The Little Sparrow…Sittin’ in the Tree

I was looking out the kitchen window the other day and saw this sparrow simply basking in the beauty of the day.  He (or she) stayed on the sawed-off stump along the trunk of the old elm tree for at least 5 minutes.  As I clicked the lens I wondered what the bird was thinking as it looked upon its world and then looked at me. 

 

A little sparrow was sittin’ in the tree -

I was lookin’ at him and he was lookin’ at me.

 

I asked that sparrow sittin’ in the tree -

If you could be anybody who would you be?

 

The little sparrow still sittin’ in the tree -

Cocked his head and then said to me,

 

The reason that I’m sittin’ in this tree bein’ me -

Is ’cause God gave me wings don’t you see?

 

Then the little sparrow still sittin’ in the tree -

Again cocked his head and asked who would I be?

 

I looked at the little sparrow still sittin’ in the tree -

Then smiled and said No one, Sir, no one but me.

 

SBF 11/18/09

 

Facts, Fiction and Thoughts….about 2012

This week’s Off The Cuff…

For several years now I’ve been paying attention to articles and programs about what is going to happen and/or what may happen on December 21, 2012. Some folks are shouting that civilization will end that day, while others think it will mark the ‘beginning of enlightenment’ (I’m still not exactly sure what that means) for the same civilization. Then there are those folks who think absolutely nothing will happen and as with Y2K hyperbole, we’ll wake up December 22 and make light of those who feared and prepared for the worst case scenario.

All information that I’ve read and assimilated about 2012 has been very interesting! As well as somewhat chilling if any of the assumptions and possibilities should actually come to fruition.

I make no claim of being even close to a scientific thinker, but what I’ve gleaned thus far is that a natural and cyclical event is occurring. Our solar system’s sun is nearing a rendezvous with what is known as the galactic center, or equator, of the Milky Way. The significance of 2012 as a cataclysmic year comes into play when this fact is mixed with many hypotheses, some of which deal with the shifting of the earth’s magnetic poles and the intensity of solar flares erupting from the sun’s surface.

And then there are the predictions and theories being touted quite heavily by many folks as to why 2012 brings the ending (or beginning) of civilization. Many ideas revolve around the finality of the thousands-of-years-old and eerily accurate Mayan calendar, Bible prophecy, Hopi Indian beliefs, and even the supposed appearance of a new planet that will cross our solar system. Mind you, these are but a few examples of the plethora of predictions being put forth as to why 2012 has found such importance with so many people.

As for my thoughts on the subject? Well, I hope you haven’t concluded that I’m Chicken Little running after Henny Penny and Turkey Lurkey to announce “the sky is falling, the sky is falling!” On the other hand, I also don’t ‘pooh-pooh’ the science and theories surrounding the possibility that indeed, the sky may fall in 2012. Thus, I guess you could call me a ‘fence sitter’ on this subject! Besides, neither I nor you have one iota of control over any of the players in this unfolding cosmic drama!

And yet, to my way of thinking we do have control over how we react to and perceive the drama. Do we choose to start digging both a literal and figurative hidey-hole for ourselves, allowing fear or a sense of inevitability to dictate our path and decisions? Or put another way, do we just throw our hands up in the air, curse God and prepare to die?

Or do we opt for the opposite? Do we use the predictions and probabilities of 2012 as a reminder that we are to live, revel in and appreciate each day we breath, no matter the year and date? Do we choose to trade cursing the future for a heart full of thankfulness for right now? In preparation for the future, do we lift our hands into the air to finally make peace with our Father? And do we wisely use 2012 as a measuring stick to determine what in this life is truly worthy of our time, thoughts, action and love?

As for me, I can honestly say I do not look with trepidation at what may, might or will occur in 2012. I live with faith, not fear, because I choose to believe that my life is in God’s loving and capable hands. And I reckon that is the safest and best place to be when the sun rises, be it tomorrow or on December 21, 2012.

 

Me, The Dogs and The Munson…

It was an absolutely gorgeous Fall afternoon ~ filled to brimming over with a next to nothing breeze, a cloudless robin egg blue sky and hundreds of golden elm tree leaves waiting their turn to gently tumble to earth.

 

 With a cup of coffee in hand, I opened the back door and allowed the clamoring canines to rush past my legs and out into the yard. Zoe chased the collared doves from their perches in the trees and Sweet Pea followed suit. Annie stretched her aged legs as Cousin Freckles nervously nosed the nearest bushes. And the leader of the pack, Shiloh, chose to join me as I sat on the top step of the porch.

