Reconnecting with Friends and Sisters

Several things happened this last week: First, the bad!

First off, the Durango is gonna cost about $4600 to fix it (read my last blog for a blow-by-blow [sorry for the pun] of our accident at Kaiser Pass). Because it was not our fault, the insurance companies are going to pick up the tab and waive our deductible. However, it will take 7-10 days to fix!

Then there's Beauty: She got a little testy during her 'season' and the Boss Mare came out in her. While being escorted into the barn, she walloped poor Sunshine who, because she is feeling LOTS better than she has in years, kicked her right back. Unfortunately, she made connection with Beauty's front cannon bone (the 'forearm' where there is no fat or padding of any kind) and put a small gash in it. It's not too bad, but bad enough to keep bandaged for a while. Beauty is normally a very well-behaved lady, but hormones must have gotten the best of her this time. Even she can get a little cranky!

But here's the best of the week:

The last three days I went out to lunch with three of my most special friends, shown above with Raymona & Beauty, Janie, and below, Jan & Sunshine.

Raymona and I have known each other for several years. We are both writers and connected immediately at a conference held in Delray Beach, Florida (I think it was either 2002 or 2003). At the time, she was living in Michigan, so when we went home to our respective states, we corresponded via email almost every day. I visited her twice, and she visited me twice, finally moving to Vacaville in the fall of 2007. Her schedule and mine do not coordinate that well, so getting together is sometimes difficult. So we made a date for Thursday (her day off) and went to the Virgin Sturgeon in Sacramento. It's a quaint little dive that barely hangs over the north bank of the Sacramento River. She and I ate and talked and got caught up with what's going on in our lives. We both have traumas and dramas that we are trying to deal with. We support each other. Indeed, we are very much like sisters. Everything was going along fine until a woman who had been eavesdropping, rudely interrupted our conversation.

"Are you writers?" she asked, which prompted a little awkward back-and-forth conversation and some comments on our dessert. We didn't really want to speak with her as it was 'our' time together. I guess she couldn't help herself. She was alone. But all the tattoos (on her fingers and arms), her rough and rude demeanor, and a comment about her time in a correctional center, made us feel very uncomfortable. Hey, it's okay if you've paid your debt to society and all, but PALEEZE, do NOT go around telling everyone, unless you WANT to make people uncomfortable.

We cut lunch a little short (it was time to go--we'd already consumed a rather large piece of chocolate cherry cheesecake) although we probably could have spent another half hour just taking in the river and the scenery.

The next day, Friday, I had lunch with

Janie Bess, a friend since 2003 when she founded the Writers Resource Center. I joined, of course, and promptly got very involved in the meetings and activities. Janie is a whirlwind of ideas. This lady is not only a human dynamo, she's an inspiration. She's not much bigger than your average 9-year-old, somewhere around 4' 10" or thereabouts. She always has a big smile, a ready laugh, and a HUGE hug ready every time you see her. When I first met her, she was in the process of starting WRC because she was writing her memoir, Visions, and wanted to surround herself with other writers and people who could assist her in her quest to get published. Since that time, WRC has grown lots, holding writing conferences and mini-conferences, and hosting publishers, editors, agents, and best selling authors at her meetings.

I met Janie at the Red Lobster where she gave me a card with "Thank You" in various font types and colors all over it. When I opened it, several bills fell out of it. I guess she felt compelled to pay me for some last-minute stuff I did for the youth writing class she gave at the Nelson Center. All I did was make up a certificate for the kids to hang on their wall. I would do this stuff for free for her, but Janie is conscientious about things. She said she didn't want to take advantage. Heck, I'd help her no matter what.

Anyway, we visited for well over an hour, she over a to-die-for talapia dish, and I over a shrimp salad. It was a wonderful day, a great lunch, and time well spent reconnecting with an old friend.

Then yesterday (Saturday), I took Jan out for an afternoon of shopping. Jan is the sister of my barn manager, Brenda. I've only known Jan since March, but she has grown to be quite a buddy. We both love horses and you can often see the four of us, Jan and Sunshine, and me and Beauty together. It's been a bit hectic for Brenda lately, and they both needed a break. Jan is going through some hard times, too, and has some difficult issues that she's having to deal with. Nonetheless, I needed some supplies for Beauty, so Jan and I went to the Tackhouse in Woodland (a great place where they stock just about everything). We walked through all the sections: Clothing (women's, men's, and children's), show clothing, boots, hats, belts; books; housewares; saddles and other tack (Eastern and Western); and all manner of horse supplies. I got a fly mask for Beauty and some fly spray (a summer staple!). Jan bought a bunch of grooming and fly spray/roll-on stuff for Sunshine.

We packed everything up in the Durango and headed on down Main Street. Wouldn't you know we'd run into an antique shop? We popped in for another 45 minutes or so. Jan found a couple of things: A framed print of "The Horse Fair" and a Breyer (Appaloosa) horse. We'd worked up quite an appetite, so we stopped at Paco's Mexican Restaurant (also on Main Street). It used to be an old fashioned brick and granite bank with columns out front and heavy walnut woodwork inside. The vault was a massive tomb of polished white and gray marble. Interesting digs for a Mexican restaurant. The food was excellent!

