Imaginary Landscape

Photo by John Rogers Several of my acquaintances are fans of my ginger cat, Wally. So I thought I would leave the morose blog entries behind for a change and tell you about how Wally came to adopt us. It was the spring of 2012. We were still living in the 14 x 20 cabin we'd had trailered onto the place in August 2011 after the house burned down. The new house was not yet under construction and with all our accoutrement for daily living, a minimum amount of clothing for both teaching and farm work, and all the paperwork that resulted from insurance claims, mortgage pay outs, and ideas for the new house (plus an elderly dog), we were pretty tightly packed in. Population explosion Every spring we have a cat population explosion on the farm. I also suspect that there are signs erected in various parts of the county that read, "Free Food at the Joneses," written in a language only felines understand. Our "farm cats" are feral, and we don't have the time...

I still remember the day, a little more than three years ago now. We were stuck in that little cabin because the progress on building the house had hit half a dozen snags. I was just getting over the flu, and it was cold outside, so my husband was feeding the horses while I waited to start supper. My mobile phone rang, and someone from somewhere in Georgia asked for my husband. I was ugly. I hate spam phone calls and am suspicious of anyone who contacts me electronically who I don't know. But it felt – bad. Adrenaline suddenly coursed through my veins, and I felt as if I were buzzing all over -- vibrating. The caller asked when my husband would be available. I told them to call back in about 30 minutes, and they hung up. I started to pace. Who would be calling him on my phone? Who would be calling from Georgia? It had to be bad news, but what kind of bad news would come from Georgia – especially a place I'd never heard of – Gainesville? His oldest daughter had recently been ...

I just read an article (" I Liked Everything I Saw on Facebook for 2 Days. Here's What It Did to Me," by Mat Honan, from Wired , Aug 11, 2014 ) that a friend shared on Facebook. This author discusses what happened to his Facebook news feed when he "liked" nearly everything for two days. As one might expect, the news feed became entirely commercial or article-related -- no posts from friends -- especially on mobile versions of Facebook. "Liking" on Facebook is the new forwarded email joke. Remember? Everyone had at least one friend who persistently emailed jokes to you, sometimes more than once a day, old jokes, bad jokes, boring jokes, and often little cheery bits of fluff along the lines of 'somebody loves you' or 'forward this or go broke and then die." If you complained to your friend: "Stop sending me this crap! Can't you just say 'hello' and tell me what's up with you?" the target of your complaint ...

If you cut yourself while chopping onions in the midst of dinner preparations one evening, or if you burn yourself on the oven as you remove a tasty cake, someone might see that you favor a certain finger, or she might see that you've a nasty blister on your forearm. Perhaps she might even ask, “Oh! Did you hurt yourself?” She might wish you speedy healing or remark on how nasty the injury looks. My son is a chef, and his fingers and arms are full of scars from cuts and burns. One can trace the errors of his profession on his hands and arms. I have a scar from a hysterectomy, one from the time I burned myself with the iron. It is easy to see when someone is physically hurt and, for many years, to watch the healing process. When the hurt is emotional, it’s more difficult to track and even more difficult to understand. All of us deal with disappointment and hurt on a fairly regular basis. We have arguments with loved ones, we miss out on chances and promotions we’d cou...

Baby mine I sing you this last lullaby Even though you’re too big to hold Too cold to sigh Too young to die No words of comfort for your mum No jokes, no words of advice Just that smile that beguiled me from your first breath In photos posed for patiently On your coming and going One final pose, the long sleep, tucked in For all eternity 22 February 2012

I began this on January 17, 2012. People recommend one write to help with the grief. When I write, I can never finish anything because I end up weeping. This is as finished as it gets. Anger. I  wasn't  looking forward to Christmas. I’d been downloading Christmas music, listening to it in the cabin, in the car, trying to gain some enthusiasm for the season, but after John and I had a couple phone calls, a couple emails, suddenly, we were going to spend Christmas in Atlanta, with John, and I started to get excited. Disappointment. The plan was to finish the semester, all the grading and calculating and submitting of grades, then drive to Georgia. We would leave the 21 st or so, take two days to get there, spend Christmas with John and his girlfriend, then drive home over another couple of days. Despair. They take the day off to go biking. Something – a barbecue place – takes them to Gainesville, Georgia. They enjoy their meal and get back on the road. The gir...

