Hillbilly Zen – Old Hippie

 

Old Hippie

There is an old hippie who lives on a hill.

She’s been blessed by the heavens with acres to fill.

Stray critters all know they can come to her place

for a kind word, a cuddle, or to just feed their face.

They’re all loved and cared for above and beyond,

Some in the house, some the barn and the pond.

She’s all about critters and that seems to suit her,

but there’s not much room left now, so please….

Spay and Neuter!

 

1play dead

Advertisements

Hillbilly Zen – Circus

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Ready, Set, Done!.”

As it’s been a while since our last free-write… set a timer for ten minutes. Write without pause (and no edits!) until you’re out of time. Then, publish what you have (it’s your call whether or not to give the post a once-over).
 

It begins much too early in the morning, with hot breath on my face, wet noses giving me not-so-gentle nudges, and three sets of unblinking eyes boring into the bleary depths of mine.  I pull the covers over my head in a futile attempt to ignore the inevitable, heave a sigh, then begin the slow rise from a warm bed.

Tails begin wagging frantically, and trembling masses of heretofore restrained exuberance go from zero to full tilt boogie in a nanosecond.  The circus has begun.  Small, medium and large dogs bounce as if they have springs on their feet, and the two feline inhabitants of the house run for cover.

If I’m very lucky and very quick, there is time to get coffee started before the stars of the circus are buckled into their harnesses, which is only slightly easier than gift-wrapping Jello. The ringmistress is then dragged outside, unbuttoned coat flapping, unbrushed hair swirling and shoes only halfway on.  Suddenly the urgency disappears, and every…single…blade of grass must be properly sniffed before canine bodily functions are completed.

At last the troupe tumbles back into a house that smells of hazelnut coffee, and the stars, seasoned performers that they are, know not to get between Mama and her coffee. Now begins the second act, in which various and sundry performers must be persuaded the let their human squeeze into a corner of the couch.   Having depleted their adrenaline rush for now (after stern reminders that the kitten is NOT a squeak toy), the circus arranges itself into a drooling, snoring, farting finale.

Curtain.

Hillbilly Zen – Happy (Belated) 420!

I Got Stoned and I Missed It

Oh yes boys play it sweet for me
I was sittin’ in my basement I’d just rolled myself a taste of
Somethin’ green and gold and glorious to get me through the day
When my friend yells through my transom grab your coat an’ get your hat son
There’s a nut down on the corner a givin’ dollar bills away
But I sat around a bit and then I had another hit
And then I rolled myself a bomber thought about my momma
Looked around fooled around played around while and then
I got stoned and I missed it I got stoned and I missed it
I got stoned and it rolled right by
I got stoned and I missed it I got stoned and I missed it I got stoned oh me oh my

It took seven months of urgin’ just to get that local virgin
With the sweet face up to my place to fool around a bit
And next day she woke up rosy and she snuggled up so cosy
But when she asked me how I liked it Lord it hurt me to admit
I got stoned and I missed it…
[ fiddle ]
I ain’t makin’ no excuses for so many things I uses
Just to brighten my relationships and sweeten up my day
But when my earthly race is over and I’m ready for the clover
And they ask me how my life has been I guess I have to say
I was stoned and I missed it…

by Shel Silverstein

(Author’s note:  In the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t really get stoned and miss 420.  I was aware of yesterday’s significance, but due to budget constraints, herbal enhancement is at the bottom of my priority list right now and likely to remain there for quite some time.  But there are days, my friends, that I really, really miss “missing” things.)

marijuana-poster

Hie Nonny Nonny and a Hot Cha-Cha!

 

Just a little Saturday silliness…

Hillbilly Zen – Tornadoes, Snow Storms and Ducks on Ice

(Author’s note:  Yesterday there were tornadoes in Kentucky, today we’ve got snow and ice.  Like everyone else, I’m starting to feel the strain of constantly being chilled to the bone and interminable shades of gray. So, I decided to take my own advice and count my blessings.  I wrote this column for the local paper back in 2008.  Hope you enjoy it.)

