by Susan Lobb Porter | Blogging, Life |
Disclaimer: Yeah, I KNOW this is an art blog. That means there should be pictures, right? Well, I didn’t have any appropriate photos for this post. You’ll have to use your imagination.
I’m all about self-improvement. Really. I would love to live in a clean house, wear a crisp white apron (with little lacy hearts) while baking golden cookies and downing copious amounts of good-for-me greens. Smiling the whole damn time like the Beav’s mom.
I would sincerely…no, make that dearly, like to maintain a daily yoga/qi gong/meditation practice while listening to spiritual masters and communing with the universe beyond my current level of understanding. Way beyond. Like to the point of the ever-knowing imperturbable smile even when the voices in my head are being stupid dicks unkind.
And when I get to that point, words like damn and dicks would NEVER enter into my head, much less exit out of my mouth.
In a perfect world I would write (fill in your favorite adjective here) blog posts DAILY. You would tell your friends and they would tell theirs. On and on and on until I was more famous than Oprah.
Although I would settle for being half as rich as her. Just half. Really, is that too much to ask?
Yo, Universe, I’m talkin’ to YOU.
There would be a book deal. Oh, many of them. And Oprah, when she interviews me, because she would have to interview me, wouldn’t she… Oprah would notice I’m a size 2. Just a plain 2. No numbers or letters before or after it. USA Macy’s size 2.
And Oprah would be envious and offer me half of her wealth to be her life coach. If my math is right, that would make me twice as rich as her. Of course I would give most of it away to charity. Because I only have two feet and a girl can only have so many shoes. Unless they’re red. In that case maybe I’d keep the money.
But I’d think about giving it away.
I’m baring my soul to you (and what a lovely size 2 soul it is) because I’m doing this personal branding thing. Taking a class with Michele Bergh. I’ve taken classes with Michele before. She knows her stuff so I was reasonably sure her definition of personal branding would not involve hot metal and the smell of burning flesh.
Oh noooo, it’s MUCH more painful than that. Try standing out on the freeway naked (that’s nekked in cowboy speak) waving as the trucks whizz by. Yoo-hoo, fellas, what’dya think of this? Well, that’s what I had to do today.
Or at least it felt like that. Holy crap, did it ever. Crap, another word I won’t say once I’ve evolved. Maybe. Or maybe not. Depends on how pissed off I am. Oh crap, I suppose I’ll have to ditch piss as well. This being evolved shit isn’t all it’s cut out to be.
But back to personal branding sans cowboys. The first assignment Michele had us do, the one that made me feel naked, but not in a good way naked, was to ask friends, family and coworkers for feedback about me. Like, yo, hey, would you please fill out this questionnaire, this ANONYMOUS questionnaire. Say what you think about me. Let ‘er rip. I’ll never know who said what because it’s anonymous.
And then I’ll take those answers, size ’em up against my answers…what I think people think about me (because I had to answer the damn questionnaire too). After dismissing anything I don’t like as being nothing more than passive agressive retaliation because I forgot to pay back that 20 bucks I must owe someone, well then I’m gonna take that 20, put it as a downpayment on a pizza and beer. And find me a cowboy. With chaps. And just enough of a five o’clock shadow to make me forget about the pain.
And you, my best beloved sweetums, you can cheer me up by leaving sincere, happy face comments in one of those boxes down below. I will share the pizza with you. And the beer.
But not the cowboy. WOOT! I’m keeping him for myself.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Life, Parents, Ponies |
I have not been here for a week. Have not written a blog post, have not thought of writing one.
But wait! Wasn’t that something I said I’d do when I redesigned the blog? Said I’d post something every day. Because, after all, I am a super-human, super-creative, super-duper-super-woman extraordinaire. Without the cape.
Capes get in the way.
Oh, whack me upside the head for being such a silly girl. For not realizing that sometimes life gets in the way of good intentions. That sometimes we need to be and do other stuff. And so I was doing. Doing doing doing DOING until my head spun a complete 360 like that kid in The Exorcist.
I was cleaning and clearing Mama’s cottage for the renter. Shlepping stuff up the hill to my place. To the dining room table for further sorting. To the kid’s rooms, the kids who no longer live here so I can use their rooms as storage for saddles and other stuff until I figure out where they need to be…those rooms.
To the thrift stores. And the dump. Buh-bye.
And all the while my head was SPINNING.
