A very, very, very fine house

I've been stringing more beads and birds. To keep the horses company.

Green goodness. Don't start your day without it. Green apples, oranges, carrots, kale or spinach, coconut, honey and mint leaves. Blend. Pour into ball jar. Smile.

He-ay-hee-ee

This. Owl.

The ram's head, a hand forged fireplace set.

I never get tired of reading visitor guides. We have copies and copies of these from every state in the west, more than you can imagine. I'm especially fond of guides from New Mexico and Arizona and there are a few North Carolina and Florida Key information packets. I'm a big fan of the Chamber of Commerce!

Skye, the sleeping beauty. She sleeps eighteen hours a day. And she's only five.

Books. Hundreds of books. And bookends of horse heads, marble Indian heads and wooden elephants. And the patron saint of animals, watching over the books, too.

This house does not lack for gee-tars.

After going completely bonkers over watching Bonnie Paine play the washboard, and my nonstop blather about it, C found me one of my own. Since then, I've been scrubbing and tapping and beating on that thing, like I'm my own jug band.

I must have cactus.

And roadrunners.

My favorite piece of art. A good friend of mine, Sandra Dunn, who lives on her own prairie, is an encaustic wax artist. I spend hours admiring this roadrunner she gave to me.

Prayer flags flying at the back door

Sweet Sherpa

 

Till The Summer Comes Again

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”

― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

 

 

 

A Better Sweater

My mother's hands have been wielding knitting needles since she was a small child growing up in England. Learning how to knit at age 5 was one of the lessons taught at her school in Liverpool. It's no surprise that she's a pro with the sticks and she keeps us wrapped in warmth. There are sweaters and woolen slippers, mittens, fingerless gloves, hats, scarves and socks. Handmade cozy shields to protect us from the cold.

Every morning my mom checks the weather channel to see what the temperature is in my neck of the woods. I think she grabs her needles and begins a new pair of mitts for me every time Al Roker announces the Rockies are in for another snow storm. And believe me, she's been busy this winter!

My sweaters are custom made. You can't find them in a store. I tend to request my yarn to be in colors like taupe, gray, oatmeal, brown or tan. "You mean drab", my mother says. I guess I do like my sweaters to resemble dirt, dried up leaves, winter wheat and river rocks.

I'm not the only one she knits for. You should see the beautiful cardigan sweaters she's made for my dad. He has a favorite, the cyan blue one, a blend of deep blue and green, the colors of the sea, in a dense, tight stitch for extra warmth with braided leather buttons up the front. My husband sports one in moss green.

Whenever I wear my dreary colored vest, the one in the shade of a stormy sky, the one with the fancy cable stitches and deer antler buttons, it's a conversation piece all day long! "Why, thank you!" "No, I did not get it from the Gap, my mother MADE it." "Yes, really!'' "I know!" It's quite smashing, to say the least.

My mom covers me and my sister, both my brothers and their children in hand knitted, homemade love. All year round. She thinks nothing of it. It's amazing to watch her create something with yarn. She doesn't even need to look down at what she's doing, she just knits away. I've seen her make a pair of baby booties in the thirty minutes that Jeopardy is on! She enjoys it. She does what she does.

Who says a mother can't have beauty and brains and talent? I've got mine to prove it. And if you think that's astonishing, you should hear her sing!