Never get between a woman and her power (tools)

I'm little chainsaw short and stout

o Tonopah

 



My dreams are shattered now and no one cares

So I'm goin' back to Tonopah - Dave Stamey















Past
Born and occasionally raised in Tonopah, Nev.

Present
The word "love" seems a strong term to use for this place, don't it o Tonopah?

Future
Intro (theme) song:
... I'm Gonna Be Somebody" Travis Tritt

O Tonopah.

My affair with you has shaped me into the person I am.

 

 

But, what of this reason I always land on black bounce back?

 

 

 

 

The love we give is the love we take.

Tonopah

 

Loves,

HjB

Making Money For the Babies

 My kids have a way of making me think about some very complicated things. Today, I had to go into a lovely little shop downtown, and I told my kids, "Now, we have to be quiet when we go in here, and there is a lot of pretty things we cannot touch."

  

Just before opening the door I bend over and look at them up close and ask, "Are you ready?" I don't know if I am talking them into it. Or myself. I just know I have to go in. And I have to be brave enough to take them in, with me.

Their question echos the one I have been asking myself since I was yae-big:

"But, why?" 

Good question. 

Boys, there's two things on earth that you better figure out: The difference between the easy dollar bills and the honest ones. And insurance,(which is a fancy word for "most important bill."

  

True. True. The math for Blondie's Laundry Service, up to the point where I washed another guys' laundry was with pretend numbers. I said before the idea began.

 

There are a lot of bright orange shirts, jeans, long underwear, double socks, coveralls, sweatshirts, t-shirts, on those working men in town. And they get dirty. Every. Day.

I mean, I do know how to do laundry. Also, I have been educated. I know a bit about business. I  am literate and can operate my phone.

 

So, I was overly confident I would figure it out. And you could say I wanted more control of how much I earn for my effort. It is a shame when a good job won't get you anywhere or ahead.

 

So, that first $20 was easy to earn. I wanted it. All transactions since have been double, nay triple the effort. When the honest dollar bills came into the picture, I had to tie up loose ends, then make it legal. I had to develop, adopt, abandon, adopt and reinvent some systems...

I had to overcome snow; some water leaks; some bad stain remover; and a naive sense of order and time. Sadly, I now have some extra man drawers-which is and will forever be embarrassing!

  

Like I said, it is my kids who bring focus to my tumbleweed ways; they add the future to the present, and so I have my purpose. They challenge me to"figure it out" for myself so that I may help if they ever face easy dollar bills and insurance trouble.

Or maybe I will teach them to make an opportunity for themselves if they cannot see where one exists

So, Blondie's Laundry Service is about a month into official operations now and everyone has figured out a thing or two. I have even collected a team of people who help, and have made this heart humble again. If it be through osmosisis, I don't care as long as a lesson is passed along to the two little men that I drag along on the ride that is my life. It sounds like this now:

 

"Out, out," I said. "Lets go."

 

"Where are we going?" my oldest asks.

 

"Laundry..." I answer. My mind is a million miles away.

 

"Is it time to make money for the babies.?" says the younger. 

 

Talk about the biggest grin you could ever get out of a woman! They already know! If that doesn't motivate, then nothing will!

 

"Damn Strait." I told him. "We're making money for the babies!"

 

"Lets Go!"  And away we went in our welcome wagon on unofficial business we generated somehow. 

 

While I have a chance I want to thank these magnificent, dirty, working men for their business! You are helping little tumbleweed wishes grow into big fat dreams! Thank You! We hope you stay a long while and that we get to become friends before you return home.

 

Loves,

HjB

This Sounds like life to me dirty girl

"Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do." Goethe

 

In the new year I have been such a whirlwind of activity my friends are starting to stop just to "check on me." My Hon., and kids, are confused by my distracted, non-domestic (non-helpful) state. Also, with every untamed moment, I devour the words of wise and famous people who walked the line to their dream, before me, because it inspires me to fight another round.

