o Tonopah

 



My dreams are shattered now and no one cares

So I'm goin' back to Tonopah - Dave Stamey















Past
Born and occasionally raised in Tonopah, Nev.

Present
The word "love" seems a strong term to use for this place, don't it o Tonopah?

Future
Intro (theme) song:
... I'm Gonna Be Somebody" Travis Tritt

O Tonopah.

My affair with you has shaped me into the person I am.

 

 

But, what of this reason I always land on black bounce back?

 

 

 

 

The love we give is the love we take.

Tonopah

 

Loves,

HjB

Noon

"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.
The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." -Nelson Mandela

For over a month I have been consumed by action that betters my family's life, and my own. In any department that we can foster optimism, there has been progress. Bad habits are being shredded like the paid bills. The new habits are being nurtured. So, change feels good. It really does.



"You cannot in human experience, rush into the light.
You have to go through the twilight into the
broadening day before noon comes and the full sun
 is upon the landscape". -Woodrow Wilson
 

Hope is in the air, because we recognize there is something new on the horizon. For me, Blondie's Laundry Service is but a small piece of the triple layer fudge cake I have had my eye on, and might just sneak out of my "Auntie's" back door.

Some revelations are like a thunder storm which blast across the desert. Lately I try to padlock my emotion so I can fully process my passion and give it direction. 

But, my time, subject to this locked down excitement, is full of suspense. Like I am waiting for my turn at an old fashioned shoot-em-up.


I know the intensity of this emotion is driven by this new horizon, and any fears are related to not knowing what will come of  my actions, or role I will play in it.

But, if I must attend this shoot-out, then I must win. They say when a cowgirl is down on her luck, she plays her heart, and so my plan is to do as the cowgirls I worship, do. As in love it, and love as hard as I can.

Before I lose you with mushy love talk, know I speak of the love that puts your feet in the stirrups and after your daily bacon, and not romantic love. I speak of the love we have for that "pile" of things which move our human heart to song and our feet to dance.



I know what moves me to dance. I created a persona, and the tumbleweed feed so I would have a way to nurture it. And it has been a good place for me to practice, with my weapon, and pretend I am as cowgirl-tough as any man. 

These days it has been easy to buckle these leather chaps around my hips. I am excited to put on my work boots and my leather gloves. I have checked to see my pistol is in condition and loaded. You might catch me practice a a few quick draws and then holster my weapon for later, but I know I am ready. And able.

 

Like the cowgirls I worship I pull my hat low so that when I walk into the light I will not be distracted by the reflective light. I set one foot on to this boardwalk, because I cannot go back. Then I plant the other boot right beside it, because I might have to fight for what is right.

The other day I was linking up to the "professional world" via Linked in. I did not know what to expect, so with an open mind, I began to build a summary of myself. While I explored this process I felt like I was being forced toward, a very small definition of what was my experience or ability. I could not seem to "get it right" no matter how much I edited. 

 

Naively, I did not realize these revisions were sent to all my "connections." I was trying to put my best foot on to the boardwalk but I just slipped on a banana peel. I am not sure how it looked to the other guy and was just about to say to hell with it, and update some feed to read: "I know what I know because I went to school and then worked my ass off for it."

 

I mean, how do you summarize almost two decades of jack-of-all-trades service experience (some of which actually does involve poo)? How do point out the Nevada Press Association awards and not bring up that they never gained acceptance by my peers? And what words should I use to describe the need inside me to find the road less traveled, explore every inch of wild Nevada and then liken those emotions to that of a wild mustang, who is after mares?
 

I found it difficult to tell those who are Linked In, that I have learned and laid down character since I was "hard at work," and found plenty to be scared of in this big beautiful world. Where do I point out that I learn the hard way, and the long way. That I have came to know that the ground is not flat, or even, and it no where near fair or forgiving.

I have survived birth. And death. And being screwed by a big bank and lost faith in government, and now I find bureaucracy stretches from here into eternity.

I say real gumption comes when you deny yourself a prescription to somebody else's point of view; or yourself a handout when you needy. I learned from these life experiences that I am not just a survivor, but a fighter.

 

And then there are the sins of my past. How do I show people the brazen sins of my youth were recognized in the aftermath; and that now I keep a fresh set of rules on board so that I am able to walk a more deliberate path.