We got back to the ranch about 3:45, just in time to bring the horses in, spray them down with fly spray, and put them up. Beauty and Sunshine were glad to see us, almost trotting in from the pasture (well, Beauty was walking fast as she rarely works up a sweat on her own). Brenda spent some time shopping with her granddaughter and seemed to be in good spirits. Jan had a good time, too.

Today, Sunday, I am working at the computer and sprucing up the house. I'll go out in a couple of hours to change Beauty's bandage.

Connecting with friends was a major highlight of this week. I am blessed to know all of these people, Raymona, Janie, Jan, and Brenda. I have others I haven't seen for a long time. One of these days I'll see my good friend of over 30 years, Bill, and my friend from the Emergency Medical Services Authority, Karen, whom I've known for 20+ years. They both live in the foothills, and so it's hard to get together to see them. And then there is Fran, a woman I have known all my life, who lives in Arizona. I think about her often, too, as she is well into her eighties.

As I get older, my thoughts more frequently turn to my friends and old memories.

Friends are treasured gifts; they are the people who inhabit your life and you theirs. Friends support your efforts and cheer you on. They offer shoulders to cry on and give words of encouragement. They grease the wheels of life. They are the memory makers and memory keepers. Friends are the primroses along the path of life, the bench under the tree, the shelter from the hot sun, and the sugar in our tea. Are friends necessary? Some would say no, but most would say a resounding "Yes!" Life would be pretty lonely without them.

Annual Camping Trip 2010

Whew! We got home on Thursday, July 22, from our camping trip to Huntington Lake. We go every year over my husband's birthday (July 18). It is also the time when they hold the High Sierra Regatta Sail Boat Races. Colorful, fun, exciting, and festive!

Huntington Lake is at 7,000 ft. Its pristine, clear blue waters are inviting, but maybe a little cool for some. Nonetheless, the days are very, very warm, so the water feels good on the tootsies!

Over the years, the most exciting thing we've encountered (or should I say "encountered us") was Cubby, the two year old black bear cub who literally destroyed our camp, while his mother, "the Old Sow," terrorized the Boy Scout Camp. He ate all of hubby's 3-pound package of double-stuffed Oreos and all of our variety pack of Svenhard's Danish Pastries. He ate the apple danish, the cheese danish, the raspberry danish--all of them, except one. Ironically, he left one bearclaw! Was it his signature? We'd like to think so, but I don't think bears are that smart, even if they can smell out a peanut butter sandwich at 500 yards.

Every year we do a lot of the same things. We visit the Indian Pools, the Rancheria Falls, climb the long road up to Kaiser Pass, fish, explore, and finally, rent a fishing boat for the afternoon and cruise up and down this beautiful lake, peering at the osprey and golden eagle. Sometimes we rent horses and go into the back country--although we have not done that for the last couple of years.

And we always take Gus, our dog with us.

We've been fortunate to have seen some breathtaking sights: The osprey as they fish, soaring high up, in ever-tighter circles over the lake until finally dropping into a steep dive to catch a trout. Or watching them teach their fledglings to fly. Or the eagle as it swooshes overhead when you least expect it. Even watching them steal the osprey's catch in a somsersault attack (the scoundrels!) snatching the fish (upside down) right out of their talons.

I've seen deer, too, running alongside the road just within the tree line, watching us watch them. Squirrels, chipmunks, stellar jays, robins, and junkos visit the camp regularly. And then there are the marmots. We saw one this time who, I swear, acted like a contestant on America's Next Top Model, sashaying all over, swishing her big, sexy brown tail and striking a pose.

This year, my son and daughter-in-law came for the weekend. We had a great time, despite the Pavarotti wanna-be that camped next door. Can you believe this guy singing at the top of his lungs at 4:30 a.m.? I don't know what his trip was, but it was not only rude, it was comical at the same time. Especially when I heard my son's voice blurt out "SERIOUSLY?" from his tent. Voices carry at that altitude.

On Monday, the 19th, we decided to drive up to Kaiser Pass (9,000 ft) as per usual. It was a weekday and we thought that maybe the traffic would be light. It was and it wasn't. Just before we hit the Pass, we had to pull over so a full sized pickup truck could get by. These roads are paved and narrow, but still wide enough to accommodate two vehicles in most places.

"There's a guy coming with a bigger load than mine," the guy said into my husband's open window from the big green truck .

"There's plenty of room," said hubby. And there was. However, we noticed that the fellow approaching us was not just driving a pickup. He was pulling a 20-ft. travel trailer and behind it, pulling a 16-ft. boat. He obviously didn't think there was enough room. He was a little nervous about the 2,000 ft. drop on the other side. I would be, too, however in these instances one has to keep a cool head. Logic usually prevails.

