Italian Muse

My baby girl comes home....

2010-03-08T16:52:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday marked a big day in my life. My 3-year-old mare came home from training. Some may ask, what makes this so monumental? Since I was a little girl, I always dreamed of having a horse. Now, I have two of them. As you may remember, I purchased my gelding Zeke, back in June. He is 14 years old, and pretty much the love of my life (please don’t tell my husband, son, or other pets). But he needed a horse buddy. I looked and looked for the right match. It seemed like every horse I saw had one issue or another. So, I took a chance and bought a baby. This was a huge investment of time and money. The day I picked her up, I drove her to the horse trainer kicking and screaming (literally) in the back of my trailer. She was an unbroken young horse, and I really had no business buying her.

For the past 6 months, Mia (my young mare), has been over at the trainer’s ranch learning to be a well-mannered horse. She came home better than I had hoped. She is calm headed and as sweet as can be; traits she was born with. Her trainer taught her about trust and gave her a work ethic. I watched her cut cows and climb hills in the countryside. And, now she is home, and she is mine.
We have a long way to go to get to know one another. Mia needs hundreds of miles put on her before considered “broke”. In horse language, we say she is a dark color of green. I can honestly say that in my thirty years of working in a stressful and challenging career, that it was a piece of cake when compared to the project I have embarked upon now. Taking responsibility of a young horse has pushed every insecurity button I possess. The fear-o-meter is off the charts. Thankfully, I have surrounded myself with great resources and lots of horse people to support me and guide me along the way.

With all the rain we have had this winter, it finally dried out enough for me to get on Mia, and ride her in my round pen. Her new saddle looked gorgeous on her. She patiently stood while I groomed her and adjusted her tack. I lunged her to get the kinks out. A week without riding a young horse is a long time. Even though, she is out on 8 acres of pasture, she still had lots of energy. She settled in nicely, and I took a deep breath, asked her to take care of me, and got on her. We quietly walked around the pen. With me finding my seat in the new saddle, and Mia, getting comfortable with me on her. She easily picked up a trot when asked, and it felt like we were meant for each other. She was smooth and easy, and soft. I couldn’t have been more pleased.

My baby horse is home, and now that I’ve ridden her, the fear-o-meter needle dropped a bit to the left.

A Hidden Message

2009-12-30T08:53:00.000-08:00

Last night, my husband and I went and saw the hit blockbuster movie "Avatar" in 3D. I had heard so much hype about the movie and its special effects, that I was fearful of being let down. The movie far exceeded my expectations. I am usually not one for big budget Hollywood flicks. I lean more towards the independent type films with deeper meanings and artistic talent.

The movie is truly a visual wonder and I believe it has raised the bar for movie making going forward. What I found most incredible was how James Cameron brilliantly packed his mega blockbuster movie full of political overtones with a strong message.

As I sat in the jam-packed theater with my special 3D glasses weighing down on my nose, I was moved by the human's complete and total disregard for the Na'vi's sacred tree. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched the peaceful loving beings of Pandora run for their lives as the humans from the dying planet Earth destroyed their home in search of resources that they felt entitled to take, no matter what the cost. I fell in love with the peaceful blue Na'vi people who clearly understand better then us humans that ALL creatures must live in harmony and balance.

The powerful message that slapped me in the forehead made me reflect on our (human's) behavior throughout the history of time. Somewhere along the line, we humans came to believe that our wants and desires are more important than any other living creature, culture or plant. The movie's storyline mirrored many mistakes made by our American Foreign Policy. Our greed for oil has driven us to do unmentionable things to other cultures and our planet. While the "treehugger" element was clearly obvious, I can only hope that moviegoers walked away with a different outlook on such things.

I found myself disgusted by the actions of the humans and their soulless military. I literally cheered aloud for the Na'vi people when they defeated their attackers. I openly wept when Jake Sulley found God and learned what it really means to love and serve the world around us.

Congratulations James Cameron for taking a huge risk and presenting the world with an important message. Well done!

Ouch....