Tornadoes, Snow Storms and Ducks on Ice

Every now and then, our world turns upside down.  We are yanked out of our personal comfort zone and forced into an eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation with our own mortality.  We all, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, walk a fine line – the razor’s edge of existence – with every single breath we take.  Perhaps it is some primal survival instinct that keeps us from dwelling on this, some intrinsic coping mechanism that urges us to quickly process traumatic events and then resume our everyday routine as soon as possible.  We spare little, if any, time to ponder the tenuous nature of our time on this earth.  But…every now and then…our Creator reaches down, bips us upside the head and commands our attention.

We all accept that Kentucky weather is predictable in its unpredictability.  When 700 temperatures plummet to 300 within a day’s time we just shake our head, roll our eyes and wonder why we even bothered to put the long underwear back in the dresser drawer.  But to see the wreckage from one week’s tornadoes covered by inch-thick ice the next week must surely give pause to even the most stoic among us.  This is not just “Kentucky weather”.  This is a stark reminder of how capricious the Fates can be, how what we often take for granted can be taken from us in the blink of an eye.

Photo by NOAA

Tornado Damage in Town

It gets a little festive on my beloved hill the Tuesday night the tornadoes hit.  For the last few weeks, we have been in some sort of weird pattern in which every Tuesday brings severe weather.  Although the previous Tuesday’s winds seem to have howled a bit louder, it becomes evident that this Tuesday’s storm means business. Brief, fervent pleas tumble from my lips each time the house shakes, and even the cats deign to join the dogs and me as we huddle in the bathroom.  When it is all over, a few tree limbs are the only damage on my farm.  The house withstands the onslaught, the barn and the horses are fine, so I offer a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving and go to bed.  After seeing the enormous property damage done throughout the county, it really hits me that it’s only by the good Lord’s grace that no one was killed.  More prayer then, and grateful wonder at the mercy shown to all.

That’s what it comes down to really, doesn’t it?  It’s all about finding those grateful moments.  In the dark times a little extra effort might be required, but if you keep at it, focus on finding even one thing to be thankful for, gratitude gets a little easier each day.  The coolest part is, even the smallest benevolence can produce sizeable joy; ducks on ice, for instance.

On the first gray, dreary morning after the ice storm I dread going out, but my critters are first priority so I bundle up and gingerly make my way out onto the porch.  The ducks immediately start clamoring to be let out of their pen, and ice stormthus begins one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my life. The minute I open the gate, they stampede out like they usually do.  Instead of slapping across grass, however, their little webbed feet hit a solid sheet of ice.  This is closely followed by their little feathered bottoms hitting the ice.  I can almost hear “The Blue Danube Waltz” playing in the background; Da da da da dum (Splat! Quack! Splat! Quack!), da da da da dum (Splat! Quack! Splat! Quack!).  Gospel truth, I laugh until I literally have tears in my eyes.  The ducks seem to take offense at my helpless laughter, glaring at me as if their lack of traction is my fault.

After that the day seems a little brighter and a bit warmer.  My burdens, whether real or imagined, feel much lighter.  Each remembrance of that moment will bring laughter and thanks to God for a hilarious mercy shown on a dismal winter morning.

It’s ok to feel sorry for yourself sometimes.  Go ahead and have a pity party, but make it a short one.  Then find something, even the tiniest little thing, that makes you smile.  Blessings aren’t that hard to find, and even a little bit of gratitude goes a long way.

Photo by Marin Winters/Wikimedia Commons

Photo by Marin Winters/Wikimedia Commons

Hillbilly Zen – El Diablo (The Devil’s In The Details)

 

“Goodnight, babies.  Good job today.  See you in the morning!”  With one last swish of her ponytail, the stable manager flipped off the lights and closed the barn door.

For a few seconds, the only sounds were rhythmic munching and the muted rustling of tired horses shifting in their stalls. Then came the distinct sound of a throaty bass chuckle.

“Did you see the look on his face?  ‘I swear that horse tried to kill me!’” Frank’s normally deep voice rose several octaves, mimicking the panic-stricken voice of the rider.  Still snickering, he dipped his muzzle into the feed tub and lipped up another mouthful of oats.

“Priceless, Frank.  Everybody was looking at him like he was nuts, and there you stood looking all innocent, with that ‘one step away from the glue factory’ face you do.  Priceless, dude.”  Hank yawned and stretched his muscular neck into his water pail.  “That woman, though…she knows one end of a horse from the other. No way was I gonna to be able to get anything over on her.”

