Hiking with a Vengeance

Photo by Marianne M. Smith

Recently I went hiking with visiting relatives at Edgar Evins State Park, and remembered with a vengeance why I like to disappear into the woods.

Nature takes its time, is nonjudgmental, un-opinionated, usually quiet, and allows space for you to simply be. 

She does not scream for you to be an over-achiever, and the worst thing she delivered that day was poison ivy.

Frost had it right:  “The woods are lovely, dark and deep.”

Photo by Marianne M. Smith

I always come out of the woods different than when I walked in.



These mighty caterpillars were everywhere



And, amazingly, I have fewer words.  So this time I’ll just share some photos taken on our hike and look forward to your comments.  Or, as Thoreau said:  “Our life is frittered away by detail.  Simplify, simplify.”

Natural Bamboo

Center Hill Lake wearing away at the rock

My hiking buds Denise and Ernie Franz

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

Getting Skunked: Adventures of an Animal Empath

While I’m driving one of my pups to PetSmart to get her talons clipped (why is the stuff for another blog), the image of a skunk pops into my head.  The visual is clear and distinct.  I grip the wheel tighter and soon it passes.  I don’t actually see or smell a skunk, so I find the vision interesting.

A few minutes later I have forgotten the skunk and I’m singing along with the radio.  The letters D-0-G scroll briefly before my eyes, as if a cartoon overlay is running over the traffic.  Amused but not frightened, I continue driving and wonder about the meaning of this unsolicited little movie.  (As far as I know I’m not schizophrenic or terribly emotionally disturbed.)

Arriving at PetSmart, I attempt to hang on to my pup as she drags me to the rear of the store.  We enter the grooming salon, and a cheerful tech says: “Sorry about the lingering smell.  We worked on a dog all day yesterday who got skunked.”  While I found this a bit startling, the images in the car now made sense.

I’ve learned that what I experienced is technically known as animal empathy—I’m an animal empath.  That probably explains a lot about why I’m so in tune with the animals on my farm.  An animal empath is simply someone who is sensitive to animal energy.  There are many other types of empaths, too, including human empaths, of course.

My gift seems to be getting stronger at the moment, for reasons unknown to me.  I’m trying to stay open-minded to see what I can learn from it.  Had I not experienced similar flashes before, I would certainly have questioned my sanity, or lack thereof!

My late Mom was an animal empath and a telepath, but hid her abilities for fear of ridicule.  I’m also a bit nervous about putting this out there, but it was the most interesting element in my week.  And besides, it seemed like a fun blog topic!

Wondering if any of you would be willing to share your own empath experiences?  I’d love to hear them.  They’re making my world larger.  If you think I’ve flipped a switch, that’s ok, too.  But If you’re curious and want to learn more, I can highly recommend a wonderful book: Whose Stuff Is This? Finding Freedom from the Thoughts, Feelings, and Energy of Those Around You by Yvonne Perry and Caron Goode.

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

Used Cows For Sale: Rethinking Your Packaging

As a writer, I often disappear into a world of my own making.  But this week has been full of critical business decisions, leaving me firmly planted in the world of marketing and self-promotion.  I’m getting my first novel ready for release, and every decision seems to be loaded enough to bring about either success or failure.

Several times this week I’ve stopped to stare at a favorite tin sign hanging in my kitchen:  “Used Cows for Sale” it proclaims.  The sign always makes me smile, but sometimes it really is about the packaging.  You can sell almost anything if you wrap it right.

Mostly for reasons of autonomy and profit, I’ve decided to self-publish my novel.  Because of evolving technology and changes in the book business, this route offers a lot more independent decision-making.  Book cover choice? Title choice? Online promotion strategy?  These topics have historically been in the hands of Agents/Publishers.  But like many writers in this new era, I’ve decided to take control—making the book a true entrepreneurial venture.

Because of the jump in book sales for e-readers (think Kindle), I’ll be able to sell my book to my readers for less money, and I’ll be able to retain more of the profits than I would with traditional publishing.  Now that sure seems like a win-win to me.

Why is any of this important to you?  I’m simply suggesting that you rethink your packaging.  If you’re selling a product or service, are you doing it with your customer completely in mind?  If you’re selling yourself in some shape or fashion (like a writer does), have you given a lot of thought to how you are perceived and if that fits in with how you need to be perceived to be marketable?