2009-09-20T09:46:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, September 17th, my outlook on life forever changed. For years, I have diligently spayed and neutered my cats and dogs. I felt it always best to leave breeding to the professionals. So, I opted to be responsible and make sure my animals would not contribute to the over population of unwanted cats and dogs in this world. I made this decision with little thought, and really no consideration of what it might be like for the animals. After all, I was saving them from getting pregnant, giving birth and raising a litter. But this was the ignorant human side of my thought process. Animals are put on this earth to reproduce and keep their species flourishing. Don't get me wrong, I haven't gone to the extreme on this issue. We must control animal population. What I'm saying is, I did it without any regard for the animal's mental state or feelings. I know there are those chuckling right now that animals don't have "feelings" and don't understand pain. Well, that is pure bullshit that we tell ourselves to help us deal with taking away an animal's sexual identity.

I had my 4-month-old pygmy goat, Oliver, neutered on Thursday. It needed to be done, and I put it off longer than I should of. For this, I am terribly sorry. My waffling on this decision caused him more stress and pain, then had I done it when he was much younger. The Vet arrived at 1:30pm. Oliver didn't know what was about to happen. How could he, he's a goat. It took three of us, to corner Oliver and catch him. When the Vet snatched him and picked him up, he let out a blood-curdling scream that let every other animal within hearing distance know that he was in danger. My horse, Zeke, came running up through the pasture to see what was going on with his buddy. Zeke knew something was terribly wrong. He stood near. His body erect and alert. Ears forward, he flared his nostrils and poked his head around to see what we were doing. I assured Zeke, Oliver was OK and that we weren't going to hurt him. I lied.

The Vet made the first incision in Oliver's scrotum. He screamed. She then took some kind of contraption and cut off his first testicle. Oliver cried out. This time letting the world know that he was caught, and to save themselves. Defeated bleats poured out of Oliver. By the time she cut the second testicle off, he barely made a sound. I stood there with tears in my eyes stroking Zeke's neck. The silence became deafening. My husband broke the spell commenting to the Vet that it must really hurt. To which she replied, "No, it doesn't hurt, he'll be fine in a day." Mike pondered this for a moment. Then he said, "No, that hurt. You've never had your balls cut off in a pasture before, so I doubt you really know."

For two days, Oliver hung out by himself in his goat house. Too sore, he wouldn't lay down. He barely ate, and play was out of the question. This morning, he met me at the gate with Zeke and Lisa (my girl pygmy goat). Hunger had finally overcome the pain. I was so happy to see him with his buddies again. And, when he pushed Lisa off the food and hogged it for himself, I knew he was going to be OK.

The pain I caused this innocent animal humbled me. And, I feel bad that I did it without consideration of him as a living creature. I hope that I never lose this compassion for the pain and suffering of others. After all, this is what makes us human.

Horsing Around.....

2009-09-16T11:15:00.000-07:00

Summer is ending. Thousands of birds are back on the Vineyard; a sure sign that the grapes are ripening and harvest is soon to happen. As you may, or may not, have noticed, I haven't posted to my BLOG since June. In a blink of an eye, 3 months have flown by and poof, summer is over. Since my Junior year in high school, this is the first summer where I have not worked. I have played and played hard all summer. I bought my two horses, Zeke and Mia. Zeke arrived at the end of June. Thus, the slowing down of my writing. And, I bought Mia in August. Zeke came all the way from Salina, Kansas and he is a 14-year-old Palomino Gelding. He is a gorgeous full Quarter Horse that stands 16 hands high, and is a solid 1250 pounds of sinewy muscles. Mia is my 3.5-year-old mare and she is my black beauty. Mia is with the horse trainer for the next several months. He will teach her everything she needs to know about not hurting her new owner. I also brought home my two pygmy goats. What was clearly an impulse buy, has proven to be extremely helpful in keeping Zeke company. The goats absolutely love Zeke, and they follow him all over the pasture. While Zeke grazes lazily under an oak tree, they both curl up in his shadow and sleep peacefully knowing that they are safe. My Chickens are growing fast and are now giving me 7-8 eggs per day. I am going to need more friends to keep up with the egg production. This last week, I opened the chicken coop door up and let the chickens out during the day. They cruise around all day pecking at bugs and leaves. I don't think I have ever seen such happy chickens. Buddy, my cat, hangs out with the chickens and keeps a watchful eye out on them. My three Australian Shepherds have all been introduced to the chickens and taught that they are not to hurt them. Given the unending source of chicken poop coming out of them, and the value the dogs place on this new appetizer, I think they are safe.