But, what about the path? How do we go about expressing that the path I walk is never going to be the path you might expect... That, if I were an empty old whore house, I would be one with a fresh coat of red paint on the fence.

 

Dear future employer,

My intent is to take the scenic route; or the long way; or the road less traveled to my own conclusion. My abilities may not exceed, but will not be limited to the size of a box. I do not have time to define my direction because North, South, East or West are all as good a direction as any to travel. And direction is nothing when I have already decided to have one adventure after another until my body is thoroughly used up.

This way of thinking surely presents a problem. After sending shrapnel into cyberspace for a couple of days I had to ask myself, who am I after? And who is going to hire me? Well, for this wild Wednesday I found my solution. I cut and pasted "Creed," by Dean Alfange into the Linked In summary of myself, and was done with it.

Creed, by Dean Alfange, goes like this:
 I do not choose to be a common man.
It  is my right to be uncommon--if I can.
I seek opportunity--not security.
I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state look after me...

Then I gave myself a #2 certification as Queen of Poo, because I have been weighed and measured and found myself wanting (even on the holidays) a lot more out of my life. 

I figure the poo certs will get it across that I am willing to get down and get dirty to get where I am going. The place I want to be is as wild as Nevada and has everything to do with my living, loving and laughing my ass off. So, I guess Linked In made sure I was finally ready to part from the herd, and proclaim my intent to set sail on the sea of sagebrush and celebrate it here.
 

While there is much to be afraid for, I will not mind the hardships because I want, and will have, my triple layer fudge cake (my dream). I am not afraid to learn what I do not know and and take a stand using the information I already possess. I know I am different. And I know fear still has a thing or two to teach me. 

Furthermore, it is time for me to fight the cowgirl fight for what is right. It is time to utilize my Queen of Poo certs to FLUSH disappointment to the poop pond where the rest of the turds go.

 

Regret is not needed here. I was patient, diligent, and even deliberate. I stood still. I waited for morning to turn to noon so I could pull my cowgirl hat down and step onto the boardwalk. If it is a gunfight they want then I will oblige them. While I was checking my pistol I found the door to my dreams unlocked and within reach.

Now I have something to fight for. And a place to unleash the passion I had to put a padlock on before.

So what exactly is it I am after? Can the adventures of this blog afford me more than mere adventures? Eventually it will. It will take some planning, and a lot of hard work. But, I intend to make the tumbleweed feed my bacon.

So yea, I know where I am going. I am hell bent for Sunday and my triple layer fudge cake with two kinds of frosting!

It just looks like a tumbleweed dancing because I found the light of noon and the courage to fight for it, and I am inspired by all the love I have inside or has been shown to me.  

 

Are you as excited as I am? Well, to link up, or read "Creed," check out my Linked In profile. I hope it will bring lunchtime to your otherwise unfun Wednesday. Also, please share, share, share these blog posts because this wildnevadan girl wants to go somewhere! Thank you for reading.

Until next time.

Loves,

HjB

Making Money For the Babies

My kids have a way of making me think about some very complicated things. Today, I had to go into a lovely little shop downtown, and I told my kids, "Now, we have to be quiet when we go in here, and there is a lot of pretty things we cannot touch."

 

Just before opening the door I bend over and look at them up close and ask, "Are you ready?" I don't know if I am talking them into it. Or myself. I just know I have to go in. And I have to be brave enough to take them in, with me.

Their question echos the one I have been asking myself since I was yae-big:

"But, why?" Good question. 

 

Boys, there's two things on earth that you better figure out: The difference between the easy dollar bills and the honest ones. And insurance,(which is a fancy word for "most important bill," and that it is necessary to protect all of the dollars).

 

True. True. The math for Blondie's Laundry Service, up to the point where I washed another guys' laundry was with pretend numbers. I said before the idea began in fantasy. Which means it was started from infancy.

 

There are a lot of bright orange shirts, jeans, long underwear, double socks, coveralls, sweatshirts, t-shirts, on those working men in town. And they get dirty. Every. Day.

 

I mean, I do know how to do laundry. Also, I have been educated. I know a bit about business. I  am literate and can operate my phone.

 

So, I was overly confident I would figure it out. And you could say I wanted more control of how much I earn for my effort. It is a shame when a good job won't get you anywhere or ahead.

