Solutions

When I get down in the dumps the best cure to to get outside, far from the madding crowd and just be, be one with the deer and the moose and the elk, the hawk and the vulture, the dove and the sparrow, the fish in the creeks and ponds. Think nothing at all, just be aware of the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, the earth underfoot, the sky up above.

******** 

 

The little cares that fretted me,

I lost them yesterday

Among the fields above the sea,

Among the winds at play.
~  Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Moon bathing, sky clad under a rising full moon, is another way to lose your cares, lose yourself in the eternal now, get lost in the spell of the sensuous, forget your individuality and become one with Gaia.  Does that sound all touchy-feely?  Well, it is!  Don't knock it if you haven't tried it, kimo sabe.

 

I was about to go out somewhere when my mother spotted a tear in my skirt. She had me take it off while she mended it. I felt like a little girl again as I hung around while mom took care of me.  My aunt was with us and we all got to gabbing away and I felt good, light-hearted, carefree. I began dancing around a bit as I waited and chatted.  Then came a knock at the door and without thinking I waltzed over and answered it. The assistant ranch manager, Mr. Shoe, as I call him for reasons previously stated, and a ranch hand.  They had some business to discuss and I stood there forgetting I was skirtless talking with them.

Business concluded they departed with a tip of the hat. My mother asked dryly if I hadn't felt a draft and only then did I remember I wasn't wearing my nethers. The look on my face caused my aunt to laugh and my mother to shake her head. Then I though, oh, well, whatever, at least I was wearing panties.  I often don't when I wear a skirt or dress.  They chafe.  Anyway, I gotta travel.

 

 

 

 

 

I heard...

 

One feather is a bird
I claim; one tree a wood;
In her low voice I heard
more than a mortal should;
And so I stood apart,
Hidden in my own heart.
~ Theodore Roethke

 

 

 

 

 

  

Moving on...?

Happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, 
who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, 
hitchhikes into town, 
and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep mid-afternoon,
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.

-- Jane Kenyon

I flew my uncle to Gotham City, Jr. for his annual visit to his dermatologist.  He was fairly subdued for a change. We chatted about the times we went dancing there, one great and the other time a fiasco of sorts. But this time neither of us was in the mood for dancing, especially me, with my rib still healing.

I mentioned to him that the only real severe pain I had after I left the hospital was when I lay down so I just slept in a chair with a foot stool and he said that was too bad because he bet a lot of guys would like to lay me and I said oh, don't start that again and he said sorry I should just shut up and I said oh, no, it's okay, just I'm not in the mood for banter.  

He was silent for a bit and then he said, you know maybe what you need is some banter, you need to snap out of it.  What good does it do you to mope around?  Nothing gets better by doing that. 

I guess you are right, I said, but, honestly, I feel guilty if I feel good, or am happy about something.  It's like I am indulging in betrayal or something.  

I can understand how you feel, he said.  I was that way when I was first a widower and it's why I never remarried -- I could have, you know.  I had my chances.  But I couldn't do it.  I felt that sense of betrayal, too.  But now, looking back at the years, I think I was wrong. What did I accomplish by not remarrying and even having another, a new, family?  Moving on.  Continuing my life.  Think about that. You think about that, Wanda.

I didn't reply. It was too soon for me to think about that and I didn't agree with him about remarrying and moving on with my life.  I didn't want to move on.  I had one family and had had my one and only husband and that was that.

He reached over and patted my thigh. I gave him a sour glance and shook my head.  He didn't take his hand away.  You shouldn't let this go to waste, he said. You still have time.  I picked his hand up and moved it away.  I'm more than that, I said.  Yes, you are, he said, but you are also that. There is no fault in admitting it. You can open a new chapter in your life.  It can be as good as any chapter you've had, even better.  You won't know if you don't --

Oh, shut up, damn it, I said.  I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever. Okay? He started to say something, then stopped, nodded his head and fell silent. After a minute I said, look, I'm sorry I was harsh.  That was rude.  I know you mean well.  Just give me some time.  And I patted his thigh.  He took my hand and held it, gave me a grin.  