I've ridden nearly every other day, went to concerts in the park, visited wineries, and friends, and did a little writing on my novel. I look forward to the cool mornings when I can write, and then ride in the afternoons.

I promise to BLOG more regularly now that Fall is coming. I hope to see you here.

I never knew life could be so good.

Buyer beware.....

2009-06-11T10:49:00.000-07:00

Ever since I can remember, I have always wanted my own horse. When I was little, I collected horse statues and figurines, dreaming of the day when I would one day own my own. Sure, I leased a horse when I lived in Silicon Valley. But it wasn’t the complete fulfillment of my horse dream. She lived 25 minutes from my house. Every night I would go to the barn after work. Most times I barely had enough time to brush her down and clean out her paddock before the sun set for the day.

For the past 6 weeks or so, I have been looking at horses. What I have learned is I have a lot to learn about buying a horse. Quickly, I have come to know that people are selling the horse because of a reason. And, that reason is usually not because it is a solid, healthy and broke horse. The sellers entice me with pictures of their gorgeous gelding smartly saddled and standing tall. They write things like “Just get on him and go, or “Great Husband Horse”. Phrases that mean this horse won’t kill you and even your husband, who really knows nothing about horses, can ride him. I ask a list of about twenty basic questions. To which, I rarely receive answers. This is a huge commitment and investment. Unlike buying the scary “used car” (which I never do), this animal can hurt me. And, I would be beyond disappointed to have my lifelong dream crash and burn with a bad mannered horse pawned off on me - the unsophisticated buyer.

I have enlisted the help of my riding teacher, Jana. I send her these ads of gorgeous Palomino’s with all the “right” things written about the horse, and she sees through all of them. There is nothing like a pair of eyes of a “real” horse person. I can never repay her my gratitude for her help.

Like all things worthwhile, patience is a must. I have to keep reminding myself that I have waited fifty years to realize this dream, and one more week or month is worth it for the dream not to become a nightmare.

Cluck, cluck...

2009-05-12T08:32:00.000-07:00

Continuing with our decision to live more off the land, and less out of the plastic earth harming bags from the local grocery store, we decided to get chickens. I never realized just how much waste we create by purchasing food from a store. I realize we can't all go cold turkey from our mega food stores but every little bit helps when we reduce our dependency on packaged goods.

For Mother's day, my Hubby, and two sons built me the most amazing chicken coop. This past weekend, we picked up 9 hens and 2 roosters. The chickens are about 10 weeks old and have just recently gotten their feathers. When we brought the birds home and let them out in their luxurious coop and run, they looked as if freed from the chains of bondage. I think they actually had smiles on their beaks.

There is nothing like the taste of a farm fresh egg. Having grown up in suburbia, I hadn't had a "real" egg since I was about 8 years old. The shells come in the colors of the rainbow, and the yolk is an amazing bright yellow. Nothing starts your day off better than brightly colored natural Easter eggs for breakfast.

So enamored with my new buddies, I bought a bistro table and chairs to sit next to their coop and watch them peck the ground. There is nothing more relaxing. Mike and I had a laugh the other night as we shared a frosty margarita, sitting by the chicken coop. Mike looked at me, and said, "You realize, only city folk would sit and watch a bunch of chickens walk around." To which I said, "Just wait until we get the goats!"

Nature's Way....