As I often do, and between sips of coffee, I carried on a conversation with The Wonder Dog. I asked if he had noticed any squirrels frolicking in the trees lately, followed by an observation that he was a truly handsome fellow who was possibly the smartest dog on the planet. He turned his head in my direction, looked at me with those chocolate brown and glowing eyes of his and I could have sworn he simply said, “Yep!” in response to both the question and observation.

And then I said the sentence that changed the peacefulness of the moment into momentary chaos. “How about if we go for a walk at the Munson?”

Shiloh instantly stood at attention and began running towards the garage door, noisily barking orders at the pack. As I returned indoors to grab a ball cap and a set of keys, Cousin Freckles, who is loathe to romp with her cousins for longer than a minute or two, asked if she could stay home. With a pat on her head, I said, “Sure!” and left her to guard the house. In short order, Shiloh, Sweet Pea, Annie, Zoe and I were heading west in the old blue Ford pickup.

No matter how many days have passed since our last visit, the Munson seems to always gladly welcome us with open arms. And each time we return there, the land seems to offer us a gift. This day it was the waist-high, white grass that shimmered in the sunlight and invited me to caress its feathery tips with the palms of my hand as I walked south. In little time I arrived at the old wooden boundary post bedecked with one orange flower which was placed there by a dear friend almost a year ago to commemorate the final destination of my beloved BlackJackTheCat. Perhaps it was my imagination, but it felt as though the dogs joined me for a moment of remembrance of their friend. Sweet Pea sniffed the exact spot of interment and Shiloh ceremoniously hiked his leg on the post.

We then walked the breadth of the Munson. Nary a cloud wisped its way across the blue canopy of sky. The only sounds upon the prairie were the occasional cawing of a solitary raven as he soared overhead and the crunching of clumps of short grass beneath the soles of my shoes. Several varieties of long-stem grasses waved in the afternoon breeze, as if bidding me to walk among them.

My heart was content and had grown soft with peacefulness as I observed my pack’s antics. Zoe made me laugh with her ballet leaps in hopes of catching hapless orange-winged grasshoppers and Shiloh presented me with yet another discarded wild boar leg. Sweet Pea and Annie blithely followed scent trails here and there. Looking across the sun drenched Munson and watching the dogs enjoy their freedom brought a sigh from deep within my soul.

And for just a moment in time, for just a breath or two, it did indeed feel like God was in His heaven and all was right within the world.

 

The Prairie is Alive and Thriving….

It seems that for the past couple of months I have been unable to fully concentrate on any one topic long enough to write a cohesive column. Starts and stutters, flitting like a butterfly from flower to flower, I begin a paragraph, only to second guess myself on the subject matter or how it will be received. Thus, I end up deleting all thoughts from the page much like an eraser makes chalk disappear on slate. And another week flies by with no words appearing under my heading in the BC News.

But not this week, by golly! I have deactivated the ‘delete’ button, turned off my favorite TV news station, told the kids they’ll have to wait for their kibbles, brewed a pot of strong coffee and (figuratively) placed Velcro between my derriere and the purple office chair! No matter what, you all are getting an “Off The Cuff” – straight from my heart, straight from my scattered brain cells.

 *************

Thanks to several excursions of late, I am happy to report that nature continues to quietly flourish, flow and thrive in our county.

After having gone several years without seeing nary a one of them, I witnessed dozens of hummingbird moths seeking nectar among a plentiful pocket of bright pink clammy-weed flowers near a spring-fed pool of water north of town. At their winged sides and with proboscises buried deep in the same flowers, many monarch butterflies dotted the landscape. I was thrilled to be able to capture both flitting creatures through the lens of my camera.

At several locations I was surprised and happy to find numerous burrowing owls living within towns of oft cast as vermin but also resilient and playful prairie dogs. With very large and yellow eyes, with small bodies covered in gray feathers mottled with white spots, the owls were loathe to hang around when approached. They either hunkered down in the grass, disappeared down a nearby hole or quickly took flight, so I ended up with only one focused photo of the beautiful bird.