“The little girls were sweet.  So well behaved and considerate.  Good hands and seats, too.  I think I got more pats and smooches today than I have in the past month.”  Tinkerbell’s gentle voice floated up the stable aisle.  From the stalls on either side of her, George and Gracie nickered in agreement through mouthfuls of rich alfalfa hay.

Frank stretched his massive frame, old spur scars whitening beneath his bay coat. Yawning widely and giving a dog-like shake, he grunted in contentment.  Life was good, and a far cry from his days in the rodeo.  “El Diablo” they’d called him back then, and many a cocky cowboy had lost his seat and his dignity in the arena dust swirling around Frank’s hooves.

“Okay, time for this old gelding to hit the hay.  Night everybody.”  As his stablemate’s responses drifted from the rows of stalls, the old quarter horse shifted his weight one final time and dropped his head.  Almost immediately he began to snore softly, dreaming of cheering crowds and glaring lights.  His slightly swayed back twitched with memories of tightly clamped legs loosening as bronc busters flew off his back in windmilling arcs.

“Gelding, schmelding.”  Hank murmured, lips twitching in a sleepy smile.  “You’ll always be a stud.  Sweet dreams, El Diablo.”

 

bucking horse

Hillbilly Zen – Ponies on the Patio

When I was a kid, I had an imaginary stable of horses in one of my Granny’s flowerbeds.  There were horses of every conceivable color and breed, their names changing each day with the winds that swept the hilltop of our old homeplace.  They were perfect, requiring no food or maintenance of any kind, always ready for any adventure that a solitary child with a vivid imagination could dream up.  All I had to do was pick one from the “stalls” lined up in the beautiful deep purple iris beds that lined the fence in front of the house, saddle up and we were off to the far reaches of the farm, as fast as my pudgy little legs would carry me.  Scraggly scrub cedars became a dark, forbidding forest.  The large pile of moss-covered limestone remnants from an old rock fence was the perfect spot to converse with faeries and elves.  I pretended that the barn was a haunted castle (complete with very real cows that would occasionally emerge from the shadows to scare the peewaddin out of me).

Now I’m on a farm that reminds me of the one I grew up on, and I have three real horses that require real food and maintenance.  Lots and lots of maintenance.  Iris blooms don’t keep them in their stalls these days, and patching the dilapidated fence around their pasture is often an adventure in itself.

One repair mission in particular produced a surprising result.  Luckily, most of my neighbors are truly good people who alert me when there’s been a breakout, and sometimes even help capture the varmints.  A friend’s son was on his way home and noticed a large hole in the fence, my three hay burners investigating the gap with obvious mischief in mind.  He alerted his mom, who in turn sounded the alarm to me.  So it was that at midnight on a 20-degree winter evening I found myself ankle-deep in snow with wire cutters in one numb hand and a stubborn strand of barbed wire in the other, seriously questioning the benefits of horse ownership.

Hooves and Hammers

The three potential miscreants observed attentively, crowding in way too close and completely ignoring my irritated attempts to shoo them away.  Irritated is a gross understatement, and the printable gist of my grumbling was a caveat to my “helpers” that if they got knocked in the nose by a hammer it was their own darn fault.

It wasn’t until my grumpy muttering finally subsided that I began to notice the frigid tranquility of the night.  In the ensuing silence hooves and boots squeaked in the snow, interspersed by the crack of hammer against fence post that echoed like gunshots across the frozen field.  As anger’s heat dissipated, I began to feel the warmth of their bodies as they surrounded me, and appreciate their steamy puffs of breath as they peered over my shoulders.  Squinted grouchy eyes widened to see the brilliance of a full moon sprinkling diamonds across the snowdrifts, rivaled only by the crystalline clarity of the stars.  I was entranced, lingering even after the last strand of barbed wire was in place, just being present in that moment, trying to absorb such wondrous surroundings.  After planting frosty goodnight kisses on three soft muzzles, I drove back up to the house, musing on what I’d have missed if I’d have continued to feed my initial anger.  It’s extraordinary what our Creator sends us when we open our hearts and minds, and shut our mouths.

Equine Therapy

As I write this, my three red-legged devils are roaming loose in the yard, having escaped their pasture yet again to take up temporary residence with the dogs and cats.  Between working full time in town and more pressing chores on the farm, there just hasn’t been time to remedy the situation.  Truth be told, I’m dragging my heels a bit because I’ve grown to like having them so close.  There’s just something about having a conversation with a horse through the back door that makes me smile.

