On Communication:

You never know when or if, a person is damaged, and how so, – please keep this in mind:

When you tell someone what you think about them, it is vital (if you love them) to phrase everything positively.  For example - the glass is half full, rather than half empty.  By using the uplifting and hopeful type of sentencing, you are telling the person that you care about their welfare. You are sharing love.  By using the more negative phrasing you are telling them that you are condemning them. 

¹neg·a·tive

 adjective \ˈne-gə-tiv\

: harmful or bad : not wanted

: thinking about the bad qualities of someone or something : thinking that a bad result will happen : not hopeful or optimistic

: expressing dislike or disapproval

The negative connotations, (words, tone of voice and posturing), may lock the person receiving the comments into shackles of self-loathing and negative beliefs about themselves.  If the Receiver has been in those shackles long, then you may be reaffirming and justifying their presence.  The positive style of communication works just the opposite, giving the person hope and increasing their awareness of you and what you want from them.  Once they can become truly aware in their soul, in their spirit  - and if they love you – they will try to give love back to you, by listening and perhaps opening a dialogue about changes and needs.

Often, people think that they need to tell another person about the other’s negative “qualities”, to teach the receiver about what and how they are…and how they should be.  As though, the person does not realize that they have faults.  The Teller might love the Receiver and think he is helping them.  Most people know they have faults.  If they have not changed them after many years, they have either accepted them as normal and okay, or they have a problem with them, and they are having difficulty changing.  It is possible that they do not care, but most people I’ve known have mental and/or emotional blocks to changing their bad habits because of these invisible shackles that have them bound into a loathsome identity created and strengthened by the so called well-meaning people who continue to tell them how bad their problem is.

Remember that everyone looks at life through a different lens.  Like theater lights – they can shine white and bright, or you can put a colored film across the light can and get a different colored light on your life’s stage.  You can put a stencil across the can and get shadows of things that are not really there…they are just suggested images…shadows of things that seem larger than life itself.  We do not know what lens a person sees with.  The person telling the “facts” to the receiving person might see things that the receiving person is not capable of seeing, and visa-versa.  Both of their lens’ present life in totally different colors and/or shapes.  This is not to say that either person is ‘wrong’.  They are different.  And communication is difficult, and sometimes impossible.

If one person has a certain pile of trash that has made their filter green – and they are trying to communicate with a person who has rose colored with flower stenciling on his lens…they can say the same words and feel very different things.  They might never truly see ‘eye to eye’.

Don’t beat each other down in the name of love.  Know that each word that comes out of your mouth will be tested and you will be accountable for them; both the letter of the word and the spirit of the word.  Take into consideration the person you are speaking to.  Try to speak to your audience; Try to know their lens; their filters.  Try to share the half full glass and thereby share love with that person.  Do not hate people in the name of love.

Of Dorks and Ponies

Yesterday I did something I have tried not to do for the past two years.  And I did it on purpose.  I spooked horses.

A group of riders here in North County will be in a parade this summer and they are going through a series of classes in order to be confidant with their equine partners on the asphalt in front of hundreds of noisy unpredictable Parade Watchers.  There were about twenty riders participating.  They marched in 5 rows of 4 riders across, down an imaginary parade route that we adorned with balloons, baby strollers, bicycles, loud radios, umbrellas...along with a half dozen or so people doing various over-exaggerated movements and noises.  There was even a braying donkey on the route.  Most of the horses were solid and kept under control.  There were three that I could see, who were having problems.  Most riders were able to stay focused and calm, being the confidant leader their horses needed.

I surprised myself and my friends with the loud annoying "act" I put on.  I am a basically quiet person most of the time.  But, those of you who know me, know that I can have a very loud voice, and I am basically a dork.  I wore my big white hat, that I pulled off and waved at the horses, I opened and closed umbrellas, swung a pool noodle around, shook out my blanket, swung a lead rope (that one got nixed), played Johnny Cash way too loud.  We all clapped and whistled and yelled and screeched as the parade passed us by.

"Woo.....Hoooo!   Lookit all the purdy horses!  Wowee Zowee.  I wanna purdy horsie...please mom!?!  Yay!!!  Yeeeeeee... ...Haawwww!" 

It felt so good to be silly and loud like that.  I think I may have embarrassed my more outgoing friends.   (Insert pat on back here)   I know that one of the riders was a bit angry with me because I was so annoying.  She was the one rider who had trouble with every pass.  I was just trying to do my "job" and help desensitize the horses to the unexpected.  And, I enjoyed it.  I enjoyed being a loud dork.