Not with this guy. He kept coming, inching his vehicle(s) ever closer alongside us. His passenger mirror was an inch or two away from our SUV.

"Stop!" hubby and I yelled. Hubby slapped the trailer side through his open window.

"He's gonna hit us!" I yelled.

Screeeeeetch! Metal on metal. I cringed.

"Stop!! Stop!!"

He stopped. Thank God.

"You've got another 2-3 feet on the other side," said hubby with an edge in his voice. You really, really don't want to make my 6-foot, 250 pound, ex-football player husband mad.

I got out carefully (since we were lodged against the mountain side). I could barely open my door.

When I positioned myself in front of him, I told him he would have to back up several feet in order to disengage the vehicles and to move over. I realized this is NOT an easy thing to do when you are pulling two other vehicles, which incidentally is illegal.

He got out of the truck and came to the front to see just how much room he did have. It was then that I noticed (I couldn't help it) he was an Asian-American, very short, and well into his 70's. I was surprised he could even see over his steering wheel! He had this funny little brimmed hat on, like one might wear in a garden.

Anyway, with me in the front giving hand signals, he backed up carefully, put his rig in gear and edged forward. I am sure it was scary to him, but he was able to get by us.

The Durango will go into the shop tomorrow for an estimate. It most likely will need a rear panel and a new rear fender. Fortunately the guy's insurance accepted full responsibility and we don't have to come up with the $500 deductible. Yay!

After exchanging critical insurance information, we continued up the road to Kaiser Pass, stopped for some fishing at Portal Lake, and then headed further to Florence Lake. About 5 miles from Florence Lake, we saw two men walking briskly up the road. They were hikers stranded by the heavy, rain-swelled streams. Father (an airline pilot) and son (wearing his ROTC fatigues) chatted with us all the way to Florence Lake.

We picnicked there along he edges of a beautiful granite lake, eating our cold-cut sandwiches and chips. On the way out, however, we happened upon another father-son hiking team looking to get back to Huntington Lake in the fastest way possible. That's 25 miles of narrow road full of switchbacks. On a hot day. They, too, had been stranded by the higher than average waterways. Well, hubby and I said "Sure. Hop in" and made room for their overloaded backpacks in the rear of the Durango.

I had to assure our aging and cranky Shih-tsu, Gus, that it was okay for these strangers to come along and to make room for them in the back seat. Fortunately, he complied.

Everyone got back to Huntington Lake safe and sound and happy.

In the meantime, hubby caught a couple of fish, I had the camp stove blow up in my face (I still have my eyebrows, although my forearms got singed), and we rescued two Boy Scouts (one about 7 along with his 'buddy'--a 16-year old) on the lake. Their sailboat (a small sunfish) had overturned and they'd lost their rudder. Both were struggling to right the boat and regain control when hubby and I happened along in our fishing boat. Fortunately, after a lot of maneuvering, I fished the rudder out of the water (along with the 16-year-old) just as the younger boy managed to make it back on the sailboat. However, the wind picked up and the panicked look on the kid's face was one I'll never forget as the boat took off across the lake at high speed--without a rudder. We chased it and finally caught up. The older boy, rudder in hand, got aboard the sailboat. We left when a camp counselor motored up to tow them back to shore.

All in all it was a good trip. We went a full 7 nights this time, which I think is a bit much. I was a little bored and I didn't bring enough reading and writing material with me.

Still, camping makes you really appreciate the little things, like hot showers, air conditioning, and all the conveniences one takes for granted. I didn't miss the TV, but I did miss my computer, although even I need a break from it now and then.

Big Question: Is there a wireless laptop that will operate at 9,000 feet?

Congratulations, Shirley!

Today is Sunday, July 11. My 14-year-old granddaughter, Samantha (Sam), has now been visiting with me for 8 days. I will drive her back to her home in Madera on Tuesday, as her mother graduates from Heald College (from their paralegal program) that night in Fresno, and we are all going to celebrate.

It's a big deal, this graduating thing. For those teens who are fresh out of high school, going right into college can feel like a real drag. Unfortunately, many of these kids will 'take a break' from school and either spread their wings a bit or relax in front of their X-box. These kids probably feel like they deserve it. After all, they've worked so hard for 12 years. Ummm. Okay.

Now some of these fresh-faced kids will push on with a 'get in and get out' attitude and grab their education with an eye on making a difference--either in their own lives or someone else's. I applaud these kids (and their parents) for their stick-to-it-iveness.

But there are other things going on here. First of all, jobs, as we are all too well aware, just aren't there and aren't likely to be for some time. Even the 30-40-and-50 somethings are going back to school because they've been 'downsized.' Colleges have been flooded with people going back for their MBA or their PhD. But the majority have gone back to school to get their AA in something that is immediately employable--like computer science or cosmetology or car repair.

So what happens to those teens who decided to take a year or two or three off? The job market is vastly different from 5 or 10 years ago. Employers have discovered that they can indeed scale back and still be productive. The jobs they cut, well, they are GONE forever (at least the next 20 years or so). Also, these days an employer can pick and choose whomever they want to fill their jobs. Just because you're qualified doesn't make you employable. Employers can ask for, and get, the maximum skill set they desire, whether they need it or not.