Not sure if this is a ‘caveat emptor’ story or what. Give a listen. Many months ago – let’s say six – Orvy and I were browsing antique stores in a little town an hour from here, which shall remain nameless, but starts with the letter Belton. We were actually picking up some furniture we’d bought for the new house, and I found an old English-made mantel clock with face and wood in good condition, a key, and the tag said “works”. Price was a bit steep, but I wound it, it chimed (Westminster chimes) – it seemed – appropriately. So I bought it and brought it home. Seems it  wouldn't  run for long unless tilted at about a 15 degree angle. We had reason to return to Belton the following week, and I complained to the proprietor. I really loved the clock and  didn't  really want to return it, but I also expected it to work, as advertised. She said there was a clock repairman a couple blocks away, and if I would take the clock there and have him phone her with the rep...

Posted on Facebook after the ash dive, celebrating my son, John Rogers, and his life: Photo by Raymond Adams When a baby is born, a mother has to let him go, after listening to one another's heartbeats for all those months. When a son grows up, a mother lets him go again, as he enters the world to become his own man. One thing a mother never expects is to have to let him go when he dies. I've done all those things, and I'm not the only one. However, today, I was able to set him free with the help of his wonderful friends, and I was able to experience a little of the joy he knew when he flew through the air with them. Thanks to all of you -- there are too many to mention -- family, friends from all parts of his life. You made it hurt little less. June 23rd 2012

"In the midst of this chopping sea of civilized life, such are the clouds and storms and quicksands and thousand-and-one items to be allowed for, that a man has to live, if he would not founder and go to the bottom and not make his port at all, by dead reckoning, and he must be a great calculator indeed who succeeds." – Henry David Thoreau "...and in these same perilous seas, gropes he not his way by mere dead reckoning of the error-abounding log?" – Herman Melville, Moby Dick, or, The Whale We reckon the times of our lives by significant and insignificant moments, before and after babies are born, after the wedding, before the divorce, before I lost my job, after the drought of 2011, after Daddy died. These moments give us a fix in time so that we can navigate our brief but busy lives on this planet. I thought most of my reckoning moments had passed me. My babies are grown up, I’ve been divorced twice, married the man of my dreams, moved to Australia, moved back fr...

My father has nine siblings. I say “has,” even though a few have passed away, including my father, because one’s siblings are always one’s siblings. Remembering their birth order was always impossible for me. When I grew up, I just had to keep track of one sibling. Not too long after my father (Herb -- #3) passed away, I asked my Aunt Doris (#9 – the oldest of twins) for their birth order and I wrote it down on a sticky note and have been using it as a bookmark, so I can see it all the time. They are: Bob, Mary, Herb, Curt, Dick, Pat (Patricia), Nancy, Bill, Donna and Doris. There is unbelievable family resemblance among them, although even the twins aren’t identical. I took my sons to a family reunion when they were in grade school, and the youngest came up to me after about an hour and whispered incredulously, “They all look alike!” It certainly wasn’t a trait he and his brother shared, nor my sister and I. Uncle Bob (#1) passed away when I was young; his was the second funeral I att...

It was a simple mission : We were headed to Bertram, TX, to adopt a burro as a companion to eight-year old Janet, which we’d adopted a year before in Belton, TX – a burro that was shy and fearful of people and that the horses generally shunned. We also had three mustangs, two ponies and a Morgan-cross filly, so we didn’t need any more horses. Just one burro. Well, we thought, if we see a mustang there we just can’t pass up, we’ll adopt just one mustang – no more. On May 29, 2008, my husband, Sherman, and I drove down to Belton early with to our third Bureau of Land Management (BLM) auction. We headed for the pen of jennies, and immediately, a woolly-looking two-year old came up to the panel to sniff our hands. S he was a cute as a button, and I announced, this is our burro! We took note of her tag number and had some time to kill before the auction began, so we walked the perimeter to look at the mustangs. Because of our limitations as trainers (we’re not), we never even look at mustan...

The story, from the SpaceX /Media website began: Significant Milestone Achieved as SpaceX Prepares to Demonstrate U.S. Transport to the International Space Station HAWTHORNE, CA – November 23, 2008 – Space Exploration Technologies Corp. (SpaceX) successfully conducted a full mission-length firing of its Falcon 9 launch vehicle's first stage at its McGregor Test Facility in Texas, on November 22. For the static test firing, the first stage remains firmly secured to the massive vertical test stand, where it fired for 178 seconds or nearly three minutes — simulating the climb of the giant rocket from the surface of the Earth towards orbit. But let’s go back to Saturday, November 22. Imagine you are travelling in the car with us – I’m in the passenger seat, my husband driving, my stepdaughter (who had just had a grueling day at the mercy of Southwest Airlines coping valiantly with a half-day’s fog in San Diego, of all places, which delayed flights until nearly noon). We are travelling ...