Little Red Iris

Ryan has been waiting, some days patiently, other days not so much. There has been a scrap of notebook paper on the refrigerator since last fall with the tentative due dates for his goats, Rosie and Daisy. He has done his research and knows more about the goat birthing process than the goat herself. About a week ago, he slept in the barn next to Rosie, under a tarped-in shelter and snuggled into a sleeping bag.

Just to clarify: He was in the sleeping bag, not the goat.

A week passed and still no babies. Were the dates wrong? Then, when I came home from work Friday evening, he informed me that it would be "very soon" as Rosie had "bagged up". Yes, that's udder talk for you. Rosie was bunking in our old milk-house with piles of hay to bed in, fresh water, and essential oils diffusing to relax the pregnant goat. Okay, so maybe not the essential oils; Rosie thought that was a bit over-the-top. Ryan planned to go out around midnight to check on her, but as it sometimes happens, he fell asleep and slept through the night.

In the morning, Ryan opened his eyes, saw the daylight and headed to the barn, still closing his jacket as he hurried through the cold morning air, his breath streaming out in great puffs of white. Opening the milk-house door, he saw one little red goat, already on her feet. Running back to the house, he found me.

"Mom, Rosie is having her babies; she has one already and it looks like she's having another one."

It actually sounded more like this: "MomRosieishavingherbabiesshehasonealreadyanditlookslikesheshavinganotherone"

I hurried and got dressed, cleaned the spider webs out of my winter barn boots (no, I don't go out there much in the winter) and made my own breath trail as I hurried to the barn. I heard the insistent "baa-ing" of the baby before I even opened the door and then stepping inside, I see Ryan with not just one new baby, but two.

With an old towel, he was cradling the smaller, darker red goat. "Mom, I found this one over there in the corner and not in the hay. I don't know what Rosie was thinking. I don't know if it'll be okay; she's pretty cold."

She was cold, her ears, her feet, her body. I rubbed her vigorously with the towel to try to get some warmth going. Her head lolled to the side and she couldn't even attempt to stand. The other little one was active, walking around, buffing at Rosie to find some milk, but the little one I held in my arms had me worried.

Leo came home from a meeting at the church just then and wise farmer that he is, suggested Rosie and her babies be taken into the basement by the furnace. I stood up with the cold, quiet baby in my arms and Ryan handed me the other baby who was vigorously crying and trying to get away. If I could only get some of her vigor into the other one. I walked as fast as I could and quickly got her onto the top of the warm furnace. While Ryan watched them, I ran upstairs to warm up an old towel. 

(Towels do catch on fire when heated for two minutes in a microwave. Not that I'd know from personal experience or anything.) I grabbed the bathroom heater and got it plugged in and focused on the wee goat who was actually now starting to perk up a bit. 

Little by little, warmth began to infuse through this little dark red goat. Her eyes became more focused, she tried to stand, her crying became less frantic. I kept thinking, "THANK YOU GOD!!" Ryan (and me too!) would have been so sad if Little Red didn't make it. 

Fast forward 24 hours: 

I mean, could they be any more adorable?? One has Boer goat ears, the other has Pygmy goat ears and both are eating up a storm, frolicking about, and already trying to find things to nibble on. 

As for names, I rather like Little Red, but in the end, Ryan went with Iris and Sushi. I think I need to go out and warn all my flowers, shrubs, anything remotely garden or plant related to "Look out!!" because I think, come Spring, these two might be better named Lawn Mower and Weed-Eater.

Love, 

Dianne

Fern

I am here, hidden beneath the porous damp soil

waiting for warmth and golden light to filter through.

Waiting to stretch and push though,

but barriers stand in my way:

Fear. Insecurity. Isolation. Depression. Myself.

I'm waiting, but I'm not sure what it is I am waiting for. 

I hear a Voice. 

He knows my fears, my insecurities, my loneliness. 

He knows Me. 

But I am still afraid.

The darkness is where I have been, it is what I know. 

This is my dwelling place, what I think is safe. 

"Go."

A voice breathes in my ear. 

"I am with you. I have gone before you. I know what is ahead.

Trust Me."

Tentative. Cautious. Slow. 

I lift my head and open my eyes. 

Light.

I see it filter through the cracks in the dark cloak

I have surrounded myself with.

Warmth. 

Touching my face, soft and gentle like butterfly wings.

Reaching up to finger the light and part the shadows,

I find myself not just reaching, but pushing through. 

It hurts and I want to go back. 

There is no going back, only forward. 

"Onward and Upward." 

I hear whispers in the breeze;

it is making my hair sweep across my cheek. 

