Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Friday, May 25, 2012
Who doesn't love three flavors of popcon?
I understand the idea- illustrate the tins so that consumers have a pretty tin once the popcorn is gone. But really? These tins are so ugly! I understand the appeal of John Deere, but there is no way I'm displaying these things ANYWHERE! So here's an idea to keep a very functional item, but rework it to make it more appealing.
First off, I washed down the tins inside and out. Then I spray painted them with Krylon's dual paint and primer in grey. I was really impressed with the coverage of this spray paint! It covered the pictures completely in two coats.
These are going in my pantry, but I think they would also look great coralling toys, craft supplies, sewing notions, or art supplies!
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Today
I pulled Kitten out of the pasture today and rode her for the first time in months. Wyoming is bitterly cold during winter and previous years I hadn't had access to an indoor arena, so it's typical that I pull shoes and send her out to pasture with her buddies in about November. Then, as soon as it's warm enough to ride, her vacation is over.
My relationship with this horse is one of the greatest prides and joy of my life. She suits me down to the ground, and part of that is all the things we have gone through together. One of the biggest issues we had wasn't even about her, it was about me, but she showed me the way out.
Before I bought Kitten, I was helping at a rodeo camp. There was a little girl trying to figure out how to trot around the barrels, but her horse was just being a pig and would not for any reason trot. I took her and her horse over to a quiet corner of the arena and was making that horse trot in circles so that she could think about steering and posting and not having to spend all her energy on trying to get that horse to move. Well, he was getting pissed. I should have seen it coming, really I should have. He gave me warning, but I was focused on helping that little girl ride.
During one of the circles, as he was coming around in front of me, he swung his butt towards me and let loose both barrels. One of his hooves (thank God he wasn't shod!) got me right in the thigh. I honestly thought he had broken my femur. My leg swelled up so big I couldn't put my jeans on, and I have never seen flesh turn the colors that injury did! Right then a deep, gripping fear of any horses' back end started. I hid it pretty well, putting on a brave and careless face, but it was there, growing and taking hold.
Right about that time the bottom of the horse market fell through. I had been looking for a horse and my dear friend had found a good prospect. Kitten was a 2 year old at the time and she was awesome. Even as a two year old she looked great, tall and lean (for a quarter horse), and her breeding was fantastic. I bought her for $250 at a local auction and marveled at my good luck all the way home.
I began the training process with a friend of mine. This was the first colt I had ever trained and I needed all the help I could get! Things were going so well, she was very smart and kind, just so kind. Even when she tested me it was sort of half hearted, she couldn't bring herself to throw a real fit.
Unfortunately the fear was still there, freezing me up and making me mistrust this horse that had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. At that point I was riding her regularly and really enjoying her. But I had stopped picking out her back hooves. I avoided them. I reasoned and excused myself, thinking that she was just fine, her hooves were fine.
There came a point where I just couldn't excuse myself any more, so I decided I would force myself to use a hoof pick on her back feet. I crowded myself in as close as I could get to her flank, picked up a hoof she was more than willing to give, and started in on it. It felt like my insides were frozen. I was clamping down, forcing myself not to think about the power she had, about another horse that was willing to hurt me to get his own way. I was so tightly wound up inside that I was going to explode at any minute.
Then she did it. She shifted her weight over onto her other back foot and I blew up. I punched her belly with my fist- fear making me move quickly and strike as hard as I could. I will never forget it. Me panting, shaking,adrenalin pounding in my ears, standing a couple of feet away from her. Her breath had left her in a grunt and she had tucked up her belly from the force of the blow. She stood frozen on all four feet, not wanting to make another move in case I pounded her again. She had no idea what she had done, she was merely shifting her weight like a good girl to take the weight off my hands and make it a little easier for me and more comfortable for her.
Then she looked at me. That's another thing I won't forget. I don't anthropomorphize animals, but if she could talk, she would have asked:
"Why?"
Why indeed. This horse had so much try, typically she would give me all she had during every training time. Many times she wouldn't understand what I wanted but she always tried to understand, tried to get along, tried to please. I wasn't that good at communicating with her but she had bent herself in knots trying to get it right. She had never tried to hurt me. Never even thought about it, I'm sure. I had let out all my fear in the ugliest of ways towards her and she hadn't done a single thing to deserve it. It was me. It was all me
At that moment I thought: "I am going to grab this fear with both hands and KICK ITS ASS."
So began the retraining process of myself.
Every time I rode I made myself clean out her hooves first, slowly and thoroughly. I made myself stand behind her and brush out her tail. When I was done riding and just hanging out chatting with my friends I made myself stand by her butt and sling an arm over her. At first it was so hard, I would jump at every movement she made. I would only be able to handle a little bit at a time. Slowly, though, it got easier. Every time I saw her do absolutely nothing in response to me being behind her chipped away at my distrust. She hadn't done a thing to lose my trust, but she was building it back all the same.
It felt so great to control and abolish my fear rather than my fear controlling me. I attacked and attacked and attacked until that thing went away.
And that's just one thing she did for me. I don't know if I can even explain how I feel about her. I know she is an animal, a horse, but there is a connection between her and me that is precious to me. When she has those bad days, I'm willing to give her a little grace. Because over and over, in all my bad days, she's given me a lot of grace. She's gold to me.
My relationship with this horse is one of the greatest prides and joy of my life. She suits me down to the ground, and part of that is all the things we have gone through together. One of the biggest issues we had wasn't even about her, it was about me, but she showed me the way out.
