"Firefly", Stan and the New Girl

I'm watching all the episodes of "Firefly". I love Nathan Fillion and one of the writers at the retreat recommended it for the stories and dialogue, so when I saw the entire 14 episodes at Sam's Club for $18.88, I purchased it because I'm too lazy to hunt it down at Blockbuster. Plus I gave Adam Baldwin a carriage ride a while back and was shamed because I couldn't remember his name or the work he's done, except "My Bodyguard" which was made a jillion years ago, and probably directed by Cecil B. DeMille. And of course "Independence Day" and "Chuck".

My favorite line so far;

"If you take sexual advantage of her you will burn in a special level of hell reserved for child molesters…and people who talk in the theater."

It has an ensemble cast, which my WIP has. So the interaction between the characters is important. Plus, as the writer told me, it has horses in it.

Horses, yay!

Anyway, my friend ~A~ and I went to see Dreamer and Stan yesterday. There was also a new girl at the barn, and she's a beauty. ~A~ and her hit it off right away.
And like I said yesterday, I love the babies.

















~A~ brushed Dreamer while I took pictures of Stan and checked his progress.















It appeared to me that he looks smaller and less oozy/angry. The swelling caused by the freezing treatment we had initially began has reduced a bit, so now we are dealing with the crusty yucky skin.

So the Xxterra appears to be doing some good. Next we moved on to the Formulin. Apparently it stings, because after I tried to apply it to the back of Dreamer's leg, he proceeded to smoosh me between his body and the fence, causing me to spill Formulin on my hands and arms. Not only does it sting, it also smells. Real bad. So I can understand why he's not too happy about having it applied.

So from now on, it's Xxterra all the way. Because I can't take another Formulin bath again.

I Promised, I Delivered...

I promised more photos on Monday. Now, I know you've heard from me that I'm not particularly fond of children, yet I have one of my own. Well, I don't like other people's children, but I do like mine.

No offence, just not enamored. Last night at my kid's Honors Band concert I was stuck sitting next to a little boy who alternately coughed on me, farted, and played his Nintendo DS for two hours.

Two.Hours.

Needless to say I was in Heaven.

However, I love babies, as long as they are not the human kind. The only thing I miss about our farm in Missouri is the animal babies. This being spring, Doree and I were surrounded by calves as we made our way to the lodge






















I thought this little man was cute, being he had that piece of grass hanging out of his mouth. His demeanor was rather tough, sauntering in front of us without a care, acting like he owned the road. And he does, for now.



Until next fall, when he's relocated to my freezer.




These were the only horses I saw, but I also didn't take a trail ride. I was, after all, supposed to be focusing on writing, not riding.

There's No Place Like Home

The Utah Romance Writer's retreat I went on this weekend was lovely. Hidden Springs Resort is a beautiful venue; a rustic lodge surrounded by acres of cow pasture and rolling hills.





The company was interesting. Getting together with a bunch of writers was fun, and the conversations lively and entertaining.



Several of the women are going to a workshop featuring Bob Mayer and Margie Lawson. I told them to tell Bob that Slave Driver said "Hi," I met him last year at the Jackson Hole Writers Conference and I occasionally comment on his blog, not so much recently because he changed the format and it's all about his upcoming Who Dares Wins book and I'd rather talk about his fiction, either alone or co-written with Jennifer Crusie. But life is all about flux and you have to roll with the changes.

I've lived here in Utah for five years now, and have never driven out that particular direction. It was almost 150 miles one way, and Doree and & took my Jeep Wrangler which, while not the most quiet or luxurious ride, was a good choice once we hit the dirt road to get to the lodge.
I had the soft top on the Jeep, and apologized to Doree for the noisiness. She stated that her Minivan wasn't much better.

I replied, "Well, at least your windows don't flap."

She conceded I had her there.

So here for your viewing pleasure are a couple of the photos I took. Besides my digital I also used The Husbands camera which is old fashioned film (Ugh!) and I won't have those processed until later.