Upon close examination of each owl burrow in one particular town, I made some interesting discoveries. There were tiny bones picked clean and gleaming white in the sun‘s light. Perhaps they were once mice or small birds who had unfortunately found themselves caged in the owl’s sharp talons? Alongside the bones and scattered all about were left-over body parts of so, so many grasshoppers who hadn’t jumped fast enough or far enough when spotted by the keen-eyed owl. But most intriguing to me were the plethora of fuzzy black stumps which littered each burrow entrance. I instantly recognized them as tarantula leg joints only because I had just enjoyed a chance and photographic encounter with one such tarantula as it was slowly making its way across clumps of prairie grass at (oh, no!) another prairie dog town.

Across the county I spied several varieties of hawks, all of them soaring and sweeping across the blue sky caught between white cottony clouds. (How I longed to be one of them, if only for an hour!) And dotting the prairie were many singular and groups of the ebony-colored crow whose ’caw’ resounded across the peaceful silence of the prairie. Coming across the decaying carcass of one crow, I was surprised at how large their winged bodies actually are and how massive is their beak.

Then there were the two meetings held with members of the prairie rattlesnake community. The first session left the large rattler wanting nothing more than to escape after being captured and held (egad!) by a friend of mine while I scrambled for the camera. For better or worse, and after some excellent shots with the camera, the slithering slitherer was allowed to continue on his way across the pasture. The second session was with a small prairie rattlesnake who began rattling in fear that my tennis shoe clad foot was about to squish its body. After being prodded to perform photographic tricks by a stick held in the hands of another friend, the young snake obliged for just a few minutes before letting us know it had had enough, quickly winding its way through the tall grass.

Oh, yes! Whether birds or bees, snakes or prairie dogs, owls or coyotes, or the quick glimpse of an elusive swift fox running into the twilight, our county still holds within its borders so many of God’s uniquely crafted and precious creatures. And I hope that although I didn’t see one, the horned toad of my youth also continues to quietly flourish somewhere out there among the hills, the fields and the prairies of Cimarron County!

And then there are the herds of antelope now so often seen in all directions. As for one antelope in particular, one I spied several times through binoculars and with the naked eye? Well, that’s a story all of its own, saved and savored in my mind and heart, still waiting to be told!

In Search of Turkeys…

I jumped the span between sleep and wakefulness in about 10 seconds flat!   Some faceless voice was telling me via the clock/radio that it was 6 AM and time to rise and shine.  I wanted to throw something at the voice, turn over and tuck back down beneath the warm bed covers.  Instead, I got up, turned off the voice, slipped on my slippers and headed for the kitchen to brew a pot of eye-opening coffee.   I had a mission to accomplish and timing was all-important!

While the coffee made itself, I made myself go take a shower; a sure fire way of getting the sleepy out of my eyes and brain.  As I stepped into the shower stall, I looked up and said, “Good morning” to the definitely not a black widow but some other type of spider who had taken up residence in a nicely spun web where the ceiling meets the wall.  She had been there (and still is) for several weeks, never moving but always guarding two small white ‘pearls’ possibly filled with who knows how many yet unborn babies.  I figured she was happy to see me, since the rising steam meshed with the web, thus supplying her with a drink of fresh water.  As I washed and rinsed my hair I heard echoing in my ears the voice of my dear friend, Shannon.  “The turkeys are starting to gobble!  Now all you have to do is go find them!”

Yes, that was my mission this early morning in March.  To hunt down and ‘shoot’ some wild turkeys!

Armed with a humongous pink mug full of fresh coffee, the cell phone, a can of Del Monte mandarin oranges and my Nikon camera, I was heading north on 287 long before the sun was heading for the eastern horizon.  By the time I reached the turn off leading to the James Ranch, I could stand it no longer.  I had to stop and look up at the sky which had been tempting me with its beauty through the windshield.  I stepped out of the Jeep and into the beginning of a brand new day! 

The western sky was still inky black while the eastern half was slowly turning the color of dark blue.  The darkest expanse of the heavens was filled to overflowing with all sizes of stars, all silently twinkling.  But what made me sigh with gladness that I’d left the warmth of my bed far behind was the bright white crescent moon which hung, as though by invisible wires, a quarter way up the southeastern sky.  I stayed glued to that spot until the dark blue turned to soft gray tinged with a hint of orange.

Traffic was non-existent as I drove the length of the bridge spanning the Cimarron River.  It was still too dark to see if there was any water in the river bed.  Soon I was turning left, onto the narrow ribbon of winding blacktop which would hopefully take me to a rendezvous with a flock of tail-fanning, earth scratching and gloriously gobbling turkeys!