Then for the rest of the flight he regaled me with jokes and stories and songs.  He even got me to sing along with one or two of them. And he got me thinking that it really was too bad that he never remarried.  He could have made some woman a wonderful husband.  He could have made himself very happy. I know his now-grown children and grandchildren adore him. He could have had a second set of both. But he chose not to, just as I was choosing not to.  I was thinking what was the right thing to do as I laughed at his lame nonsense. But I knew.

In the times that used to be:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still true

 

 

My life these days

Everyone has pain to deal with but talking about it makes it worse; a cheerful heart is a good strategy.
~ Garrison Keillor

 I wandered in to our oldest hanger the other day, one that we no longer use and haven't for quite some time. Inside I found a Waco UPF-7 or maybe it's a PT-14. It was converted to be an agricultural sprayer, with the front cockpit replaced by a dispersal tank leading to spray nozzles along the lower wings.  

There was also a Piper J-3, the legendary Cub.  I think it's the one I've seen photos of in old family albums. It looked original to me with nothing visibly wrong with it and I wondered why it was parked one day and forgotten about. It would make a great plane to teach my kids to fly in.  I wish Randy, our erstwhile A&P guy was still around.  I'd ask him to check it out and give me an estimate on the cost of putting it in flying condition.  I'd like to put the Waco in flying condition, too.  I'd like to fly it.  But I am leery of it being contaminated with nasty pesticides from back in the day, DDT or something.  I should have it checked for that.  But I don't know who could do that.  I'll have to ask around.  If it's safe I think my boys would love helping restore it.

Looking beyond the Cub I spotted another biplane.  It proved to be a Fleet Model 2, can you believe it.  It looked okay structurally and again I wondered why it was parked and forgotten about, then I remembered I was going to park the Twin Beech and not fly it anymore, even though it is in perfect flying condition.  So I suppose the Fleet maybe was replaced by the Cub and the Cub was replaced by the Husky we still use. The Waco?  Maybe we got out of the ag spraying bidness and hired contractors to do that work. Who knows?  But it would be cool to restore all these old birds, just to do it.  The Waco is a beautiful airplane. I'd love to fly it, so maybe that will be the first one, if I actually do decide to restore them.

 ********

I was thinking about what work I could do to bring in income in case of...well, in case of. Ya know?  So I was checking out various things, increasing the amount of consultancy work I do, and so forth, and one of my friends from Navy days who now flies for UPS said he thought he could get me on there.  Pay, he said, would be $350,000 a year for flying 20 hours a month, plus I could make extra, something like another $50,000 a year for volunteering for stand-by, meaning I make myself available to fly on my days off in case some other pilot can't fly for some reason.

I think that's for flying a 767-300F but I could make more flying the international routes in a 747-8F, the mighty original jumbo jet, as they used to call those big boys.

It shouldn't be a problem to transition from flying an Aviat Husky to a 747.  Piece of cake.  Haha. 

Kidding.  But it's nice to know I have options. At least theoretically. Of course, when you get down to the nitty-gritty of applying and being accepted, who knows what the conditions will be?  Be promised the moon and get a ping-pong ball.

********

The ranch manager has been very professional through all of this and I have learned a lot from him.  Running a business, which is what a ranch is, means relying on your "people" to be capable, reliable and professional. So despite my worries, things are continuing as they were, the ship is sailing on an even keel. 

Fortunately, my time as a naval officer trained me to make decisions and be responsible for the results.  So I don't dither.  Well, not too much.  One thing I'm pondering now is outright acquiring an estancia in Patagonia.  It's something like 72,000 acres of mostly good grazing land, with plenty of water, established facilities, pretty much turn-key. All for a sum you couldn't buy a house for in a super ZIP.  Can you believe it?  I ain't sure I can, so I am looking at why it's for sale and what would be a normal sale price for that kind of operation in Argentina.  But, man, I would so love to have it. 

One of my favorite authors of my childhood was W.H. Hudson.  Of course, Green Mansions was my favorite of his. I still love it.  But I was also enamored of Far Away and Long Ago, his memoir of his childhood in the Argentine pampas. To now, in my adulthood, actually own an Argentine estancia, far, far away, closer to Antarctica than...than...well, everyplace -- wow. Just wow. I do so want to make that happen.  But as a responsible businesswoman, I have to be methodical, rational, cautious, and verify but certainly not trust anything at all. In other words, I gotta pencil it out. Plus I know Jeff would have wanted it.  He loved Argentina.