Because this week marks the second anniversary of Mama’s one-way ticket to Jesusland. The week she turned to me with such a perplexed expression on her face and asked, “Why is my body doing this to me?” And all I could say to her was “Because you’re so damn old.”
There was nothing more I could do for her except love her and tend to her with my sisters. That last morning, when she could no longer speak, I slipped some shaved chocolate between her lips. Her favorite, Green & Black 85% Dark. Her smile was pure bliss.
A few hours later she died, just a two weeks shy of her 96th birthday. She died at home. In the cottage, the cottage I’m now okay with renting.
Still, it’s been a rough week. Hard work and bittersweet memories. The cottage is clean now, the renter moved in. I still have sorting, distributing and disposing of stuff but the pressure of a deadline is past. I can breathe now. Relax a little.
This evening I went down to stand with the ponies while they had their buckets, their nightly treat of senior chow and supplements. And as they ate I stood there opening my senses to the moment. Taking it all in. The sight of the mud, of hoof print size puddles, of hay trod into the muck. The pile of hair beneath Lana, hair I pulled out by the handfuls last night in lieu of a proper brushing.
But it was the sounds of the evening that rounded things out. The sound of horses slurping. Birds high up in the trees. So many of them, different birdsong, sweet and clear. From down the lane the sound of voices. A small child. Adults speaking. Laughing. And then the music, notes from some sort of flute.
The sounds dipped and wove around each other like music. Subtly so. We’re not talking boom box here. But standing there with my all my senses…with my heart open to the moment…it was lovely.
Here’s a tiny slice of it I’d like to share. A moment in time captured with the iphone. And just so you know, that muck is mud, not pony poop. Well, mostly.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Holidays, Life |
The battle of the Peeps. And the cheap chocolate bunny, the one that tastes like Easter in my memory.
Final score: Five yellow chickies, eight pink bunnies.
And one chocolate bunny head, ears included.
Through the lips, over the gums. Look out tummy, here they come!
Then I tossed the rest into the trash and walked away.
What a woman!
by Susan Lobb Porter | Holidays, Life |
Peeps got some ‘splainin’ to do…
by Susan Lobb Porter | Dogs, Fitness, Life |
Tonight I did 70 minutes of yin yoga. I stretched parts of me that have been locked up tight for years. Stretched and held the stretches for as long as five minutes. Let my body sink into the postures as muscle and fascia loosened up.
How can something so painful feel soooooo good?
Sophie licked my feet the entire time. TMI, but that felt good too.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Dogs, Life, Ponies |
Sophie is roaming from window to window growing. Woofing softly. There’s something out there.
I was down with the ponies tonight. Went down at dusk and spent nearly half an hour with them as they ate their evening ‘bucket’. Bucket being the feed and supplements separate from the hay. Everyone gets their own specific blend of stuff, depending on their needs. I usually lock Jasmine up in the stall during this time. She gets less and tries to make up for it by stealing from the others.
She’s a pushy little ass.
Tonight I couldn’t get her near the stall. She turned up lame this evening, favoring her left front foot. Most likely another abscess. Another as in we’ve been through this before. Many times. Sigh….
Since I couldn’t convince her to come into the barn I figured I’d hang out there with them, wearing my playground monitor hat, stable edition. Dusk turned to dark as I stood out there under the pines. The moon was out, just past full. A peaceful evening interlude in the forest–
Except it was so damn NOISY!
The horses were slurping their buckets. Manners like that, you’d think they were raised in a barn.
And peepers were partying it up in the meadow. Bazillions of ’em. BAZILLIONS of froggies goin’ a courtin’. Saying, Yo Yo, babe, hey hey hey check this out in froggie speak. Amphibian lust.
And the dogs, every single dog up and down the canyon, including my own, were chatting up the puppy hotline. Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark BARK. Which means, according to local lore, lion in the ‘hood.
But not in the immediate hood, the paddock or the meadow, because the ponies were chill.
Trust me, when there is something scary on the other side of the fence, they act like one of those horror movies where everyone’s crashing their cars and running away from the aliens. Since they were not the least bit concerned tonight, neither was I.
Well…maybe just a little.
And now I’m sitting here safe and sound, sipping a cuppa tea and dreaming about bed. Flannel sheets. My ancient, almost flat, favorite down pillow.
Sophie’s all settled in for the night. And so am I.