This is from the rest area between Starvation Lake and Strawberry reservoir:
















Weird as it seems this is one of my favorite photos.
I call it "Man Plans, God Laughs"

















This is Strawberry Resevoir


















This cabin is just down the road from the resort




















The pond in front of the lodge





Visiting Dreamer is on today's agenda; I need to give him another Xxterra treatment and check Stan's progress.


Much catching up to do. I will post more later.

It's a Retreat, Not a Surrender

I belong to several writers organizations (the "Published Authors" clique still eludes me, but to be honest I haven't tried very hard; still working on weaseling my way into that one) and this weekend is an event I have been looking forward to since I joined them. The Heart of the West chapter of the Romance Writers of America is sponsoring a retreat. It's being held here, and my friend Doree and I are simply giddy about it. Three days of nothing but hanging out, relaxing, drinking wine, writing, reading, goofing off…

Oh, wait…that's what I do on a daily basis.

BUT,this weekend I will be doing it with other writers. So, when I finish a masterful piece of literary treasure I can assault request that someone read what I wrote and get feedback. All this without having to follow someone around begging for a critique. In other words, instant gratification. Hidden Springs Ranch looks beautiful, and I'm excited to be in the company of so many talented wordsmiths.

For my part, I'm bringing Fully Loaded Baked Potato Soup, some Sausage Jambalaya and my camera; the weather should clear up, and best of all…

They have horses.


In the mean time, here for your reading pleasure is a piece of "Flash Fiction" I wrote for a contest. I was limited to 600 words, so for me it was a Herculean task, being that I tend to run on and on and on…

****************************

Don, the Chicken Man

Out of my element when we moved from the suburbs of Chicago to rural Missouri, I was fortunate to make a new friend just down the road. Don was our neighbor; tall and wiry in his late 60s, he told me that he'd been born in Minnesota, raised in "Missoura", and was one of sixteen or seventeen kids— he couldn't recall the exact amount. Despite Don's lack of mathematical prowess we became buddies.

My husband traveled a lot, one week in Kansas City, the next in Denver. I was a stay-at-home mom with a toddler in unfamiliar territory and without family near to occupy the endless hours alone on our hobby farm. Don stopped by occasionally in the evenings to check on me, the ignorant city slicker, all alone on the wild prairie. Plus he discovered our fridge is always full of beer. Dropping by to visit for a spell is a neighborly thing to do.

One June evening Don asked if "the little one", his name for my daughter, and I would like to join him at the local bar for supper.

"Wednesdays are forty-nine cent taco night," he explained. Don's a savvy bargain hunter.

Tired of only having a short person with limited vocabulary for company, I jumped at his invitation. Down our gravel road to the bar we drove, and once we were settled at a table, ninety-eight cents worth of tacos in front of me, Don talked about his week.

"I cook out on the grill when the weather's fine," he said in his slow drawl. "I usually make chicken and sausages on Sundays. I wrap the sausages in foil with onions and peppers. They're pretty good, if I do say so myself."

I nodded, unable to speak because my mouth was full. "The little one" was finger painting the table with her taco.

"I cooked out this weekend. I made chicken and sausages and had a couple a beers."

Knowing Don is mathematically challenged, I figured "a couple a" meant "a twelve pack". I was unable to comment, busily deflecting a steady barrage of shredded cheese flung in my direction.

Don continued, "I came home for lunch on Monday, and I looked in the fridge for the leftover chicken. I knew I didn't finish it all, and I was hungry."

I kept nodding. Apparently he really wanted to discuss his culinary skills.

"I looked all over my fridge, and it wasn't in there. So— you know what I did?"

I shook my head no, trying to listen to Don while scraping demolished taco into my napkin. The "little one's" restlessness was making our table look like a Jihad at the Taco Bell.

"I went out into the yard, and you know what— I left that chicken on the grill all night long."

"Was the grill still on?" I asked, a sudden suspicion clenching at my gut.

