Grandsons. Drop them off at the truck stop North Bend. Their mother is so thankfulfor the days. But then my first hour at Kathy's taunt weave of thoughts about to split and fray. Stand to leave then sit back down and another hour for an inch under the surface where my thoughts are my thoughts and not who wants: what's there to eat, can we watch a movie, can we go down to the creek, can we start a fire? Finally Kathy and I talk about men. Somehow it comes out of nowhere how badly men age: Truck driver, CEO, contractor. Once it was enough that they were muscled and healthy. Provide and then not sole providers and then no providing at all. They used to stand out in the world. Did things only each one could do and the point was not to share. It was the wheeler dealer one way or the other. And we women did all the other things. All-the-other-things. In a cooperative, with feeling and we are still doing it. These men got anxious and depressed. They are surpassed. Their muscles are slack, hands shake, and carburetors lie rusting in the junk yards. But Kathy and Jacki and I, we never could rely on our beauty our ability to wear bikinis unabashedly. We were impossibly supple, lithe with smooth skin but only saw the quarter inch of roll above our jeans. We saw that our eyebrows spilled forward toward our nose, that our cup size was never enough and we went into aging counting only on our own resilience. There is a myth that men age well but women decline. But it was always only appearances. Men, our generation, age badly.

Give a little shake of my head to find myself in Roslyn. Always just the tiny town to slow down through on the way to a trail head. Then Northern Exposure - "You really should watch it. You remind me of the woman who owns the store." Not a compliment; I was forty five when Russ said that. Now, parking in Roslyn two, three times a month. Favorite Pre-Hispanic restaurant in Roslyn. Buy stamps in Roslyn. Writers Group Roslyn. Poets' Pot-Luck Roslyn. Last night, first time in seven years, fellow poet drives out from town to give me a ride to Roslyn! Today: all plans are off. Snows this morning, rain now. Tony cleaning goat paddock stalled out and Mike cancels due to weather. My cold is boring into sinuses. I saute onions to deep and dark then will add wine, French Onion Soup. Bread in a bowl to rise by the wood stove. Signing up for $5 retiree class CWU, looking for me student ID. Find five cards from my mom. She says, from years ago in Flordia, that my plane has just taken off and all my worries are sorted out. Which worries? Life leaks worries. No one shares worries like a mother. I will spend the rest of this day with tears stinging behind my eyes. Now, horses are my salvation.

Last night Jaci the Akbash is limping on her left hind. Can't get her in the barn. This morning I throw my jacket over my nightgown, shove my barefeet in barn shoes and run out in the gloaming rain. At least Jaci follows me to the barn-yard so I can shut both gates and restrict her running. Later I will find her inside the barn. Jaci needs to stay off that leg. When I asked Tony w nights ago, he is eating the meat loaf special at the Buzz Inn. Tony says what he likes about the goats is the tax right off. I say I like goats. I like the animals. I like being part of the ecosystem. When we go to take 2 young does up to Bob and Bernice's buck, Oreo, the 2 I pick are very pregnant! Eeesch. Good we looked closely. We move Rene and her 2 down to the goat shed. The pregnant 2 come in the barn pens with Poppy. Then the 2 does that are Cindy Lou's daughter and foster ride up to Bob and Bernice's. I give this bunch their shots, the non pregnant their dewormer and all of these get their feet trimmed. Mike says he can come Sunday and pound T-posts so we can make a paddock for Kalypso especially but also give us more alternatives for all 3 horses. Then with Mike's help we will increase the side of the goat shed pasture. This is what I buy at the Old MIll this morning. (after Badger gets his shots and ears cleaned - 95 lbs) 1 horse dewormer, 3 5-way horse vaccines, bottle of goat dewormer, bottle of goat CDT vaccine, 2 dog vaccines and dog dewormer. We are ready for April Fools Day! And I feel good. There is a live-wire of vitality in this work. (The beautiful, long haired young women take photos of Badger's first store experience and he did well.)

Proximity: nearness in relation, occurrence or place time and order. Push-pull for me to go on an overnight with a friend. Henrik is here from Denmark for a clinic. Because of the snow this year, I can't ride and neither can Jackie. I am the grandmother clock pendulum. On one side is the attraction to be with humans who have verbal conversation but the other side is my lifelong rash from proximity. Horse clinics are a soup of pathetic fallacy: words that give human feelings or qualities to animals. Am I any different? Don't I come face to face with my own fear of emotive claustrophobia in each horse? Man from Blue Mountains, he says he lives in the most beautiful place in the world and the elevation is 3,500. I do not tell him that I lived in the most beautiful place in world at 10,000 feet on a forest service road, Flat Tops, Rocky Mountains. Instead, I tell him about Kalypso running straight into me, me flying threw the air. He says that it takes only one time to get killed. He wants to give me advice. With horses there is ten different types of advice per quarter inch. I watch Henrik, I watch the horses and riders, I wait to go home because I didn't drive myself. But eventually we do go home and I did survive. Today, I take Kali out and keep her out of my space. I am the capital R for Respect, and she is the little r. I make a plan to longe two times a week and the other days Kali will walk shoulder to shoulder with me and after we get to the end of the driveway, we will cross small creeks, we will circle sage and bitter brush, go up through the blue gate and around Rod's out-buildings and she will not knock me down. Beau will walk with strength and Kansas will settle down and not be the princess. By the time I am done with all three horses, picked up poop again, filled buckets again, swept the barn again, I clean the pen Josie and her new baby sleep in. I toss the old water across the barn's cement apron and give Josie clear, cold water. I give Josie cob, soy and a pinch of horse vitamins. The baby boy sleeps in the 20 gallon, blue hay bucket. He is a white-beige with a dark stripe down his back. He reminds me of his uncle long gone. When I pick him up, I wonder how long I can keep him with us. I name him (yes, I name him) Carl Junior.