One of my contacts there told me this: "Argentina avoided hyperinflation with the new government, which has taken very rough economic decisions to control inflation. Right now the country's climbing out of a recession, and is transitioning from a populist irresponsible unsustainable model to a libertarian budget-friendly model with a reduced welfare state. Poverty has been growing for years, but crime has remained stable. Argentina is still a very safe country by Latin American standards: no cartels controlling entire regions and murdering candidates during election time, no guerrillas in the jungle, no active terrorist threats, no civil war, no risk of a coup d'etat, etc. In Buenos Aires, use common sense and stick to the good neighborhoods. Crime wise, it's better than most large American cities." That sounds promising. 

******** 

I'm remembering my mother's Japanese friend, of whom I've written, who, once having made her pile, invested a big chunk of it in Brazil and got royally cheated, losing millions. On top of that, while she was dealing with the mess she got herself into, she was the victim of street robberies seven times.  She ended up  having to be driven around in an armored limousine with body guards to avoid being kidnapped.  I guess Rio is a tough town.

I have a Mexican friend -- I mean a real Mexican who lives in Mexico -- tell me that he prefers the corruption of Mexico to the honesty (har, har) of the United States. That's because if you want something done in Mexico, you just slip some loot to the right functionary and it gets done.  Traffic violation, building permit, driver's license renewal, passport application: just pay the person and it's taken care of.  But in the US of A you have to fill out the forms, wait on the bureaucracy, still pay a fee or fine, go to traffic school or attend some bogus class to get a certificate...phooey on that says he.

I read a blog post by an American in Ukraine trying to get a driver's license.  He studied all the rules of the road in Ukrainian, went to driving school, got all set, then took the driver's test. And failed.  And failed.  And failed.  Finally, someone told him he had to pay baksheesh to the tester.  Two-thousand dollars.  The American guy refused to pay.  I think he decided to drive without a license, figuring he probably wouldn't get stopped by a cop, and if he did, he'd just slip him a C-note.  Much cheaper. 

******** 

Speaking of my mother's Japanese friend, she used to praise America to the skies, but recently when I have talked to her she says things like that if she could have had the same opportunities in Japan as she did in America she would have never left.  Okay....  But you left because Japanese society, your society, the society your race and civilization created, was not as good for you personally as the one my race and civilization created.  My people made a better world than your people did.  I know, I know, I'm not supposed to say things like that, even think things like that. But it's true. So what she says kind of pisses me off.  How am I supposed to react to that without being rude?  So she is just an economic migrant. Living here for almost half a century, she's never applied for citizenship and has no interest in the country outside of her business interests.

My mother says she is just homesick and misses her youth.  I guess. Actually, my mother said "lifesick." I thought she had misspoken and meant homesick, as I wrote, but I just asked her and she said no, she meant that, that she was sick of life, her life, all that it was, and in her last years wishes that it would have been different.  In her case that means having had the success she's had in a foreign country but having it in her own country, something that was not possible when she was young, and maybe still not.  So she actually resents America for being better for her than her own country.

******** 

At present, my situation ain't the greatest but I will manage and get on with life.  One reason is that, whatever might happen financially, I have options that will allow me to recover.  With my education and experience, I could go in several directions.  I've already mentioned flying for an air cargo outfit.  That's because I have thousands of hours of flight time in a variety of aircraft, puddle jumpers to supersonic jets.  I have that because I applied myself, studied, practiced, learned. Now that I think about it, I could operate my King Air under Part 135 and make a living that way.

I have been offered an associate professorship with guaranteed tenure at a state university.  I have been offered an executive position with the Veteran's administration. I've been offered a civilian contract job with the Army. I have been offered a job with a private research firm, and with a major medical consultancy. I have...well, options.  And why?  Because, aside from having developed a network of friends and contacts over the years (more valuable than you can imagine; the best jobs are never advertised), from the beginning I pushed myself to master multiple skills.  I was taught to do that. I was also taught to be conscientious, reliable, capable. I don't drink, I don't smoke.  I don't take drugs and never have.  I eat right and keep in shape. I don't and never have associated with bums and riff-raff. I was taught to choose my friends carefully and wisely, not to associate with complainers, layabouts and other sorts of losers, and I was taught and learned through experience how to spot and avoid them.  