Nope, the X-boxers will no doubt find it very difficult if/when they do go back to school, because all the (best) jobs will have gone to those who pushed on, elbowing books and hallways alongside the 30-40-50 somethings. And guess what? All these folks will be lightyears ahead of those kids who chose to take a vacation with their X-box.

For sure, there will be some X-boxers who've decided to give their thumbs a rest, or whose parents have given them an ultimatum to "get out and go to work," or who have just simply given up and are now working their way up the the career ladder at WalMart or McCheesey's. Most likely, they are married, have a child or two to support, and an income that isn't quite that super-sized, if you know what I mean.

If they are unhappy with their burger-flipping, minimum wage job, they can do little to change it now. They've exercised all their options. They've sealed their fate by closing every door between them and a successful, happy life. All they have to look forward to is rationing their little paychecks and paying bills, with no leftovers for extras. They'll have to work awfully hard to catch up.

Just try to work in a college education when you're already putting in 50-60 hour weeks and getting up for 2 o'clock feedings, or paying daycare or Grandma to babysit. Oh, and where's the 52" flat screen TV, the BMW, the grand vacations, and the personal life? THERE IS NONE.

Every society has a structure, a pecking order. Everyone will either be a worker or a leader, peck-ee or a peck-er. Education is the differentiator. It's not hard to tell who the leaders are: They went to school. The workers are ... well, they were the ones who chose to play while everyone else was off squirreling away the nuts for winter.

My daughter-in-law, Shirley, was one of those once-upon-a-time; a peck-ee. Unfortunately, life and family hardships redirected her away from her education. In the meantime, she married my son, helped him through school, raised my granddaughter, and grew a career in the court system. And she worked very, very hard to get to this day--her day.

She knows the value of education--especially one that has to be eked out in the evening hours after she'd already put in a 10-hour day job that included being there for her family. (The last 3 years have been fraught with several family emergencies, medical and otherwise. We thought she would never be able to finish!)

Even though it has been hard on everyone in the family, they've been mega-supportive. My son and granddaughter want her to take a break, too. And this time, she, if anyone, deserves it.

And you know what? Shirley's achievement has energized her to the extent that she's even thinking about getting her bachelor's degree. She said something about law ...

She's always been a leader, and she's set a great example for my granddaughter. Now she has wings, so watch out world. Here she comes!

Congratulations, Shirley!

Writing Accidentally-On-Purpose

When I set out to write my teen novel, Desperado Moon, I hired a writing coach. I recognized early on that I needed someone to help me with this humongous undertaking. Although I was the captain of my ship, so to speak, I needed a navigator to stay on course and steer me clear of rocks and shallows so my book would make it to port at publishing harbor. Nora Profit was my navigator. She gave me excellent advice and guidance, asked all the right questions, and gave me the confidence I needed to finish what I thought was a monumental task.

You see, there are two camps of writers: The folks who talk a lot about writing a book, and the few who finish. I wanted to be in the second group. I wanted to finish it and get it to market, which, I might add, proved to be a very fulfilling and satisfying process.

The ‘talk-a-lot’ writers never get around to finishing a book because they know how hard it is. It’s a little like having a baby: Starts out by having a lot of fun, then continues with months of preparation, care, and hard labor (especially toward the end when there seems no end to the editing!).

I learned a lot. Some stuff I learned from books and attending beaucoup writing classes, but no amount of book-learning can replace a writing coach. Nora helped me a LOT with plot and theme and other things. But what I learned most was that the process of writing is different for everyone.

Every fiction writer has to discover his/her own writing process. How a writer approaches a story is as individual as there are people. There are no ‘set’ procedures for writing a book. (I’m talking about fiction here, as non-fiction—the setting forth of facts in order to inform or teach—is different).

Not all rules are rules; and not all rules apply. I have issues with a few—okay, a lot of—“How-To” books, especially the ones that espouse—ugh!—outlining. Many books and well-meaning people out there told me I had to outline before I could write.

Hogwash.

As you might be able to tell, outlines do not go over well with me.

Outlining is for the “left brain” thinkers (the logical people: Bean counters, list makers, and detail oriented folks). I’m a “right brain” person. I don’t want to outline every scene before I write. That’s too much work!

I prefer the “big picture” approach to writing. That is, I like to sit down and write—plunk the keys on my keyboard and have wondrous and amazingly coherent sentences form on my computer screen. I don’t use a guide, other than some loose notes and the ideas in my head. I leave my creative consciousness open to new directions and possibilities as I write. The last thing I need is a road map.

You see, by the time I actually commit to a project (and put my hands to the keyboard), I already have my characters and story formed in mind. I do it all in my head. While driving, mostly (I drive a lot). The rest of the time, I work out my story via my morning shower and/or in the wee hours of the morning, while I’m still in bed.