2009-05-01T09:19:00.000-07:00

Meet Mr. Owl. Yes, I was tempted to show my lack of country protocol, and give him a name, but I resisted. His dignity intact, we have left him alone to do his job. We have three owls that live on the vineyard. Being, the country newbies that we are, we went out and hired someone to build and install Owl Houses all around the vineyard. In total, we have six houses. Year after year, they sit, unoccupied, and owl-less. We can't figure out why. All our other neighbors have owls nesting in their houses. See, the thing with owls, is they move in and stay. The ranch becomes their home. Good news is, as long as food is plentiful, they stay. Bad news is if food is plentiful, you have a mice and gopher problem. Which we do, so I gather he will be around a very long time. So concerned was I about the owls rejecting the very expensive house we installed for them, I consulted an expert. He told us that the owls stay and come back every year to nest and have new babies that will also stay. So, why do my owls insist on hanging out in the tree in my rose garden, the tree in my front yard, and the one going up my driveway. They have brand new beautiful houses to live in! According to the expert, here's the issue, our owls are male, the last thing they need is a place to nest. So, I placed an ad on CraigsList under the personals...

SWO (Single White Owl), looking for permanent mate to share my life on a vineyard in the country. Plenty of fresh gophers and mice to eat. I have a brand new house just waiting for you to make it a home. Ready to settle down and have babies. If you desire the same, fly on by.

So far, we've had no responses...

Time to Smell the Roses

2009-04-29T10:00:00.000-07:00

Yeah, it sounds cliché but one must take time for the simpler things in life. While working, I paid a gardener to make my garden look nice so when the neighbors drove by my house, they appreciated what they saw. It certainly wasn't for me. I would leave my house in the morning when it was dark and return long after the sun had set for the day. I always enjoyed gardening; the feel of my hands in the moist cool earth, watching my plants grow quieted my inner critic. I am so fortunate having the time, and the rose garden to work in while I daydream about the characters in my story or be at peace with nature.

Having a milestone birthday this year had such a profound effect on me. No longer will I waste one more day doing something that I do not thoroughly enjoy. Over the past five years, I have known or heard of nearly two dozen people passing to the other side. One of my dearest friends battled breast cancer for over a year. Thankfully, she caught it in time, and was relentless in her pursuit to heal. Tomorrow isn’t promised, and we definitely do not know how many days we have left to squander on this Earth. The key is to make each day count. If you don’t like your job; find a new one. If you are in a relationship that isn’t fulfilling your heart; do both of you a favor, and move on. Take action. Keep moving forward.

Just make sure it is in the direction you want to go.

The Bagel Queen...

2009-04-28T17:48:00.000-07:00

This was by far the worst idea I ever had. When Mike and I decided to move permanently down to Paso Robles from the fast paced crazy Silicon Valley, I figured we would need something to keep us busy, and out of the bars (during the day). The Vineyard is a lot of work but being the over the top extrovert that I am, I needed interaction with people. So, I thought and I thought, what's a Hi Tech Gal to do with herself in the land of grapes. And, then it hit me! Well, the idea wasn't exactly that linear, it was after sitting on our back deck looking over section 3 of our vineyard, and drinking Margaritas with our friend Bill (who is now a partner)on a very warm July evening, that it came to me. There were no bagel stores in Paso, and the one in SLO would make my Jewish ancestors roll over in their graves. What a great idea! We will open a bagel cafe in Paso, and then expand down into SLO, the following year. It must have been some tequila we were drinking...

I had naive fantasies of owning quaint bagels cafes where the bagels were authentic Jewish style, the food fresh and delicious, and I would cruise in on a Saturday morning, grab my egg bagel sandwich and latte, and relax reading the NY Times book section, all the while my heart filling with pride over people flocking to my bagels.

I was so far off base, it was damn near delusional. Do you know how early a person has to get up to bake bagels? I'll go ahead and answer for my partner Bill, 2am!!! And it is constant work, all day long. Between waiting on customers, managing hourly employees, and making food, it never stopped. Everyday single day; day in, and day out.

Needless to say, I never did get to sit outside in the sun, read the paper and eat a bagel. It was way too hard of work for me. I decided to go back to the corporate world (and yes, that story is definitely worth a BLOG all on its own)

Bill, bless his soul, is still my partner, my friend, and baking the bagels.

Thanksgiving's Joyful Noise

2009-04-27T10:32:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is my first blog post ever. I thought I would start with a nice self-deprecating story, and then see where that leads me. Enjoy.

I love Thanksgiving. Actually, I love any opportunity to cook and enjoy time with my friends. Thanksgiving gives me a great excuse.