I am vibrating like a chainsaw on idle, even while I sleep. It is exactly what this half raised WildNevadan girl-woman needed to get herself out of the fence to dance again.

I have found that when my spirits are down, it takes a calculated effort to bring myself back into balance. When I have a big or important goal in mind, I am the ponder the possibilities before I take any giant leaps of faith kind of girl.  Because from experience I know that the fall hurts like hell. Falling-- falling from grace, falling on your face, or falling short of success leads me to a place where I get less out of my life.

"Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life's cocming attractions." Albert Einstein.

Less out of life, is not good enough for me.

 

And because ideas go no where without action I decided to do. And, because I cannot get THERE, without  action, I had to get up out of that fence and dance. So, I'm here to let you know what I have been up to in such a whirl wind of activity... you know the back story.

There once was a Wild Wednesday, in which I remember I was trying to escape the dirty clothes pile that is like the song that never ends. It was, in fact the post to that brought forth Wild Wednesday. These Three Jeans and Old Biker Babes is "copied" from my old blog site and was much to do about getting out of the rut that is work and life with a little fun. My yucky work was always the laundry... 

 

Once upon a time there was a Wild Nevadan woman who hated her laundry. She would often fantasize about inventing contraptions that recycle clothing, or do all of the things in between washing and drying and folding and especially putting it away. Often she would dream she was at work at the local pharmacy, but instead of sorting pills in the glass box, she sorted laundry. She often writes on her blog about how she is haunted by the mound and believes it has babies while she is asleep at night.

A few months ago, the dream that I thought a nightmare, became an idea. I began to "do the math" on a laundry service. Crazy? Yes. Crazy-wild!

There was a lot of fantasizing in the beginning, like maybe this business could fund a freaking trip to the desert! The glass box is getting me nowhere! Or, maybe if I do enough laundry I can hire an employee and then bring my laundry to be done for free.

What a strange woman I am when I am without my desert wandering! I thought and thought on alternatives, but alas, somehow, this idea keeps with me, through summer and into fall. I was just at a total loss on what to call it.

I talked often with a good friend of mine, and one day he says, "Blondie's Laundry."

And I realized sometime later that night that I had been looking at the wrong page of my map book. The road I had thought I traveled to this point is but a memory. It was yesterday.  

If you haven't met Blondie before, you can meet her now. She was my Grammie. What a great lady. I have talked about her in this blog as many times as I have complained about my laundry. She never minded washing a few loads of laundry for me. She would turn my dirty rotten rags into fresh and tidy piles. It made me feel so good. So special. And part of a real, solid, I will do just about anything for family kind of place. And the world was less scary when I left her house because I was "presentable" again. She was a dirty girl's savior if ever there was one!

After U-hauling her washer and dryer out of her now empty house, and her washer and dryer became mine, I would often think about the times we sat on her bed and folded my sad looking lot of clothes, and she would politely bring up the rips and tears. She would mention that I was acting a little too rough for my gender.  

 

Being who I am I would argue with her. I was young. I was feisty. I would tell her, with huge pride in my heart, "Gram. I wasn't meant for sitting still. I was meant to work hard with my body. When I am done working I want to play just as hard. The best days are the ones when my clothes get gross. I guess I just like to get dirty. Maybe I am a boy."

 

She would say, "I know."

 

She never really minded that I like dirt under my feet, and finding beauty in what is weird. When I was young she probably thought it would pass. When I was in my 20s, and I burned pavement and dirt roads, sagebrush, and tires like they were Marlboro's, she probably worried a lot for me. But, she always supported my Wild Nevadan ways and was the first and most regular customer for my cards and pictures. I have learned from her that there is nothing parallel to having a relationship with somebody who recognizes who you are and finds good in those qualities, even if they do not align with their own beliefs or ideals.