Some of their antics are not so endearing, true, but I love them just the same.  I love the way they smell when they’ve been warming themselves in the sun, and the calmness that envelops me while combing burrs from their manes and tails.  They listen patiently without judging as I recount the day’s events, commenting only with soft nickers and gentle nudges.  They don’t understand a word I’m saying, of course, but that doesn’t matter in the least.  They respond simply to the love they feel in my touch and the tone of my voice.  They also respond to the peppermints they get as treats when they hold still while being groomed, but mostly to the love thing.  Really.  It’s the love.

Even the mounds of “horse apples” that dot the yard (and the driveway – and the patio – and on one unforgettable occasion one of the cats, but that’s another story) are somehow comforting. They remind me of where I came from and where I am now, of childhood dreams that have come true.  If I don’t watch where I step they’re also a fragrant, squishy reminder to fix that fence.

 

Horse

The Reality Blog Award – How Cool Is That!

I’d like to thank the Academy…oh, wait…wrong acceptance speech.  That’s the one I do in the bathroom mirror on the rare occasions I have a good hair day, which involves the obligatory hairbrush/microphone and bottle of Suave/Oscar. Ahem.

Seriously, I do want to thank  janna hill for this nomination.  It’s funny, I just read a comment from another blogger, nominated for a different award,  who has “so many awards” she doesn’t accept them anymore.  No chance of that with this little hillbilly.  To be recognized by one’s peers is an honor, no matter the frequency.  By the way, I’m changing that “Y” in Reality from “Yippee!” to “Yeehaw!”  Just sayin’.

There are logistics involved with this.  The deal is, when you’re nominated, you:

1.) Visit the blog of the person who nominated you, thank them, and acknowledge them on *your* blog.

2.) Answer the five questions listed below and nominate up to 20 bloggers whom you feel deserve recognition.  Visit their blog to let them know.

3.) Cut and paste the award to your wall.  Easy peasy.

So with that said, on with our regularly scheduled program….

If you could change one thing, what would you change?

You earthling’s Humankind’s seemingly constant inclination to fight about every little blessed thing.

If you could repeat an age, what would it be?

Fifteen.  That’s when I discovered boys.  If I’d left them alone like my Granny advised, I’d be Supreme Ruler of the Universe right now.

What one thing really scares you?

Driving on snow.  I live on a little country road that’s only marginally better than a cow path, and getting up and down these hills scares the peewaddin out of me.

What is one dream that you have not completed, and do you think you’ll be able to complete it?

To be Supreme Ruler of the Universe, and (see question #2) …no. ~sigh~

If you could be someone else for one day, who would it be?

Again, I refer you to question #2.  As Supreme Ruler of the Universe, I could summon all  the world leaders together in one big room, slap the snot out of them, tell them to get their act together and then make them by golly do it.

Okie dokie.  Now here’s the fun part – the bloggers that deserve all the love and recognition  they can get.  There’s prolly a bazillion more, but these are my personal favorites (not including  janna hill):

Thirsty Murphy

Masqua’s Art 

bussokuseki

lovinchelle

Masako and Spam Musubi

Wandering through Time and Place

Zen in the City

Mythic Bios

Undead Dad

hastywords

Jump for Joy Photo Project

Talinorfali

Now, all you freshly nominated folks – pay it forward!

Hillbilly Zen – Silly, Silly, Silly (The Ballad of Hank)

 

Silly, Silly, Silly

(The Ballad of Hank)

 

I sat on my back porch one morning,

drinking coffee and having a smoke.

Now this story is true,

I swear, although you

might think I am telling a joke.

 

The sun was up long before I was,

and really was getting too hot.

So I hauled myself up,

grabbing ashtray and cup,

to search for a cool, shady spot.

 

I settled in under a maple,

thinking “Yeah, this is where I should be!”

Then I heard a faint humming,

looked to see what was coming

just as Hank landed on my right knee.

 

I’ll confess I made quite a commotion

as I leapt from my seat ‘neath the tree.

Lots of yelling and fussing

(and a wee bit of cussing)

’cause Hank is a HUGE honeybee.

 

“Don’t be zcared,” he gasped,

plainly exhausted,

lying flat on his back in the grass.

“I’m in no zhape to zting you,

I can juzt barely cling to

thiz pollen that’z ztuck to my azz.”