My first glimpse of wildlife, but not turkeys, came when I rounded the first curve of the blacktop.  One mule-eared deer was standing in the middle of the road while its friend stood just to the right and in the grass.   The beam of the headlights caught them full on, illuminating those famous ears accented by large and soulful brown eyes.  For a few seconds we all looked at one another.  Then they were gone, effortlessly and gracefully skimming the top barbed wire of the nearby fence.

I traveled the blacktop until it crossed over a small stream bed near where Paul and Dorothy Kohler once lived.  I had always appreciated the fact they fed turkeys in the past; I was hoping the current residents did the same.  Since there was nary another vehicle (or human) in sight, I parked in the middle of the narrow road and quietly exited the Jeep.

The sky had now changed to the color of soft lavender, as the silhouettes of trees and an ancient windmill tower began taking shape.  The air was chilly and I was shivering.  Standing in the middle of the road, my eyes strained to see any movement as my ears strained to hear any sounds.  I was met with only pure stillness, pure silence. 

And then from some distant tree to the north came one barely audible, “Gobble”.  I smiled.  As though to reply, from the south and somewhere among the old cottonwoods of the Cimarron River came a series of “hoot, hoot, hoot”; an owl was stretching his wings and voice.  I sighed and just enjoyed the moment.  But no turkeys came wobbling their way across the pasture and not another “gobble” proved their presence.  As for the owl, he must have gone to bed for no more “hoot, hoot, hoot” was to be heard.

Deciding to give the turkeys time to stretch and get going, I went trespassing!  I wanted to see what the early morning looked like from the Kohler Dam.  The stillness went with me.  I walked the rise and stood above the empty Cimarron River.  Sand dunes swooped their way down the river bed to the west, but a small pool of green water remained just below the dam.  There were no birds, no living creatures, not even a bug scurrying across the ground. 

I looked around at the many old cottonwoods standing so tall and regal, now with naked limbs stretching towards a sky quickly turning from lavender to peach.  And I felt a deep sense of peace as I breathed in the freshness of the early morning air.  I thanked God for the new day, even as I thanked Him for my ears, eyes, body and mind that were in the middle of a mighty blessing.  At just that moment the sky suddenly transformed into stripes of golden orange and muted purple, quickly giving way to a most magnificent sunrise!   And that was when I thanked Shannon for nudging me to go in search of the gobblers.  I still hadn’t found them, but I had been given the surprising gift of experiencing the beauty of !

I retraced the route I’d driven, hoping that I’d see at least a couple of turkeys before heading back to town.  The fully risen sun was directly lined up with the blacktop, making it difficult to see.  But then I noticed something moving across the road and through the bright ball of sunlight; several round somethings!

After all my searching, there they were right in front of the Jeep, making their way across the road and into a field of hay.  Turkeys!  Lots of turkeys!! 

This time I pulled off beside the blacktop.  Grabbing my camera, I began ‘shooting’ the turkeys nearest me.  Then I got out and walked to the edge of a sown field of wheat where a group of them were fanning their tails at one another and cheerfully gobbling.  Oh, what a sweet sound!  Trying to make myself invisible I hunkered down near a pile of dirt and gleefully shot frame after frame of the magnificent and yet very uncomely faced creatures. 

At least half a dozen males, with bright red ‘thingies’ hanging under their chins and across their beaks, were strutting their stuff!  The sunlight was catching on their layers of dense feathers, making them shimmer in shades of deep purple and jaded green.  Their tails were fully extended and the white tips practically glistened in the light. Long, striped feathers graced the sides of their bodies, practically scraping the ground.  I was captivated!  And I wanted even closer shots.  I slowly walked along the edge of the field…and instantly destroyed their serenity!  Which also ended the photo shoot.

I didn’t realize turkeys could fly so high, or so fast!  I looked to the south, where the flock had flown and not a one did I see!   They had disappeared into the high grass and hay.  I spoke out loud to them, “Thank you!  Thank you, turkeys!”  And from somewhere in that hayfield I heard one reply, one faint “Gobble!”

I headed towards town.  On my face was a smile and in my heart was a song of gladness.  Oh, what a beautiful morning!

Easter Memories…

My physical body is sitting at the computer table. My eyes are looking at a blank page on the monitor. Shiloh’s furry head is resting upon my left foot. And sitting on the table is a cup of green tea which is rapidly cooling with each sip. The wash machine just finished its rinse cycle and there are almost muted voices radiating from the television.