 It is exactly the kind of business grandmothers should be in.  It is the type of behavior I emulate when I have mucked things up or found myself lost on the road to success.

 

One day I found myself in this hamster wheel. The one that is unfulfilled. The one that you can't even make yourself grateful for, now matter how many inspiring words you look up in a dictionary or quotes you can google. That's when you have to look at not only where you have been, and what you have learned, but what you want out of all this effort.

And I thought, "Did I just forget where I was going?"

Oh, no. better get busy!

And so I put on my work gloves. The ones my Hon. buys me. The ones he taught me how to wear and hang on for dear life with when there isn't anything but noose to hang onto, or the boat is about to capsize. And I jumped headfirst into a dream.

And my friends are stopping by to check on me because I finally managed to make laundry fun. And nobody can believe it is working, except me.

And now my wild Wednesday joke of  yesteryear, when and where nothing much changes around here in a week, and even the laundry pile looks the same, is now the biggest oxy-moron you ever met. But that's how naked stick bushes dance I guess.

So, here's the introduction to the latest and greatest thing to come from this wild mind of mine. Blondie's Laundry Service. We are Open 7 days a week, serving the Tonopah, NV area from my humble home, here on this mine dump. Service includes Free Pick up and Delivery. Please call or text us to schedule pick up. Our rates and current specials can be found on the Blondie's Laundry page, or by clicking this link. Blondie's Laundry Service.

It is going to be a whole hell of a lot more interesting for this blog than sourdough! And I am grateful again to have something to facilitate this most recent crash course in life; in how to turn laundry into a business; and pursuit of happiness. It has been more wild a ride than I can explain today. I hate to leave it out now, but soon I shall reflect on the fun and frighting things that happened this month in conjunction with the opening of this little business.

So far, it has been everything dreams are made of; every bit of rewarding, and scary, and exciting and exhausting as those words were ever meant, or how you wish to take them. Right now I must go, because there is much laundry and life to sort out.

Thanks for reading and sharing!
Loves,
HjB

I've got nothing...

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.

Those allergic to dirt need not apply

I think life on a rural Nevada mine dump rocks.

I mean it in the most literal sense. If you grow up on a mine dump, you learn how to entertain yourself, with a rock if you must. If you stick around to make the mine dump your home, you find no shortage of rocks and dirt to move.

The experience of it can have two affects: it embodies empowerment (I moved a mountain today.), or a sense of slavery (More rocks? Seriously!).

Good thing a dirty girl has perspective.

In my short lifetime I have had my share of dirt and rock moving experiences. Oh buddy.

I would guesstimate that if you stacked all the rocks I have moved into one magnificent pile it would amount to a large mountain. And if you covered it with the poop I have moved it would be a three day hike to the top. Ha Ye.

It started with little projects like my Dad saying, “I need a hole dug right here by the time I get home from work tonight.” I would hack away at the rocky ground for what seemed like hours and never find a pipe. I would try to pry rocks out with the digging bar but then, it was way too heavy to maneuver.

And, when my Dad got home from work he would take two big scoops out of my hole and wa la, a pipe. I would pinch my eyebrows together in dismay.

“No worries girl, I only had to dig a little.” He would say.

When I was older, I remember covering a pipe that was as long as a football field with dirt. And afterwards I sat there on the ice chest and looked at that ditch with this idea that I was amazing. My Dad handed me a cold MGD and that first sip was like drinking sunshine in a bottle.

Empowered? Definitely. I have been good friends with my shovel ever since.

So, spring has sprung and the dirt and rock moving has begun. When I found my favorite spade shovel in the “man cave,” and my hands touched the wooden handle, I swear I had this little feeling of relief. It was like my hand said to the shovel, ‘Oh good, I didn’t lose you.’

Since then my little family has hauled no less than five truck-loads of cheat grass seed and old weeds to the dump; and stacked and moved rocks until every single one of us has a black spot on some finger or toe this season. It is good that none of us are allergic to dirt.

Confession: I still absolutely LOVE an ice cold MGD after a hard day mucking.

And, here’s to moving mountains and covering them with poop! I hope you have a wild Wednesday.

Loves, HjB

Hagar the Horrible. It's a Vikings' life.

I love it here. My job is good. My home is comfy, cozy, coffee by the fireplace kind of warm. There has not been a whole lot of time to enjoy it. I mentioned before that one side of my Americanized mutt family is of Italian decent. The other half of ancestry is heavily Scandinavian.

So, setting forth on the sea of sagebrush with a whole new life on the horizon was pretty damn exciting for the Viking inside me. When it comes to that kind of adventure, I stick my iron helmet on, and stick out my sword and make sail. No matter the outcome I am not scared. I am along for the ride. I always have been.

The only thing that trumps my natural inclination to go with the flow is my claim to Captain of this Pirate Ship. And to that claim, I am not a natural. I hang on to it--for dear life.

The Captain's responsibilities are great and the stress of this last bit of life, (ahem, adventure) on the rest of the family, is not lost on me. And there did come one of those lost in space moments when I realized I had to throw anchor on my own adventure, so to speak, and make focus. Ah, ha. Just because I am not scared does not mean the same for all of us in the boat.

Hell, I know in the long run I will be more free to enjoy the adventure, if I do the work first.  

True. There has been plenty of rewards in this work. It was irony when my almost3 year old son  found a Hagar the  Horrible comic book and would not loose sight of it for two days. I might not have noticed that before.

Still, all that work makes a person thirsty for fun. Today, that "viking blood" inside me was restless. It is like a tickle in the back of the throat. I am overdue for a sunny day with my camera and a dirt road. When I am trying to stay on the focus-wagon I try to drive away the tickle with whatever is handy. After I vacuumed for a few minutes I decided to just take the boys out for a little desert walk. It is but a short distance to get off the pavement from our house.

And little fresh air never hurt anyone. Right? So, camera in hand, we were on our way. We were not even out of the driveway before the complaining started.

After we traveled a football field's length away from the house and off the pavement the complaining escalated to crying. From one child or the other, and sometimes both. Suddenly the dog is deaf and is doing whatever he wants to. The cat is poking along behind us, terrified.

One wants to go this way. The other wants to go another.
They say "My feet are tired."
"Carry me."
"I want to go home."

It was not as satisfing as I had imagined it would be...

When we got home I dug out the last piece of candy from Halloween and broke it in half for them to share. I had thought it a great way to end the crying. Just so you know, an almost three year old Hagar whose legs hurt, does not appreciate the breaking of candy. And so the crying went on for some time. Even the iron viking helmet of mine could not block it out.

I did what I could do as Captain of this Pirate ship. I took two DayQuil capsules with a Monster Energy Drink as a back. I am pre-heating the oven so we can bake cupcakes after lunch. It is the weekend and I will "heel" to them, this time, so I can earn my turn. Ahem. Today the Captain knows she just has to be along for the ride.

So if it is not home, work or kids I am (possibly) not ready for more yet. I guess WildNevadaGirl has to keep my butt on the focus-wagon. You know, the focus-wagon: it carries priorities and is pulled by faith. Faith that a little sacrifice and determination will reap rewards... Well, I better get back to it. Perhaps I will take a picture for next time.
Loves,
HjB

Mizpah Memories

Mizpah by Julia A. Baker

And "God keep watch 'tween thee and me";
This is my prayer;
He looks thy way, He looketh mine,
And keeps us near.

I find it both ironic and iconic that my arrival coincides with the grand reopening of Our Matron the Mizpah.
It is pure unplanned romantic craziness.

One does not grow up in her shadow unaffected. By the time I became the green horn reporter at the Tonopah Times-Bonanza & Goldfield News, the outlook for her was a bit bleak. I embarked on a one woman crusade keep her memory aflame as best I could, while she sat vacant steeping in secrets and ghost stories. I will tell you in a moment why I do not regret it for a second that I would whisper her name whenever I could find an excuse. It is a faith-based calling.

Oh, Tonopah. I do not even think the locals would argue that most who drive by (and plenty who still live there) think the town is a hole. A town on top of the mountain that is, now, but a hole. Even with the Matron aboard it is would take an offering plate collection of like minds to change that perspective...I digress.

Then, there are the crazies who like old T-town and the Matron for her unhol-e-ness. My girl Andrea says it best when she refers to out of the 365 you get 120 of pure bliss. Old Tonopah is definitely not for the faint hearted. Home is home. And, even when I am mad at or away from old Tonopah, it is like Julia A. Baker says in the Mizpah poem, "Yet God keep watch 'tween thee and me; Both be His care; One arm round thee and one round me. Will keep us near...."

have only just now admitted to myself I will not attend the grand opening. It does not jive with the family schedule. I have appeased myself with thoughts of lunch dates or after work cocktails, in her arms...sigh... because it was finally meant to be. I may not be there to celebrate the occasion, but I will rejoice.

There are one million memories swirling through my mind like the dress I imagine the lady in red wore, as she swished down the hallway. Romantic memories. Insanely mundane and of no consequence memories. A belly full of laughs with your best girl ever because you both ran away from home for a night kind of memories...That night we traded keeping the home fire burning (tending to the frozen pipes) for two turns at bubble baths in the hotels' old claw footed bath tubs.  It was definitely among those 120 days of bliss albeit in the middle of the hole. Without my best girl ever by my side, the memory is so much more important.

A few months ago, when I first heard the high hopes of Our Matron's revival I was immediately pleased. A little smile of  good- for-her-congratulations was on my face. As far away as I felt, I could not help but want to wish that project well. When it is boom and bust, every single boom counts. It will not save a dying town, but it does give her a leg to which to brace herself as she trudges along. The revival of the Mizpah and Tonopah are not one in the same. Again the words to the Mizpah poem is in mind, "Should wealth and fame perchance be thine, And my lot lowly be, Or you be sad and sorrowful, And glory be for me; Yet God keep watch 'tween thee and me; Both be His care;One arm round thee and one round me; Will keep us near."

I have been in and out of Tonopah quite a bit in the weeks leading up to this grand re-opening and nothing could not spoil my excitement over it. My best Mizpah memory comes to mind in tandem with that inexperienced reporter gig I held way back when. On that day, Sandy Harmon graced me with a grand tour and at some point brought me to the roof.

It seemed a bit precarious at first, to be on top of her. After my equilibrium adjusted, and in the excitement of the moment, I gazed upon the town below in every direction. For a minute I saw what those four men saw when they celebrated the Matron's birth with fine wine and cigars over 100 years ago.

I saw what they saw. I saw potential for prosperity. And, in that moment it did not matter to me the doors and windows to the hotel, and the town, were shuttered.

Even my deepest, darkest hour of self invested angst I never once looked at Tonopah the way I did before that moment I spent roof-top. I would go so far as to say my perspective of the whole world changed that day. It really did. It gave me the kind of fuel that drives freight trains forward.

Faith is a powerful force. Those men had it behind them when they built her. Obviously the new owners have a bit behind them, or they would not dare. And this coincidence of my homecoming, and her grand re-opening seems such sweet destiny....pure unplanned romantic craziness. Such a memory brings the lesson full circle. A little reminder of faith in myself and things that are finally meant to be.

I do not know what will happen next but I think Julia A. Baker says it best when she wrote it.
Yet coming to the Mercy seat,
My soul will meet with thine.
And "God keep watch 'tween thee and me,"
I'll whisper there.
He blesseth thee, He blesseth me,
And we are near.

Thanks for reading, HjB.

To read the poem in its entirety you can visit this link: Mizpah by Julia A. Baker