 

He fluttered his little wings feebly,

after taking that ill-fated dive.

“Pleaze don’t kill me,” he pleaded,

“thiz pollen iz needed!

I’ve got to get back to the hive!”

 

Now I don’t claim to be a spring chicken,

this ain’t my first walk ‘round the block.

But it’s pure gospel truth,

though I’m long in the tooth,

I’ve never seen bees that could talk.

 

So I pitied the poor little buzzer,

trying so hard to just stay alive.

He told me his name,

I told him the same,

scooped him up and set off for his hive. 

 

He told me that bees get up early,

so this morning had been a great shock.

He’d slept in, overused

the button marked “Snooze”

on his minuscule honeybee clock.

 

As we walked, Hank revealed nature’s secrets,

things I never imagined I’d know:

why the sky fills with stars,

that there is life on Mars,

and what causes the breezes to blow.

 

I was just getting ready to ask him

something I’ve pondered for years;

how the Sun likes his coffee,

when Hank suddenly stopped me –

“I think I can make it from here.”

 

As I watched Hank fly off o’er the hillside,

and bid him a cheerful adieu,

I knew that this tale was a tall one.

No one would believe me,

do you?

 

So I sat down and wrote out this ballad for Hank,

I acknowledge that it’s quite a dilly.

Hadn’t been smoking chronic

or guzzling spring tonic,

sometimes…it’s just fun to be zilly.

bottom bee15

Contizental

500 words or less

the_tovarysh_connection

Gentle Reminders

On The Heath

where would-be writer works with words

Jnana's Red Barn

Come view the world from my loft

smilecalm

Life through mindful media

Just A Crazy Dreamer

Simply sharing my craziness & hoping its infectious enough to spread

All Romance Reads

Get Your Swoon On

Tipsy Lit

the publishing imprint of author ericka clay

Ginger's Grocery

Come on in and browse. The biscuits were made fresh this morning, the Slush Puppie machine was just refilled with a new bottle of red syrup, and we have the biggest selection of bait this close to town.

Waggin' The Tale

Love Stories About Dogs

The Good, Bad and Ludicrous

Examining the Ordinary and Extraordinary

THE COASTAL CRONE

Tales, Trails & Connections to Almost Anything

Zen Doe

down to earth spirituality, down to earth mediumship

Simple Pleasures

Visual Poetry, Photography and Quotes

Apple Pie and Napalm

music lover, truth teller, homey philosophy

jhubner73

Midwestern groaning since 2011

Me and the Boss 2013

Motivation and life......lived and loved one day at a time.

Sufey

Inhale Joy, Exhale Gratitude

Automattic

Making the web a better place

All These Horrors and more

NOTES ON A DISINTEGRATING WORLD

William Ricci

A Student of Nature & Zen

1pointperspective

NOT just another WordPress.com site

Geo Sans

“right answer, wrong question”

Shoeful of Drool

Adventures of Louie and his friends

Likeitiz

Do come and chat with me about life's twists and turns. We will laugh, cry, question, commiserate, disagree, but in the end, we will become friends.

seapunk2

MUSINGS & AMUSINGS

rachelmankowitz

The Cricket Pages

dlightblog

non potete fare affidamento sui vostri occhi se la vostra immaginazione è fuori fuoco (mark twain)

Radical Totality

an experimental creative laboratory by Mark Snyder

mlewisredford

almost indefatigable and quietly militant naïveté ...

Chris Martin Writes

Sowing seeds for the Kingdom

Humbled Pie

Southern Livin' and Travelin', mostly photographed with some Home Cookin' and only slightly embellished Storytellin'

Wandering through Time and Place

Exploring the world with Curtis and Peggy Mekemson

Kristen Lamb

Author, Blogger, Social Media Jedi

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

Masako and Spam Musubi

Short Stories about World War II. One war. Two Countries. One Family

Army Of Awesome People

Named by Google as one of the sites on the internet

The Real Janna Hill

Just living out loud and flinging cake against the wall...

Mythic Bios

Writing weird stories, strange articles, creative reviews, and learning along the way. Expect updates every Monday or Thursday.

lovinchelle

LIVING LIFE AND TAKING PICS ALONG THE WAY.

undeaddad

explorations of mindful fatherhood

%d bloggers like this: