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Wednesday, January 27, 2016

I'm a barrel racer. A crazy can chaser. My doctor asks me why I would do this risky business when my bones will not tolerate a fall. I say I could step off an icy curb and have a worse result than if my horse slips and I fall with her. I plan to celebrate my 70th birthday soon at a barrel race. So there, doc.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

What I neglected to tell in my blog of a couple of days ago regarding meeting the neighbour of the Marlings is that in the book "Cougar's Crossing" the baby adopted by my grandmother, Pearl Lowry, after the murder of Pearl's daughter, Florence Jarvis, was Opal, Don Marling's mother, Wade's grandmother.

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

"I love to write," said well known author, Joy Lardner and I agree. "Writing, like reading, revives my soul. Writing can be an escape. I love to write for the love of the language; well chosen words can stir the senses . . . I love to record beauty, to capture life's poignant moments on paper just as an artist endeavours to encapsulate beauty on canvas." She said: "I write to savour special moments. Photographs or even one's memory may not adequately recover a beautiful moment lost to time." Let us remember this need to write - the importance of recording a beautiful moment - a beautiful memory. We need not publish it. We can write for our own need.
The world is so small. I'm in Arizona and yesterday was at a barrel racing competition. As I sat in the alley on my horse waiting for my turn for a practice run, I asked, "Any of you know how many they usually get here?" (We hadn't been at that location yet this season.) A lady near me on her horse said, "I don't know. I'm from Canada." "Oh, where are you from?" "Vancouver Island." "Where on the Island?" "Courtney/Comox area." "Really. Do you know any Marlings?" "Oh, sure, we were neighbours to Wade Marling." Wade is Don and Janet's son. Turns out they know Don and Janet too. We had a grand old visit and got into some history.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

Here is a poem by Florence Clark McClaren titled:
To An Old Man
I wish I had listened then when you began those long old stories
I was bored and ran outdoors to play; or older
Tactfully drew the talk away to light immediate things. . .
And all the while your generation lay behind
Your baffled eyes and wistful speech
Groping towards mine
And I can never reach it now
The things you did not say are buried with you,
And the bright thin line of contact broken
For I closed a door and let you go away,
Your stories all untold.
I wish I had listened more. . .

Friday, January 15, 2016

I was born at a time when large families were the norm. Donald MacIntosh's large family was what kept us alive and well in the infamous 'Dirty Thirties'. Now, a man could not afford a family of six! When I told people that I came from a family of 13 they reacted with shock and even indignation. "That man should be shot!" was one remark. My poor, loving, hard-working Puppa should be shot because he gave me  the gift of life? Because, as number 12 in this day and age, I never would have been allowed to see the light of day.

And another said "Didn't they have any condoms in those days?"  No, they didn't, as a matter of fact. Back in the 1800s legislation was passed prohibiting the sale of birth control. It was, according the the government, obscene and tended to corrupt morals. So, it was not my parents fault that they had so many children. It was the governments! There's one for the annals of history!

But we didn't know we were poor. We had all we needed on the farm. I grew up part of 6 girls and 7 boys, healthy and happy, strong, capable, living a good life and not lacking a thing we needed.