One year I was entertaining a nice sized crowd, about a dozen folks. I had set my table on Tuesday, and it looked fabulous. I set each place setting with my great Aunt Reva’s silver and placed my Grandmothers six-way sterling silver candlesticks at each end of the table. The crystal water and wine glasses sparkled. I scattered tiny gourds and fall leaves from one candlestick to the other for table decoration.

I cook as many things as I can the day before Thanksgiving. I cook mashed potatoes and the stuffing and any other side dishes I can warm up in the oven. I get the turkey brining. This time I was busy until at least ten o’clock at night cooking and cleaning up. I took a last look around the kitchen to make sure everything was ready for the next day, turned on the dishwasher, turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed.

I have a house alarm. I’m single and it gives me some comfort to know I would at least be alerted if someone entered the house. I always set it when I go into my bedroom for the evening, then close the bedroom door. This night was no different.

Finally, I’m settled into bed, reading just one chapter before the lights go out. I’m relaxing into my pillows and then hear some kind of clatter. I perk up, listening harder. Damn, it sure sounds like, what? Like dishes clattering. Like silver crashing together.

My stomach clinched, my heart raced. There was someone in my house. The alarm was set. How did they get in? What are they doing? It sounds like they are rifling through my dinner table, picking up the silver. I listened again, trying to convince myself it was just my imagination. The dining room is just below my bedroom. I listened for footsteps and convinced myself I heard them.

I picked up the phone and called 911. The man who answered was much more calm than I was. He told me to go lock my bedroom door. Told me the police were on the way. Told me when the officers arrived. Did I have a key with me that I could throw down to the officers from my window? I didn’t.

The officers peered through my front door’s window and saw no one. I was instructed to turn off the alarm and open the door .The police were right there and they would let the dogs in as soon as I was out of the house.

I was shaking and scared, but I still had the presence of mind to put on my slippers and a thick flannel robe. And then I thought, what if I meet someone on the stairs? How do I defend myself? The best thing I could come up with was perfume. I figured I could squirt the assailant in the eyes with some Jean Patou.

I crept down the stairs, saw the officer’s flashlight in the living room. I threw open the door and the officer jerked me out of the house and hustled me away. Two big German Shepherds ran into my home.

I shivered in the chill air, waiting for the all clear. The dogs said no one was in thet house. The officers walked with me through my home, looking in all closets, and under beds. They reassured me all was fine.

When they left, I felt the adrenaline surge diminish, and I was suddenly and overwhelmingly tired. I started up the stairs back to my bedroom.

But then I heard that noise again. Dishes clattering! Silver chiming like bells! Oh my God!

It was the damn dishwasher.

Okay, in my defense, I hardly ever run the dishwasher when I’m home, and never before bed. My routine is to set the thing right before I leave for work. I had no idea it was that noisy. I still have that dishwasher, although it is reaching the end of its service life. Guess what one of the top requirements are for a new one?

Oh yeah. Thanksgiving turned out fine, and everyone had a good laugh at my expense. To my guests, You’re Welcome.

To Burn or not to burn…

2009-04-27T08:27:00.000-07:00

Here’s the deal. Like you, I too am worried about my carbon footprint. I want to reverse the damage us mortals have done to our planet. I get it. Hell, I even spent 14 months working for a renewable energy company (definitely, a BLOG unto its own) trying to atone for the irresponsible behavior of my youth. But, what do you do with all the stuff a ranch accumulates? I can only compost so much. We have an orchard with 23 different fruit trees and this year the trees needed a big grooming. This left us with 25 truckloads of branches. Short of digging a hole the size of our house to bury them in, what is a city girl to do? Sure, you snort, isn’t it obvious? Hello, didn’t we see Fargo? Get a wood chipper. Well, I looked into that. The size of the one we need to do the job cost about as much as a new BMW.