And yet, my mind has taken me far away from this table, this monitor, the tepid tea and Shiloh’s warmth upon my foot. The past has bumped against the present, and I can not only see but also feel with such clarity that which once meant so much to not only me, but my entire family – the sadness and then the joy of Easter. And my remembrance comes with the sensation of once again being that little chubby girl with long brown hair and eyes to match who embraced the story with such innocent faith, wonder and gladness. (Note: the gladness came only after we got Jesus off the cross and resurrected!)

For the first eleven years of my life, our family participated in the Easter Pageant – an outdoor passion play played out against the backdrop of the rugged hills near Kenton, Oklahoma. The first two acts were evening performances on Thursday and Friday evening. The final one – the grand finale – took place on Easter morning.

Mom’s assignment was to add her beautiful voice with those of many others as they huddled together in a concrete “lean-to” half submerged in the ground and in front of the grassy slope where people would sit in their cars and watch the action taking place across the span of the hillside filled with boulders, grass and spiny cactus. Daddy was always a disciple, dressed in a robe and head covering made from brightly-colored satin. As for the four Fowler kids, we were part of the mob who stoned Jesus as he hefted the cross upon his shoulder and dragged it to the top of the hill.

I still get a queasy feeling thinking about my childhood role. Even though sponges the color and size of stones had been strewn along our path to be used in lieu of the real thing, I remember tears sliding down my cheeks as I attempted to ‘stay in character’ by picking up ‘rocks’ and throwing them at Jesus’ back. I also remember being unable to shout with even a modicum of conviction, “Crucify Him, Crucify Him!” (I took it to heart as a little girl; I still take it to heart as a grown woman. How much Jesus suffered to prove his love for me…and you.)

Act One – The Crucifixion – culminated amid the boulders on top of the hill and just before sunset. I can still hear the creaking of the wood as ropes, held in the hands of the guards, slowly raised the cross holding Jesus’ body. I remember being so impressed how the western sky would suddenly be filled with bright orange light, creating a black silhouette of that cross and the outline of Jesus’ body. I also remember feeling very sad and empty.

(Flash back to the present. I am trying very hard to remember Friday’s evening performance. I guess it’s because the mob was no longer needed and I wasn’t paying attention, because I have no active remembrance of Act Two!)

But that’s definitely not the case when it comes to the sweet flow of childhood memories surrounding the Sunday morning performance of the Easter Pageant!

Mom and Daddy would wake us long before the sun thought of rising. We’d all sleepily crawl in the old red station wagon and head out to the pageant grounds, situated about thirty miles west of town. Mom would head to the choir pit, Daddy would go to the wardrobe shack and we kids would transfer to Mamaw‘s car, where we’d be given cups of foamy hot chocolate and a snack.

Then we’d impatiently wait for the moment in the story when Jesus and the disciples (Daddy) would appear on a northern outcropping of rocks. By then the sun had reached the horizon, and I can still envision the disciple’s colorful robes playing against its light. The men gathered around the risen Jesus, who was clad in a brilliantly white satin robe, as he spoke “The Sermon on the Mount”.

The last moment of the Easter Pageant was my favorite, and it always brought with it a miracle. As the choir would begin singing “The Hallelujah Chorus” the morning sun, on perfect cue, would shine directly upon Jesus standing on the hillside with his arms outstretched to the world. Touched by the morning breeze and the radiance of all that sunlight, his white robe would begin to shimmer. And then it appeared as though he truly ascended unto heaven! For with one breath Jesus was standing there. And with the next, he was gone!

I still get goosebumps when I remember that glorious moment.

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

May God’s light shine through you. May Jesus walk beside you. May the Holy Spirit dwell within you. And may you remember both the cross and the resurrection. Easter blessings to you all!

Faith and Fearlessness…When Looking Towards The Future

So…..I had this week’s column all written. I finished it late at night, planning to read it over with fresh eyes and mind the next morning before submitting it for publication. I rose early – even before the birds and sun – and with a cup of coffee in hand, began editing what my heart had written just a few hours hence.

I ended up deleting the column. Going back to the beginning – a white, blank screen upon the computer monitor – because I realized that now is not the time to talk about the subjects I believe are the root causes of our woes: greed and the mentality of ’entitlement’. No – for this day, for this week, I have decided that it’s much more important to focus above and beyond the crisis of clamorous cacophony currently rippling across the country.

Believe me, I can do my fair share of opining about the audacity of those who hold the reins and sit on the front row of our government. I can also mightily mutter at the morning news shows and yes, sometimes I think of throwing a pillow at the television screen when certain people’s faces come into view. And I keep thinking: “By golly! These people work for us – not the other way around!!” While I think it’s very important to keep that thought in mind, I know that we – the common folks – are also responsible for the current state of affairs of not only the government but of our own lives!

