Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
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June … it’s June. Usually by now, the toads and frogs are back. It’s oddly quiet out here at Head Acres. I don’t know if it’s because it’s so dry or if there’s some other toad/frog thing I don’t know about. Whatever it is, I miss them. They add a lot of personality to the garden. Last year, when I’d water in mornings and evenings I’d have a collection of groupies waiting for a sprinkle. We’d even find them buried in the potted plants, cooling off in the dirt. This year, noth...
Hats off to new adventures. My husband Wayne and I officially began a new chapter, answering a call to serve as commissioned pastors of First Presbyterian Church in Tucumcari. We’ve got some pretty hefty shoes to fill. After 11 years at First Pres, Pastor Amy Pospical is embarking on a new adventure herself. Our stories are connected, all because of Dad. The drive to Tucumcari is second nature. Not only is this a road I’ve traveled for years with Wayne, but it’s one I trave...
“Grace isn’t your middle name.” I heard that a lot growing up, mostly after I had landed in a messy heap doing something that ended badly. The nursery rhyme from the 1800s that says Tuesday’s child is full of grace wasn’t written about me. As the stories go, I was an accident waiting to happen. Whether we’re talking about bikes, skates, horses, dancing, ladders, grace wasn’t my strong suit. I had heart, stamina, desire; I just didn’t have coordination. I like to think of it...
Three weeks and counting. Spring 2022. It cannot get here soon enough. I’m ready to trade the darkness of winter for more daylight, more warmth. We can already see the ground sloughing off winter sleep and debris. Sadly, we can also see where a rogue rescue (Patches) dug up a couple of hibernating toads. It’s a yearly thing. She digs them up, and we re-plant them hoping for the best. The raised beds (OK, old stock tanks) have been moved and rearranged. Some a few times. In...
There’s quiet, and then there’s quiet. The first kind is expected. Really, I enjoy quiet like that because I can use the solitude to get a lot done before the noise of the day hits. The second kind is more solemn, somber. It’s the sort of quiet that settles over us when someone we love leaves this earth. That quiet hit again this past December, when former colleague and always-friend Lonzo Lassiter died. Given that Lonzo was larger than life, it’s hard to experience him bei...
So long, 2021. You went out with a bang, literally. The cacophony of fireworks and gunshots began about 8:30 and continued until well after midnight, sending the dogs into an hours-long tizzy. Not even a downpour could dampen the enthusiasm for shooting things off. So much for quiet reflection and taking care of the business of wrapping up the old year before welcoming the new. I don’t make resolutions but do gather up the lessons learned and special moments to carry into the...
I had a Charlie moment over Thanksgiving. Chef Charlie Broz was my go-to guy for all things “meat” (really, all things cooking). If I had a cooking question, I’d either shoot him an email or walk over to his kitchen. I’d get a story and suggestions with a side of humor. I’d also get snacks. Because it was just the two of us this year, I’d decided to do away with roasting a whole turkey. I had the great idea to whip up a batch of dressing, plop the turkey wings and drumsticks...
Walking into November, I have been reflecting on gratitude. I give myself a gratitude tuneup a couple of times a year. This year, I’m finding that gratitude is much easier when things are going well, and not so much when things are hard. We’re in a hard spot right now. Bandit, the senior Grande Dame of Head Acres, has an aggressive form of cancer. Her vet says she has a month, maybe two, to live. Tough pill to swallow. Bandit has been my constant shadow for the 12-plus yea...
A not-so-funny thing happened on the way home from Walmart on Sunday morning. Heading down Wilhite, a teeny head popped out of a culvert. It was a kitten, white with gray tabby markings. We pulled over, and I crawled into the ditch, while my husband Wayne watched for oncoming vehicles. I could hear small meows, and as I got to the front of the culvert, the white and gray kitten popped out. And then so did another head, this one black and white, and finally a third head, this...
“You are free to choose, but you are not free from the consequences of your choice.” — Zig Ziglar Smart man, that Zig. I grew up with a version of that thought, long before I ever heard of Zig Ziglar. That sentiment was woven into all of childhood and teen (angst) lessons, courtesy of The Dad. He repeated often enough, “your choice, your consequence.” And The Dad, and Zig, are correct. I am free to choose, and boy, did those chickens, er consequences, come home to roost. Oh...
And just like that, the orb weavers are back. Maybe it wouldn’t have been such an unpleasant … surprise … if there had been some sort of warning. A little “you hoo, I’m here” or a glittery message woven into the webs. But no. I found out they’re back from their summer break by walking into one of the elaborate webs. That was my cardio for the day. I’m not sure who was more surprised, me or the spider. Maybe the neighbors from my shrieks. Once my heart rate was back to normal...
Today is one of those days where “adulting” seems overrated. Loads of chores, loads of tasks, loads of laundry. The list is never-ending. It would be a lot more fun to ditch the list, and head into a blankie fort. We're weighed down by things we have to do, things we think we have to do, and all the things we'd like to forget we have to do. And when the to-do list overwhelms us, we beat ourselves up for not getting everything done. Rather than whittling away at my to-dos, I d...