 

So, that first $20 was easy to earn. I wanted it. All transactions since have been double, nay triple the effort. When the honest dollar bills came into the picture, I had to tie up loose ends, then make it legal. I had to develop, adopt, abandon, adopt and reinvent some systems...

 

I had to overcome snow; some water leaks; some bad stain remover; and a naive sense of order and time. Sadly, I now have some extra man drawers-which is and will forever be embarrassing!

 

Like I said, it is my kids who bring focus to my tumbleweed ways; they add the future to the present, and so I have my purpose. They challenge me to"figure it out" for myself so that I may help if they ever face easy dollar bills and insurance trouble.

 

Or maybe I will teach them to make an opportunity for themselves if they cannot see where one exists.

 

So, Blondie's Laundry Service is about a month into official operations now and everyone has figured out a thing or two. I have even collected a team of people who help, and have made this heart humble again. If it be through osmosisis, I don't care as long as a lesson is passed along to the two little men that I drag along on the ride that is my life. It sounds like this now:

 

"Out, out," I said. "Lets go."

 

"Where are we going?" my oldest asks.

 

"Laundry..." I answer. My mind is a million miles away.

 

"Is it time to make money for the babies.?" says the younger. 

 

Talk about the biggest grin you could ever get out of a woman! They already know! If that doesn't motivate, then nothing will!

 

"Damn Strait." I told him. "We're making money for the babies!"

 

"Lets Go!"  And away we went in our welcome wagon on unofficial business we generated somehow. 

 

While I have a chance I want to thank these magnificent, dirty, working men for their business! You are helping little tumbleweed wishes grow into big fat dreams! Thank You! We hope you stay a long while and that we get to become friends before you return home.

 

Loves,

HjB

This Sounds like life to me dirty girl

"Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do." Goethe

 

In the new year I have been such a whirlwind of activity my friends are starting to stop just to "check on me." My Hon., and kids, are confused by my distracted, non-domestic (non-helpful) state. Also, with every untamed moment, I devour the words of wise and famous people who walked the line to their dream, before me, because it inspires me to fight another round.

I am vibrating like a chainsaw on idle, even while I sleep. It is exactly what this half raised WildNevadan girl-woman needed to get herself out of the fence to dance again.

I have found that when my spirits are down, it takes a calculated effort to bring myself back into balance. When I have a big or important goal in mind, I am the ponder the possibilities before I take any giant leaps of faith kind of girl.  Because from experience I know that the fall hurts like hell. Falling-- falling from grace, falling on your face, or falling short of success leads me to a place where I get less out of my life.

"Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life's cocming attractions." Albert Einstein.

Less out of life, is not good enough for me.

 

And because ideas go no where without action I decided to do. And, because I cannot get THERE, without  action, I had to get up out of that fence and dance. So, I'm here to let you know what I have been up to in such a whirl wind of activity... you know the back story.

There once was a Wild Wednesday, in which I remember I was trying to escape the dirty clothes pile that is like the song that never ends. It was, in fact the post to that brought forth Wild Wednesday. These Three Jeans and Old Biker Babes is "copied" from my old blog site and was much to do about getting out of the rut that is work and life with a little fun. My yucky work was always the laundry... 

 

Once upon a time there was a Wild Nevadan woman who hated her laundry. She would often fantasize about inventing contraptions that recycle clothing, or do all of the things in between washing and drying and folding and especially putting it away. Often she would dream she was at work at the local pharmacy, but instead of sorting pills in the glass box, she sorted laundry. She often writes on her blog about how she is haunted by the mound and believes it has babies while she is asleep at night.

A few months ago, the dream that I thought a nightmare, became an idea. I began to "do the math" on a laundry service. Crazy? Yes. Crazy-wild!

There was a lot of fantasizing in the beginning, like maybe this business could fund a freaking trip to the desert! The glass box is getting me nowhere! Or, maybe if I do enough laundry I can hire an employee and then bring my laundry to be done for free.

What a strange woman I am when I am without my desert wandering! I thought and thought on alternatives, but alas, somehow, this idea keeps with me, through summer and into fall. I was just at a total loss on what to call it.

I talked often with a good friend of mine, and one day he says, "Blondie's Laundry."

And I realized sometime later that night that I had been looking at the wrong page of my map book. The road I had thought I traveled to this point is but a memory. It was yesterday.  