Basically, I know how I want the last scene to unfold and I write to it. No rigid outline is going to tell me to cruise down the highway when my characters are telling me to shift into four-wheel-drive. Yes, I can always edit the outline as I write, but why bother with one at all? In the end, I know where I want to go, and I want to stay open and receptive to my characters and the inevitable epiphanies that follow (and they do!)

Do outlines have a purpose? Yes, you betcha. One of my acquaintances, author James Rollins, uses outlines. Yes, I can say I knew him before he hit “the big time.” (A good friend of mine knows him pretty well and is in his critique group in Sacramento). He also came to speak at our writers club meeting and even taught in our 2005 writers conference—a great, funny, and creative guy! Oh, he has some great books out there—Doomsday Key, Map of Bones, Sigma Force, Ice Hunt, and others. But then he suddenly exploded as a best selling author and started getting the seven figure advances and big book deals. Well, when pressed, he said he doesn’t always use outlines, only when he’s writing his more complex thrillers. That makes sense. But I don’t write big, complex thrillers.

Outlines are good for keeping track of timing and important details—things that must be interwoven into the plot at certain times. That’s why Jim uses them, and I don’t blame him, not when writing the heavy duty stuff he writes.

I’m not saying that outlining is bad. All I’m saying is that I prefer to write with less restriction. Outlines do have their place, and if it works for one author, it doesn’t always work for another.

Outlines stifle creativity—at least for me.

I don’t get bogged down in details. I write with my gut, my intuition, my creativity, and, yup, I let those pesky characters boss me around. And it’s fun when that happens. Ask any writer who writes like I do and they’ll tell you: When a writer knows—really knows—her characters inside and out, they speak to you, their voices literally tell you, “I wouldn’t do that, I’d do this …”

The last thing I want to do is jerk them around to fit the mechanics of a preconceived plot outline.

The other thing I like to do is get the first draft completed, then work out the kinks afterwards. I build my stories like one peels an onion: One layer at a time. After I've completed the first draft, I then mop up the overdone scenes, delete the wordiness and the unneeded passages (anything that doesn’t add to the story), and then make sure the dialog is consistent and distinct from character to character.

When the basic story is done, I add the spices—local color, nature, animals, little details, and so on.

That’s another thing. Write the first draft unencumbered, without a coach, if you can. Why? Because it’s important to get the story out first, even if you don’t entirely know what it’s about.

I’m doing that with my next story, too. This one is going to be rich with detail, history, and conflict. It’s about a teenage boy who comes face-to-face with his fears and lives to overcome them—barely. It has a bit of mystery, a bit of the paranormal, and a bit of romance. And it’s a bit more complex than Desperado Moon.

But I’m still not going to use an outline—too logical, too “left brain” for me. I like the surprises that come as a result, and it usually means a better story in the long run.

And that goes for theme, too. Nora wanted to know right off what my theme was. Geez. I didn’t know—exactly.

And that is my advice for writers: If you don’t know—just write. Theme will come later. However, if a writer has his/her theme nailed down before writing, it will be more focused, making subsequent drafts fewer and easier.

Basically, all a writer has to do is ask him/herself “What is this story about?” and the theme will often appear.

Is it about love, revenge, betrayal, justice? Is it a crime-doesn’t-pay story?

Trust me. It will come. Either before or after the writing.

Desperado Moon is about a young girl and an outlaw horse finding a place where they truly belong. That’s the theme: Belonging. Oh, there are other, lesser themes going on in the book—taking responsibility, redemption, trust, etc.—but this was the primary theme. It is equally about how being misplaced creates conflict. The fear of not belonging is a common thread for teens. That’s why Desperado Moon speaks to young, insecure, and troubled girls.

I’m taking some time off. I’m going to spend a week at a writing retreat. No other writers, just me. Me and my laptop and my story, The Last Conquistador, holed up in a timeshare in Palm Springs. I want to move forward and work out the conflict between my characters. Basically, I want to get to know them better. I know them now, but I want to know more about what drives them, why Neil is such a bully, why Parker is so afraid of being a disappointment to his mother, why Dr. Santiago is so secretive, and so on. And I want to flesh out the conflict between Neil and Parker. There’s something going on there, and I’m thinking it has to do with a girl.

Ah, it’s a romance, you say.

Well, no, it’s a lot of things. It’s a western, a mystery, and a paranormal thriller. And it has a horse in it. It should appeal to just about everyone. To me—the die-hard horse lover—it’s just not a story unless there’s a horse in it.

Theme? Yes. Outline? Maybe. (We’ll see.) Since this one is a bit more complex, I may have to use one, but my gut tells me “No.” And you know what they say—“Go with your gut.”

Good advice. But, then again, I might wait and see what Parker and Dr. Santiago have to say about that.

Saving the animals

If you've been to my Facebook page, then you know how I feel about animals. It is littered throughout with posts and videos from the Humane Society (a great organization).