Okay – I digressed there for a minute, didn’t I? Like so many of you, these days my mind has a way of doing that…returning to thinking about the big picture, the fragile future, the muddled money mess, the dubious delegation of decision makers who are shaping, and to my way of thinking, mangling our heart-held beliefs and desired way of life! In so many ways I feel so impotent in being able to stem the tide or alter the reality of where we are…and where we’re going…on this slippery slope sliding ever so softly towards a socialistic society. (Which, by the way, is merely the middle ground between capitalism and communism – according to Marx!)

But, whoa, Shelley! Once again I have digressed and focused on that which I had decided not to focus on this week! It’s not the problems and possible outcomes we face daily that I want to write about – it’s how we cope with, survive, and yes, even thrive from those problems.

Or rather, I want to share with you why I am able to listen to, opine upon, and yet not fear the future or the daily doses of dour news, both of which I have no or little control over. And perhaps, by sharing my very simple yet successful coping skills, you too will be buoyed, blessed and empowered with the knowledge that all is not lost, anything is possible and that there truly is nothing to fear….but fear itself!

I don’t have a troubled or depressed heart, nor do I painfully grapple with the ways of the world because I have chosen – and yes, it is a matter of consciously choosing – to place my trust, my faith and any moments of fearfulness about the future into the eternally capable and outstretched hands of my Father. And I have taken to heart the promise that beneath His wings I shall find a refuge of sweet peace, quiet joy and hopefulness in a world increasingly devoid of such things. All it takes to have them is belief – belief that has jumped the hurdle from the head and found its way into the deepest recesses of the heart, soul and spirit

I realize that some folks might think I’m doing the same as hiding my head in an ostrich hole or copping out on reality by willingly ceding unto God the reins of my life; thus not worrying about and fretting over what is to come, nor spending my time with angry clenched fists, knotted ‘innards’, insomnia or a fear-filled spirit. Perhaps some people may think it’s too simple, too naïve, too illogical and way too irresponsible to place everything I have and am, and everything that our nation is and will become, into the hands of an unseen entity who more and more people are believing less and less even exists!

Since I have the mindset that my Father is quite able to defend His own existence, I won’t go charging down that path…at least not today! And I won’t try to convince anyone that a winged refuge, peace and joy await you when you dare to rely more on God than on yourself.

But I can, and I will, try my up-most best to be a living epistle, since the only proof that what I say is true can be found by how I live. I want to be – I choose to be – an ordinary person who truly endeavors to not only talk the talk, but also walk the walk, when it comes to facing with faith, freshness and fearlessness not only the future, but each and every day of this precious experience we so lovingly call Life! Would you care to join me? After all….the more, the merrier!

Shiloh….

I’ve never doubted his intelligence! Nor his propensity for being unruly when a man walks in the house. At which time he acts like any young boy and wants only to wrestle. But, laying aside those stories for now, I want to concentrate on the smartness of one of my kids…..Shiloh, The Wonder Dog!

The first time he heard the word ‘ball’ he went and found one, then laid it at my feet. With the first utterance of the word ‘fly’, he ran in the bedroom, jumped on the bed, sprang into the air, caught the ceiling fan’s metal chain in his teeth, and set the blades a-whirring. I didn’t have to explain to him that the creature with the funky tail was a ‘squirrel’ – the first time I said its name, he darted to the closest window and looked hither and yon about the yard. As for ‘bird‘, the first time I mentioned that word he instantly looked up into the heavens! With ‘walk’, he’s ready to go to the Munson. And say ‘bug’ and he’s checking out the floor with his nose.

Thus, I shouldn’t have been awe-struck the other day when Shiloh demonstrated anew his ability to grasp the meaning of words with no training or prompting.

I had been to the grocery store and purchased some Beggin’ Strips, a rare treat for Shiloh and his siblings, Sweet Pea and Kiote’. I handed each of them a strip, which they devoured in short order. I then opened the back door and all but Shiloh ran out to play in the sunshine. He wasn’t going to be suckered into believing the package didn’t contain more ‘bacon’. He stood his ground, speaking (with his eyes) that he’d surely appreciate a little more of the tasty treat.

So I took another strip from the package, broke off a piece, and without expecting him to understand what I was about to say since I’d never asked it of him before, said, “Sit!” He immediately sat on his haunches!