Last week  the Fire Department worked with the riders.  All the bells, alarms, loud engine sounds, sirens and people in bright yellow gear with funny hats running around.  They tell me it was a pretty freaky time for the horses and their riders.

Next week, if they invite me back, I plan to bring dogs and kids.  And maybe my llama.

Lola and Tom the Turk

Lola is the newest member here on the "farm".  She is a black turkey who was meant to satisfy Tommy's sexual appetite.  She does.  Sort of.  Tom the Turk is a swinger really.  He will go after anything that is approximately shaped like a football on the ground that doesn't move.  But he especially likes the chickens.

Lola is a young hen.  I think she is beautiful.

Some people think turkeys have ugly heads, but I think they are attractive and interesting.  They change color depending upon their mood.  I like the medium pink best.  I have seen the range beige to red on Lola.  Tom's range is beige to pink to red to periwinkle blue, almost purple.  The periwinkle is a beautiful color.  I've only seen beige when Tom was under extreme stress.  A gate fell on him once and a dog attacked him once.  He was beige most of those days.  Poor Tommy was stressed...but physically okay.

Lola hangs out with the chicken hens.  They cruise the yard looking for grubs, earwigs, worms - but mostly finding and eating grass and dirt and whatever bugs live in horse and llama poop.  Lola makes the sweetest sounds.  She has a very feminine and comforting sound when she is foraging.  It is delicate and usually followed by trilly sounds.  It reminds me of the sounds the dinosaur in Jurassic Park made before he ate the fat man in his Jeep.  I'll admit when I first made the connection it kinda creeped me out.  But, well...evolution and all...I think Lola is an okay gal.

Just Your Average Jenny: Mind Discoveries

Just Your Average Jenny: Mind Discoveries

Mind Discoveries

I locked myself in an air-tight mental Tupperware container for forty three years.  Emotional trauma is a bitch.

I can't remember if I discussed the sources of that trauma, and they don't actually matter.  People experience pain and hurt and become damaged.  We cannot change these things.  They are in the past, they are what they are.  But we don't have to live in the aftermath forever.  God gave me a life and he says I deserve to live it.

I've always known that there is someone watching out for me;  Someone who is smarter and wiser and loves me. The Holy Spirit does these things, but, what I am talking about now is not spiritual.  It is my mind.   I enslaved part of myself  when I was twelve, because I truly believed that I could not exist with a portion of my personality left out to live in this world.  Problem is - we need all of ourselves in order to operate optimally.  Perhaps much of my lifetime of confusion and fear was because pre-adolescent me was trying to protect herself.

So many parts - and they are all important to the whole.

An amazing side effect of this uncovering - is that I don't feel like the pathways are clogged up with obstacles anymore.  I feel like a new part of me has been released and is happily carrying on.  In fact, she is dancing!  Stretching her legs and making plans for the future.




 

The Horses That Live Here

We have some horses on the property.  Four horses; none owned by Boyd or me.  Chappo is a quarter horse stallion.  Paloma is an Appendix mare.  And Rhisper and Muni are Icelandic geldings.   They are all so unique.  Looks, attitudes, training and abilities, along with age and personalities; all as different as their owners are different from each other. 

I’ve learned a lot from having these prey animals on the property.  For one thing, I’ve become more social.  I actually say “Hello, how are ya” to these folks.   And I enjoy the horsey banter.  It is very informational and I feel like I am doing something that is helpful and important to these folks.   I feel a bond with them; a little different with each owner, each horse.

Chappo was the first to come and live with us.  A magnificent quarter horse stallion owned by a family that lives about a mile from here.  Willie and Maria inherited Chappo from Maria’s brother; a rancher in Mexico.  Chappo was a cow horse and he did tricks at family parties for entertainment.  Maria said Chappo loves music and giving rides to children.  He was taught to bow, count, answer the question “Where are you going to put me when I die?”  Chappo would paw the ground as an answer.  He would also sit and lie down with people on board him.  And he dances.

Life is very different for him now.  He lives in a 32 x 24 foot pen most of the time.  He gets turned out to a small pasture once a week and sometimes gets worked out in a round pen.  Willie and Maria do not have enough time for him.  They do not want to geld him and they do not want to sell him.  He is a memento of Maria’s dear brother.  Chappo is 10 years old and overweight.  He is frustrated and often angry.  And he bites.