You think you can't do it, can't win.  But you can!

I am one of the reviled "normies" that the losers rail against.  Shrug. I used to have empathy for such persons, the ne'er do wells.  I've hired them, given them jobs in the mistaken belief that all they needed was a helping hand and they would prosper.  No.  They don't.  They continue in their ways and either throw a fit over something and quit or I have to fire them or, in the Navy, adsep them.  At first I used to hate doing that but later I learned to spot these bums quickly and get rid of them before they could do much damage.  And believe me, if you didn't do that they were good at destroying morale and wrecking whatever the mission was.  They were the proverbial bad apples that spoil the barrel.  And the world is full of bad apples. Dig through them to find the few good apples and help them prosper and they will help you prosper, too.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dreaming of the future

 
The future that never happens
is the one that makes us do
what we do while we are waiting
for what is never going to come
to take us away from the past,
which is a country that we do not
know anymore, where the language
is strange, only almost familiar.
Years not only go by, they carry us
into places where we meet the dragons,
the gorgons, the pack of wolves
circling with their sharp teeth, and
sometimes we lift a candle, sometimes curse.
Like scarecrows, we scare a bird or two.
We know what we are and are not.
But still we keep on dreaming, warming
our hands over the fire in that cottage
at the end of the road—where everything
is prepared for us, and someone we
never met has departed only minutes ago.

“A Dream of the Future” by Joyce Sutphen from The Green House.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Singing no more

 My husband had a great singing voice, as I've written before, and he loved to sing, especially to me.  His baritone was very much like that of Robert Goulet's, but with a seasoning of Nelson Eddy's robustness. It was a lyric baritone with a sweet, mellow, flexible tone, lighter and higher in tessitura than a dramatic baritone.

I have a weak singing voice, though I do enjoy singing, so I could not really accompany him in duets, but I did enjoy playing piano accompaniment while he sang. I would forget everything listening to him and live inside his voice.  

This video from the musical Carousel might give you a sense of what it was like.

 I am still grappling with the reality of what has happened, the irretrievable past that should be..., the dark, yawning abyss of the future, a future without...without.... I can't say it.  My mind shies away. It's been more than a quarter of a year but it seems like it just happened.  The days rush by, the sun spinning across the cold sky, abandoning me to the long, long nights.  

I push myself during the day, working relentlessly at physical tasks to tire myself out so I can sleep and abandon myself to dreams. I dread waking up.  You can say I have my children to live for but somehow they are not enough.  Oh, I love them dearly but they are my children,  not my dear love, he from whom each day I gained purpose.  Each day I lived was for him.

C.S. Lewis wrote that he was surprised at how much grief felt like fear.  It's true.

Sometimes I sit with my mother, widowed herself not very long ago.  I did not think I would be....  Well....  Sometimes she takes my hand as we sit together, calls me her sweet child. We don't say much to each other.  No need.

My daughter has matured rapidly over the past months, taking over many household chores, managing my twin boys, taking care of the toddler when I....  

Why all the ellipses?  My thoughts fail me. I can't continue them.

You may say this will pass, as all things do.  But I look at my mother and her grief has not lessened.  She's old you may say. Her future is passed.  But you have decades of life left to live.  Life is for the living, so live it.  Yes, I know.  I know.  

But at this moment, on this dark night, maybe I don't want to.  Maybe I am afraid to.

And do you know how angry I am?  Angry at what?  Angry at who?  Everything. Everything.

 ******************************************************************************************************

 

How do you survive a complete and utter loss of hope?

 Where do you live? Park Place, Main Street, Lake Shore Drive, Mulberry Lane, Lennox Ave., corner of 4th and Walnut, three miles out on Route 7? Come now, you know better than that. You may hang your hat anywhere at all, but you live in the black room of your own mind.

"The Black Room," first broadcast by CBS Radio Mystery Theater on October 29, 1974.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Final flight

 My mother and I both had doctor's appointments on the same day and I decided to fly us to the big city in the Twin Beech as a sort of sentimental gesture.  I'm probably not going to bother with renewing the annual, too inconvenient to have it done and not worth the expense now that I have the King Air, so this would be one of the last times I'd fly it, maybe the last.

