligible to receive are small and we certainly would have been cramped. The house we bought (the one I bought on-line) is much larger than quarters and if we ever decide to finish the basement, we'll almost double the square footage. We have a lovely yard of which a portioned in fenced. That's a good thing for the pups. Unfortunately, the gate doesn't securely latch and Jake is able to push it open. In order to prevent them from wandering (and they have on several occasions) I now have an old style wash tub set against the gate. If this were West Virginia, it would be perfectly acceptable as lawn decoration. Actually, in some parts of our town, it's acceptable lawn decoration, but my neighbors have all their teeth and very well manicured lawns. I'll be glad to have the fence guy come fix it. For now, the wash tub solves the problem. Aesthetics are a bit further down on the "to do" list.

The first few days after our arrival, the sun was shining. The grass was rapidly turning brown and dying. We borrowed our neighbor's hose (ours still hadn't arrived) to water our lawn. Then, there was a shift in the weather. It began to rain. And rain. And rain. It rained for a solid two days before the clouds broke.

One of the trees in our back yard fell over into the pie-wedge portion of our yard. It didn't hit anything, except for other trees. Not too big of a deal. Unfortunately, it's OUR tree. There is no provision for off-post residents to call in for a work-order and have the Housing Department workers come clean up the mess. Nope. It's our house, our yard, our tree and ultimately, OUR problem.

After speaking with my neighbors and obtaining recommendations for a good tree guy, and after several more days of rain and a few more fallen tree limbs (nothing as dramatic as the first tree), a tree guy came out and gave us an estimate of what it would cost to remove the fallen tree, trim back some space invading branches, some future problematic branches and many dead limbs. Simply because the one tree had fallen down, we were able to get the work done within three days. Had we not had the fallen tree, it would have been several more weeks before a crew would have been able to come. The bid for the cost of tree rendering: $775.

Another tree crew came out to give their estimate on the job. This guy had maybe three teeth in his head and I am fairly certain he checked out my old style wash tub. His bid was $975. Naturally, I went with the first crew. No only would I save $200, I wouldn't have to worry about my wash tub "disappearing".

Wouldn't you know, once the big limbs were trimmed and removed, more dead and/or dying limbs were visible. Good thing for us that we had already agreed on the original bid and since the one fellow was already up in the trees precariously hanging from a rope and dangling a chain saw, they agreed to cut away the additional branches for no extra charge. That was so nice of them. I'm sure the fact that I provided them with cool beverages throughout the day helped with their generosity.

They worked very hard and quickly. Luckily, the rain held off most of the day. It drizzled off and on throughout the day, but the down pour didn't hit until after they loaded up all their equipment and drove away.

And the rain continues. We've had around four inches of rain in the last two days. I'm hoping the sump pump maintains its performance level. I really don't need to deal with a flooded basement right now. That would be a nightmare. Can you imagine?

5:00 a.m. is for sleeping

Usually, I can sleep through just about anything. Okay, any noises. Blinding light from the bathroom dramatically disturbs my R.E.M., but that's another story. Back to the noises. My dogs, okay, my spoiled rotten little Sydney, tends to need a bit of extra attention and usually it's around 3:00 a.m. when she begins to act a tad sassy. My husband, the world's most patient man, hears her long before I do and takes care of her every whim. At 3:00 a.m. it's predominantly a visit to the yard. Although sometimes, Syd just needs to have someone be awake with her.

Since we have moved into our new home, Sydney has worn herself OUT. Not only do we have lots of windows from which she can see the squirrels invade the yard, but she can also witness the comings and goings of many, many, many deer. By the end of the day, she is so worn out that she doesn't even make it on the bed. She simply crawls under the bed and is snoozing before her head hits the proverbial pillow.

Unfortunately, the move into the house has had an opposite affect on me. As a result, I now know that the paperboy delivers our newspaper at 4:50 a.m. The sound of the approaching vehicle up our cul-de-sac off of a cul-de-sac in an otherwise silent environment, caused my eyes to pop awake. Yep....just in time for the blinding light from the headlights to hit the bedroom window. So.....now I'm wake awake.

It's going to be a long, long day.

Internet Access

It's been a long time, but I finally have my computer set up and I am back on line. Thanks for being patient.

I don't need no stinkin' helmet

The return to the United States has been quite eventful. Shortly after arriving in Colorado, my mother, son and I got in her Mustang convertible along with the five dogs and drove to Oklahoma to spend the 4th of July weekend with my sister and her family. Even though all the dogs are small, five certainly made for cramped conditions.