This is very difficult for me to watch.  I have tried to help Chappo by turning him out, but I am still a beginner and I have some fears – which he does not respect at all.  I’ve been bitten three times; more if you count the ones that did not draw blood or leave bruises.  I know it is my fault that I get hurt.  I have not truly understood horse mentality.  Also, I am a very sensitive person and I have noisy reactions, such as screaming.  Not good in the horse world. 

I think I act more like a prey animal than a predator. 

I want to establish Lead Mare status.  Then the horses will know I am in charge and they will act up less and be more pliable with me I think.   I think I need to learn more about herd mentality and see how physical the horses get with each other when establishing rules within the herd.  Then I won’t feel like a mean person when I reprimand or discipline them.

Paloma was the second horse to arrive.  She is a 5 year old palomino appendix (quarter and thoroughbred cross).  She is taller than Chappo and her legs are thinner.  She is less coordinated.  She is aggressive regarding her food.  She likes to get her way and she paws the ground to get your attention.  Sometimes she shakes her head around and sometimes she pins her ears back.  But most of the time she just stands there, unless her owner, Raul, comes to work her, go for a ride or feed her and clean her stall.  She is a pretty girl.  She was attacked by pit bulls when she was younger and they left scars all over her body.  It is amazing that she does not hate dogs now.  She does, however, not let them get too close to her – she will chase them away.  The chickens like to take dust baths in her pen.  I think she likes that.

Raul and Willie were both horsemen in their younger days.  They are in their 40’s now and have to work regular jobs, so they cannot spend as much time as they would like with their horses.  They are both nice men.

The third pen is occupied by Rhisper and Muni, two Icelandic geldings.  They are short – pony sized, but they are stout.  Icelandics have very thick bone structures and are quite strong.  They are gaited horses and do something called the Tolt.  I rode Rhisper and experienced the tolt – it is grand!  So smooth.  We used English and Australian saddles.  There was much more human participation in the ride because more balance is involved.  I enjoyed it very much.

Cindy and Paul own these two boys.  Cindy and Paul are from Idaho and moved here in the last year.  They are our age with grown children and some grandchildren.  Cindy and her best friend Cheri work the boys about 3-4 times per week.  Either in the round pen or on a trail ride.  Cheri is a trainer who is trying to get the boys to respond in more conventionally acceptable ways, so that Cindy’s grandkids will be able to ride them safely and perhaps show them if they desire.

These ladies are fun to be around. I learn a lot from them and they are very kind to me.

Life and Death and War and Cards

Last night I went with my husband to play cards with an elderly neighbor.  He fell and broke his leg a little over a month ago and loves the card game Biribba.  It is a Greek game (or Italian - depending on who you ask), much like rummy on steroids.  He has been playing the game since his childhood.  It was a way to pass the time when the Germans would not allow Greek children on the streets during WWII.  George considers it a war game and he plays very well.  My husband and George were at the top of their games - amassing many many points, while I trailed behind, enjoying the experience.

Towards the end of the night - I did not know what exactly I was beginning to feel, but I was in awe of George.  Not that he played so well, but about his history - so many stories about Greece and war and family and survival in wartime - and the fact that a broken leg from a fall in the garden might now be the end of his life.  He is in his mid-80's and the leg is infected and antibiotics are not working.  His coloring is yellow and jaundiced.  He was in a good mood during play, but I think he became tired towards the end of the game.  It can take several hours to finish a game.

I'm nervous around people who are near death.  When I visited my grandparents and my mother as they were just days from their ends, it is an overwhelming sense of helplessness I feel.  I guess I always feel I want to help somehow.  And when I can't - I get a manic desire to jump on the table and do a happy dance...to entertain and make people laugh.

I know two people who have had the opportunity to be present at a person's moment of death; felt their last heartbeat, smelled their last breath.  My step mom said she felt it was a very special time - precious.  My husband felt the same when his mom passed.  Is there an energy transference?  Is it felt?  What happens?  What is it like to die?  Maryann said she held her dear ones in her arms and loved them as they faded away.  Boyd's mom was in a coma, but he felt her pulse as he held her hand.

Not a very cheery post I suppose.  But, I want to be able to give positive energy to people, and I don't in these situations.  Instead I feel overwhelmed - and so I avoid the situations altogether.  And that is just not nice.

Suggestions welcomed.