When I was twenty one I got my second horse. He was only two, an appaloosa named Joker. I had to wait another summer primarily, in my mind, because I was pregnant. We lived in the Rocky Mountains, way up. Chuck bred Joker. Chuck was a soft skinned man with short red hair. He was older than me, probably thirty. Chuck did not own dangerous handsome. I knew Joker as a colt and then the next year he was for sale. Chuck said he was "green broke". This is how young I was and how different riding horses was in those mountains in the early 70s: I just got on and started riding him. At first I didn't have a saddle. I had two really young kids who needed me but getting hurt didn't register. There are some things that we did in those days I would never do to a horse again but I spent a whole summer riding Joker. He was young and took in everything he saw. We rode by ourselves way out on the forest service road and jumped the ditches on the way home. Nothing lasted in my life except my children in those days. Cats, men, friends, horses, all disappeared. There is an ache deep inside my body when I think of all the lives, the things, that have sifted right through this sieve. I heard long ago that Joker got tangled in wire and was put down. There's a photo of Joker on my dresser these days. Now, three horses and I have been working for the last two weeks slowly in-hand, then once the arena was snow free, longeing. Today I got the long-lines out thinking tomorrow I'd ride Kansas. Even on long-lines she was a handful. She was pressured, racing, resisted control. I am old and I will not ride tomorrow. So, all three horses: Kalypso longe, Beau and Kansas long-line. But, what if I was still young, I would not hesitate.

Call with Anne: 1 step at a time - friendship with Tony. I need the help. He needs the animals. Tony, go camping in the trailer every month, twice a month. We never spent so much time together. We both like solitary. Go camp and gain independence, confidence. Give me space. When he gets home he says yes, he'd like to. Anne & I say, it is time to work as little as possible. It is time to write poetry. Five years. Cut down on goats. I need to stay on my course. Alexander Hamilton: I won't give away my shot. Hellow: here is Mary. Mary & I out for Mexican dinner, big beers. Drive home rain & fog. 1 goat has head stuck in feeder but comes free with cruel push in the dark. Wind blows hard. Ice on goat water. Morning, I am short: cold, the horses need work, I want to sit by the no-fire-fire after feeding, cleaning stalls. Mary comes down to horses. We brush together like we did at Barnabee. Mary takes photos of Kalypso. She is dark with red highlights in the sun, fluid and young and sweet. 3 dogs in the video. Old black one stands dazed, big white puff watches alert, black & white lurks in the back-ground carrying a foot long leg bone. On the video you can hear the wind. My glasses are splashed and spotted from watering eyes. Kansas. We scrub yesterday's war paint off with brushes. She is mostly white & gray. Mary & I trot and walk down the driveway with my mare. At the gate I take the bridle off. The 3 of us walk & trot back up out of free choice. I say we don't have to take Beau, I can do stall exercises. Mary says we owe it to him. We do stall exercises and then trot & walk both directions. Beau arches his orange neck. Yesterday I tell Anne I am a participant now in life. I don't want to turn life into a retirement plan. She says no I can't become a retirement plan. I need to live every second of my life. Mary and I sit on the red metal bench in front of the porch in the sun. She says her thumbs hurt. I show her my middle finger will not move to straightness. We both have a finger that locks especially in the morning. When I stand up my right hip will ache from the cold. Tony drives in in the red pickup. We 3 sit facing the sun.

Incessant: ceaseless & unending. Husband: someone who has a household. Tony went to motel for 2 nights: break from incessant animal requests. Being alone is a gratitude. Irritation, its avoidance is sucked back into the mud. Water runs at a gallop. Seasonal pools overflow. When the trailer comes home any day now, I will insist Tony takes 3 nights away every month if not twice a month. I will shoo him up the mountain when the snow disappears or shoot him over to Teanaway to camp. I will buy propane and a shower stool. Tony will be a Jules Verne of the forest with all his disabilities intact. In the meantime, I called Mary. She is passing by on her way home today and will spend the night. Why is it that sleep-overs for girls, women, old ladies are always full of freedom and warmth? I can't wait!