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his and her wellies

his and her wellies


These are the boots we wear to irrigate. Mine are cream colored with koi fish designs. And Jim’s? Well, his are basic black.

This weekend Jim taught me the ropes of flood irrigating our land. It’s no easy task. I have a new admiration for the work he does.

And gratitude.






easter tulips

easter tulips

It never was my intent to learn how to irrigate. I have many passions as it is. I love the land, but its care and feeding—that’s my husband’s domain.

But something happened. The Saturday morning before Easter, I heard Jim calling for me from the bedroom. I opened the door and found Jim collapsed on the bed. Minutes later, three paramedics and two ambulance attendants were in our home.








serenity

serenity (for jim)


Jim is fine. He is alive and better than ever. He had blockages in his heart, which have been opened. He has more energy than he’s had for a very long time.

But it’s going to take him and me both some time before we stop thinking about how fragile life is. Although, perhaps that’s something we don’t ever want to take for granted again anyway.







Postscript: Jim is fortunate. He didn’t have a heart attack on the Saturday before Easter, but he did have a close call. The medical staff at the hospital were savvy enough to know that Jim needed to be treated. They kept him in the hospital over the weekend then first thing on Monday performed an angioplasty and inserted two stents. A main artery was almost completely closed, with only half the heart functioning. There was no damage to the heart. Jim’s healthy lifestyle likely contributed to the fact that he is still here today.

Jim is a tender soul and a genuinely humble man. He told the cardiologist who did the procedure, “Thank you for saving my life.” As Jim now tells the story, the doctor smiled and said, “It was my pleasure.”





acequia

wagon at dawn


jim and rafael

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turkey love, two heritage tom turkeys in perfect silhouette in the Rio Grande Valley, NM, November 2008, photo © 2008 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.






♥♥♥♥                                         ♥♥♥♥

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥                               ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥                     ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥           ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

For the ones we love and the ones who love us.

For this moment, and hope for the future.

For inspiration, practice, our mentors.

For our health and our work.

For beautiful turkeys.

For one another.

For all of you.

Gracias.





QM and yb





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Blood On The Tracks, newly painted door of Bob Dylan's childhood home, Hibbing, Minnesota, May 2006, photo © 2007 by Liz. All rights reserved.     Blood On The Tracks, newly painted door of Bob Dylan's childhood home, Hibbing, Minnesota, May 2006, photo © 2007 by Liz. All rights reserved.

Blood On The Tracks, newly painted door of Bob Dylan's childhood home, Hibbing, Minnesota, May 2006, photo © 2007 by Liz. All rights reserved.     Blood On The Tracks, newly painted door of Bob Dylan's childhood home, Hibbing, Minnesota, May 2006, photo © 2007 by Liz. All rights reserved.

Blood On The Tracks, newly painted garage door on Dylan’s childhood home, part of the Dylan Days tour, Hibbing, Minnesota, May 2006, photo © 2006 by Liz. All rights reserved.


I’ve had music on the brain. Last week I watched an October interview with Nancy and Ann Wilson on A&E’s Private Sessions. The two members of one of the greatest rock bands of all time, Heart, were in fine form. Ann Wilson has a new CD called Hope & Glory.  She tackles everyone from Shawn Colvin, Alison Krauss, k.d. lang, Rufus Wainwright, and Elton John – all the way to classic rockers, Led Zeppelin.

Watching I’m Not There a few weeks ago at the Uptown, and researching The 6 Faces Of Dylan, stirred up a few memory bars, too. I started compiling a list of my all-time Top 10 Albums (remember those scratches, ticks, and pops!), followed closely by my all-time Top 10 Singles. What happened next was a flood of memories associated with not only the songs, but whole albums.

I cut my teeth on early James Brown, Chubby Checker (is there anyone who doesn’t know The Twist?), and Beatles ’65. I listened to them on a beige RCA suitcase record player with a silver latch. I toted that thing everywhere and wore extra grooves into my coveted collection of 45’s (housed in a padded pink, Barbie record case).

I remember my favorite 33 rpm’s as concept pieces – I couldn’t listen to just one song. I had to hear the whole waxy platter (flip!), both sides:  Neil Young’s, Harvest, Joni Mitchell’s Court & Spark (and Blue), Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, the Anthology: Best of the Temptations (double set), Elton John’s Tumbleweed Connection with Come Down In Time. And don’t forget the Johnny Mathis and Nat King Cole Christmas albums.

Then there are the obscure singles like Brook Benton’s Rainy Night in Georgia (this song still gets to the sadness in me), Lulu’s To Sir With Love, or The Association’s Cherish. Along with blockbusters like Bill Withers’ Ain’t No Sunshine, Otis Redding’s Dock Of The Bay, Bobby Darin’s Mack The Knife, Wilson Pickett’s Mustang Sally, or Tina Turner’s version of John Fogerty’s (Creedence Clearwater Revival) Proud Mary.

Maybe for you it was Elvis, the Fugees, Crosby Stills & Nash, The Guess Who, Steely Dan, the Supremes, Janice Ian, or Ferron. Maybe it was an old rock or country album your parents played when you were growing up. What about Hendrix, Woodstock, Janis Joplin, The Jayhawks, Los Lobos, Nirvana, Glen Campbell (I admit, Wichita Lineman, written by Jimmy Webb, is one of my faves), Leonard Cohen, or The Squirrel Nut Zippers.


Music and memories. Head back as far into your mental musical archives as you can go. Then connect the dots:

  • Make a list of your Top 10 Albums (8-tracks, cassettes, CD’s) of all time, music that has impacted your life (it doesn’t have to be forever. You can change your mind later. Grab them off the top of your head. Don’t anguish over it!)
  • Make a list of your Top 10 Singles of all time (same thing, don’t make it a big deal)
  • Choose one of the Titles from your combined lists of 20 Hits.