In our current (un)economy you must stand out.  You need to promote your “used cows” in a novel way.  Of course, you also need to stay true to yourself and your vision.  But I, for one, am truly delighted that what is currently selling is uniqueness.  That gives us all permission to be who we are without being so focused on fitting in.

Have you made any significant changes in your packaging lately?  How is that working for you?  I’d love to hear your comments.

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com



Wardrobe Malfunctions

If you’re thinking of some superstar in an oops moment, just relax.  I’m talking about my whole closet.  Luckily, due to my stay-at-home writer and rancher status, I am able to be pretty dang casual about my wardrobe.  Some say I have lost all the fashion sense I once had (which was never a lot).

My elderly neighbor was asking about my “ass” shirts the other day.  I explained that donkey farmers have a wry sense of humor (you try raising asses without it) and it’s just the way we roll.  He just smiled.

 My husband is an IT guy and gets lots of freebie tech shirts with pithy slogans that the tech people, in their own sweet way, find hysterical.  As a couple, our entire casual wardrobes consist of ass and tech T-shirts.  The few exceptions for me are some of my (long dead) mother’s T-shirts.  They are so worn and frayed that I could probably sell them to Keith Urban, who has his T’s acid-washed to achieve the same effect.  Aside from sentimental reasons, I attribute still wearing these to my practical side.  As McCrae says about Deets in Lonesome Dove:  “He ain’t one to quit on a garment, just ‘cause it’s got a little age.”

I suppose working on the farm doesn’t help our clothes any.  Most of our shirts (and to be truthful, some of our pants) are riddled with barb wire holes, indecipherable stains, and teeth marks from equine who didn’t think it was time for us to go into the house just yet.  Perhaps our threads are simply a badge of farm honor?  Guess I can’t use that excuse for my usual lack of appropriate undergarments…

And how do I explain the bath robe with chemical stains on it from wearing it to the hot tub?  Or the mismatched socks with permanent mud stains?  Do normal people dress like this?

I still work out, get regular hair cuts and go to the dentist.  It’s not like I’ve let myself go completely—just my clothes.  Since I almost never go anywhere, my wardrobe deficit doesn’t affect many.  (Well, there is that elderly neighbor…)  My hub in his IT shirts is usually not one to be critical, though he did mention the other day that one of my mother’s T-shirts had more holes than fabric.

Some say that clothes make the man.  If that’s the case, I am distinctly doomed.  A good day for me is when my two large pups haven’t slimed me before noon.  Wonder what the aliens would say if they tried to decipher current culture here by my wardrobe?  (Something about high tech ass comes to mind.)

If you’re thinking of nominating me for a wardrobe makeover, don’t bother.  I seem happy and comfortable in these old and injured threads.  But if you have an extra ass or IT shirt, feel free to send it my way.  Every once in awhile the cycle has to begin again.

Are you a style icon?  I would love to hear how you manage it.  Please feel free to leave a stylish comment.

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

By Land or By Sea

Photo by Marianne M. Smith

I’ve always lived a little off grid.  Not in the solar sense (though I would like to try that), but just not in your typical dwelling.

My first home (away from parents) was a duplex in which I found my elderly neighbor hiding in a closet that had a connector door to both of the units.  My second place was a tiny studio behind the main house of a talented harpist.  She played with her French doors open and I got to listen to fabulous free concerts from my patio.

Later I lived in a paper warehouse overlooking The Mississippi River.  Presently I live on a donkey farm out in the middle of nowhere.  Not sure why I’ve always been attracted to strange spaces, but square rooms and traditional floor plans just don’t work well for me.

I dream of living in a church, or a yurt—in a dome, or a firehouse.  My latest dream is a floating home, or maybe even a houseboat (with the square walls removed, of course).

But while I’m yearning for water, I remain ferociously tied to land.  I just can’t fathom a life without farm animals or gardening.  I’ve figured out lots of ways to garden on a houseboat, but I’m not sure the donkeys would like the heat of the upper deck!

Why is this particular affliction (by land or by sea) just now rearing its ugly head, I ask?  But the pull of the water has become very strong.  For now I’m kayaking while thinking about what either choice entails.  We live very close to one of the most beautiful lakes I’ve ever seen (Center Hill Lake), and I’m checking out what it would be like to live on the water there.

Maybe the land, with all its built-in chores and obligations, has finally worn me down.  But I have no illusions that life would be maintenance-free on the water.  Simpler, perhaps.  Maybe I’m just ready for a completely new adventure.  Or maybe I’m fascinated by something so foreign to my land-loving nature?  The jury's still out, but I find myself daydreaming about water.

