A (Kind of) Old Horse, a (Kind of) New Idea

Clifford greeting kids at West Branch Library, summer 2011.  Tape on the floor is a boundary for kids so nobody gets accidentally stepped on! Clifford goes to every child in the front row. Those who shrink away he will pass by.

Imagine a full-sized horse coming into your library or assisted living center, and the impact that makes on the children and residents therein.  Imagine the good you can do when you can make an impact like that.

Further, imagine having a horse with the intuition to know who needs him most, with the cool-headedness to accept all kinds of situations, and the brains to stay focused and perform when asked, and the sense of humor to add his own little twist into each program.

We have a wonderful opportunity.

I did have to put Clifford's talents aside last year in order to take care of my Dad as he grappled with what turned out to be lung cancer.  Dad beat the cancer but it was at a tremendous cost -- pneumonia finally took him on March 30.

So, we will tour in 2013 in Dad's honor.  Our touring vehicle has been rendered non-usable, and our horse trailer, Wheelzebub, is old and no longer adequate for long trips.  It is time to start anew, in many ways.

Clifford will be 22 on April 22.  Our time is now!  Since this is totally unique and possibly unprecedented, I want to take a videographer on tour and make a feature documentary.

You can be a part of this new adventure.  Check out our fundraising program.  And we already have our first contribution!


Look back here for updates as we proceed.  Clifford is finally shedding his winter coat.  He is getting ready.

Today's Project - A Loon for My Dad

"Display on Dark Water", acrylic on canvas, 9x12"

After 87 years on the planet, my dear Dad has left for higher ground.  I am so very sad.  He was a great man, my best buddy and the source of so many good thoughts and conversations.  I will miss him horribly, forever.  It is still so early, and I haven't thought about how I am going to come to terms with this tremendous loss, but I feel every day pulling me farther away from his time here.

This is my firat painting since he's been gone, a fitting one as we often sat out on the deck at camp in the evenings, listening to the loons yodel and howl as they flew over to settle into Bailey's Lake.  It was my favorite part of the days on Drummond.

Dad gave me a great gift in sharing his love for the natural world.  He taught me respect for the earth and for all living things.  When I am walking through the woods I usually see something that I can't wait to tell him about.  I know I will always think of him when I am in the woods.  I hope that, because of this, I will somehow be able to keep him close by.

Native Americans considered the loon the totem of dreams.  To see a loon signifies that you are drawing closer to your dearest hopes and wishes.  Of course, to the mainstream, a loon is a term for crazy -- which at this point in time, is totally accurate.  With the current mess
of characters crawling out of the woodwork, it would have to be loons.

It's either that or vultures.

"Loon Light" acrylic on canvas 9x12", 2012

International Women's Day - the Woman I Admire Most

“Your new little sister is a Mongoloid,” Dad’s tone was somber and he watched us all carefully for a reaction.  It was September 1970.  Dad had sat us all down, all seven of us, so that we could understand the depth of this new development.  The baby was going to show up with slanted eyes and a large, protruding, pointed tongue.

At nine years old, I took this all very seriously.  From his description she sounded like some sort of freak.  But my heart immediately went out to her.

Then she arrived.  She didn’t look like a freak.  She was a pink and golden infant with perfect skin and tiny, plump clenched fists.  It had been five years since we’d had a baby in the house, and when this one opened her eyes, I saw they were navy blue, so dark that the pupils were indiscernible.  I fell immediately, violently in love.  I had never seen a baby more beautiful.  I even loved her name:  Amanda Christina Bowman Bailey.  Maybe it was my age, or perhaps it was the fact that she was different from other babies, but some sort of tender mothering thing in me kicked in.  This became my baby.  I dressed her.  I fed her.  I changed her.  I held and talked to her for hours.  I sat by the crib and watched her sleep.

Amanda age 2, and already a superstar! Note one shoe off...

 As she grew, she became very much her own person, filled with the typical sweetness that people with Down's are known for.  But she has an added twist of sarcasm and an unexpected wit that will ambush the innocent bystander.  She has remained my good buddy all these years.  Her stoicism grounds me in ways that no one else can.  (Like the time she handed me a five dollar bill and said, "Go get a Coke and calm yourself.")

I've kept a journal of quotes from her over the years, and reviewing them always makes me wish I had started sooner.  Here's hoping for many more quotes, many more movies and pizzas and Girl's Day Out events with Amanda.

Nancy: Amanda, your eye is red. Does it hurt?

Amanda: No.

Nancy: Look that way. Look this way. Look up.

Amanda: It's okay.

Nancy:  How many fingers am I holding up?

Amanda: Two. (Making the shape of an L on her forehead) How many

fingers am *I* holding up?

Posing by Manistique light house!

·         Amanda: I told you about Elizabeth Taylor, right?

·          Me: I heard.

·         Amanda:  She's going to be buried right smack dab next to Michael Jackson. At Neverland Ranch.

·         Me: Michael Jackson is buried at Neverland Ranch?

·         Amanda: Yes. They have a cemetary there.

·         Me: They do?

·         Amanda: Yes.

·         Me: Who else is buried there?

·         Amanda: Elizabeth Taylor!

Amanda frequently helps out with Clifford's events.

Me:  I hate driving when I’m this tired.  My judgment is like the weather: A little cloudy. 

Amanda:  It’s not THAT bad.

Me: Aw, thanks Manda!

Amanda:  I meant the weather.

Dad and Amanda, 2012

Me (attempting to wax philosophical): What's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?

     Amanda (without hesitation): You.

"Amanda With Her Coke", illustration from "Clifford of Drummond Island"

Hair

A regular social event for Mom and Dad and Amanda is a trip to the hair salon. The salon owner’s dog, Abbey, has known Dad since a puppy and now the minute he walks in the door she starts hitting on him. She wants him to play ball with her. Abbey is a Chesapeake Bay Retriever with a voracious play drive. Dad takes the ball and takes her outside and throws it for her. He also takes Peggy Sue, the Jack Russell, out for a potty break and sweeps up the floor!

Trudy the Imp!

Last night we rode out to Reva’s Lake. It was Airatude’s turn to run loose and as she trotted along with us, I remembered a trick she had pulled on Dad just a couple of days prior.

The horses love Dad. He lets them out of the corral to roam at will together, and they are good about staying around. That morning, however, Trudy took off down the road. Dad yelled and hollered. “Trudy! You get back here!” He walked down the road after her and picked up a branch, shaking it. Trudy came back and did three full circles around the camp in a mad gallop.

“You settle down now!” he scolded.

She ran down the road again and disappeared.

Dad began to mutter under his breath as he set off after her. From my vantage point out the camper window, I could see Trudy, standing among the cedars right in front of his pickup truck. Because she is so dark, she was nearly invisible. She didn’t move. She was watching him with her ears up and it was perfectly clear that she was hiding on him. His eyes are still keen though, and with a hard look that way he spotted her. He started laughing. “Why you little devil!”

She was busted. She came out, head down, resigned, and walked up to him.

I often wonder how animals seem to understand camouflage so well.