At Head Acres, if I sit on the stoop long enough, all sorts of critters will make their way past my hangout spot. I’ve seen foxes, families of deer, badgers (not as friendly as they are cute), a variety of different snakes, skunks, birds. Most times, I’m fine with whatever strolls by; I appreciate the visits. Then, there are the other times. While working outdoors, tending animals and doing some general clean up, I had an encounter of the spider kind. It’s bad enough to come...
Gardening is going great so far. Out of the 60-80 bulbs planted, I have a whopping total of one dahlia peeking its head out of the soil. One. So, I wait. Truth is, there is a lot of waiting in planting … waiting for winter to pass … waiting for the ground to warm up … waiting for warmer days to clear outdoor spaces … waiting for sprigs of green to pop out of the dirt (or not) … waiting for things to bloom. We wait. There are parallels here between what happens (Oh. So. Slowl...
As much as the time change messes with me, I love the extra daylight. My first thought, always, is that it’s time to plant, followed by “if you plant before Easter, you’ll replant after Easter.” My second thought is that we’ve entered a season of renewal, of being led out of the darkness. Gardens are magical. I begin my garden plan in January, right about the time seed catalogs hit the mailbox. I’m struck by the colors and variety of flowers, and the promises of (don’t need...
I’m being dogged by memories. Maybe it’s because we’re closing in on the three-year mark of Dad exchanging earth for heaven. Maybe we just snapped so many photos of him doing “Dad things” that we have an endless supply of these moments. Social media is getting in on the action, periodically tossing up some photos of Dad and cakes (or cookies or pieces of muffins or cupcakes). The first few times it was a bit unnerving because it was so unexpected, and it was a reminder that I...
I’ve been thinking a lot about honor lately. For the past little bit, I’ve been training for a marathon — 26.2 miles. (It’s OK to laugh; I do when I think about what I’m doing.) I don’t run. I tell people that if they see me running, they need to run faster. Richard Allen Trask was a Bataan Death March survivor. He and his family often participated in the yearly memorial marathon held at White Sands Missile Range. After hearing the story, I told him I was going to join his fa...
In the wee hours, 2021 quietly landed, full of promise and new adventures. Watching the ball drop while dogs and husband slept (snored), I let go of the old while embracing the new, thankful for another year. The rollercoaster that was 2020 brought with it changes and lessons, sometimes with dizzying twists and turns. The lesson for me wasn’t the outcome so much as it was navigating the twists and turns. Change is hard. For me, there is comfort in routine, in a solid plan w...
Recently, I saw an illustration from Peaceful Mind Peaceful Life. Initially drawn in by the beautifully illustrated birds, it was the accompanying statement that produced one of those “aha” moments: “No matter what you do, someone will always talk about you. Someone will always question your judgement. Someone will always doubt you. So just smile and the make the choices you can live with.” Profound. I sat on this for a few days marveling at a couple of things. One, how is...
Snoring. All around me, snores are punctuated by little yips and growls. When I try to move my right arm so that I can type a little easier, I’m met with grunts and a giant paw for my trouble. I’ve had my share of black eyes thanks to monster paws. We have a retirement home for old dogs. We didn’t choose them so much as they chose us; we were the halfway house to foster them until they went on to rescue. As the dog biscuit crumbles, the furballs who reside here weren’t able to...
One of my favorite events on the church calendar happened this past weekend, World Communion Sunday. This celebration crosses denominations as people put aside their differences to share in a communal feast. Rebecca Davis, who teaches at Union Presbyterian Seminary, says that across the globe we celebrate communion the first Sunday in October as an international show of unity. “When we gather at the communion table, regardless of where it is physically located, it is the Lord...
My dad’s birthday slipped by quietly this week. He would have been 83. I spent the day before his birthday doing the same thing I’ve done for decades. I baked him a cake. There’s a family spice cake recipe that was Dad’s favorite. In reality, he loved any baked goods that found their way to him. Minus the tofu cheesecake (epic fail). Any time I’m in the kitchen with the family cookbooks, I feel the presence of all the bakers who’ve gone before me. I’ve always thought those...
Gavin the Wonder Kid has joined the world of kid messenger. I didn’t know such a thing existed until a neon green oozy background popped up on my phone, and The Dad’s mini me filled the screen. Briefly, Gavin turned into a 2020-version of a lava lamp. Trippy. When the screen and my eyes settled, there was Gavin in all his 6-year-old glory. We chatted about nothing and everything. One of us was seasick. All of it was important. He said we were going on an adventure. I was tre...
Last week, the community came together to help a family locate their elderly relative, Bob Casey, who had gone missing. Sadly, Casey was found several days later, deceased. The grief from his family and friends was tangible, raw. On a social media post about him, a kind soul wrote, “May his memory be a blessing.” While I didn’t know the 83-year-old man or his family, the stories family and friends told of him spoke to that comment, “may his memory be a blessing.” They shar...
I’ve been thinking a lot about Charlie Broz lately. The most recent occurrence involved a kitchen incident and a chunk of salmon that may or may not have caught fire. As I was trying to extinguish the salmon, I giggled thinking I couldn’t wait to tell Charlie about the flaming fish. And then I remembered. The world lost the light that was Charlie Broz a few months ago. Apart from being one of the best humans I ever had the pleasure to meet, he was a fabulous teacher. Any tim...