The old plane has a lot of memories for me.  My grandfather, that stern old naval aviator who began his career flying F3F biplane fighters and ended it flying F8E supersonic jet fighters, taught me multi-engine and instrument flying in it when I was in high school.  In college during summer, I flew it to Alaska to fly Part 135. I flew with my dad across the Atlantic Ocean in it.  I flew it...well, a lot.  My dad bequeathed it to me in his will. I'll never sell it.  But I can't justify keeping it in flying condition. 

My mother didn't say much as we flew along, just looked at the passing view.  I thought about all the people who had flown in this airplane over the years, my grandparents, now long gone, as well as uncles and aunts, great uncles and aunts, assorted cousins, nephews and nieces, my own children, my mother, of course, my father, my husband, friends, lots of ranch hands and assorted paying and non-paying passengers and who knows who else in decades before I was born.  My grandfather bought the plane in 1966, so it's been in the family for 60 years.  Before he bought it, it had been, as I recall, an executive transport and then an air ambulance. 

My mom dozed off after a while, and glancing over at where she sat in the co-pilot's seat, if I let my eyes drift out of focus, I could see my dad sitting there giving me refresher training or filling out a dead reckoning plot, just in case all the electronic gadgets went kerflooie. I thought about all the ghosts that must be riding with me each time I fly the old plane. That's why I'll never sell it.  There are scuffs and scratches made by people I knew and talked to and were an accepted and, I thought, eternal part of my life who are no longer alive, have not been for years, even decades.  But there that scratch is, that worn spot, just as if they had made it yesterday and I can conjure them in my mind as clearly as ever, hear them talking, remember that time when we....

So as long as I keep this airplane, even if I never fly it again, I can climb aboard and sit where they sat, touch that worn spot on the cockpit dash by the radio their hand made over the years. There are probably stray cookie crumbs they dropped while eating a snack on a long flight still hidden in crevices and crannies. My dad said I talked to the airplane, thought of it as alive.  Well, not quite.  I think I was talking to all the memories left by all the people who have flown in it.  Hello, airplane, hello dad, hello gramps, hello, hello all you all, hello.  You're still here for me. You always will be as long as I am.  And once I am not, I will join you as a memory in someone else's mind. The fading fate of us all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

Bitter happiness

 

Another spring has come.  The plums are blooming and some early apple and cherry blossoms are appearing. The daffodils are out, as are some early tulips.  In a few weeks everywhere will be a riot of color and bird song. Before long the roses will bloom and their aroma will fill the air.  Hummingbirds will dart among them.  Overhead the barn swallows will swoop and zoom. Then it will be fawn season. The year proceeds, as do all the years.

Nature, just as humanity, one of its subsets, does not care about the individual life, only the mass, the group, the species, the genus, the ....

The other day, I went outside about an hour after sunset to take a walk down to the pond.  I needed a bit of time alone. It was cold outside with a northwesterly wind blowing and I had to put on my boiled-wool coat and I was glad that I did.  It doesn't have a hood, so I wore a scarf.  A crescent moon hung low in the west, sliding toward the tree tops. There were bands of purple touching the horizon, fading to black as I walked. Last year's leaves were soggy under my shoes, silencing my steps, but they marked the path clearly in the gloom.

Once at the pond, I paused, listening.  A coyote yipped.  Then another.  And another.  Soon a chorus of yipping and yowling surrounded me. It was as if I were at the bottom of a bowl with coyotes all around the rim howling down at me. Some were far off, others sounded very close. The wind distorted their distance from me, depending on how it shifted through the trees. But it seemed they were coming closer. I wasn't afraid of them, but as a matter of prudence I searched the ground for a good-sized branch to wield.  I didn't find one. I kept walking and after a while forgot about the coyotes.  I knew they were hunting, but night creatures like possums, feral cats and raccoons were their preferred prey.  Or an old or sick deer. But still....

I came to the little jetty and boathouse where we store a Westwight Potter sailboat, a 15-footer, a rowboat and a canoe for summer enjoyment.  The pond was formed by the creek being damned sometime towards the end of the 19th century.  I guess actually it's more of a lake than a pond.  I think it's like 200 acres or something.  There used to be some cabins along its shore but there's nothing left of them now but foundations.  Anyway, at the boathouse I found a walking stick that my father had made out of an old oak branch, heavy and solid, and carried that along for the rest of my walk.  