Brushing it back, I feel the tears that have fallen unnoticed. 

"Trust Me."

I reach out.

He reaches back.

I am exposed, naked, raw in the dappled sunlight.

He does not turn away or leave me to stand alone. 

I am warm for the first time. 

Truly warm. 

More, I want more of this. 

I don't want to stay curled inwards. 

One limb at a time

I stretch as far as I can.

I find that I can breathe like I never could before. 

Inhale.

Exhale. 

It is good. 

"You are good." 

What? 

"You are good. You are my creation. My daughter. I love you.

I see you and I know my creation is very good."

"Look and see."

Turning my head from left to right, looking ahead and behind,

my eyes widen. 

I am not alone. 

All around are others just like me in spite of the differences of gender, race, ethnicity, and color. 

Different stories, fears that vary, hurts that are many,

and joys that we celebrate, 

but we are here together. 

Together with our Creator. 

"Onward and Upward, my daughter.

There will be storms. It won't be easy. 

There will be tears and the darkness will threaten to engulf.

But you will not be alone if you just reach out

and hang on tight. 

I am here. 

I have always been here.

Make me your dwelling place. 

Yes. 

I am Yours. 

¹How lovely is your dwelling place, LORD Almighty! ²My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God. ³Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young- a place near your altar, LORD Almighty, my King and my God. ⁴Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you. ⁵Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage. ⁶As they pass through the Valley of Baka, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools. ⁷They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.

---

New International Version , Copyright 2011-2017 Biblica

With Love, 

Dianne

Live, Love, Run...Part 2

I wake up at 5:45am, then 5:54am, then again at 6:03am. I am beginning to see what my kids mean about my alarm. I am getting on my own nerves. Get up girl!! Quit with the snooze button already! Get the fuzzies out of your brain and remember what today is. It. Is. Race. Day!!! You have been working towards this since May:  My first official 5k.

My brain is awake now thinking even if the rest of me is still resisting getting out of this comfy bed.  I know I won't finish first unless by some miracle my feet grow wings and a 5 minute/mile average happens. But I don't want to finish last either. Middle of the pack seems okay to me. But I do have to get out of bed first. 

Checking out the pin job. Smile. Look confident!

I smile and now wide awake, I bound out of bed; I can't tell if my heart is beating faster because I'm feeling happy or nervous. Probably both. I had my clothes laid out last evening and my racing bib ready to pin on. The perfectionist in me wants to pin and re-pin until I get it on perfectly straight. I tilt my head. Hmmm...maybe it is just me who is crooked.

Okay, pinned...✔...now move on...what's next? Water. Drink 16 oz now so that all the inevitable pit-stops happen before the race and not during. Fickle bladder anyhow. Of course, that could potentially make me run faster; is that why there are porta-potties positioned close to the finish line?
Dressed...✔
Water...✔
Hair...ponytail or just do a headband? I'll be different. Just a headband...✔
On to the Breakfast of Champions: an English muffin with butter and strawberry jam and fruit. And one bite of scrambled eggs for good measure. I'll skip the coffee (shocking, I know!). If water causes pit-stops,  coffee causes pit-stops x2. Or #2. Okay, TMI. Nope, skipping the coffee.

This whole race thing is new to me and I have no idea what the proper etiquette is sometimes never. I'm a little unsure of having my number pinned on already. I look too eager (but I am eager!). I look like a newbie (uh, I am a newbie). I wore a cardigan to breakfast, you know, to not stand out in the crowd of the two other people eating breakfast. Breakfast...✔.

We set off to the Coliseum up the road as I still need to figure out where Corral #3 is and I want to walk a bit and stretch. I've avoided serious injury to myself so far and I would really like that trend to continue; I've had enough physical therapy this year. I get out of the car and I'm feeling a little more nervous and unsure. I can see it in the pictures my husband is happy to snap on his phone to commemorate this occasion. I see the hesitant smile and the shoulders and head not quite held high. I kind of want to melt into the crowd in Corral #3 as we await 0800 and the blast of the starting horn.

Early to arrive, trying to muster confidence before the Corrals fill with racers.

Can I outrun the baby strollers? Now I am nervous

0800: Corral #1 is off and running and the word cheetah comes to mind. Not quite my speed. Corral #2 is let loose with a cheer from the crowd and then my Corral steps into place. I have some music playing in my ears with a good tempo but I still hear the air horn and WE ARE OFF!