"Nope. So— you know what I did?"

I calculated the equation put before me: Chicken left on a grill from a sunny 80 degree Sunday, overnight, into a sunny 80 degree Monday at noon, and shuddered.

"I took a bite out of one of them pieces— and you know what? It tasted funny."

Words exploded out of me, words like salmonella, listeria, diarrhea.

Don calmly ate his taco while I railed. Finally he said, "You know what I did then?"

"Threw it out?" I replied, wondering what other options there could possibly be, trying to hide my urge to gag.

"Nope. I took a bite out of another piece, just to make sure."

Driving Off into the Sunset with a Trailer Full of Kid

I resumed working Friday. I guess three months, give or take, was a long enough hiatus. Friday was also the day that Kid, Belgian draft horse and former employee of Carriage for Hire was to be picked up by Cory and hauled up to Wease's house to commence his retirement.

I got to the barn a little early because I needed to do some work on my carriage. While I was loafing for the last few months, Cliff, who is in charge of doing "stuff" around the property (cleaning the pens, repairing the carriages, you know, "heavy lifting" kind of stuff) put colored tube lights on my carriage and also installed a back rest.

Now, several observations; I don't own my carriage. It's not technically "mine". I do, however, maintain it. I keep it clean, lubricated, and repaint the parts that get worn or chipped. If something needs repair, I make sure Cliff fixes it, and when I drive it I don't rub the wheels up on the curbs, or run into things with the hubs or steps.

Because of this "my" carriage is one of the best looking and best functioning (the fifth wheel turns easily, the brakes and lights all work) however, few people want to drive it because it lacked a backrest. Not having a backrest never bothered me. Why? Because in order to use the backrest I have to scoot my butt far enough back on the seat to lean against it. When I do that my feet don't sit flat on the floor, which is rather uncomfortable. So, in other words, I'm too short for a backrest to make a difference. Yet other drivers have complained to me that they don't like my carriage because it lacks one.

Well, not any more. Cliff has inadvertently made my carriage more appealing to the other drivers. Now I have to work more often so it doesn't get abused by unruly slobs who are unable to appreciate my carriage for the finely tuned piece of equipment that it is.

Anyway, here are before and after photos of my carriage.
















Also, Cliff installed blue rope lights which don't exactly go with the red roses I decorate with, but blue is a hellava lot better than green or yellow.

















Back to Kid: Ro pulled him out of his pen and brushed him down so he'd be all ready to go when Wease's friend arrived to haul him up north to Richmond.

















Then Kid and Harley shared a meal together.














Ro and I said goodbye with hugs and kisses.




















And Ro put him ouside to enjoy the sunshine.

Pretty soon Kid's limo arrived.

















So Ro went and got him, walked him through the barn so the drivers working got a chance to say goodbye, and loaded him into his trailer to a new life.




And we were sad, but we were also happy because we know that Wease appreciates Kid and will take good care of him.




Later that night while I was working at South Gate I got picture texts:


Kid is finally home.

Let The Begging Begin!

Yes folks, it's that time of year again. Time for our annual Strut Your Mutt fundraiser to benefit No More Homeless Pets in Utah.

Or what we lovingly like to call the Beg-A-Thon.


If you have no interest, feel free to jump ship over to another site. I know, I hate getting hit up for crap for other peoples kids. Marching Band Oranges/Grapefruit, Soccer Gift wrap/Christmas Ornaments, Girl Scout Cookies… Oh, wait, no we order those like we're hogs. Thin mints…mmmmmmm!

The Kid has been involved with this wonderful charity since we moved here in 2004, and she in no way benefits directly from the donations, other than the great feeling of accomplishment from helping save the lives of adoptable dogs and cats. So she won't be using your money to get a new softball uniform, travel to France, or go away to band camp.

Anyway, No More Homeless Pets in Utah is an excellent organization, and if you've ever watched "Dog Town" on Discovery Channel, know the story of Michael Vicks Pit bulls, seen some of the rescue efforts post-Katrina, or if you have visited Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Kanab, then you know some of the places and work that NMHPIU helps support. They are not limited to local involvement only.