I thought a lot of grave thoughts as I plodded through the increasing darkness, the moon down, the stars blotted out by racing clouds, but then I thought, as much as everything dies, other things are born to take their place, forever and ever, so from a distance, maybe from God's distance, it all looks the same and unchanging.  Maybe to God a life is like a raindrop in a rainstorm.  Each drop is created, falls down and down and down until it hits ground and dissolves into the general dampness of the soil, no longer a unique individual thing, but somehow, some way, still there. And despite the obliteration of that one raindrop the rain still falls, is still rain, something made up of perishing raindrops but that itself does not perish.

I didn't really know where to follow that thought.  On the one hand it was gloomy: doesn't the individual want to always be itself, an individual with an individual life, individual thoughts?  How is losing that into something else, something larger, something amorphous, something to be desired, looked forward to? But on the other hand, in the case of a raindrop, in some manner it continues on, becoming part of a pond or river, or a flower or a tree or a chipmunk or mountain lion and eventually another raindrop again.  Is that good or bad, something to  anticipate -- or to fear?  And whatever it is, what can you do about it?  It's going to  happen no matter what, no matter if you are a raindrop or a human being.  And am I not just part of the life cycle of a raindrop?  Am I really, is my identity, that of a human being?  Or is my true identity a raindrop? 

Tired and feeling I had walked far enough, I stopped and leaned against my walking stick. I  had wanted to tire myself out so I could sleep, not lie in bed staring into the darkness, my mind racing, going over the same things again and again. Now I was anxious to get back.  The wind had mostly been behind me as I walked but on the return it was in my face.  I bent my head down against it and sought out the slight lightness of the trail to keep me on the path.

By not looking ahead, I missed something coming toward me on the trail.  We surprised each other.  It huffed and thudded off the trail into the brush and trees.  A deer.  Maybe two. The wind brought their scent to me. But it had kept mine away from them, thus their surprise.  They were lucky I wasn't a mountain lion or a pack of coyotes. After that, I looked where I was going despite the wind. 

The coyotes had fallen silent and there was no sound but the creaking of tree branches in the wind.  I wished I had worn boots instead of tennies. They had gotten soaked and my feet were cold. It began to snow.

  

 

 

 

 

 

Dumb Personality Tests

 Another repost from an old blog I had some years ago.  I thought it was pretty accurate at the time and still do, although life experience has altered some of my views. Where I've changed, I will comment in this different-colored text. The test links are probably long dead.

I'm a Mandarin!

You're an intellectual, and you've worked hard to get where you are now. You're a strong believer in education, and you think many of the world's problems could be solved if people were more informed and more rational. You have no tolerance for sloppy or lazy thinking. It frustrates you when people who are ignorant or dishonest rise to positions of power. You believe that people can make a difference in the world, and you're determined to try. Yeah, well I've pretty much given up on changing the world and I ain't gonna try. I'm just trying to keep out of the way.

Talent: 46%
Lifer: 38%
Mandarin: 56%

Take the Talent, Lifer, or Mandarin quiz.

Jungian Test:
ISFJ - "Conservator"
Desires to be of service and to minister to individual needs - very loyal. 13.8% of total population.

What Kind of Depression Are You? (Girls)

You scored as a River of Tears: Grief

You carry the world on your shoulders and are constantly crying for people who you see on the news. You can’t stand to see others hurt. Some people call you weak because you are very sensitive and attuned to peoples emotions. But in fact you are very strong to carry the weight of the world. Be careful though, because sometimes you end up forgetting to guard your own heart and it ends up broken. I don't cry for strangers anymore, if I ever really did. I have had enough grief in my own life and dealt with that of my friends that I don't have any tears left over for boo-hoo journalism.

River of Tears: Grief 54% The Black Pit: Suicidal 46% The Muted kid: Emo 42% Blind Rage: Anger 33% Fingernail Biter: Anxious 29%

Click here to take this dumb test


Sleep Personality Quiz

People who sleep in the fetal position:

Long for security, intimacy and joy. Take relationships slowly. Tend to look at the world in rosy colors, and treat people kindly. Are sensitive, though they may present a tough exterior to the world. May appear shy at times or when meeting people for the first time.