It has been said that older women tend to be the softhearted souls who to take in the strays, the unwanted, and the injured animals and give them comfort. As a former copywriter, I know that animal rescue groups tend to target these 'older women' in their fundraising campaigns because 1) they generally have extra $$$ lying around, and 2) they are the softhearted ones--read: 'easy touch.'

Well, that's me.

There is one caveat, of course. Money is definitely NOT lying around my house. The recent recession took care of that. Not only did hubby lose his contracting business of 33 years (and better than half of our income), he lost about 40 percent of his retirement, too--money that was set aside for when when we really, really needed it. We haven't touched it yet, but we've had to tighten our belts, just like everyone else.

That brings me to the animals. I've always supported the ASPCA and Defenders of Wildlife. These are both terrific organizations and do a lot for animals, wild and domestic. I also give to horse rescue organizations, largely because I love horses (I like TB Friends and Lifesavers, but there are many others). In these hard economic times, there have been so many people who have had to give up their beloved horse companions. They just didn't fit into their bottom line. So where do unwanted horses go? Unfortunately, too many end up being starved, abused, and neglected.

Not Beauty. No siree. I'm hanging on to her--not giving up my 'baby.' It's hard, but I know things will get better.

But it is bad for so many other horses, ponies, and donkeys, not to mention the mustangs that still struggle to run free in the high plains states like Nevada.

In April, I wrote a letter to our local newspaper to highlight what goes on in our community (Solano County) that few people know about--horse tripping. Oh, I know there is so much other stuff going on: Puppy mills, dog fighting, abused farm animals, oiled birds and wildlife, feral cats running and breeding amok, drowning polar bears, whaling, entire wolf families being mowed down just to leave the cubs parentless orphans, and just plain cruelty (Google "Buddy" the dog who was dragged to death or 'crush videos'). Sometimes it is just more than I can bear, and I mean that literally. Sometimes I cry at the fundraising letters I get. If I could, I would open my arms and hasten each and every animal inside, but I cannot. I want to protect them all, but I can't.

So what do I do? Well, I try to send $10 or $20 now and then. It's not always easy. But then I tell myself, if everyone only sent in $5, it would add up, and it would help--a lot. And I don't mean to send it to just ANY charity. Check them out. Send only to those charities that put their money where their mouth is. When in doubt, go to http://www.charitynavigator.com/.

In the meantime, here's the letter on horse tripping I published in the local paper. I hope it did some good, but it was published when the local political campaigns were running hot and heavy... and, hey, who cares when teachers and police officers and fire personnel are being laid off? Who cares about horses when the state is bankrupt...? Sometimes I think my letter was a mere squeak given all that was going on. Maybe a dozen people read it and paid attention, maybe more. I'm hoping the latter.

"Greed, frustration, anger, sexual thrills, whatever the ‘reason,’ defenseless animals are being tortured, starved, injured, and maimed in our community. Looking the other way when you know what is happening is not only inhumane, it adds to the violence in our society.

"Even now, men of a certain ethnicity are practicing for their upcoming ‘rodeos’ (these are not the sanctioned PRCC American rodeos, but non-sanctioned rodeos that abuse horses). One of the things they do is called ‘horse tripping.’ This is a barbaric ‘sport’ where people pay to watch as these cowboys chase an innocent, unsuspecting horse and when it reaches approximately 25 mph, they abruptly lasso the legs and yank viciously, causing the horse to fall head over heels. This usually results in broken teeth, broken legs, and all too frequently, broken necks. Unfortunately, pregnant mares are particularly singled out for this cruel practice. And this is supposed to be a show of bravery?

"There is a strong documented connection linking animal abuse and domestic violence. Studies have shown that 88 percent of families where there had been physical abuse of children, there were also records of animal abuse. In four out of five cases, battered women reported that their abusive partners had also been violent toward pets or livestock (Wisconsin). Other studies show that The Chicago Police Department’s Domestic Violence Program took a look at the criminal histories of animal abusers. Of these, 30 percent had domestic violence charges on their records. See the ASPCA website for more information.

"Please help by not attending these rodeos. If you see a horse that has been abused in any way, please call the authorities. This ‘sport’ is fueled by greed and perpetuated by blood-thirsty spectators. Horse tripping condones violence that all too often ends up on the domestic front. Watching horses crash head first into to the ground just to watch it break it’s neck is abhorrent and grotesquely inhumane. For those of you who subscribe to this brutal, sadistic practice, I sincerely hope that you truly get what’s coming to you on Judgment Day."

That's it. That's the best I could do given the word count they allowed.

But, come to think of it, if everyone wrote a letter and sent $5 to the ASPCA or Defenders of Wildlife or Humane Society, wouldn't that make a difference? To what cause, you ask. I don't care. Pick one. Horse rescue (there are hundreds), oiled birds (Audubon Society and others), Polar Bears (Defenders of Wildlife and many others), dogs and cats (ASPCA or HSUS), circus animal sanctuaries/rescues (again, there are so many to choose from).

