Bouffant Blonde

  The seats were uncomfortable at best. Knees pressed against seats and arms against arms. It was one of those beautiful old theaters that desperately needs a modern redo to accommodate an aging population. We weren't there because of the seats. The man standing before us, his red hair blazing under the lights, was worth the discomfort. We were all there to be entertained with stories and songs and not a few jokes. It was a beautiful night. Sean of the South, otherwise known as Sean Dietrich, never disappoints. This was our fourth time hearing him and he just keeps getting better and better. He was surrounded by a few extremely talented musicians for a time. Sometimes it was just him. He performed like he was at the Grand Old Opry. I'm so proud that he's done that and been invited back. What a guy! So many stories I could relate to. Some I could only laugh at. VBS was only part of my childhood once. And I was not raised in church, no matter how hard my parents tried to deny...

  Fear rises up in my chest and I scream for my youngest to “Get back!” She has already done so. Bless her heart! She is terrified of just about anything.   I look and don’t see anything. Typically her jumping back indicates a snake. I am terrified of snakes. We are in the front yard and I don’t have my gun. Even if I could see something, I couldn’t shoot it.   I yell for the older three dogs to come and we all head toward the back door. My youngest “spots” something and jumps again. I scream and two of the older dogs come running. I shine a light and see nothing out of the ordinary. My oldest dog, my hunter, finally arrives and inside we all go.   A tear rolls down my cheek. I once again am reminded that my vision is dimming. I have tried to ignore the signs. I love to pretend everything is okay or, at least, will be okay. But this will never be okay.   I shake off the pity party, take a deep breath, and get to work. There’s always so much to do...

  I am not yet legally blind. I struggle to see. I spend my days filled with gratitude and dismay. It’s like two sides of a coin I never wanted.   Did I mention that I am an artist? I paint furniture. Or I did. Now even solid pieces are filled with runs and drips. It’s a contrast thing. I can’t see the paint that’s causing trouble. It all looks the same to me.   And forget about details. The days of painting the alphabet on children’s furniture or painting small polka dots and squares and flowers are all gone. It’s just a mess when I try. There is before and there is after. I am living in the after.   It’s a perfect opportunity for laughter. I thought I saw a skank on my kitchen counter the other day. My heart stopped for a moment. Now, I’ve never seen one of those in my house but sometimes my vision “sees” things. On closer inspection, it was the coffee pot cord peeking out from under the panini machine. Up close, it’s not even remotely the same. ...

  I guess we’ve become a deer sanctuary. Maybe sanctuary isn’t the correct word. There’s nothing official about it. The deer seem to have determined their own place in our world.   We’ve always seen deer on the property. They would come and go. My Dad raised cows and never, ever allowed hunting. A few years ago I sold the remainder of the herd. I miss the cows sometimes. The deer seem to have taken their place and my heart is thankful for that.   F or years I have fed geese and ducks down by the pond. Whole and cracked corn are thrown out at least once a day. When the ducks are migrating in the spring and fall, I will feed more often. The deer seem to think the corn is for them too. The photograph above shows them eating away. I don’t have the heart to tell the deer to go away.   I have no idea how many deer live on the property. As I said earlier, they come and go as they please. We enjoy watching them and so far they haven’t caused any trouble. They even ...

  She came to us as a ball of energy that couldn't be contained by her previous owners. They were done and, well, my husband had a black lab when he was a kid. Need I say more? It didn't matter that we already had three large dogs. And it didn't matter that she jumped up more than she stayed down. She was sweet and loving and, did I mention, named after Alabama Football Coach Nick Saban. Nikki was originally adopted with the best of intentions. Someone offered a free puppy to a lonely man with health issues. Then she grew. He wasn't able to keep up, much less teach her obedience. She needed room to run and play and just be a puppy. I almost took her back that first week. She jerked on the leash, jumped on us with the full force of youth, and tore up yet another dog bed. I was just too old for this, I told myself. But sometimes she was just so cute -- like when she held her "pacifier" with her paws to lick the peanut butter flavored treat from it. Our three old...

  My kitchen is slowly transforming into a vibrant color palette. Bright blue, green, orchid, fuchsia, lemon yellow and white. It’s taken me a while to get to this place but my joy is worth every step.   I grew up in a brown, formal world. Vivid colors were not appropriate. I tried to conform. I really did. But the harder I tried, the more depressed I got.   Tricia Robinson, an artist from Birmingham, Alabama, talks about confetti and joy that come from color. She, too, understands heartache and the very real desire to surround yourself with happy.   I’m not bashing anyone who prefers neutral tones. For some folks, that is happy . But the rest of us like to live outside the box, so to speak. We do things differently, boldly, with little care of what others might think.   Years ago I went on a house tour that supported a charity. One homeowner, responding to a comment about the stripes and polka dots throughout the house, said “it’s only paint. If...

There’s never a dull day on the farm. The dogs and I were talking to our neighbor when a young calf decided to come over and play. That would have been fine if Mama Cow had been on board with the playdate. She was not. I gathered the dogs and we started toward the house. The calf decided that would be a great time to chase the dogs. Yes. You read that right. The calf was chasing the dogs. When the dogs scattered, the calf focused on Abby. At 93 lbs. and jet black, Abby does look a little like one of the black calves. I’m not sure the calf realized the difference. Unfortunately, Mama Cow grew increasingly agitated. The calf chased the dog and she chased the calf. Pretty soon a few more mama cows got involved. Try as she might, Abby couldn’t seem to outrun or outwit the calf. When Sammy, the Australian Shepherd, tried to help, a few of the cows turned on him. With the cows beginning to stampede, I decided to cut through another field and head toward the closest gate. Abby d...