Utahans might be familiar with the SuperPet Adoptions they host in conjunction with PetSmart, or the mobile "Big Fix" surgical unit that travels the state offering reduced spay and neutering to families to help curb the overpopulation of homeless dogs and cats. TNR is their program to trap/spay/neuter and release feral cats back into their colonies so they can live out the remainder of their rough lives where they are comfortable yet without increasing the numbers. I support NMHPIU because they are not a "breed" based rescue group, and this is the biggest fundraiser of the year.

Pets by the numbers: Prior to the inception of NMHPIU in 2000 there were over 46,000 animals in state shelters euthanized yearly. The numbers are down by 30% now, but we'd like to drop the percentage down even further, while raising adoptions over the 26% mark.

Due to the economy the number of animals being sent to shelters is on the rise while donations are down. So many pets are being surrendered because their families have lost their home, need to relocate for a new job, or just cannot justify the expense of a pet when feeding their family is a financial burden. I understand the economy is nasty right now, but any donation is welcome. NMHPIU is a registered 501 ( C) 3 charity so your contribution of $5 or more is tax deductible.

So, in conclusion, that’s why we've leaning on you for money. Donating is quick, easy and secure, just click on that widget thingy up there on the right. If you wish to make a donation in the name of a departed pet we will carry an "In Memory Of" sign during the walk, just add the info to the "Comment" section of the donation page. Pictures will be posted this year after the event which is on May 30, 2009 at Sugarhouse Park.

Last year's Beg-A-Thon post explaining the origin of the "Beg-A-Thon" name is titled

"The Year of Giving Dangerously".

More information is available at www.strutyourmutt.org. The blog from last year's Strut is here. Our visit to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary is chronicled here (my first blog on Blogspot).

You'll noticed I never have any ads on my site, and this is the only time of year I ask for anything other than comments or feedback.

Have a great day and thank you for your support.

STAN! The Musical!

(On 4/22/09 this entry was edited to add:
For you newbies, "Stan" is the name I've given to the Sarcoid Tumor that has taken up residence on my horse Dreamer's leg. I gave it a name because it was either name it or give it a ZIP code.)

To fully appreciate this post you need to understand a few things:

1) I have a LOT of free time
2) I am known to make up parodies of songs because I'm weird
3) I'm weird
4) You should have already figured that out by now
5) I love music and have a propensity to remember and sing the lyrics to popular song for years yet I'll forget your name within 30 seconds of being introduced to you.


So it's no surprise that today while re-potting some Fuchsia plants I got over the weekend and expect to kill in just a few days, I was pondering the Stan problem and humming a tune.

This is what you get when I combine them:

"Stan", sung to the tune of "Ben", by Michael Jackson, theme song from the movie "Willard"

"Stan, both Buzz and I should look some more,
We've not found the cure we're searching for,
With a Vet to call my own, I don't fight you alone,
The tumor that you be, dried up and dead to me,
(Dried up and dead to me)

Okay, maybe not. How about something a little more upbeat:

"Hello Stanley", sung to the tune of "Hello Dolly" by Jerry Herman

Hello Stanley, gotta go, Stanley,
It's so nice to send you back where you belong,
You look like hell, Stanley.
I can tell, Stanley,
We keep sprayin', you keep stayin', you keep getting red
But not for long, Stanley,
Must be gone, Stanley,
Just like the skin appeared here way back when, friend…

Nope, that’s too peppy. Maybe something a little more dramatic.