If you haven't met Blondie before, you can meet her now. She was my Grammie. What a great lady. I have talked about her in this blog as many times as I have complained about my laundry. She never minded washing a few loads of laundry for me. She would turn my dirty rotten rags into fresh and tidy piles. It made me feel so good. So special. And part of a real, solid, I will do just about anything for family kind of place. And the world was less scary when I left her house because I was "presentable" again. She was a dirty girl's savior if ever there was one!

After U-hauling her washer and dryer out of her now empty house, and her washer and dryer became mine, I would often think about the times we sat on her bed and folded my sad looking lot of clothes, and she would politely bring up the rips and tears. She would mention that I was acting a little too rough for my gender.  

 

Being who I am I would argue with her. I was young. I was feisty. I would tell her, with huge pride in my heart, "Gram. I wasn't meant for sitting still. I was meant to work hard with my body. When I am done working I want to play just as hard. The best days are the ones when my clothes get gross. I guess I just like to get dirty. Maybe I am a boy."

 

She would say, "I know."

 

She never really minded that I like dirt under my feet, and finding beauty in what is weird. When I was young she probably thought it would pass. When I was in my 20s, and I burned pavement and dirt roads, sagebrush, and tires like they were Marlboro's, she probably worried a lot for me. But, she always supported my Wild Nevadan ways and was the first and most regular customer for my cards and pictures. I have learned from her that there is nothing parallel to having a relationship with somebody who recognizes who you are and finds good in those qualities, even if they do not align with their own beliefs or ideals.

 It is exactly the kind of business grandmothers should be in.  It is the type of behavior I emulate when I have mucked things up or found myself lost on the road to success.

 

One day I found myself in this hamster wheel. The one that is unfulfilled. The one that you can't even make yourself grateful for, now matter how many inspiring words you look up in a dictionary or quotes you can google. That's when you have to look at not only where you have been, and what you have learned, but what you want out of all this effort.

And I thought, "Did I just forget where I was going?"

Oh, no. better get busy!

And so I put on my work gloves. The ones my Hon. buys me. The ones he taught me how to wear and hang on for dear life with when there isn't anything but noose to hang onto, or the boat is about to capsize. And I jumped headfirst into a dream.

And my friends are stopping by to check on me because I finally managed to make laundry fun. And nobody can believe it is working, except me.

And now my wild Wednesday joke of  yesteryear, when and where nothing much changes around here in a week, and even the laundry pile looks the same, is now the biggest oxy-moron you ever met. But that's how naked stick bushes dance I guess.

So, here's the introduction to the latest and greatest thing to come from this wild mind of mine. Blondie's Laundry Service. We are Open 7 days a week, serving the Tonopah, NV area from my humble home, here on this mine dump. Service includes Free Pick up and Delivery. Please call or text us to schedule pick up. Our rates and current specials can be found on the Blondie's Laundry page, or by clicking this link. Blondie's Laundry Service.

It is going to be a whole hell of a lot more interesting for this blog than sourdough! And I am grateful again to have something to facilitate this most recent crash course in life; in how to turn laundry into a business; and pursuit of happiness. It has been more wild a ride than I can explain today. I hate to leave it out now, but soon I shall reflect on the fun and frighting things that happened this month in conjunction with the opening of this little business.

So far, it has been everything dreams are made of; every bit of rewarding, and scary, and exciting and exhausting as those words were ever meant, or how you wish to take them. Right now I must go, because there is much laundry and life to sort out.

Thanks for reading and sharing!
Loves,
HjB

Are you sure this is camping?

When your life is rural, it is fun to dress up and go to town. It feels special to spend the night in a motel and eat at a restaurant. You are so close to God's great outdoors that sleeping under the stars is the furthest thing from your mind. You are more inclined to get away from it, with a short stop at some semblance of civilization.

I have been wondering lately where do Las Vegans go to "get away" for the weekend? Living in town, makes me itchy for the wilds. Just like living wild used to make me miss Starbucks and Chineese food.

I get off pavement whenever I can. This summer my boys have come to love camping. Up to this point it was not our way to get away. So, each camping trip is a new experience in itself, and they are getting to know what it is all about.

This past weekend, Colton was urging us to go back to camp so we could camp, but his father and I were scouting for dead trees. Ahem. Firewood. I was a little annoyed that he was not enjoying himself as much as I was and tried to explain we were still camping, even though we could not see the tent.

