The soft pastel hues of the fresh farm eggs are pleasant to my eyes. I have a friend who generously gives me eggs straight from her chickens. Saturday morning is my favorite time to get up at my leisure, and as I inhale the warming aroma of coffee brewing, I scramble up a couple in the pan. Today’s eggshells were a lovely pale shade of green and a light tan. Ah, the simple pleasures of a farm girl.
I’m saving my eggshells to mix with my soil for the summer garden. Growing vegetables is something farm girls do, and I think of myself as a farm girl. Truth be told, I was raised in the Burbs of South Florida. However, my parents were Texans and my dad was definitely a country boy. Even though I was a city girl, the country was bred in my soul. I remember as a little girl, going to the Davie Rodeo with my dad. One year I had the cutest cowgirl vest and skirt. It was red with white fringe and I had a hat and boots to match. I felt like the rodeo queen! As I reflect on that day, I probably looked more like the city girl I really was dressed up country.
One summer we were visiting kinfolk in the Texas panhandle. My dad, brother and I went to help a cousin round up cattle on his ranch. Now I had ridden a horse a time or two down a simple horse trail lead by an experienced rider. I liked horses. I liked the idea of horseback riding. But each time I saddled up on one of those beautiful creatures, I didn’t like it so much. But here I was sixteen years old, and I hadn’t accepted the fact that I was a city girl.Rounding up a few cattle sounded adventurous and something a true country girl would do. Well, you probably can guess where this is going. First, my dad had to boost me up onto the giant animal, and then we started on our way out into the vast, dry, wilderness under a blazing Texas summer sun. It wasn’t long before that dern horse started to gallop. WHOA! I have never gone faster than a very slow, steady walk while on a horse. My dad and cousin were amused, while my brother laughed at my shrieks and shouts of “Whoa!” and “Slow down!”. But there was no turning back, so on we went to get the job done. I did not particiipate in the actual “round up”, but sat atop my horse waiting for the torture to end. It seemed to take a life time to steer those cows back, and once we did make it back to the barn, I needed Dad to help me off. By now, I was so very ready to be off as I was feeling pretty sore. But first, Dad had to take pictures. The snapshot shows a look on my face that clearly screams, “Get me off this horse NOW!” My dad and cousin were amused. My brother was trying to act like he had no aches and pains.
It is funny as I reflect on that day, that I still like the IDEA of horseback riding, but I think it’s best that I just enjoy the idea in my mind. I think I’ll explore my country side by driving out to my local dairy and buying fresh milk and maybe pet a cow or two while there. I will piddle around with my vegetable garden and put up some of the produce I grow and enjoy the farm fresh eggs of pretty colors. It really is time to accept that I am a city girl with a country heart, but I think I’ll still call myself a farm girl.
I’ve been playing Hand and Foot for several years now with one of my dearest friends. Over the years, we have had different playing partners, but now her daughters play with us. As much as I enjoy the game, it’s the time spent with my “adopted” family that makes each get together special. Sometimes it’s just the four of us, but most of the time there will be some grandkids roaming around being rambunctious in the house or watching and listening as we play.The conversation, the stories, the laughter, and the outburst of song as we sing along to the music on Pandora are the sounds that fill the room. Often you here, “Whose turn is it?” and we always know.
Because of life’s unexpected circumstances, we have not played for several weeks, but today as we began shuffling and giggling about something silly, my friend remarked how much she missed the laughter, and we all agreed. Playing the game, for us, is so much more than a deck of cards and keeping score. It’s family. It’s sharing our hearts. It’s the little ones who will one day join in the game. It’s memories that will last a lifetime and carry on for generations to come.
So, who wants to play some cards?
I worked with a teacher who often used the phrase, “I’m old school”, and indeed she was in so many ways!! She used the phrase as a defense and as a victory cry, depending on the circumstance. If her scores were good it was because she was teaching “old school”. If she didn’t want to learn the new technology or listen to new ideas: “old school”.
At times, I can be “old school” myself, especially when it comes to pouring my thoughts out in words. I want a pen in my hand and a clean page in my journal . I want to choose my font and size based on what I want to express. Using the pen is a clue to my thinking, my emotions, my expression. When I look back at my journal writing, my handwriting reveals more about myself than just the words. If I am being reflective and philosophical, I tend to use my best cursive with a neutral color ink: black or blue. If I am being creative, it is colorful with words that are printed large and bold or small and precise. It might have lots of curlie Q’s and doodles. Worship and praise to my Father is always flows out in print and in the form of poetry. Confusion, frustration, anger and even joy are expressed with lines that may go in all directions and be all shapes and sizes smeared with a tear or two that has made its own expressive mark on the page. I think I will always be “old school” first when it comes to writing, but that is not to say I will limit myself.
This blog is definitely not “old school”, although for the more technologically advanced it may be. For me, it is a new way to send out my voice to anyone who wants to hear it. It is definitely a step out of my comfort zone, but I find it exciting and inspiring. It is helping me to think about other topics and ideas and put them into words; it’s another step in helping me be a better writer. So I embrace this endeavor knowing that soon enough it will become “old school” too.
Getting started…it’s my 56th birthday and I suppose it’s a good time to start something new. Many people, including myself, start something new at the beginning of the year, and many people, like myself, end it before it really gets started! For me, I was going to make some lifestyle changes here and there, but once my Christmas break was over I was back to the same routine again. So here it is a couple of months later and I’m ready to try again, but this time I’m starting something different: blogging.
This new thing makes me a little apprehensive because I’m putting my thoughts and feeble skills out there in that vast cyber land to end up where? Who knows, but that kind of makes it exciting!
So, I’m starting something new and looking forward to what I will learn from the experience.