Any of my readers out there ever lived on a boat, or even thought about it?  I’d love to hear how you feel about that notion…

Marianne M. Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

Miss Manners and Puking

I was raised in a Southern household obsessed with good manners.  In case you’re a Yankee, or a southerner who missed the social graces, I will elaborate.  I’m not just talking about please and thank you and yes ma’am, but the larger sense of truly being gracious.  Those who know me well know I often fall short in this department, but I do try.  And I would be haunted by my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother if I didn’t.

Southern Belles are trained to always be aware of how others might be feeling at all times.  And, of course, to make them feel better if they’re not feeling just peachy.  Being indifferent or passive when others are in need is not tolerated.

Wednesday I was in Wal-Mart and the lady behind me in line suddenly turned green and made some kind of hand signal to her small daughter.  The daughter scrambled behind the cashier’s stand and grabbed the trash can and drug it over to her mother, who then puked in it.  None of my home training had prepared me for this.  Additionally, I suffer from some strange condition that makes me puke when other people puke.  Suddenly fighting my own stomach battle, I wondered what to do.

God love the Wal-Mart cashier who didn’t miss a beat in her conversation with another shopper in line.  She simply unrolled some paper towels and put them in the hand of the puking woman, who is now on her knees and heading into round two.  The puking woman, no doubt a Southern Belle, raised her head briefly to say thank you to the cashier before resuming her love affair with the trash can.

I’m observing all this and wondering how I can help.  I’m also thinking I need to get the heck out of here, before I get sick.  I worry that the puking woman will be offended if I move away from her.  I’m worried she’ll be offended if I stare.  To make matters worse, there is a hellacious lightning storm going on and the Wal-Mart exit is blocked by droves of sensible people who don’t want to risk their lives to get to their respective cars.

In my panic I begin to intensely study the nearby ice bin.  Still, I can hear the woman retching.  I try to focus on the rain and the lightning.  I shut my eyes and grip my shopping cart so hard that my knuckles turn white.  Thankfully, another well-raised southern woman pulls her cart up next to mine and strikes up a conversation.  Manners dictate that I must listen and I can divert my attention away from the puking marathon.

Days later, I still question my lack of response to puking woman and wonder if I am truly a heathen.  But I just don’t remember Miss Manners ever addressing this subject.  If I suffer further such assaults on my sense of graciousness, I may have to start grocery shopping online.  (And if the puking woman was you and you’re reading this:  Please know I’m sorry you were so sick, and bless your little heart!)

Any Idea what you would do in a similar situation?  I’d love to hear your comments.

Marianne Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com/
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com

 

Invasion of the Slime Mold: Resistance is Futile

For some reason, this week has had lots of rough edges.  When I experience a week like this I usually find solace in my garden.  But this time my garden echoed the disjointedness I’ve been feeling.  Slime mold has invaded.

In case you’ve been spared first-hand knowledge, a slime mold is a blob that suddenly appears in a mulched flower bed.  It is not a fungus but is officially classified as a Protista.   (Yeah, me neither J.)  To me, it is simply not classifiable.

It is a strange morphing organism that shape-shifts at will and is impossible to get rid of.  Fortunately it does no damage, except, of course, to your sense of aesthetics.

Beginning as a yellow blob that makes you think the dog threw up in your garden, it then turns orange and later spews some kind of black powder.  The powder is full of reproducing spores, so the cycle continues.

It’s interesting to me that slime begets more slime.  An immediate reference comes to mind about the company one keeps, but this whole episode has me contemplating something much more subtle and sinister than that.  I’m wondering what kind of forces are aimlessly morphing in front of me, and while doing me no direct harm, are keeping me from getting where I need to go.

And while I believe in being positive and staying optimistic, sometimes life just seems to throw roadblocks.    There are times to quit citing Pollyanna clichés and just observe the slime morphing.  Because, at least in the case of slime mold, resistance is futile.  That’s how I’m feeling this week, anyway.

I’m trying to see if I can appreciate my garden going down a path I would rather it not take, but that’s not really working for me.  So I’m just in a slime state of mind.

How do you deal with the slime mold in your life?  I’d love to hear your comments.

Marianne Smith
Writer At The Ranch
Making You Look Brilliant One Word At A Time
http://writerattheranch.com
wordsmith@writerattheranch.com