My Great Blue Messenger

I love Great Blue Herons.

Whenever I see one, it feels like God is saying, "Everything is going to be fine," or "Yes, you're making the right decision." Sometimes the heron's message is "Have you forgotten me? I haven't forgotten you." Seeing a heron reminds me that Someone is watching out.

Once, a heron flew beside my car for a few yards as I drove down the highway. It was so close, I could see its eyes quite clearly. I admit I wasn't paying much attention to the road as I marveled at my messenger.

Another time I was nervous about driving in an unfamiliar city when I caught a glimpse of something unusual out of the corner of my eye. It was a Great Blue Heron soaring high above the tall buildings.

Anyone else might spot a heron standing in the shallows of a river and think nothing of it. Not me. I know it's a whisper of support and love meant just for me.

A few years ago I was unsure about spending the time and money to attend a conference in Florida, but when I opened the hotel Web site and saw a photo of a heron, I knew that booking the trip was the right thing to do.

I glanced out the window early one morning during a rough period of my life and there was a heron standing on the roofline of my neighbor's house. I don't care if my neighbor happened to have a garden pond stocked with coi. It was still a message from God: "Hang in there, girl!"

The next time you spot a Great Blue Heron, don't look the other way. Take a message for me, would you?

And.....She's Back.

Well, I'm back after my short and unsuccessful run in the contemporary drama, The Kennewick Project, in which I played The Current Wife. It was a bit part in a dramatic production and I’m the first to admit I was miscast.

I auditioned and was offered the role with high expectations all around. However, I realized pretty early in the run that I basically stunk at the part. I guess my heart wasn’t in it. While the other actors did their best to carry me along by helping me with my lines and coaching me, my part was finally cut from the play altogether.

Do I regret my involvement in The Kennewick Project? Not at all.
I am the sum of my experiences, and I’m sure I’ll be discovering many ways in which I have grown because of my short marriage and life in Kennewick. I know I’m a different person than the one who left in 2009. Improved, really.

Don't talk to strangers

I met a man on my walk this morning who greeted me with, “Well, hello there, old lady!” Because (A) I am a good sport, and (B) I know most people are stupid, I responded with a hearty, “Good morning! Isn't it a gorgeous day?”

I walked on past and mulled over his bizarre salutation. Seriously? Do I look that old? He was older than I am, for Pete’s sake. I might be fat, but I'm not old. Why in the world would someone say that?? Maybe he has some mental problems. I do look old, don't I?

Grousing over the greeting fueled my power walk up the last incline to my house, then it hit me. “Old Navy,” not “old lady.” I was wearing an Old Navy shirt. Oh.

Good thing I hadn’t followed my inclination to administer an atomic wedgie. I’d be feeling really bad right now.

And that power walk probably did me a lot of good. I should have someone insult me every morning.

Bikin' 4 Boobz post show

My husband's step-son from a previous marriage plays in a band and he invited us to come watch them perform at a local sports bar on Saturday night. Now, I'm not much of a bar person and I don't stay up past 9:30, so I was feeling pretty much put-upon with this whole plan.

Then I found out the band was part of the entertainment line-up for the bar's annual "Bikin' 4 Boobz" event. Oh my. Heart be still. Motorcycles AND boobs??

But we knew Don would be so pleased if we showed up, so off we went. (I didn't wear any makeup, though. I wanted to be ready for bed as soon as we got home.)

We had driven by the bar earlier that day and were stunned by the number of motorcycles in the parking lot. They had a huge crowd!

At 10:00, however, the event was winding down and those smart bike owners were home in bed. The only ones left at the bar were the regulars, still trying to hang onto the magic of the boob festival. Women were sporting strings of party beads - do we want to know how they earned those? - and wore event tank tops reading, "Hanging onto them for life," with skeleton hands strategically placed over the breasts. Men wore t-shirts that read, "We stare because we care."

For a person who loves to watch people, this was heaven. I was fascinated by the gritty, bleached hair women with over-exposed breasts being hit upon by middle-aged men with shirts unbuttoned to the navel. Slinky guys lurked near the doorways and very drunk young women danced seductively, seemingly unaware they were alone.

It was all such a delightfully tawdry spectacle and I was happily entertained for a good hour until Clay decided he'd had enough of my elbow nudging and pointing, and we left.

At home I fell into bed and dreamed I was cruising down the open road on my Harley, skeleton hands cupping my breasts and party beads streaming out behind me in the wind.

Jack-sons' Bikin' 4 Boobz event drew more than 420 bikes and they raised $22,000 for the Susan B. Komen Foundation. Wow!

