My Momma taught me if you don't have anything nice to say, then shut your trap. When you bottle it up it is a type of torture, though. And, even though the tortured soul is the easiest to bear, from a writer's standpoint--It is still not the kind of stuff I like to spew.
So, when life is like a country song, (I've got nothing, because my dog died and the laundry pile is a stinkin' kind of country song) I just had to stay away. So almost one whole summer has gone by (with the mommy car still accumulating "wear and tear') and the blog and FB for the Wild Nevadan HjB has been quiet. So quiet one might think I was hung up in a fence.
I will tell you one thing. This wild Nevadan girl's heart is not quiet. I love things so hard sometimes. And be it a blessing to feel such powerful urges to roam and live and explore what makes me wild, it grapples with the realities of life. The ones in which cameras are broken and we are slaves to the hamster wheel.
Frankly, as hard as I am running we should not be in the situation that we are in. As in going nowhere, and sometimes even backward. It doesn't make me feel better that we are not alone in our struggle to survive. And it doesn't help that I think the world is every bit as scary as I have ever known it.
And the strongest survive...
So it has been the season to range. And I have been doing my best. The tumbleweed doesn't need much of an excuse to bounce up and over the sage. If there is but a gentle breeze....
And while I range, or in in between my shifts at the hamster wheel I try to survive my life. If that means I want to over water my flowers, because it relaxes me, then I do. That is what this blog is about, about how the things we love shape us into the people we are. To celebrate the things that gives the tumbleweed its lift.
Such as camping trips never go as planned. But, maybe you will be some body's hero. Later a big horn sheep might watch over your shenanigans for an hour, just because. And when the sun goes down that big old Nevada sky turns into a diamond mine.
Or, that the horse trough is just the right size for two little boys to take a dip on a hot summer day. Clothes or no clothes. Or, that tomato plants love the moo moo poo poo. Ha! Just because you live on a mine dump doesn't mean your yard has to look like hell. I grew carrots, peas, lettuce, onions, sage, basil and rosemary this year.
All of these things are the kind of like gladiators against my urge to write country songs. They are helpful reminders to Live, Love and Laugh my ass off, because life is short and being a grown human is overrated. "So when I ain't got nothing," I still have everything I need. How is that for a survival skill?
Loves,
HjB.