Do a 15 minute writing practice on one of the following:

  • When I hear ____ I remember…
  • The first time I heard ____ …
  • The last time I heard ____…
  • This song reminds me of _____…
  • The first time I saw ______ in concert…


It doesn’t matter what kind of music you like. What matters is how the music moves you. Music lifts the spirits, forces your body to sway, slings you into the fires of passion, keeps you young, and, for better or worse, is undeniably connected to love.

Think about the music that has most impacted your life. Drop some of your Top 10 Titles into the comments below (the more memories we stir, the better!).

And if you Love Me Like Music, I’ll be your song.


-posted on red Ravine, Monday, December 10th, 2007

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Around 3000 people live in the city of Valentine. If you fired up your GPSr, programmed in 42 degrees, 52′, 25″N, and 100 degrees, 33′, 1″W, slid the homing gadget into the plastic grip Velcroed to the dashboard, and drove in the direction of the crosshair blips on your map of light, you’d arrive at the most northern border of Nebraska, smack dab in the center of the state line.

That’s Valentine.

Each year in the month of February, thousands of hopeless romantics send letters to Cupid’s mailbox in “Heart City”to be embossed with one of three different Valentine cachets. Valentine’s Cache, Valentine, Nebraska, from Heart City websiteThe red ink postal stamp from America’s heartland adds a little fuel to the fire of a juicy Valentine’s Day.

If you think Nebraska’s a dull state, reset the synaptic button. Fire again. It’s one of my favorite places on the planet.

Kool-Aid and CliffsNotes and the Vise-Grip were all invented in Nebraska. The largest Powerball payout, $365 million, was split 8 ways on February 6th, 2006 by ConAgra workers from Lincoln. Both Malcolm X and Brandon Teena were born in Nebraska. As were Henry Fonda, Hilary Swank, and Marg Helgenberger, blood spatter expert and forensic supervisor Catherine Willows from the original CSI.

Need I say more?

Okay, let me go on to the 450,000 other reasons I fell in love with Nebraska – the sandhill cranes . Each year in early spring, 90% of the population traverse the Central Flyway stopping to fatten up and rest along the Nebraska stretch of the 310 mile, 10,000 year old Platte River. And they’ve been doing this for 9 million years.

At sunrise, 10 feet from the river bed, in the dark underbelly of a blind near Kearney, I’ve watched as the cranes roost on one foot, sleeping in 6 inches of water. I’ve seen them probe the grasslands, meadows, and farmers’ fields near Grand Island foraging for leftover corn, insects, earthworms, and rodents. I’ve listened from 7 miles away to the ancient and throaty rolling trumpet sweeping toward Rowe Sanctuary, and peered through Nikon binoculars at kettles of cranes staging over Gibbon, their gangly voluminous shadows eclipsing the moon in a single sweep of midnight dusk.

Convinced?

I saved the creme de la creme for last – I love Nebraska for her writers: Ted Kooser , the United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004 – 2006, Willa Cather , Terry Goodkind, DeBarra Mayo, John Neihardt, Weldon Kees, Ana Marie Cox , founder of the political blog, Wonkette, and Jonis Agee, Director of the Nebraska Summer Writers’ Conference. Maybe they weren’t all born Cornhuskers. But many lived most of their lives in the great Nebraskan plains.

How long do you have to live somewhere to call it home?

I’m a Minnesota transplant. I moved here in 1984. When people ask me where I’m from, I say, “I’m from Minnesota.” And sometimes, so as not to be pigeonholed, I add the caveat, “But I grew up Down South, lived in central Pennsylvania in my teens, and moved West to Montana in my 20’s. I’ve been around.” Creative license – I have to protect my image as a bohemian.

Willa Cather by Carl van Vechten, photo taken January 22, 1936, released to public domain, Library of Congress

Willa Cather by Carl van Vechten, photo taken January 22, 1936, released to public domain, Library of Congress

On my last road trip through Nebraska, my air conditioning died and I stopped to cool off at a rest stop just north of Red Cloud (the town is named for the great Oglala Lakota chief who was born near there) where Willa Cather grew up. Did I mention she won the Pulitzer in 1923 for One of Ours?

I struck up a conversation with Ella, a gray haired, bespectacled, 70-ish woman in a denim shirt and blue jeans (this is common in the Midwest) standing behind the map counter. I told her I was returning from a writing retreat in Taos and that on my first trip to the Mabel Dodge Luhan House in 2001, I stayed in the Cather room where Willa once slept on one of her pilgrimages to New Mexico.

I told her I read that Cather had met D. H. Lawrence in 1924. And wasn’t that the same year he and Frieda visited Mabel and Tony, bunked in the Pink House in Taos, and lived with Dorothy Brett at Kiowa Ranch near San Cristobal? Ella’s eyes sparkled. When she found out I was a writer, she talked to me for nearly 45 minutes, a reprieve from the dog day glare of August, about Nebraska writers and history. Her great, great grandparents homesteaded there. It is in her blood.

Willa Cather once said, “The history of every country begins in the heart of a man or a woman.” Maybe the history of every country can also be traced through the lineage of everyman who lives at the heart of its land.

Kearney, Nebraska marks the exact central point between Boston and San Francisco. Valentine, at the seat of Cherry County, sits dead center in the heart of America. Everything east and west is just an appendage.

Cupid knows. He shoots his letters off straight from Valentine.


-posted on red Ravine Wednesday, February 14th, 2007

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