Honestly, I have never been able to run the entire 3.1 miles without a few walk breaks or stopping to grab a drink of water (me running + drinking at the same time = choking and sputtering) I was hoping today would be the day I'd be able to do it. The challenge to myself was on! I thought of this as I ran and so many other things. I recognized that there was a certain energy present that you just can't get when you run alone and it was amazing! I thought the amount of people running would be intimidating, but it was those people that made it ridiculously fun. I loved the variety of ages and all the different outfits, some crazy and colorful and others more traditional. I'd never really seen running skirts before but I'm thinking of sewing up some to wear with my leggings. Fun!! Everyone was so happy to be here, myself included. Well, maybe not the one guy at the finish line throwing up in the garbage can, but other than that...

5(k) Lessons Learned:
1.) Running a 5k is fun. Simple but true, at least for me. Note, I didn't say easy, because it hasn't been easy when my ankles hurt, my knee hurt, my thigh hurt, my foot hurt (not all at the same time thank God!), and I felt like I'd never ever get the hang of breathing. There were times I really thought I must be a little insane to be starting to run after all these years.

2.) Perseverance pays off. The point in the race that I most wanted to just slow down and walk was the last leg of it. I could see the finish line off to my left, but before I could get there I had to make a large loop through part of the parking lot. It looked way too long and felt like way too much at that point and I did think about stopping for a wee break. Then, determination kicked in and I pushed myself to do it.

Determination!!

3.) Strive to be as confident as you are after a race, before the race begins. I liked looking at the before and after pictures. What a difference! Head up, shoulders back and smile!!

4.) It is okay to feel proud of an accomplishment, really it is! When all the work put into something (running or whatever it is for you) pays off, go ahead and feel awesome!

 

Crossing the Finish Line and I'm looking to see if I can see my favorite cheerleader Leo

5.) I'm still learning and growing. I don't always have great running times. I still have times that I look and sound like I need oxygen. I will probably always look a little funny when I run. Having a goal to work towards is inspiring. I like to keep looking ahead to what's next. Onward and Upward always, in running, in my career, with my family, with my dreams.

Love,
Dianne

P.S. Looking forward to the next one! November 5th in Columbus for the Hot Chocolate 5k with Adrienne by my side. 

Live Love Run...(Part 1)

Friday October 6, 2017 around 8:00am

Early morning sunshine filtering through gauzy white curtains woke me up. I sat up just enough to look out the window to see a fine haze floating just above the ground, tangoing with the grass and Queen Anne's Lace past her prime. Coffee, let's go walk for coffee.

Warmer outside than I had anticipated for October, I thought about shedding the blue cardigan as I walked up our lane to the Dawdy Haus. A Benedict Latte, a coffee concoction of toasted marshmallow and caramel, was what I had anticipated more than the warmth on my skin. Even better in some ways than the sunshine or the coffee was the conversation with the barista behind the counter. We talked about goals, God's plan for each of us, and dreams that sometimes seem too big to be reality and other times are in our reach if we just attempt to reach out.

Like running in a 5k. In an official 5k. With people and not just me by myself.

And just like that, the morning was passing and Leo and I hopped in the vehicle and we were off to Hampton, Virginia for our 29th wedding anniversary and The Crawlin' Crab 5k.

 11:10am--The road continues before us and my coffee cup is long empty. We are listening to "The War Room" on CD as we drive. No need for words, just companionship as we keep on moving.

1:30pm--Bathroom. I need a bathroom. Now. And now that there is a department store in sight, it's even worse. Hold it, hold it, hold it....JUST PARK THE CAR ALREADY!!

1:38pm--Since we are in a store, let's shop for some shoes and clothes for Leo. I am reminded again that shopping is an exercise in how we are different from each other and in the end, it doesn't really matter. Let's start with shoes...he owns two pairs of what used-to-be dress shoes. One brown pair, one black pair. Both are worn to the point of no return. I, on the other hand foot, own multiple pairs in a variety of styles and colors. We browsed a bit and I picked out a few pairs that I liked and he was agreeable with one of those. We ended up with 0 pairs.

1:56pm--Onward to the men's clothing section. I like a v-neck t-shirt for him; he prefers crew. I like a little more fitted; he likes loose. There was a pair of jeans in a shade of mustard brown. I urged him to "just try them on". He resisted. I urged again, batting my eyelashes at him alluringly. He hung them back on the rack. I really need to work on that eyelash thing. We ended up with two crew neck t-shirts. I didn't need anything but I got a sports bra and two summer clearance shirts. Yeah, I like clothes. Leo wears clothes. I like a variety that evolves with the seasons and my mood. Leo will wear something for years until it literally wears out or becomes "barn-wear".