Dream a little dream with me

I dream of having a vintage camper, particularly a Shasta. I haven’t camped since I was 12 years old, but my heart beats a little faster when I think of camping in a tiny, cute, refurbished camp trailer.

Of course the dream camper has room only for me and maybe a dog or two, if they lie down. I’d park near a lake or creek and just relax, read, write and listen to the breeze in the treetops.

Wait. Stop. Change of dream.

Let’s park the Shasta on a secluded beach at the ocean. I’d enjoy warm sun, sand and palm trees during the day and have a little campfire for marshmallow roasting in the evening.

I’d wake up early to sit outside and watch the sunrise with a big cup of coffee while I dig my toes into the cool sand.

That, my friends, is my idea of bliss. And no, you can’t come with. Find your own camper and beach, but come over for margaritas on Saturday afternoon after my nap.

I'm in for it

My 6-month old grandson at bathtime.

I think I'm in for a very rough time resisting this face. I hope he learns to use his powers wisely and doesn't take advantage of Grandma Honey every chance he gets.

Turns out I'm a crocheter of cuteness

When my grandma was alive, she tried several times to teach me to crochet. At the time I couldn’t think of anything I wanted in the way of a crocheted item and was more into quilting, so I was not inspired to catch on. I know she would love to see me now, crocheting up a storm.

About a month ago I got it in my head to try crocheting a tote bag out of old grocery sacks. A favorite patron at the city library where I worked in Grangeville, Idaho, had such a bag for her books and I just loved it.

I went online and it turns out there are all kinds of instructional videos, so off I went. I made loops of my stash of grocery sacks, followed an online tutorial on how to make a single crochet and began making a bag bag.

My first effort (left) had sort of a basket look that was OK, but wasn’t what I was after. And, because it was loosely crocheted, it stretched long and ugly the first time I took it to the grocery store. I started a new bag using thinner strips and smaller hook, and I'm going to like it much better.

I felt like I had the crocheted plastic bag thing mastered and wanted to branch out, so I looked online for something fun to crochet out of, oh, how about real yarn? (MUCH easier than handling plastic bag strips, I have to say.) There I discovered the world of amigurumi, Japanese for little knitted or crocheted toys and dolls.

Now can’t stop making them! After following online patterns and getting the basics, I’m designing my own and it is so much fun! While I’m finishing one, I’m planning the next.

I have absolutely no use for crocheted toys. None. And yet, I now have 3 pigs, a bear, 2 puppies and a kitty and I predict there are more to come. Seriously, I’m a little embarrassed. Yes, they’re cute, but what do I DO with them? Right now they sit in the bookcase in my office, but the next step is a box in the closet.

My 6-month old grandson will have to have a couple, but how many does a little guy need? Does anyone really need any crocheted toys at all?

So, if, when I die, you are the one who cleans out my closets and hauls my junk to the thrift store, don’t be alarmed or laugh at the giant box of amigurumi dolls, please. Take one home if it speaks to you and then keep my little habit of cute hoarding to yourself, OK?

Of course I had to make a flying pig! This little guy is just 4 in tall.

You don't scare me anymore, Badger Mtn!

Well, you’re looking at a winner right here. Yes sirreee! I made it to the top of Badger Mountain today!

I was a tad concerned about being there on a cloudy Monday, sure there wouldn’t be very many other hikers. I did not want to be alone on the hill with some crazy dude, you know. So I shouted, “Crazy dudes may take the day off today!” to the universe and took my chances.

The first person I met was an older lady with walking sticks who was on her way down. As I passed her, I quipped, “I wish I was you, on my way back!”
She said, “Just take it easy. That’s what I did. I decided I was going to make it to the top today, no matter how long it took.” I decided that was a fab idea and adopted her attitude.

The round trip trail from the trailhead park is 3.5 miles with an elevation change of 800 feet. If you know anything about anything, you’ll understand that’s a lot of uphill. To cope with the effort it took to do this, I made myself stick to a breathing pattern and keep a steady, unimpressive pace.

The day was gray, the temps right at 32 and the wind was blowing. It was a little bit wicked, but so exhilarating! I was reminded of a favorite Thoreau quote: "Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature. Be cold and hungry and weary.”

I was near the bottom when I met my crazy dude who clearly did not get the universal memo about taking the day off. He was a tall man coming toward me on the trail, all bundled up in a dark hooded coat and a scarf wrapped around his neck. You could barely see his face. How would I identify him in the police line-up?