This is the most popular sleeping position, and it is preferred by more women than men.    
Are You A Babe?

You are a Babe! 

 You are very appealing to a man and have great inner beauty and strength as well as physical attractiveness.
You take pride in your appearance and like a man who appreciates it!
You like being accepted as a person rather than a sex symbol and you like a man who is intelligent as well as good looking.  Flatter me some more! But I still do not so much take pride in, but make an effort to appear well, eating, exercising and dressing to present my best to the world.  Look sharp to be sharp, my dad always said, and told me never to hide my light under a basket.  When I was learning to use make-up, my mother reminded me that I was not in the circus. Sage advice.
 

You and the Seven Deadly Sins

Greed:	Medium
Gluttony:	Medium
Wrath:	Very Low
Sloth:	Low
Envy:	Very Low
Lust:	Very High
Pride:	Very Low

The hormones aren't raging like they once were, darn it! Or maybe thank goodness.
 

Take the Seven Deadly Sins Quiz

Are You A Control Freak?

You Are 20% Control Freak

There's no way you're a control freak. You're totally laid back - and able to take life as it comes. While you definitely have a healthy mental attitude, don't get suckered into letting someone control you. Life wised me up to those bums.

 

 

 

BIG FIVE PERSONALITY TEST

 Compared to the general population, you are:

Above average on Openness
Above average on Conscientiousness
Below average on Extroversion
Above average on Agreeableness
Average on Neuroticism

Your scores indicate that you are:

• Not likely to discriminate on the basis of race or sexual orientation.
• More likely to be pro-choice rather than pro-life. No! Definitely pro-life.
• Likely to feel trapped by the status quo. I'm okay with the status quo these days. Kinda.
• Likely to enjoy complex and abstract discussions. Not any more.  I don't care.
• Likely to be more knowledgeable on academic topics.
• More likely to favor military intervention as a means of solving foreign policy problems. Definitely not! I'm a staunch non-interventionist. Let the foreigners fight each other. Who cares? Not our business.
• Less likely to think that international cooperation will solve foreign policy problems.
• More likely to take responsibility and to take an active interest in your community.
• More likely to be patriotic and proud of your country. As it once was and could be again.
• More likely to enjoy romantic fiction than the rest of the population. Not any more.
• More likely to initiate sex with your partner and more likely to orgasm. ☯‿☯
• Less likely to have a tolerant attitude towards smoking.
• More likely to favor harsh criminal punishments over milder ones.
• Less likely to watch TV and read the news, preferring instead to follow your own interests.
• Less likely to mobilize your friends in your own interests, preferring instead to immerse yourself in your interests in solitude. Or with my kids.
• Someone who seems impassive to others, while being in fact quite sure of your own views.
• Less likely to frequently change jobs and partners.
• Less likely to end up in jail or to get in trouble with the law. So far so good!
• More likely to generally agree with your immediate friends and family.
• More likely to simply avoid people who are hostile to you, or with whom you are in disagreement.
• More likely to oppose capital punishment. Not any more. Hang 'em high!
• More likely to take a favorable view of government welfare programs. Nope!

What you said to me

 Where are you? I'm still here.

 

 

 “When you are so happy you have no sense of needing God, if you and turn to Him with gratitude, you will be welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face. After that, silence.”

― C.S. Lewis

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of those days

 Like I was saying, you never know what the day will bring. (Was I saying that?)

The other day my boys were playing Frizbee and the disc landed on the roof of the stable next to the gutter and I got a ladder out to retrieve it.  One of the boys thought it would be funny to shake the ladder while I was on it.  I told him to stop, it was dangerous, but he only shook it harder, laughing as I swayed back and forth trying to keep my balance.

I tried to climb down but fell, landing on my side on the corral fence and rolling off it.  I was stunned for a second.  The pain was intense.  I couldn't move for several minutes.  No one was laughing now.  