The next thing you know we are trying to make our way up this incline in the Yukon, and My Hon has to punch the gas a little. Of course I was tingly with excitement. This is what I live for! My son, was a little surprised and so he lets out a holler.

"Are you sure this is camping!"

We laughed and laughed and laughed. It was the perfect weekend get away. I had not been that dirty in a while. I ruined two pairs of jeans and it took considerable effort to scrub myself clean. We were all happy-tiredn and ready for our humble abode when it was over.

It is a new weekend and my urge to wander off the beaten path is sated. This morning, it was such a blessing to wake up without any where to go, or thing to do. I cooked more than a pound of bacon and over-watered my flower beds.

A couple of weekends ago, the boys and I designated some ground that will be a flower bed, next year. After we set it up Clayton was digging in a drawer and hoarded off some corn and watermelon seeds I had never planted. He planted them in this designated ground, and was very pleased with himself.

It hasn't been watered. But, this morning while inspecting the flower bed he found a single blade of grass. He was excited, I could see, and while I watered the flowers he was busy at work in this flower bed.

After a while I asked him what he was doing.

"I make a fence!"

This is the same little boy who is going to "dive a tactor, a green un, when I gow up."

I laughed and laughed and laughed. Leave it to my child to build a fence around a single blade of grass to protect it from those who might tromple or eat it....

These wild Nevadans in training never cease to amaze me. I hope you have a happy Friday.

Loves,

HjB

I've got nothing...

My Momma taught me if you don't have anything nice to say, then shut your trap. When you bottle it up it is a type of torture, though. And, even though the tortured soul is the easiest to bear, from a writer's standpoint--It is still not the kind of stuff I like to spew.

So, when life is like a country song, (I've got nothing, because my dog died and the laundry pile is a stinkin' kind of country song) I just had to stay away. So almost one whole summer has gone by (with the mommy car still accumulating "wear and tear') and the blog and FB for the Wild Nevadan HjB has been quiet. So quiet one might think I was hung up in a fence.

I will tell you one thing. This wild Nevadan girl's heart is not quiet. I love things so hard sometimes. And be it a blessing to feel such powerful urges to roam and live and explore what makes me wild, it grapples with the realities of life. The ones in which cameras are broken and we are slaves to the hamster wheel.

Frankly, as hard as I am running we should not be in the situation that we are in. As in going nowhere, and sometimes even backward. It doesn't make me feel better that we are not alone in our struggle to survive. And it doesn't help that I think the world is every bit as scary as I have ever known it.

And the strongest survive...

So it has been the season to range. And I have been doing my best. The tumbleweed doesn't need much of an excuse to bounce up and over the sage. If there is but a gentle breeze....
And while I range, or in in between my shifts at the hamster wheel I try to survive my life. If that means I want to over water my flowers, because it relaxes me, then I do. That is what this blog is about, about how the things we love shape us into the people we are. To celebrate the things that gives the tumbleweed its lift.

Such as camping trips never go as planned. But, maybe you will be some body's hero. Later a big horn sheep might watch over your shenanigans for an hour, just because. And when the sun goes down that big old Nevada sky turns into a diamond mine.

Or, that the horse trough is just the right size for two little boys to take a dip on a hot summer day. Clothes or no clothes. Or, that tomato plants love the moo moo poo poo. Ha! Just because you live on a mine dump doesn't mean your yard has to look like hell. I grew carrots, peas, lettuce, onions, sage, basil and rosemary this year.

All of these things are the kind of like gladiators against my urge to write country songs. They are helpful reminders to Live, Love and Laugh my ass off, because life is short and being a grown human is overrated. "So when I ain't got nothing," I still have everything I need. How is that for a survival skill?

Loves,
HjB.

I had help with the hump (day)

Wednesday was wild. Ye Haw. Ain't it always? I made it over the hump I think. But, it is still a long time to bedtime. Was it just last week I posted a picture like this? I think it was.

I'm posting this new and almost identical one just for giggles. And so you know the wind is blowing again. If it ever died down.

I'm trying to convince myself it builds character. So if being slowly sand-blasted to death builds character then, hell, I'm all for it. Okay, not really. If I make it to 40 without looking like the Marlobro Man then I will be happy.