Xxterra Rhapsody, sung to the tune of "Bohemian Rhapsody", By Queen

Mama, I'm killing Stan,
Put the ointment on his head,
used Xxterra, wished him dead,
Mama, Stan just can't be killed,
I took that cash and threw it all away…

Mama, ooooooooh,
Didn't mean to waste my time,
When I come to the barn again tomorrow,
I'll smear Stan, I'll smear Stan,
Cuz the money doesn't matter…

Too late, Stan's time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine,
checkbooks empty all the time,
Goodbye sarcoid tumor, you've got to go,
Gotta leave my horses leg and go away.
Mama, oooooooooh
Stanley just won't die
I wish that he had never showed up at all…

I'm just a sarcoid, nobody wants me
(He's just a sarcoid from the wart family
Spare my poor horse from this monstrosity)
Easy come, just won't go,
Tell me why Stan won't go…

Okay, maybe that's too operatic.
How about something a little more sublime:

Sarcoid Love sung to the tune of "Muskrat Love" by America

"Sarcoid tumor, named him Stan,
Grows on Dreamers leg out in stable-land,
And you're yucky, Dreamer's not lucky,
Sarcoid tumor, warty Stan,
Gonna kill you off with my own two hands ,
And you're smelly, oozing like jelly,
And we spray, and we smear and we slice you
Ginsu off pieces and dice you,
Wrap you in a layer of goo,
Oh Stan, we'll kill you, oooooooooooooh"

I can see "Stan Karaoke Night" being a popular pastime at Casa Slave Driver. I'm sure I can come up with a suitable tune. Maybe something by Nirvava…

The Freak Show

Sunday I should have been working on my manuscript, but instead I was here:


















Doing this:









Which was fabulous, and way, w a y better than being here:











With them:

Watching them do this:

This past weekend was the semi-annual General Conference for the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, commonly known as Mormons. Either of those are just too long to type all the time so from here on out in this blog they will be referred to as LDS.

The Conference center holds 21,333 people, the theater next to it holds 904, the Tabernacle holds 8000,and the Assembly Hall holds 2000 (all of these sites, by the way, are ON Temple Square) and there are, I believe, three sessions each day. So we have about 100,000 people descend upon downtown in a time frame of 2 days in a space of 2 blocks. All with little to no parking, and exacerbated by the construction zone surrounding downtown.

Now, numbers like these are too good to pass up, so people come out and protest the LDS church. Disenfranchised ex-Mormons, people upset with the LDS church's involvement is passing prop 8 in California, liberals, conservatives, fence sitters, and members of other religions who think of the church as a cult, or believe it is an affront to their religion. You know, the whole "My God's better than your God" debate. Maybe they're jealous; LDS have pretty good numbers.

Anyway, I used to work conference weekend because 1) I was new and didn't know what it was, and 2) I wasn't paying attention to the date. Now I look it up online and mark it in my calendar so I don't ever make that mistake again.

"Why?" You ask. "Why would Slave Driver pass up a golden opportunity to work a weekend when a boatload of people will be in town, many of them not from around here? You know, tourists = easy pickings."

Well, you know it's because of guys like this:


Now, as a general rule, I don't publically go dogging on others, whether they be bloggers, contest competitors, people of different religions (that actually means everyone, because I don't subscribe to one) or other carriage drivers. I also don't "flame" people, either in chats or blog comments. Maybe that's why I'm such a fan of Hannibal Lector; he often times dispatches those guilty of uber-rudeness. I don't come up with creative ways to slay them, I just ignore the slam.

However, when they are in my face, shouting disparaging comments or waving signs either at my horse or my customers, I get a little angry. The protesters stand around and hand out bible tracts, literature against the church, and signs decreeing that Joseph Smith was a liar, and that everyone associated with them is going to Hell in a Handcart.

In the midst of this circus *WE* carriage drivers try to go about our business. Because of our proximity to the Temple, *They* assume that *We* are 1) owned by The Church, 2) are members of The Church, 3) make money for The Church and 4) and support The Church.

Now, that's just rude. I feel that it's rude to stand in front of anyone's church and dog them for their beliefs.

When they approach our drivers (usually newbies who have not been involved in this rodeo before) I shoo them away, invoking a "Dogma and rhetoric free zone" on the sidewalk around our carriages/horses/drivers/customers. I have also had them try to hand literature to my customers while driving around Temple Square.

