A number of you readers may think writing comes easily for me. Yes it’s true, I can spin a clever metaphor and on occasion, a well-placed oxymoron, but the doggone truth is, I struggle with writing. The act of writing makes my paws sweat and this is not a good thing because it leaves traceable trail.  Most days, I hate it, writing that is. I dig for any excuse to postpone the writing. When Annie slides the screen door open on the Arizona morning, I dash, separating myself from my brain brimful with thought and potential prose. 

I scrounge for any acceptable interference to defer the writing. To help you better understand my condition, lately l have taken to following clark when he shuffles to the bathroom with book in hand. For those of you who may have advanced to 2^nd year undergraduate coursework in soft psychology: resist your inclination to armchair Freudian interpretation.  I follow him merely to evade that guillotine called writing.  Recently, I have come to know there is a sensory tariff to be paid for trailing clark to his preferred reading station.

I’m sad to report I’ve not been able to punish the Tubac lizard since my arrival.

I want to. Hurt him, that is. When I spot one, and there have been several sightings, the tongue wagging from the lizard never ceases. As a Bostie, I cannot accept this kind of blatant disrespect as we consider tongue wagging to be a sign of contempt.  Thus, I find myself standing, much like a pillar of salt over the top of what I can only surmise to be his home….waiting. Waiting for the moment when I can put a good squeeze on that knucklehead.  For those of you are not so well informed, we Bosties bring bone-breaking force to anything we choose to clamp our jaws upon. I only hope this information does not keep anyone from loving us and providing a good home. My apologies for what have sounded much like a paid political endorsement, “Yes, I am Enya, and I approve this ad.”

Well buckaroos, I almost had one today. The Tubac lizard, that is. Annie and I were out hiking the Anza Trail this morning while clarko was peddling the bike.  I could smell him long before I knew where he was hiding. I’ve smelled a dead javlina previously so I know rotten stinky. Trust me, one  Tubac lizard smells worse than 3 of those wild pigs. Before I could shorten the distance between us, he was on to me. Diving beneath a hefty rock I could not dislodge the cretin. I dug frantically until Annie made me  stop digging. There was no further pursuit, my quest had ended.

We return to Montana Monday. Alas, I have little to show for my pursuits. My tan is enviable, and my athletic condition has improved, but still no lizard to claim. Don’t ask me about lizards lost. I hope everyone is looking forward to my return. I’m excited about getting back to our spot in the “root.” We have flowers to plant.  I love Montana. How could anyone not?

Happy Trails,

Enya

The Answer, my Friend, is Blowing in the Wind...

Here we are, blown home by the wind through sleet, through rain and through thoughts of the land. We silently drive knowing that the land is sinking into our core. There is something to be said about traveling, living in several places during the year. It brings a sense of curiosity about our surroundings, about our past and most definitely about our sense of place that lives within our hearts. Cobwebs of experience fill the nooks of our brains. We gently examine them with love, wipe them away and replace them with similar patterns the next day. 

The first sensation that hits us is the placement of clouds. Thick, heavy juicy clouds looming overhead and around us in varying shapes and forms.

Dripping with moisture and possibilities for the future of the land. 

The skies in Arizona are close, dazzling with stars that seem to burst through the retina. Falling stars occurred several times while I sat beneath the sky. Montana's skies are just as magnificent in their own right with large looming blocks of blues and clouds of artistic shapes drifting by on the wind.

Childlike wonder is aroused.
We soaked up the weeks with good friends, food and drink.

Our animal friends came to visit with and without their com padres. The basset hound Missy would show up at our front porch barking with delight until Enya and I acknowledged her presence. What a delight she is, joyful enthusiasm at our feet! Come play with me! Fred, the red heeler, would show up behind Missy gently wiggling his rear in hopes that biscuits could be shared. As we headed out on the golf course for a walk both Missy and Fred would run for the fresh cow manure pile... ah yes and roll with delight! True friends by every right! 

Sitting on our friend's patios with appetizers and drinks brought conversation about the world we live in. Laughter at the absurdity of every day life, hopes for our children and sharing of our talents with the world. All are equal in these conversations and that is so appreciated. There are no barriers or false pretenses... there need not be at our age. And that is appreciated. 

I'm glad to be home, with new grand babies entering the world, grand babies to soak up, upcoming shows to set up, MAP members to meet and provide coaching, friends to visit with and so many adventures to share. 

Sunday Blast into the desert!