On a side note I adore the "wild" yellow roses in full bloom all around the old part of town. Especially, when they are but what's left of what once was an old miner's ramshackle cabin. (To think the treasures that might have been lost beneath those owie bushes and never retrieved!) Even though the scent has been wiped out by the Gail, the sunny little balls give me a tumbleweed tickle.

Wow. What a week. You won't believe this yarn. Especially after I swore off U-haling my ass around about six months ago. This past weekend it just so happened I was party to renting another Uhal. And loading and unloading. Whew. I wore myself out again, but I managed stay married.

Right now my kids have been fed and bathed but they are only half dressed and want to run around the house with a water gun that has been confiscated twice. I'm hiding in my office in the dark trying to get my blog. The laundry room is overfull and the dryer is buzzing for me to fluff or fold. Again.

All of this has my eyes wild open. I mean, it took every bit of sense in my head to make it to work today. I really wanted to call in sick, and slip off the pavement.

Alright. I had help getting through my hump day.

In my wild mind is a dream that has been there since it began to dance. Lately, my wild mind has been at work with a wild idea to get the ball rolling. Again.

Today, whenever I was overwhelmed I thought about this lovely little stack of paper work I also acquired this week. My wild mind has it set to fill them out and, one at a time if I must, send them off to the proper authorities with the fee associated.

It is but the beginning. Ha. But it is finially time to grow a business! My excitement abounds. I just might blow through every single caution cone my business partner lays in the road. 

So loves to you all this Wednesday and congrats on making it over that hump. P.S. Gale is the only way wind should be.
Goodnight ya'll, HjB.

Those allergic to dirt need not apply

I think life on a rural Nevada mine dump rocks.

I mean it in the most literal sense. If you grow up on a mine dump, you learn how to entertain yourself, with a rock if you must. If you stick around to make the mine dump your home, you find no shortage of rocks and dirt to move.

The experience of it can have two affects: it embodies empowerment (I moved a mountain today.), or a sense of slavery (More rocks? Seriously!).

Good thing a dirty girl has perspective.

In my short lifetime I have had my share of dirt and rock moving experiences. Oh buddy.

I would guesstimate that if you stacked all the rocks I have moved into one magnificent pile it would amount to a large mountain. And if you covered it with the poop I have moved it would be a three day hike to the top. Ha Ye.

It started with little projects like my Dad saying, “I need a hole dug right here by the time I get home from work tonight.” I would hack away at the rocky ground for what seemed like hours and never find a pipe. I would try to pry rocks out with the digging bar but then, it was way too heavy to maneuver.

And, when my Dad got home from work he would take two big scoops out of my hole and wa la, a pipe. I would pinch my eyebrows together in dismay.

“No worries girl, I only had to dig a little.” He would say.

When I was older, I remember covering a pipe that was as long as a football field with dirt. And afterwards I sat there on the ice chest and looked at that ditch with this idea that I was amazing. My Dad handed me a cold MGD and that first sip was like drinking sunshine in a bottle.

Empowered? Definitely. I have been good friends with my shovel ever since.

So, spring has sprung and the dirt and rock moving has begun. When I found my favorite spade shovel in the “man cave,” and my hands touched the wooden handle, I swear I had this little feeling of relief. It was like my hand said to the shovel, ‘Oh good, I didn’t lose you.’

Since then my little family has hauled no less than five truck-loads of cheat grass seed and old weeds to the dump; and stacked and moved rocks until every single one of us has a black spot on some finger or toe this season. It is good that none of us are allergic to dirt.

Confession: I still absolutely LOVE an ice cold MGD after a hard day mucking.

And, here’s to moving mountains and covering them with poop! I hope you have a wild Wednesday.

Loves, HjB

On baking wild cake

Life has been a blur. Just like this picture. The earth is in the sky, and who knows where or when the particles will settle. The wind is, if anything, persistent. So here we are, wild as Wednesday. And it comes once a week. You know, it gives me a star to which to aim at.

So life is a blur and time marchy march. I am hectic and nuts. Life hands me wild moments all the day through. I bull doze through like this:

The most wild thing to happen to me this week is my wee Wild-Nevadan-in-Training has turned five. This was like graduation for me.