I said, “Wow, that was cool!” as I rewarded him with a bite. Hmmm….

Thinking about how long it had taken my nephew to teach their family dog, Eddie, how to ‘speak’, I figured it would be impossible on the first try with Shiloh, but what the heck!

And so I said, “Speak!” Still sitting on his haunches, looking me straight in the eyes, and with nary a shred of hesitation, Shiloh’s voice rang out, “Woof!” I didn’t reply, but just grinned and shook my head in wonder as I handed him another bite of ‘bacon’.

Shiloh was two for two!

Feeling like a proud parent whose child was winning the spelling bee, I decided to go one more round with words – for the championship and the last of the beggin‘ strip.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “Okay, Shiloh! Jump!” And wouldn’t you know it! In one fluid motion he went from sitting on his haunches to leaping in the air!

I cheered. I ruffled his furry, black ears. I hugged his canine neck. He allowed my emotional display for merely a moment, then sat down and simply said, “Bark”. A reminder that I still held his trophy – the last tasty bite of bacon. And for just a second, as he took the morsel from my hand, he seemed to also be adding, “What did you expect? After all, I’m Shiloh, The Wonder Dog!”

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

I found Shiloh – or rather, he found me – about five years ago. His lineage is quite mixed, since he has long, shiny black hair, a speckled belly and yet exhibit’s the tan markings of a German Shepherd. He truly is filled with ’wonders’ – he climbs trees, scales tall fences, eats dried leaves on a daily basis, has the ability to get along with all dogs to whom he’s introduced, and wants nothing more than to be by my side, or in the pickup, his head stuck out the passenger window.

And at this very minute, he’s sitting beside my chair with his head on my lap, looking at me with his soulful brown eyes. Eyes that are telling me I’ve talked about him long enough…for now!

Where I Stand on Abortion…and Life

I try to stay away from writing about politics, a squirmy subject for many folks. But there are moments in time when I just can’t remain demure and unvocal with my beliefs about the state of our union. Besides, if I don’t say what I’m thinking then I’m the same as agreeing with the policies that are being enacted and (re-enacted) faster than I can walk a mile.

So I give you a few thoughts that have been tumbling around my brain and burning in my heart of late.

One of the first items on the 44^th President’s agenda was to close Guantanamo Bay. How dare a nation support the practice of torture and the quashing of the human rights of approximately 250 ‘detainees‘! His battle cry was met with resounding cheers from millions of citizens. Preachers and congregations, ethicists and the educated, men and women of moral fiber, liberally-minded and kind-hearted souls all agreed with their vote and voice that such practices should cease. And yet…and yet…those same people, with their same vote and voice, have endorsed the torture of thousands of unborn and partially-born babies through abortion! How much more barbaric can a nation be then when it tells the world – and God – that it’s morally okay to inject chemicals, cut up, suck out or leave to die an innocent and defenseless tiny being?

I had pretty much settled on my belief about abortion before “we the people” elected the 44^th President. Personally, I was against the practice, and yet I held it was indeed a woman’s right to kill or not kill her unborn ‘fetus‘. Being a Christian, I believed that tiny little not-quite-born soul would fly straight back into the loving arms of Heaven. As for the woman’s decision, I left that to be settled between her and God. But now, I believe I am as culpable as that woman – and each of you – for the act of torture called abortion. Why? Because the 44^th President has declared that “we the people” will literally pull money from our pockets and pay for that woman’s choice! Dare I also state that each of us, and our nation, will be held accountable for not speaking out against that same choice?

To tell you the truth, I really don’t want to think – or talk – about such things! Not about abortion. Not about the stimulus package that was created because of greed, and is now filled with the same. Not about the sins of past leaders, nor the sins of the current one. Not about anything connected with politics!

I would much rather be like a contented and acquiescent sheep, my head down and sublimely munching on my own little verdant patch of grass while all the wolves are kept at bay by the guard dogs. Said another way, I’d much rather be ignorant and uncaring about all the things the 44^th President and his ilk are enacting, trusting that they’ll be kept in check by my guys up on the hill.

And yet, like all of you, I can’t afford to be an ignorant, happily-willing-to-be-led, baaing sheep!

The whole while I’ve been writing this column, a verse has been tickling the recesses of my heart and mind. I pass it on to you, paraphrased – “Better that you are either hot or cold. For if you’re lukewarm, I’ll spew you out of My mouth.”