My sister is "horse people" and has three. The first one she bought is a pony. His name is Gandolf and he is a happy-go-lucky pony. I, being the animal lover that I am, couldn't wait to ride one of her horses. Apparently, Gandolf is known for forcing riders to fall off. I scoff. I've ridden horses before and have never fallen. My nephew is so convinced that I will have a close encounter with the ground that he puts his money where his mouth is and bet me a dollar. To a kid, that's a pretty decent amount for a bet. Still confident in my ability to defy gravity, I accept.

Up onto Gandolf's back, with no saddle and no helmet, I go. No bridle either, just a halter. Around the field, under some trees, around a pond, over a hill, walking and trotting. And wouldn't you know, there was no falling for me. Sorry, kid. You loose.

My sister's next horse is a Morgan. That's my nieces special horse and there was no doubt that I would not be riding that horse. He's a bit high spirited. Not a problem. I wasn't in any hurry to experience a rough ride. I was perfectly content to simply pet and brush him.

The horse I really wanted to get on was horse number three, Stryder. He's big: half Arabian and half Percheron. BIG. As I prepare to climb aboard, my sister suggested I might consider a helmet. She indicated that not only had she fallen off this horse, but my niece had too. I pass. I don't need a stinkin' helmet. I have no intention of falling off. Besides, this horse is mild-mannered and not prone to quick starts. My sister informs me that they affectionate refer to Stryder as Mount Stryder because he is a mountain of a horse and falling from the lofty perch, well....let's say it's a long way down.

My sister had arranged for my niece to have a riding/jumping lesson and a second riding lesson for me. So, up onto the horse I go. This time with a saddle, an English saddle, but a saddle none-the-less. No problems. All was well while I sat on the back of the horse and watched my niece encourage her Morgan over jumps.

Then, it was my turn. The training/instructor walked into a circle pen and I followed. Unfortunately for me, the pen didn't have a gate, just a flimsy strap attached to the fence posts. Initially, I didn't recognize the hazard, nor did my sister or the trainer.

Stryder was a bit nervous having a novice rider on his back. I was a bit nervous on the back of such a large horse.

The trainer instructed me to let loose the reigns and place my hands on the horse's withers and gently squeeze with my legs to make the horse move forward. Well, he had bent his head and neck down to nibble on some grass. As he lifted his head, he came up on the other side of the flimsy strap. He did exactly what I told him to do and he went forward. That strap....well, talk about clothesline.

On my way down, I thought to myself, "And I don't even have on a helmet."

I landed HARD. After a few minutes of seeing stars and feeling the earth's rotation, I got back up on the horse. This time, we hand an understanding. Go easy and let's be friends. There were no further complications.

Last message from Germany

Today is my last night in Germany. Tomorrow afternoon, I will fly across the pond and return to the United States of America. It's been a long three years, but a good three years. I've made many wonderful friends.

Being a member of the military community, I know that sooner or later our paths will cross again. Inasmuch, I don't say "good-bye". Good-bye is much to permanent. Instead, I'll say, "See you later."

Samantha, thanks so much for the use of your truck. Can you imagine how I would get three dog crates, three suitcases, two carry-on bags, my son, my husband and I into the MINI? It just wouldn't work. Three grocery bags fill up the "trunk" space.

My amazingly patient husband (red cap) and I preparing to embark a shoe shopping frenzy in the GREATEST shoe store. Mmmmm, shoooooeeeesssss.

Here I am having too much fun. Heidelberg, Germany

Another succesful shopping experience.

I'm happy to say...we are friends.

Alan and his two moms celebrating the completion of high school.

And the day of the High School Graduation finally arrives.

That's Not Natural --- Oak Express

A week ago, I embarked on an unusual adventure. I drove almost two hours to pick up my husband's ex-wife at the airport. I had no anxiety about the situation right up to the point where the arrivals board indicated her flight had landed. For the twenty minutes it took her to clear customs, I began to get that queasy feeling in my stomach and I started asking myself, "What am I doing?"

When she appeared with her suitcase in tow, I wasn't sure how to act. Do I give her a hug or do I simply say, Welcome? What to do? What to do? I went with the hug. And at that moment, things were fine.

During the trip back to the house, she and I became friends. Over the course of the week, we laughed, chatted, shopped, drank and ate together. Onlookers would never suspect that we were the ex-wife and new wife.

We spent the better part of one day just sitting on the couch talking. We talked and talked and talked. We talked about old times, current times, and future times. Then, I broke out the old family photographs of when she was still the wife and the children (our son turns 18 today) were little kids. Lots of baby pictures and early childhood pictures. There were even a few pre-children pictures. When a photograph of my husband's "Love Machine" surfaced, she mentioned that the back seat was where she lost her virginity. Hmmmm, a little detail that I had not been privy to. We laughed at silly pictures and talked about old friends of hers which are new friends of mine.