This was work week, volunteer style, at the wonderful Tubac Center of the Arts! Here in a small town of around 1200, sitting in the high desert at around 3200 feet, lies a wealth of art history. Tubac is one of the oldest communities in the state of Arizona. Taken from the website tubacarizona.com:
 With 90 galleries and studios & only 40 miles south Tucson, Tubac is home to sculptors, painters, potters, artisans and jewelers. The center of Tubac's cultural life is the Tubac Center of the Arts, which offers a robust schedule of events that include exhibitions, performing arts and art education and classes for children.
I worked for around 3 1/2 hours and met over 200 people from all around the world. Impressive and educational. I sincerely push people towards volunteering at a non-profit that you admire and love!

Off we headed into the Sonoran desert landscape! Beautiful and bold by any standards. The ocotillo was beginning to bloom along with many other cactuses as well. This impressive drive provided javelinas, snakes, sycamore trees, and impressive rock formations. I'm still on the lookout for the tarantula, for my grandson Triston, or the horned lizard as well as scorpion. The snake, of which I photographed, decided to head towards my legs as I was filming and I was quite impressive with my leap into the air!

You'll notice with a little imagination that the rock formations begin to look like Mt. Rushmore! 

I believe a desert version of our garter snake at home? 

The rooting, tooting javelina on the run from us Montana visitors!

Painting Snippets!

Sunshine on my shoulders allows expression to spill upon the canvas.
This video reveals the journey of a painting, a painting entitled "Skyward Visions". This painting is based upon my journey into the Wilderness. There are many secrets and the use of imagination reveals the secrecy of the forest floor. It's full of life, full of color, full of magic.
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Annie

Wisdom from the birds and the ruins of Tumacacori

Enjoy the sights and sounds
of birds
dancing to and fro
The magical wisdom of Tumacacori
Blessings your way.

Enya Says (and she's feeling mighty feisty :)

At the time of this morning’s pawing, I’ve had just the one margarita. As many of you may also reason, my sun is over the yardarm somewhere.  On a normal day, this liquid indulgence would be a tad early for me but lately I’ve been under some stress. If you read my previous blog, you know arrival here was not a July picnic in Montana. Well, we survived that “tough trip to Tubac” and began to settle into a lovely rhythm, which served me nicely for a few days. Then Annie disappeared into that abyss called the Tubac Art Festival. One week of discovery and success for her but one week alone with clarko for me. Certainly the reassurances and bribes from Annie as she walked out the villa door in the morning were appreciated. But after that..oddness and silence.  Clark did a sing along with Pandora and mimicked John Denver, Buck Owens, Aretha, and of course, Marty Robbins.  Thinly masked entertainment always brings me to my knees. And this was only the beginning.  Clarko is compulsive about the bowel movement, mine that is.  For you readers, know that I require no assistance in this arena. I feel clarko lacks a basic trust in what I control.  This is how it generally unfolds: We go to the back yard. I observe that he has two Safeway baggies in his rear pocket presumably for my detritus. He barks a few shouts of human encouragement for me to do something, and I cannot produce… much like a farmer with a bad crop.  At this stage of my life if you can’t do it, you don’t produce it.  We head back into our villa and I’m thinking, I’d rather poo on the carpet than surrender my free will.

Oh my, I suspect I’ve ventured into the world of national politics with my expressions.  I used to be a democrat kind of Bostie back in another day although I never officially registered. So many of us don’t want to be registered. Nor do I wear my tags well. Annie puts them on me when we go through Border Security, for my own protection I guess.  Generally, I simply dislike being put into a category, even one that says I’ve had my shots and am not a threat to national safety. Some of you may have recently viewed my image on Face book or wherever Annie chooses to toss me.  I say right here on social media that my hairline, like Donald’s is genuine. In fact, I assert that you can easily view more of my frontal lobes than Donald’s. Surely you remember from your reading of psychology today that the lobes govern stuff like judgment, problem solving, speech, etc. Since these are valuable assets for any president I assert that candidates should be required to expose their frontal lobes so we can all see what the old control panel looks like. My final observation of the day is offered in defense of my friend, the duck. There are many of them in the pond near where we live. Mostly, they play happily together in the pond, keep to themselves, pleased with the sun and water, and are appreciated by people who like green grass, which the ducks help fertilize. No duck ever did me any harm. Just remember as the crazy days approach, a vote for Donald is not a vote for a duck.  

Happy trails,

enya
PS: A reminder that the Bosty named Enya has a mind of her own :)