That's it; just $5 to charity and a letter to the editor of the local paper. (I suggest doing it monthly). That adds up to maybe a half hour of your time and $5 + 44 cents for the stamp. It is still 44 cents, isn't it? (That's $65.28 per year--tax deductible, too!)

What is this world coming to? Where will the earth be when all its diversity is gone? When the whales are gone, when the mustangs are gone, when the wolves are gone, when people turn away from starving, abused, and neglected animals. Are we becoming less humane? Sometimes that's exactly what I think, and it upsets me--a lot.

I'm an 'older' woman--upside of 60, not yet succumbing to the 'old' tag just yet! But if it wasn't for us 'old' and 'older' women, who would look out for the animals? For sure there are a lot of us, but we can't do it all ourselves, ya know. I also know that there are many, many other people out there who do care, but who simply feel too overwhelmed to do anything about it; like whistling in the wind or crying in the rain. Who'll notice? What difference will it make?

Are you one of those people? If so, maybe you can help change the world with $5, a stamp, and a letter. Don't just sit on the sidelines. Don't turn away. Get involved. A $5, a stamp, and a letter to the editor. That's all. A pittance? Yes, but every journey begins with one step. Step up. Every little bit helps.

Words and Writing and Golf

I admit, I'm carrying on a love-hate relationship and have been for many, many years. But it's not with a 'who,' it's with a 'what.'

What?

Writing, that's what. I love it and I hate it.

Let me explain.

I love words, and when put together and arranged just so, how they form phrases and sentences that blossom into ideas. I also love that there are infinite possibilities and combinations of words that can ultimately culminate into something wonderful, like the Great American Novel.

The challenge, then is this: To select the best possible word for the half finished sentence on my computer screen. I constantly ask myself: Is this the best possible word for this sentence? Is there another, better, more succinct word? Is there one more meaningful, colorful, or one that brings a clearer picture to mind? Do I want "he walked to the store" or do I want sauntered, skipped, or ran to the store? Or at the other end of the spectrum, depending on who my audience is and what I'm writing, do I want a fuzzy, vague, or general word that will help to obfuscate the meaning?

Whoa. Back up.

Obfuscate?

Yeah, that's right. "Obfuscate" means "to confuse." Hey, I used to write for the government, and I know a good, obfuscating word when I see one!

And then there are phrases. A phrase is a group of words set off with commas and semi-colons. Pretty little phrases pile on the information, one atop the other, creating a sandwich effect (as in Dagwood), ultimately building on each other until the end period.

Here's a phrase-packed sentence that I just love. It's the first sentence from Kate Dicamillo's new book, "The Magician's Elephant":

"At the end of the century before last, in the market square of the city of Baltese, there stood a boy with a hat on his head and a coin in his hand."

The reader can literally 'see' the boy standing in a busy city market. Kate's skillful and precise use of words and phrases build a picture and set the mood and the scene, right up until that handy-dandy, all-powerful sentence stopper: the period.

Sometimes I wish I could write as well as Kate, but I don't. (Here's where the hate part comes in). Writing is kind of like target practice. I keep trying to hit the bull's eye, keep trying to make my words shine on the page and light up the reader's imagination. (Maybe that's why I edited Desperado Moon 36 times!) I've written lots over the years, but it's never as good as Kate's. So I keep trying!

I've been told--and I've read--that one has to consistently practice the craft in order to get better at it. So I do. Every day. But I'm content knowing that I will never write like Kate because I am not Kate. I have my own voice, as does Michner, Rowling, Maugham, Meyer, and others. I select words based on my inner voice, my experience, my interpretations. I always strive to improve my writing technique. I practice. I read.

Words fascinate, amaze, and confound me. I love them. I love that they can both entertain and inform. I even love putting them together to form sentences, and, depending upon my writing goal, to select the exact word necessary that will best convey the intended meaning, feeling, or visualization. Sometimes, after I get all my words on the computer screen, they just don't gel and I have to scrap the whole thing. The sum of the parts just don't add up the way they should. That's the part I hate, when my selection of words, sentences, and phrases end up taking me off in a different direction. That's when I start over, select different words, assemble different phrases, and create better, more meaningful sentences.

But writing is not just words. Or phrases. Or sentences. Writing is much, much more. It is communicating ideas and telling stories, yes, but it is also having a plan. Without a plan, words are just words. With a plan, they could be anything. Look at it this way, without a plan, the Great Pyramids could just as easily have been the Great Wall . (It makes one ponder ...)

Writing is a little like playing golf. (Yes, I play golf, too. Not well, but well enough to have bested my husband a couple of times). There's a lot going on in the game: One has to keep the elbows in, keep the head down, transfer their weight properly during the swing, and follow through. All these things have to happen at the same time or the golfer will end up in the rough. It's the same with writing. There's more to it than just putting words on a page.

A good writer has to know the English language and grammar and punctuation; she has to know what she wants to communicate (to inform or to entertain), she has to know the feeling or she wants to evoke in the reader (theme); she has to know her characters inside and out; she has to know transitions and other writing techniques.