Another day, and I showed her the scrapbooks I have compiled during my marriage. We laughed and joked and had a grand time. She and I, both being scrapbookers, shared ideas and techniques of memorializing our families' histories.

The big Oak Express moments (That's not natural) came when we were trying to decide what to wear to our son's high school graduation. How many ex-wives and new wives share clothes and try on each other's shoes? In spite of the weirdness of our situation, we had a fabulous time.

My husband, understandably, felt awkward. I had to remind him that early in our relationship, he had expressed interest in achieving a cordial relationship with her and her new family (three years ago, there was NO CHANCE of that EVER happening) and perhaps being able to enjoy a meal together. He said there was a big difference between having a Bar-B-Q and being able to leave after a couple hours and having his ex-wife stay a week in our home. I guess he's right.

Initially, I told the most wonderful man in the world that I might feel uncomfortable if I were to go to bed and he remained in the living room with Erin (his ex-wife). He respected that. After a day or so, any hint of anxiety on my part had vanished. She is in as much love with her husband as I am with mine. That and she told me that I am able to give something to my husband that she never could. After looking at pictures, she said," He looks happier with you than he ever did with me." Isn't that so nice?

At one point, I asked Erin how she felt about the situation. We agreed that a year ago, this past week would not have been able to happen. It took her marrying a man with two children for her to understand what it's like rearing someone else's children. Later, over a quiet lunch, she and I had a moment of truth. I told her of a particular event that really got under my skin and she acknowledged that it was inappropriate and apologized.

And then, she said the most wonderful thing. The reason for her visit was to witness our son's high school graduation, but I made her trip.

Frankly, I was sad to see her go.

Way too early in the morning for my own good.

Sometimes my mind wonders. One thought leads to another then to another and then the next thing I know, I'm wide awake at 4 o'clock in the morning wondering why I can't sleep.

I realize it has been several days since I updated my blog with new and improved adventures, but here's the thing: online journals get read by others. It's one thing to ramble on and on in a private journal and a completely different thing to put those same thoughts on the internet. If I were to have a beef with a friend and wanted to write about how much she got under my skin and then have her read about it just isn't productive. I know my friends and family read my blog. Sometimes private thoughts are private. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. --There, that's my explanation for my absence.

Of course, there's always the very personal and intimate items that, quite frankly, are nobody's business. Suppose I was afflicted with a particular ailment that I wanted to write about, complain about and basically emotionally purge from my mind, but didn't want my friends and family to necessarily know about. If I were to have an incredibly painful zit on my butt which generated irritability because I can't sit without a sharp jab in the gluts, my friends just don't need to know about that. Afterall, I have an image to uphold. I can't have folks knowing about the colony of fleas residing in my carpets or the seeping lesions festering on my backside. Okay, for those of you raising eyebrows right about now, these are merely examples to illustrate my dilemma.

On the other hand, some days are simply uneventful. One day blends into the next and before you know it, two weeks have gone by. There just haven't been that many adventures in my life as of late. But, as the end of our three year tour in Germany comes to a close and I add task after task to the list of things to do, tiny pop quiz adventures are becoming more frequent.

Like trying to purchase a house online. That's been an experience and not one I can recommend. I would suggest actually going to the properties and seeing them first hand. The process of elimination, I suspect, would be less complicated. The added factor of being 7 hours ahead of the realtor doesn't benefit the situation. After browsing through the assortment of online photographs and emailed questions and answers, another buyer has beaten us to the contract negotiations. The stress is starting to get to me. We are now down to choosing between a house that isn't finished being built (and won't be for several weeks after we need to take up residence) or a beautiful house, which shares a property line with a cemetery. Frankly, being the Halloween enthusiast that I am, I have no issue with the neighbors. I suspect they're quite and tend not to partake in hosting the social gathering of the year, although.... folks would by dying to visit.

So, in the next 3 weeks, I have extended family coming to visit, a son graduating from high school, an ex-wife is coming for the graduation, the necessary sorting of household baggage and hold baggage, the tossing out of the unneeded and unwanted stuff that has been collected over the last three years, the purchasing of a home, the packing and shipping, the journey to the United States with three dogs, and all the other millions of things that will pop up. Phew....

My son even got into the festive mood.

What more can I say?

More women folk. I just wonder why I was dressed as the trampy entertainment and all the other ladies came as respectable wives.

Many, many beers were had by all.

And, there's always one in the crowd who thinks they don't have to participate with the "dress" code.

My friend Christie and her husband.

Men were invited to bring their women folk.

While the most amazing man in the world was in Iraq, he decided that when he returned, he would have his fellow soldiers over to our house for a "Man-Dress" party.