You know, he's really okay with me taking most of the closet and dresser space. He doesn't complain that I own shoes as varied as my wardrobe. And he lets me plan an overnight getaway to Hampton, VA so I can run in a 5k on our anniversary weekend. He supports me in doing something that I love and because I love him, I offered that we go visit some beef farms after the race. I know Leo doesn't enjoy running or working out, but he loves that I love it. He knows that I'm not necessarily the "typical farm wife" and I don't always understand the drive to keep farming, but I love that he loves it.

We don't always see eye-to-eye and we don't usually have the same taste in books or movies. We approach issues with our children differently. I like to browse and he likes to get what he needs and be done. We are different, but well-matched. Like a t-shirt and a flannel shirt. Two different types of shirts, but when layered...what an outfit!

4:35pm--We made it to our destination. We both agree that the route that looked the easiest, is the most annoyingly slow interstate ever. Kind of like life in a way. What looks easy, may not be the best route. Sometimes it's the scenic routes that make it worth it. 29 years of worth it. Leo, I'm looking forward to the next road we travel: may it be scenic, with even a few potholes to keep in interesting.

11:20pm--Tomorrow is going to get here too quick and not quick enough! I'm excited and nervous...

 Here's to Living and Loving with Leo (and maybe someday I'll convince him to run...muwahahaha)!

With love and anticipation for what lies ahead,
Dianne

To Heather, With Love

Friday September 15, 2017:  
My phone rings and on the display it shows up as "My Baby Girl".  While my head knows that Heather is 18 years old, my heart wants to argue. My eyes see her cleaning her room, folding favorite cardigans and jeans into suitcases, and returning miscellaneous clothing to me that she has borrowed. My hands think that I should still be cleaning her room and folding her laundry.

Yes, the logical side of me sees and recognizes the obvious. My baby girl is now a young adult and she is heading though that door tomorrow into the next phase of her life. My heart still wants to argue a little, but not too much because I really love seeing the woman that Heather has become.

Heather was always my attached-at-the-hip baby and toddler. I called her my high-maintenance baby but secretly, I think I kind of liked it. Maybe not every day, and maybe not at that time, but in looking back, those times are cherished.

When she was almost three years old, she suddenly burst out of her baby girl chrysalis and became my independent, determined, social little butterfly girl. She was not afraid to go after what she wanted, whether it was learning to ride a bike or a horse, dancing in her first pair of ballet shoes, composing a salutatorian speech, or deciding on a future career path.

Remember that Mother Goose poem about the little girl with the curl? When she was good, she was very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid? That could be Heather. She could be stubborn, she could be defiant and had a few conversations with the wooden spoon. This picture of her is one of my favorites because it captured this moment of complete irritation towards someone or something. But for Heather, this look could be transformed into a cheeky grin or belly laugh in the next minute. She was my little tornado; all storm one second and then calmness in the next breath.
 On this last evening before college, instead of hearing girls giggling over an episode of I Love Raymond, I am hearing loud shrieks of laughter, groans of defeat and all manner of sounds in-between as Heather and Ryan play Mario Cart.  How long will it be until I hear these words again, "Mom, we aren't fighting. We're just playing."  These two kiddos of mine....they love to pick on each other even when they know it makes me crazy. And yet, to them, it's their way of showing love.

Yeah, I don't get it either...

...but I'm missing it already.



















Saturday September 16, 2017:  Today is the day. Heather was packed up and ready last evening. She could have driven out by herself and been totally fine, but this was one of those attached-at-the-hip moments and I was thankful for one more trip together. And the two of us, we just get each other; there was no need for deep conversation and the long silences were completely comfortable. We are alike so often in our moods and we know when to give each other space and when we need to reach out.

Sometimes those comfortable silences where punctuated by crazy laughter by the elder party. I like capturing Heather in moments of surprise. She does not enjoy this in the same way and I promised not to put any of those pictures here. But believe me, there were some funny ones!! 

And after about 4 hours and 15 min, we arrived and somebody wanted to change her mind about the whole thing. It wasn't me.  By the time I peeled her clenched fingers off the steering wheel, she'd already changed her mind. (Remember, she's like a tornado sometimes with those moods!)

 There she goes into the dorm and there she is after unpacking and getting settled in. She really will be fine. I'm so proud of her. And yes, I may be wiping a tear away or two. And just like that, we are down to one child at home.

I haven't been outnumbered in this house before. I've always had at least one girl to go to when I needed a shoe opinion or an outfit idea. And when I was PMSing, I always had at least one other person in my corner. Now, so much testosterone. Who am I going to go to my annual Celtic Thunder concert with? Heather has been my steady companion the last couple of years.