I remember those first days and months when I handled him so carefully. I remember when rogue germs terrified my every being. And, when I was driven to pack something into every single pocket of the diaper bag, no matter how short the errand.

Five years later my heart swells. It was a major accomplishement.

But, as you know, things went wild:

The fifth birthday came with the responsibility of baking a birthday cake and 25 cupcakes... Baking being outside my realm of talents, I bulldozed into the project with good intentions. I was pretending confidence, but worry sprinkles were floating in the air. Even in the begining it seemed a recipe for disaster.

Somehow I made it through the entire baking process without a mishap. And, the cupcakes turned out pretty good even after I frosted them.

While the cake was cooling and while the boys bathed I went to check on it and found the crust layer of the top partially gone.

Hm. It looked like somebody stuck a lid to the top of the cake and pulled it off and some of the warm cake stuck. It also looked like maybe the cat had come along and skimmed off a layer. About 1/3 of the surface area had been comprimised.
At this point, I have baked three boxes of cupcakes (with filling) and frosted 25 cupcakes and baked one cake, and I am not in the mood for any more of it. After I think about it for a while I decide I will just frost the living crap out of the birthday cake and pretend nothing happened. This is when, aparently, my Karma starts rolling.

So I frost and sparsely decorate the cake before anyone sees it; and because cake decorating is also outside my realm of talents I keep it simple. With little candies it says "5." Big woopie. And, as I finish it up I feel a little guilty about this little cover up I now have going. Well, then some motherly activity calls my attention away, and again I leave the cake unsupervised and uncovered on the counter.

Brilliance. These are the moments that make me feel proud I kept my son alive for five years and I deserve some kind of graduation recognition...but I digress.

Maybe 15 minutes later I remember the cake, and rush to the kitchen to find the cat in the actual act of  licking the frosting off the cake. Seriously?

I tuck that cake in the cold oven to protect it from the cat and kids while I am at work. I am trying to figure out what to do. So, I say nothing to the rest of the family. I mean, hell, if it is the same cat and the same kitty germs I already frosted then what is it going to hurt if the cat added a few more?

Sadly, that is not even the end of my Wild Wednesday story. When my Hon gives me a ride at lunch-time that day, he says he has run into trouble with the birthday cake. He tells me that he pre-heated the oven for a pizza. And, the rolling smoke alerted him to an almost-disaster. There is terror in my eyes.

"It's not too bad." he tells me.

When I get home I find the frosting is melted down into the sides of the cake dish. The five I was so careful with, now looks like a five in one of those Internet password protection prompts. It is smushy.

Now, this is where most mothers would dump the cake that cannot go right, and go down to the store and see if they can find a replacement cake for their five-year-old son. On that particular day I was a bit too busy. I was trying to catch the dust particles loose in the atmosphere. Mostly the ones that came with the birthday. The bubbles and water guns. And, there were no less than four water guns!

You probably already know what Heathen Heidi did with that cake. But, in my defense let me say maybe it was because they acted as if they could not hear me when I tried to herd their squirting bubble party to the out of doors? Or maybe it was because they did not say anything about the smelty cake, and I was too tired from catching dust particles to consider plan B.

Yes. I did it. I let them eat a piece of the kitty germified, smelty cake, after a hearty birthday song. Just like there was nothing wrong. Ha! So you also may have guessed there is just no birthday cake pictures this year!

Bad mom? Well, lets just say while time marchy marchy and my son grew from defensless infant to a sturdy five-year-old Wild-Nevadan-in-Training, this mom has evolved too. Into what I am not always sure. But, wild is Wednesday. Happy Hump Day.

Loves,
HjB

My Window: Five Things I Love About You

"...You are the window (in) which you must see the world."

 --George Bernard Shaw 

Cory 

1. That you love to read newspapers and pay attention to world news and politics

2. That you have been to every state at least twice and that you picked me; and that you were not scared to settle down, and make US your home.

3. That you like to work and you try hard, even when you are not good at something

4. When you are sweet and charming

5. Your generosity

Colton

1. The way you say Thank You

2. Your laugh

3. The way you like to build things with Lego's

4. Your singing, and the way you dance around to music

5. The way you look like your Daddy

Clayton

1. When you say I love you Mommy

2. Your smile

3. The way you like both tools and babies

4. Your stories: the way you tell me everything that happened, and then what is going to happen, even when I cannot understand what you are saying because you are talking so fast.