So, we burned…and, now I repent. Taking the better part of Sunday, Mike and I loaded up the truck with branches (and these are huge buggars), drove around the orchard to the burn pile, unloaded the truck, got the fire going, and fetched more branches. We did this for six hours straight, and I stopped counting truckloads after 15. Doing a quick calculation of the damage we did on the environment today, had there been any doubt before, I am surely going to Hell now.
My singed eyebrows, crispy and curly, outline my scorched face, staring me back from the mirror, a constant reminder that I did wrong.

I am sorry Mother Earth.

A Patch of My Own...

2009-04-25T09:25:00.001-07:00

OK, so I missed the window of "Early" spring to plant my vegetable garden. Cut me some slack, it was after all my 50th birthday when the First Lady sowed her seeds. I had parties to attend, Disneyland to visit. I was busy. Today, I am getting it done!

One would think with 22 acres (huge by California standards), planting some veggies would be a snap. Wrong! Remember those little furry friends of mine I wrote about yesterday? They would sing me praises mowing through my fresh vegetables, nice and protected, away from the hawks flying over, they may even forgive violence against their families.

A garden in the country takes preparation and work. My lovely hubby, Mike, built me raised planter boxes for my birthday. I know you're thinking what the heck kind of birthday present is that? At fifty, either it’s a full body make-over or simple things like planter boxes. So, anyway, on Wednesday, I had delivered five yards of rich dark planting mix. This morning, we will lay the chicken wire on the bottom (in a vain attempt to keep the gophers from coming up through the bottom), and use the tractor (cool toy you get to have when you move to the country. Much more useful than my black Jaguar), to move the soil. Fun! And, my husband gets to use his Tonka toy to help. Everybody wins!

So, here's my dilemma; Old Italian is to only plant seeds on a full moon. Problem is, the next one isn't until May 9th. If I wait until then, spring is damn near over, and the little plants will burn to death in the heat here in Paso. So, I figure, I will temp the Italian Gods, and plant my seeds today on the day of the "New Moon". New or full, how could it really matter? My Nonna is turning in her grave as I write.

Wish me luck, pray to the vegetable seed gods, and stay tuned.

Oh, did I mention I have a "black" thumb?

Gophers, Ground Squirrels, and Bunnies.....

2009-04-24T08:53:00.000-07:00

If someone would have told me a few years ago that I would be living in the country on a ranch with a vineyard, retired from the rat race, writing my first novel, and feeling hatred towards rodents that would rival those of Bill Murray's character in Caddyshack, I would have surely thought them crazy. But it is true. I am losing my mind over these cheeky little animals.

I no longer rise early to do the hair and make-up regime, only to sit in my car for forty-five minutes to drive eight very small miles. Now, I wake, walk downstairs in a semi-conscious state, grab some coffee, and lock myself away in my writing room. Reading what I wrote from the day before, I reacquaint myself with my story, and away I go. Next thing I know it's 1pm, I'm still in my PJ's, un-bathed, and my dogs are looking at me like I have literally gone over the edge.

After doing the required daily personal maintenance, I head out to the vineyard to check the plants, and turn on the water. This is where the rodents come in. In total, we have about 6,000 plants on 10 acres of vineyard. Between the three furry evil animals, they can take out a hundred plants in a day. And, that's without breaking a sweat. I feel so Eva Gabor in Green Acres (minus the lovely skin and accent) as I jump into the Gator (http://www.deere.com/en_US/ProductCatalog/HO/series/HO_gator_xuv_series.html) and head out to defend our plants against the perils of nature. My Aussies, running and barking lead the charge. With any luck, they kick-up a bunnie, and off they go, running their little hearts out, in hopes of catching the cute little buggar. I drive through the rows, and mound after mound of fresh dark soil mocks me. The telltale sign, that while I slept without a care in the world, some gopher was munching the roots of my vines all through the night. During the American Idol (yes, I am addicted) results show on Wednesday, my cat Perla (a BLOG unto itself), brought in and laid at my feet, two recently killed gophers. Tears sprung to my eyes, I swept the cat up in my arms, kissing her; I thanked her for her hard work. Last night she brought me another one. I LOVE that cat!

In a blink of an eye, I have gone from having a personal shopper at Nordstrom to celebrating the death of rodents. It is the small things in life that can really make us happy.

Cats 3; Dogs 0