Oh hell, no. I don't allow that any more than I would a panhandler asking people in my carriage for a handout. My carriage is my office. This is where I work; Your free speech ends at the step.

Now, you have to understand something. Members of the LDS church have been schooled by their leaders to ignore, not respond, not engage and otherwise turn the other cheek in response to this diatribe against their core beliefs.

Many of our drivers, due to statistics, are LDS. I. Am. Not. So, *I* don't have to practice pacifism. *I* get to respond. And, as a group, when the protestors get too loud, *we* sing either "I'm Henry the VIII, I Am," by Herman’s Hermits, or "This is the Song that Never Ends," by the late great Sherry Lewis and Lamb Chop. *I* talk for a living. *I* know how to project from the diaphragm .

*I* am not easily intimidated. So, since on several occasions I have almost come to blows with the A-Holes (we call it "The Freak Show") and because I don't want to end up in jail for something so inane and ridiculous as mixing it up with a fanatic, I take myself out of the equation.

Which is why I no longer work during this:




















And instead I went with them:










And did this:

And stayed out of jail.

Notes on a Standal

I know, my puns suck mightily, but it's not my fault. I have a condition, like Tourettes, or OCD, and I just can't help myself. I'll be joining a 12 step soon, I just need a leg up.

See what I mean? Anyway, I went to check on Stan today. For you first timers "Stan" is the name I've given to the sarcoid on my horse. Dreamer, that would be my horse, is getting pretty tired of the attention Stan's getting. I could tell this right off today when I got out to the barn. You see, it was supposed to be spring. The calendar says it's spring; two weeks ago we had weather in the 70s, but today? Cold, windy, overcast. In other words, crap.

The reason for the weather report? Well, it explains this:

My horse is a candy-ass pansy. I attribute this to his upbringing. He was a show horse since he was born, and was taught to stay clean. For years he minced around mud puddles and refused to walk through water. He doesn't even eat apples like other horses. He makes you hold it while he takes delicate little bites. He's a 1000 pound little girl.

So when I got there I went to get him out of his pen. He was standing in the corner, and refused to come anywhere near the gate, even though his harem girl was all over me and the carrots I brought for a bribe. I couldn't help but notice that out of the entire paddock, he's found the high ground.

Mind you, it's cold and windy, I've driven all the way out here and then forgot my &^%*&^*& checkbook, so I have to return tomorrow to pay board, and I'm supposed to meet my friend Doree for lunch so I'm trying to stay somewhat clean (not happening), and Mr. Butthead is refusing to cooperate. So I get a can, put a little Strategy in it, and finally coerce him to the gate. I can't say as I blame him; he did after all have to wade through this:
















And this should give you some perspective as to the depth of the ooze.









Slip-sliding all the way across the barn lot, I tie him to the fence, put the rubber gloves on and smear some Xxterra on Stan.

This Was Stan last week:















This was Stan today. What do you think? I don't see much change.


Dreamer is being relatively well behaved for this, but when I try to apply the fourmaline to the back half of Stan, Dreamer starts being a pig about it and shows me his butt. This is my first warning. The butt means "Go away." Next he lifts his left rear leg. He doesn't do anything with it, he just holds it there. This is warning #2. I yelled at him and he behaved but clearly he is not happy with the Stan Plan. I'm sure to him it seems that every time I visit, he gets yanked away from his friends, tied to the fence, doped up, then Stan either gets fondled, sliced, frozen or smeared.

Dreamer's mad as hell and he's not going to take it anymore.

So the next time I visit, which will be tomorrow, since I have to pay board and forgot my stupid checkbook today, I'm just gonna take him out and let him play. Give him lots of treats, which I will have to hold as he takes little nibbles, and I will brush him until it looks like there's been a blizzard, except it's hair.

I suppose worming him is not a smart idea. At least for a week or two.

PS; I'm lovin' the new camera. :)