Before I bought Kitten, I was helping at a rodeo camp. There was a little girl trying to figure out how to trot around the barrels, but her horse was just being a pig and would not for any reason trot. I took her and her horse over to a quiet corner of the arena and was making that horse trot in circles so that she could think about steering and posting and not having to spend all her energy on trying to get that horse to move. Well, he was getting pissed. I should have seen it coming, really I should have. He gave me warning, but I was focused on helping that little girl ride.
During one of the circles, as he was coming around in front of me, he swung his butt towards me and let loose both barrels. One of his hooves (thank God he wasn't shod!) got me right in the thigh. I honestly thought he had broken my femur. My leg swelled up so big I couldn't put my jeans on, and I have never seen flesh turn the colors that injury did! Right then a deep, gripping fear of any horses' back end started. I hid it pretty well, putting on a brave and careless face, but it was there, growing and taking hold.
Right about that time the bottom of the horse market fell through. I had been looking for a horse and my dear friend had found a good prospect. Kitten was a 2 year old at the time and she was awesome. Even as a two year old she looked great, tall and lean (for a quarter horse), and her breeding was fantastic. I bought her for $250 at a local auction and marveled at my good luck all the way home.
I began the training process with a friend of mine. This was the first colt I had ever trained and I needed all the help I could get! Things were going so well, she was very smart and kind, just so kind. Even when she tested me it was sort of half hearted, she couldn't bring herself to throw a real fit.
Unfortunately the fear was still there, freezing me up and making me mistrust this horse that had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. At that point I was riding her regularly and really enjoying her. But I had stopped picking out her back hooves. I avoided them. I reasoned and excused myself, thinking that she was just fine, her hooves were fine.
There came a point where I just couldn't excuse myself any more, so I decided I would force myself to use a hoof pick on her back feet. I crowded myself in as close as I could get to her flank, picked up a hoof she was more than willing to give, and started in on it. It felt like my insides were frozen. I was clamping down, forcing myself not to think about the power she had, about another horse that was willing to hurt me to get his own way. I was so tightly wound up inside that I was going to explode at any minute.
Then she did it. She shifted her weight over onto her other back foot and I blew up. I punched her belly with my fist- fear making me move quickly and strike as hard as I could. I will never forget it. Me panting, shaking,adrenalin pounding in my ears, standing a couple of feet away from her. Her breath had left her in a grunt and she had tucked up her belly from the force of the blow. She stood frozen on all four feet, not wanting to make another move in case I pounded her again. She had no idea what she had done, she was merely shifting her weight like a good girl to take the weight off my hands and make it a little easier for me and more comfortable for her.
Then she looked at me. That's another thing I won't forget. I don't anthropomorphize animals, but if she could talk, she would have asked:
"Why?"
Why indeed. This horse had so much try, typically she would give me all she had during every training time. Many times she wouldn't understand what I wanted but she always tried to understand, tried to get along, tried to please. I wasn't that good at communicating with her but she had bent herself in knots trying to get it right. She had never tried to hurt me. Never even thought about it, I'm sure. I had let out all my fear in the ugliest of ways towards her and she hadn't done a single thing to deserve it. It was me. It was all me
At that moment I thought: "I am going to grab this fear with both hands and KICK ITS ASS."
So began the retraining process of myself.
Every time I rode I made myself clean out her hooves first, slowly and thoroughly. I made myself stand behind her and brush out her tail. When I was done riding and just hanging out chatting with my friends I made myself stand by her butt and sling an arm over her. At first it was so hard, I would jump at every movement she made. I would only be able to handle a little bit at a time. Slowly, though, it got easier. Every time I saw her do absolutely nothing in response to me being behind her chipped away at my distrust. She hadn't done a thing to lose my trust, but she was building it back all the same.
It felt so great to control and abolish my fear rather than my fear controlling me. I attacked and attacked and attacked until that thing went away.
And that's just one thing she did for me. I don't know if I can even explain how I feel about her. I know she is an animal, a horse, but there is a connection between her and me that is precious to me. When she has those bad days, I'm willing to give her a little grace. Because over and over, in all my bad days, she's given me a lot of grace. She's gold to me.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Noodles and Tomatoes...
My Dad makes an especially fine haute cuisine dish of noodles and tomatoes. I used to think it was gross. Now I love it! There are just certain days when it is perfect- when the house has a slight chill because the wind is high and the wood burns up instead of out, when it is damp and rainy and the air has a spring time feel, I just know by feeling whether it is noodles and tomatoes weather. After I made it for Chubzie he shouted: "My tummy is so HAPPY!!"
Today is that day, and in the spirit of sharing, here is the highly sought after, often decorated by international diners of distinction, secret Balon noodles and tomatoes recipe.
Get a medium size pot of water boiling. Break up dry spaghetti into 2 inch lengths and throw into pot. Amount to be determined by you. When al dente, strain over the sink and return to pot. Open a can of plain diced tomatoes. Dump half (or all depending on your tastes) into pot and warm up. Sprinkle LOTS of salt and pepper into the pot.
Serve and eat.
Gustatorians everywhere: You are welcome.
Today is that day, and in the spirit of sharing, here is the highly sought after, often decorated by international diners of distinction, secret Balon noodles and tomatoes recipe.
Get a medium size pot of water boiling. Break up dry spaghetti into 2 inch lengths and throw into pot. Amount to be determined by you. When al dente, strain over the sink and return to pot. Open a can of plain diced tomatoes. Dump half (or all depending on your tastes) into pot and warm up. Sprinkle LOTS of salt and pepper into the pot.
Serve and eat.
Gustatorians everywhere: You are welcome.
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