But even if a writer isn't able to remember all this stuff at the same time, she can do what golfers cannot: Edit. (Well, golfers get a Mulligan now and then, but it's not quite the same thing).

Writing is definitely challenging. It's right up there with golf as being one of the most frustrating of endeavors. And to think we do this stuff for fun!

Who knows? Maybe one day I'll get the bull's eye or the hole in one. Or the best seller. I do think I have a few things under control: Grammar? Check! Punctuation? Check (sort of). Plan? Check!

But there is one more thing. The One Basic Rule in Writing. It, sometimes, is the hardest of all: BICHOK (Butt in chair, hands on keyboard). Like Nike says--"Just do it!"

Fore!

Beauty Update

Beauty, my black Morgan mare, was retested for her glucose and insulin levels, and they are down--way down. Her glucose level is normal, but her insulin levels are high normal. That's good, but we aren't out of the woods yet. Her vet, Dr. Wendy Weiberg, said that she expected to see Beauty's insulin level drop more over time. Hallelujah!

The other night, when I was out at Little Wing Stables (where I board Beauty), Brenda, the barn manager, said something startling.

"Beauty looks a little poufy."

What?

I looked at Beauty. She looked fine to me--trim and slim and sleek. Not poufy. Anywhere.

Brenda said she couldn't put her finger on it--it was more of a 'feeling' (that Beauty might relapse into another episode of laminitis). I didn't doubt her, not one little bit. That's because Brenda channels horses like some people channel the dead. I don't know if it was a certain way Beauty looked at her with those big brown eyes of hers, or if Brenda picked up on something the rest of us couldn't see.

"Take her off the grass hay in the evening," she said.

We've been feeding Beauty LMF Complete feed (12 pounds a day). She really didn't need the extra half flake of hay at night. Even though it was only a little bit, I still soaked it (to reduce the sugar content), and gave it to her as an extra 'filler', kind of like a pacifier one gives to a baby, or gum to a teenager.

Brenda bent over and felt Beauty's front feet. "She's got pulses," she said, "Faint, but they're there."

Darn! That was enough for me. No more hay--not even soaked. This horse simply cannot handle carbs.

Now a couple of days before Brenda's 'poufy' comment, the vet, Wendy Weiberg, came out and floated (filed) Beauty's teeth. She hadn't had her teeth floated for maybe 5 years. Geez, she should have had it done 3 years ago. I guess I just lost track of time. Horses' teeth grow continuously, and if not filed down every couple of years, they can grow so long it prevents them from chewing and digesting their food properly.

My bad. (And I did feel really, really bad!)

I had been so involved with Beauty's other health problems--taking preventive measures against or treating her laminitis episodes--that I completely forgot about her dental work.

Big mistake.

Dr. Wendy said Beauty had abscesses in her cheeks where her teeth had begun to dig into them. Poor baby.

Did I mention how awful I felt? That maybe my negligence might have contributed to her laminitis problems? ("It all starts in the gut and manifests in the feet," so says Lynn Seeley, her farrier who specializes in the laminitic horse).

So after Dr. Wendy took care of Beauty's dental work, she turned to Brenda and said, "Watch her feed now that she can eat better. You may have to cut it down."

Really? I didn't think Beauty had a problem with eating. Heck, she was maybe 150 pounds overweight when she had her first laminitis episode!

Everyone at Little Wing knows that Beauty is an 'eating machine.' She LOVES to eat and will eat everything in sight. She'll stick her nose into anything that even remotely resembles a pail, sandwich her head between the skinniest of fence boards, and even try to sneak a snack at a full trot when I'm exercising her in the round pen. Lately she's been trying to eat the grass on the other side of the fence, getting down on her knees (and putting her head under the fence) to get a single blade of errant Spring grass. She's even rubbed a 3-inch section of her mane completely off, leaving a raw spot where her mane used to be.

Whether or not Beauty was about to fall off a very dangerous cliff into another laminitis episode, I don't know. But her feet don't lie. Pulses. Damnable pulses--a telltale sign that laminitis still lurks within, waiting to rear its ugly head again.

Beauty will never be completely well. Like diabetes, it is a chronic condition controlled by diet. A snatch of grass here and there, a crunch or two of hay, or an apple once in a while isn't a big deal, but a continuous, steady intake of carbs would throw her delicate system off balance.

Brenda, as usual, was right. No one in their right mind would argue with the 'horse channeler,' because, in the end, it's what's good for the horse that matters. Where horses are concerned, it's always better to err on the side of caution. And to follow Brenda's directives.

Beauty is doing really great today. She gets her daily round pen exercise to help build her muscles back up from so many months of inactivity. The LMF Complete (the only thing she eats) is a Godsend, as is Brenda, who I dearly love and appreciate for all her knowledge and know-how. Thanks to her, I'm thinking of hitching Beauty up on Sunday and taking her for a spin around the arena. Who knows, maybe we'll drive down the road apiece and check out the neighbors.

See y'all!