Dense Bodies: The Classics Revisited

"The Trojans advanced in a dense body, with Hector at their head..."

~ Homer, The Illiad

The Illiad.  Those Trojans.  Really!!

The Classics.  We were forced to read them as helpless children.  They break all the rules of writing we've been taught.  Run-on sentences?  Please! I have no respect left, what can I say. But honestly, the Illiad can sometimes be a yawner and my attention tends to wander. And this is the kind of thing that happens.

But seriously: if Dwayne Johnson doesn't have a dense body, then who does? Well, OK, there is The Hulk, but isn't The Rock a lot cuter?

Putting it out there

It seems to me that the more you put your wishes out into the world, the more likely they are to come true. Can't hurt, can it? Besides, I figure if Amazon is nice enough to ask what I want, I can let them know.

Warning signs for modern times

Sometimes I feel the need to post warning signs like this on my Facebook page. Or on my forehead.

Not for anything you would say, of course.  Honest.

The Land That Enchants Me

New Mexico is the Land of Enchantment. I have no doubt of that. I knew it the first time I visited many decades ago, and I knew it when I came here, finally, to stay forever. Like a seed blown far from the flower, I have set roots here in New Mexico, planted my heart and soul firmly in the land.

Rural New Mexico is what I mean. I'm not a city girl. Being out here in the middle of nowhere is not for everyone. Rural New Mexico can be a hard place to survive physically and economically. Rural New Mexico is technologically behind the rest of the world. In many places it is culturally behind the times.

But so what?

Sometimes being in the right place at the right time is worth whatever price needs to be paid. While New Mexico can be a slower, kinder, artsier, red-or-green whimsical kind of place, here in the outback you risk all that enchantment running you over and stomping on you for good measure. But I don't look at the brutal winds, the spiking temperatures, the aridity (and the dust and the pollen) as negatives. I don't think of the lack of economic opportunities, the slow internet, the dicey cellular coverage as true problems. They are simply part of the chiaroscuro of the place.  They contrast with the breathtaking beauty, the wonder, the magic that fuels my soul.  Those other things ground me and provide the extreme contrast that pumps life into life.

Nobody said enchantment was all sweetness and light, anyway.

I have come to learn that susceptibility to any magic is directly proportional to the willingness to dive in and embrace it all: the good, the bad and the ugly. I would say I had dived in, except that I think it's more that the place snatched my heart from me, and laughingly teased me into jumping in to get it back.

I love being enchanted.

The Artwork of Dede Lifgren

This is the most recent work by my artist sister, Dede Lifgren.  The urn is 5' tall.  Click on the photo to enlarge.

Summer looks so good from a winter point of view. And then comes the heat and the flies and the mud after it rains and I start thinking about how nice it is to sit next to a warm wood stove when its snowing outside.

It's hard to believe I took this photo just four months ago.

Special Eggs, by Alma Hobbs

Alma Hobbs

From Memories and Photos of New Mexico (Facebook group)

Reposted here with permission

When I grew up we had a bunch of chickens. There were white ones, black ones, wild ones , gentle ones. They ranged out 2 or 3 hundred yards, scratching around, hiding their nest in the bear grass and surviving.

Everyday was an Easter egg hunt. The eggs that our hens produced were a lot like people. Our eggs were not like a carton bought at the store, all so equally matched in color and size. The outer shell was every color from white to dark brown, but those eggs were all alike inside. Well, except once in a while one would have two yolks. Other than that if you cracked a white one in the skillet and a dark brown one in the skillet by it, and did away with the shell nobody could tell which egg was which.

Then there were special eggs. Sometimes in the early spring, a hen would lay a tiny egg. That pullet's first egg could be as small as the first joint of my thumb. If the timing was right that tiny egg would be boiled and died for Easter to be the PRIZE egg of the egg hunt. I remember several of those tiny eggs.

The other rare egg was an occasional soft shell egg. The membrane kept the white and yolk contained, but the egg had to be handled carefully, as there was no outer shell.

I see those soft shelled eggs in humans also. Some of them get their feelings hurt, so easily. They seek to create drama. We have to handle them carefully.

But we are all eggs in the basket together. White, Brown, Special, Soft shells, Remove the shells and we are all just big gooey messes.............