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Having gotten the subject of politics off the table, out of my mind, past my fingers and onto the page, I want to leave you all (and myself) with something brighter, less weighty and much closer to home! The only downside is that you must have access to a computer to be uplifted!

For many months I’ve been showing the world, via a web site called Flickr, photographs I’ve taken of my favorite place on earth – Cimarron County. Photos of bugs and butterflies, horses and cows, windmills and hills, Black Mesa and the Santa Fe Trail, big skies and clouds, turtles and frogs, calves with milk on their chins, swans, bluebirds and other such things. All of them represent a sheer moment in time, a snippet of real life, captured and lovingly held, waiting and wanting to be shared.

Here is the link that will allow you to see the beauty and life of our county through my eyes. Enjoy! http://www.flickr.com/photos/22291912@N06/

 

25 Things About…Moi

Recently I was “tagged” by several friends to share “25 Things About Me”. I decided to pass some of the tidbits of information on to all of you. Now you’ll know a little more about (and the history of) the writer of “Off The Cuff”.

I really like coffee…with one packet of pink ‘fake’ sugar and a splash of creamer.

There was a time when I was addicted to a Nintendo game – The Legend of Zelda. But after I rescued the princess (twice) I never played again.

I once performed for the governor of OK and other state dignitaries. I accompanied myself on the piano, singing a song I’d written just for the occasion.

I love animals. At one time my yard was filled with five dogs; twenty-two cats; a giant rabbit, Ka-Bunni-Hopper; two adult ducks, Doodles/Donald and their 18 ducklings.
I’ve met only one famous person. Michael Martin Murphy. I was washing my clothes at a Laundromat in Weatherford, OK, and he came in to do the same. We were the only ones there. We had a nice visit and he gave me his autograph.

I celebrated my 21st birthday at The Moulin Rouge in Paris, France.

I didn’t talk until I was three years old. As the story goes, I really wanted a stuffed monkey and would point and ‘grunt’ every time I went by it in the grocery store. My mom wouldn’t let me have it until I said something. So I spoke – and my first word was “Why?”.

I am more comfortable in a room full of men compared to a room full of women.

I once saw a genuine UFO. It was night and I was in the backyard. The triangular object was huge and completely silent, blotting out many, many stars as it slowly passed overhead. I ran in the house and drew what I had seen. I wasn’t the only one…there were calls that night to TV stations from other people in OK and TX.

If you see me with a bag of Cheetos in one hand and a can of black olives in the other then you’ll know I’m very, very stressed out!

Every time I go walking out at the Munson I pick up something….a rock, a piece of green glass, a bit of rusty wire, a feather, or such…and add it to my collection of “Pieces of the Past”.

I’ve lived long enough…and lived through enough…to know that there are very few things that should be worried over, many things that should be prayed about, and in all things…much to be thankful for.

Two things I enjoy ingesting at the end of the day….several cups of green tea and one dark Hershey Kiss.

I accidentally killed my favorite kitten. I was very young and didn’t realize that holding him by the throat while brushing his teeth under running water wasn’t a good combination.

My first job was when I was eleven…a soda-jerk at the local drugstore. Since then I’ve sold shoes; been a back-up singer in a folk band; was a waitress; managed a gas station; drove a tractor and combine; was a receptionist/coder for several doctors and an optometrist; survived by selling my paintings/several cars/other people’s stuff on eBay; owned my own art shop; and am now doing something I absolutely love doing…emergency management in conjunction with the state and FEMA.

I believe everyone has an interesting story to tell…and I want to hear it! So please don’t freak out when I start asking questions!

I’ve never been a ‘girlie’ girl. Currently, I own one purse and no high-heels.

I was raised a Methodist, gave my life fully to God when I was 18, and met Jesus heart to heart while walking at the Munson four years ago. Feeling His presence and love has nothing to do with religion – and everything to do with relationship!

I’ve always said that if all I had to eat was hard candy and fancy food I’d be one very skinny woman!

Somewhere along the road of life I learned the beauty and freedom of loving another soul unconditionally. The hard part is getting that other soul to believe it!

All you have to do to really scare me is turn off the lights and hold a lit flashlight under your chin while slowly speaking my name!

Communication is like air to me…necessary for survival! The same goes for expressing the thoughts of my soul through writing.

Hit me – and I will walk away and never look back. Yell at me – and I will become mute. Hug me – and I will hug you back. Tell me your dreams – and if at all possible I’ll help you make them come true!