I wasn't sure that I could get up, but I tried and managed it.  I told the boys to go get their sister, my mini me, who was keeping company with her grandmother, my mother.  My mother had fallen on the stairs some time before and broken her hip, had a replacement and was recovering slowly, using a walker to get around.  She couldn't manage the steps from the porch so she could not help me.  My husband died suddenly at the beginning of the year, so there was no one to help me, my boys were too young and unreliable.  Oh, and I was pregnant and desperately did not want to lose my baby, the last from my dear Jeff and the last I would ever have.

I knew I had to get to the hospital, and we being so remote, I was going to have to fly. I found that I could walk all right so headed for the air strip, about a half mile away.  My daughter, running, caught up with me and helped me along. My boys came, too, the one being very contrite, but to his sorries I did not reply. Maybe I should have but I was concentrating on taking steps, one at a time.  That was the longest half-mile I ever walked in my life.

I was thinking about flying the Baron because that's what I usually use for short trips,  but then thought the KA would be better because it has an auto land feature:  if it senses the pilot is incapacitated, it gets on the radio, declares an emergency, locates the nearest airport. lands there and shuts down.  And people say AI is "slop." Nuts.  I was afraid I might become unable to operate the flight controls or pass out from the pain so the KA was the obvious choice.

My daughter helped me get in the plane, did the walk around by herself and preflight with me.  I told her she was in charge while I was gone, responsible for everything.  I warned the boys not to be a bother and to obey her and their grandmother.  If I didn't see them again they were to respect her as head of the household.  They cried and protested when I said I might not ever see them again, but they had to face that fact, as I did.

Then I took off. I circled the field, watching them waving, thinking I might never see them again, nor my mother. I wagged my wings and turned for Destination City, shifting my attention to the business at hand, flying the plane.

When I landed, I planned to get an Uber but when I radioed the FBO, where I was a frequent customer,  they said they would take me to the hospital and also take care of my plane. At the hospital it was confirmed I had a broken rib and punctured lung as well as tissue damage.  A needle was inserted to aspirate air. Then they installed a Heimlich valve. I was more worried about my pregnancy than myself and was relieved to learn that everything seemed okay with that.  

I stayed in the hospital for a few days but then felt I needed to get home so checked myself out.  My doctor warned me not to fly or, jokingly, not to scuba dive.  I told him that shattered my plans to free-dive the Marianas Trench.  He didn't laugh, said he was serious, don't fly or do anything involving air pressure changes.  I promised I wouldn't.  When the nurse wheeled me out into the lobby she asked if a family member was picking me up and I said yes, but they were delayed so it would be okay to just let me sit on a bench outside to wait for them. When she left I called the FBO, as they'd promised to pick me up, the boss had even visited me to see how I was doing and ask if I needed anything.

I flew home, feeling much better than when I flew in.  I stayed low and didn't have too much trouble breathing. My thoughts meandering, I remembered that I hadn't scuba dived since I was in Guam.  There I dived on the only site in the world where you can visit a ship sunk in World War I which lies under a ship sunk in World War II. That's at Apra Harbor where the Japanese freighter Tokai Maru, sunk by an American submarine in 1943, rests against the SMS Cormoran II, scuttled in 1917 by its German crew when the US entered the war. I hadn't thought about diving there in ages. I wished I could wade out into that bathtub-warm water inside the reef and lie down and soak in the heat of the sun, relive those days without a care in the world. 

I thought about a lot of things from my past on that flight back.  But the reality was that here I was and it was now and I had to deal with the fact I was a widow before I hit 40, I had an ailing mother and four children, with a fifth on the way, to take care of.  And I had to learn how to run a ranch. God, how was I going to manage it all?  What was my life going to be like from now on? And why was Jeff gone?  Damn it, why did he have to die? Jeff! Come back! Come back.... How can I go on without you?  I've never visited the grave since the funeral because as long as I don't I could believe that he was just off somewhere doing something, like when he was still in the service deployed, and I would see him again by and by.  But if I visit his grave I would know he was gone forever.  And I couldn't deal with that.  I had been that way when my father died, the same month my latest had been born.  What a month that was.  It was worse for my mother, having lost her husband of 47 years. She's not been the same since. I thought then that I would have at least as long with my dear husband.  I guess God heard my thought because when I thought that I imagined I heard the faint, distant sound of laughter.  You know what they say about how to make God laugh.  Tell him your plans for the future.