5. The way you look like me

Loves,
HjB

It has fish

Old Man Winter put 20 pounds on my rump roast. I asked little of my body, except to fight off a fleet of renegade germs. Translation: This naked stick bush spent her winter chilling on some out of the way section of barb wire waiting for spring winds to blow her free.

Lucky for me I spent a good part of Friday forcing my chunky butt into physical labor. Boy, did I sweat. Meanwhile, I eagerly soaked up some of God's glorious sun rays (through two coats of SPF 50). Then, I drank about six quarts of water to flush out the toxic gunk that must have built up inside. One thing I have found, town life yields no shortage of the artificial...colors, flavors, preservatives, conversation...

After that, I felt so freaking good that I drank two beers and turned down an old dirt road. I put it into the universe I was ready to find this mysterious "nearby lake" the locals have been rumbling about. From my place, hung up in the fence, this Wild Nevadan girl-woman thought they must have gone crazy. How could I have not known such a place exists?

All I need is a reason to range off the beaten path with generalized accounts of an otherwise unknown destination.

Are you kidding? This what I live for!

How lucky we are to offer your thoughts to the universe and get back what we think?

The minute I let go of Old Man Winter, almost no effort was required for this old naked stick bush to find the lake these people speak of.

And, so I guess will continue to call it a lake, though it is only a lake by some kind of wild Nevadan standard. Perhaps it is because I found my own reason to be ready for more generalized exploration...

It has fish

Loves,

 HjB

There once was an old ironing board

Last weekend I followed my Mom out to Big Smoky Valley and Kingston to go over what to do with furniture left at Grammie's house.

I'm an expert mover so my advice is highly sought after...

Upon going over the things I shall hoard off to my own domicile we came across an old ironing board.

My Mom looks at me, and with a giggle says, "You aren't going to take the ironing board are you."

Ha ha. Less accurate observations have been made.
She was spot on.

It was a mother daughter moment in which I felt, ahh this woman really knows me.

Here's to Moms. Especially mine.
And have a wild Wednesday!
Loves, HjB.

Toby-Times



"Water! You brought me to water! You are A.W.E.S.O.M.E.!"

Last month, my Toby, my doggie friend of 13+ years was called to active duty in heaven. Boy, did I feel jipped, ripped and tripped. I might be recovering from the fog that settles in your head when you lose your best friend... I'm not sure. I  know it shakes me every time. And, no amount of mental preparation can mentally prepare us for having to shred through the emotions. The word WOW, might summarize it. And it does not seem right.

Wow. And grief. What shriveled little words in this case. And what can be said about my dog's special traits? I imagined I would cronicle some of the adventures we shared. At the very least, I should have been moved to write poetry.

The fact that my Toby walked beside me through my oh-so-fun 20s envokes a sense of having been raised by him. If I didn't know my own parents I might have guessed I was raised by a distant relative of wild wolves...anyhow. The past month plus some has been rough. It was liken to a country song; one where you poor me another glass of wiskey.

If my 'ol Toby were around to witness the tears I shed, he would somehow console me. He would somehow communicate, " Aw. Don’t worry. Lets go for a walk. Okay, no walk? Well, then my eyebrows are together in concern for this pitiful look upon your face and the wet stuff, (again). I will sit here until you are ready for more water or rocks." And, I am pretty sure Toby is the only one who could console me.

It brings to mind some of the TIMES, the Toby-Times, in which he 'said' something to me.

Do you have any idea how great this feels when I roll around on it like this? Grass is the greatest.

I was. Gone. Chasing. Jack Rabbits. Need Water. Very Tired.

I can’t leave the rock alone. It is my rock and I love it.

You’re Home! You're Home! Happy Dance time.

I will gladly get rid of any of that high fat, high calorie, yummy people-food for you.

I'm always ready for more ____.
(rocks, water, skateboarding in the back of the truck...yup anything pretty much covers it.)

and ANYTHING to make you happy.

Tacos? Order mine with no lettuce. 

FYI. I do tricks for treats.

I know it looks bad. But, I didn't mean to get arrested.

So, where do I ride? When do we load up?

Walk? Did somebody say walk? That's my department. How can I be of service? The door is over here.

You knew where to find me.

and

To love is to live.

(and my dog taught me that)

 Loves, HjB.