Then I noticed the shadow tripping along behind him. A little Pug wearing a red quilted coat. Last time I checked, crazy dudes didn’t bring cute sidekicks when they stalked victims on lonely trails.

Whew!

And, again, Yay me~!!!!!!
www.friendsofbadger.org

Pretty darned close to conquering Badger Mountain

Because I despise exercise involving machines and sweat, and I love being outside, I’ve been peeking into the world of hiking. My area has the most wonderful, open winters, with mild temperatures and lots of sunshine -- perfect for winter hiking. (You won’t catch me hiking in the 100+ heat, so I’ll have to be a winter hiker.)

My first hiking challenge is Badger Mountain. The largest of three prominent hills jutting from the flat landscape of the Columbia and Yakima river basin of the Tri-Cities, Badger Mountain is really more of a large hill, only 1579 feet above sea level. The mountain has been adopted and preserved by Friends of Badger Mountain. The group essentially bought the mountain fewer than 10 years ago, when it was in danger of being turned into a lofty perch for expensive homes, and has since worked to build miles of trails and raise money to buy adjacent property. The result is an outstanding recreational resource that is enjoyed year round by many people, from young families to older couples.

I was there on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, and it was the first really sunny day after a gray spell. As I suspected, I wasn’t the only one eager to be outside in the sunshine. The parking lot was packed.

From the base of the mountain, the trail climbs steeply. There are stairs cut into especially difficult portions of the path that ease the pain somewhat, but I was still huffing and puffing like crazy and had to stop to catch my breath repeatedly.

Whenever I heard someone coming up behind me, I stepped off the trail and let them pass. I was embarrassed to sound like The Little Engine That Could, so I am sorry to report that I often held my breath while they passed. Wildly stupid, yes. The result was, of course, that I was even more out of breath.

OK, not really. I came to the bottom of what looked like an impossibly steep portion of the trail and I just couldn’t make myself do it. Another thing I’m all about is Personal Comfort. Later, when I looked at the trail map, I realized just how close I’d been to the top of the mountain.

Next time I try to conquer Badger and I get to that point of the trail, I’ll just dig deep and pour on the steam. The Little Engine That Could will power her way to the TOP!

I hope there's a Dutch Bros coffee hut up there.

Budgets are for other people

There’s a good reason why I’m 50 years old and have never lived with a spending budget. Actually, there are a number of reasons: 1) I like to spend quite a bit more than budgets usually allow. 2) Budgets are hard. 3) I often see neat stuff that I want.

However, my new husband likes the idea of reining in our unnecessary spending so we have money to save for fun stuff like Mexican vacations, emergency appliance replacement and comfort in our old age – which is racing toward us with reckless abandon.

I know he’s right. (Hate when that happens.)

I was tossed into the tub of new experiences when I married him and moved from my hometown, kids and friends a year ago. I thought I’d got past most of the new experiences, but it seems that Living with a Budget was floating right up on top and I didn’t meet it until I broke the surface to gulp the sweet air of Feeling Comfortable.

Every two weeks we each get a cash allowance. We can save it for a big ticket item or we can fritter it away on Dutch Bros coffees, books, knitting paraphernalia, cool pens, craft supplies, etc. I, of course, am Team Fritter. In my book, “fritter” equals “enjoy,” which might be why he decided on the allowance thing.

Things have gone well until this week. I’ve already blown my allowance on my yoga class and some books and I have a whole week left. I really want to start a new knitting project and need to buy needles and yarn, but the $4 in my purse is not going to cut it. And a whole week without Dutch Bros? What to do??

Hubs says I’ll probably survive. I’m not sure, so I plan to spend the day in the Walmart parking lot.

One-a-day geocaching challenge

Just for grins, I set myself a challenge to get one cache a day for a month. Not two or three, just one. This is harder than you think. This afternoon, for instance, it was sunny and still and I was in an area riddled with bike and hiking trails begging to be explored.

My phone's geocaching app told me there were three other caches nearby and I was so tempted to scamper after them all. I refrained, however, telling myself that I can come back tomorrow and the next day, therefore prolonging the pleasure of stomping around in the desert in the winter sunshine. The cache is located so close to my house that the round trip, including hike and hunt, took only 20 minutes, afterall.

Pulling off the road at a trail head, I looked out in the direction my GPS was pointing (above), and, because I'm somewhat of an expert at geocaching, I assessed the situation thusly: "Betcha that cache is under a sage brush."

Sure enough, there it was. I signed the log and was back home in flash. 27 caches to go.