Dear Heather,

I love you. Let me start with that because no matter what, always and forever, I love you. When you were a whirlwind of temper, I loved you. When you were a confidently tap dancing to "I've been working on the Railroad", I loved you. When you had a bad haircut (even though I thought it was totally adorable and you weren't a coconut head), I loved you. When you bit Adrienne on the butt even though you were old enough to know better, and then tried to avoid the inevitable punishment, I loved you. When you had a stressful day at school and felt overwhelmed by it all, I loved you. I loved seeing you at work, serving people amazing coffee creations, always with a smile. I loved seeing you a little shaken pulling into Rosedale, but then gathering your courage and jumping in with your shoulders back and head held high.

Heather, you will always be My Baby Girl and I will love you always to the moon and beyond and back. Keep dancing through life. XOXOXO

Love,
Mama aka Dianne

On Baltimore Street

Sitting on a cheerful green bench in downtown Cumberland, Maryland yesterday morning while Ryan was at play practice for an upcoming performance was a most pleasant way to fritter away a few hours. I don't come to Cumberland often and this week, with three practices, I decided that I am rather in love with this street known as Baltimore Street. With brick-paved streets lined with historic buildings and accented with an abundance of trees, shrubs and splashed with color as the day-lilies, petunias, and roses bloom, what's not to love? This is not a street to drive upon, but a street meant for meandering, with stops along the way to peer into shop windows with summer-clad mannequins, a plethora of antiques, and original artwork.
 

Cafe Mark and Jennifer's Desserts beckons with a myriad of signature latte flavors. German Chocolate Latte? Why, yes I will, thank you very much! Caramello Latte? Sure, why not? I stroll. I sip. I savor the coffee and the sights around me. Buildings from another era stand proud: an Art Deco theatre with a facade that makes you think of marble, and many brick buildings of Italianate, Beau Arts, Romanesque, and Georgian Revival styling in shades of burgundy, burnt orange, rust and yellow that house investment firms, art studios, jewelers, insurance and financial services, collectibles stores, a pawn shop, a music store, restaurants with outdoor seating areas, and The School of Hospitality Management and Culinary Arts.

I may even admit to people watching. There are women in yoga pants with earbuds in place as they go up the avenue. They keep pace with the business women with suits and heels that make a staccato rhythm on the bricks as they step out into the sunshine to grab a bite to eat from City Lights or maybe the Cafe. Some have slipped on running shoes that completely mismatch their business attire and yet looks completely normal as they take a quick stroll up and then back down the street before heading back to work. There is a man with jeans worn-out to a comfortable softness and a t-shirt moving a variety of items in and out of The Embassy, and yet another gentleman with biker's gear and a racing jersey headed to the C&O trail-head. A barefoot, gray-haired man in a motorized chair zips by and he tosses a cigarette. A man with a group of other suit-clad men looks down at the cigarette before returning to his conversation and lunch at the Baltimore Street Grill.



A nearby fountain is shooting plumes of water into the air and if the breeze picks up just enough, a fine spray cools sun-heated skin. I wish for an excuse to dip my hands and then my feet into the fountain. Up the street a little farther is an assortment of vegetable and flower plants and some look like they wish they could dip into the fountain too. I stop and make of few selections and soon a variegated sage with purply veined leaves, a green bell pepper plant and another pepper plant (boasting to be both hot and sweet) are in my possession.
 
Occasionally the city quiet, which isn't technically quiet at all, is punctuated with an exclamation point as sirens wail and fire trucks head towards I-68 from the nearby fire station. Traffic is a constant hum with only a brief comma pause in the seconds between lights changing simultaneously from yellow to red and red to green. A few seconds to take a breath before forging ahead.

As a girl growing up in rural western Maryland in the 1970's, going to the big city of Cumberland was an adventure and a treat. School shopping and Christmas shopping meant a road trip on Route 40 and then later, Rt 48 (and eventually I-68). I always felt a little like Laura Ingalls Wilder when they would load up into their wagon and go to town from their home in the Big Woods.  Shopping at Hills, Ames or Murphy's was on the agenda and we'd walk out with notebook paper, folders, pencils, a new book-bag, and new socks and underwear. We'd stop at Goldsmith Black Inc and Mom would pick something from their selection with points she had earned. (I thought this store was boring!). At least that's how I remember it.

Being on this street makes me nostalgic. It reminds me to slow down and take some time to read, to write, to walk slowly and take in my surroundings, to smile and say "Hello" to a passing stranger. It reminds me to take a breath before forging ahead.

Love,
Dianne