Saturday, August 20, 2011

A day lily has more guts than I do.

                                                A single day lily
                                                Reports for duty
                                                Brave and all alone
                                                Doesn't hear your laughter
                                                Rejects our ridicule...
Her testament is courage
                                                And she knows you look
                                                And envy her...everything!

      Can you tell I like flowers?  I do!  Color never hurts.  Just a splash here and there.  In a room, on a shirt or blouse.  Why not?  The Swedes paint there doors bright colors.  I'm thinking we're afraid of color.  Afraid to make a statement.  We want to be safe in the shadows, in camo.  No one would laugh at us or point us out.  The world seeks safety.  Risk managers make millions. 

     Still, this dam day lily has my goat.  Every year about this time, in a silly place in the yard, all by it self, it shows up.  Then it just stands there.  Full of expectation.  Saying "look at me you sonsabitches."  And I do, and I get over the funnies, and I think you brave little pretty flower.  Giving all you got regardless.  You don't play it safe, you don't blend in, you just do it.

      I've made about eight blogs so far.  I think about eight more will finish off this road to the finals blog.  I remind you, I've been to the finals before.  Twice, but not in the last ten years.  I'm thinking if I owe you anything or if I need to do anything here,  I've got to be honest.  So, I puked it up today.  I missed the boat.  I dropped the dog.    First, I over slept.  Tb wanted to see the new movie "The Help".  She'd just finished the book,  loved it and to the movie we went.  Got home late.  I'm not an early riser by nature and could not get out of bed.  If you read the last blog you know I planned to load up the sheepers and go to my friends big field and stretch the outrun.  Didn't happen.  I texted him I'd been kidnapped by gypsies and was being held in sleepytown.  He didn't laugh.

     The day got worse.  I realized although I'd hauled the sheep into my place,  I'd not loaded them up in the field.  This I would have to do at my friends, so out to practice loading the trailer in the field I went.  A total mess.  Belle is not a precise dog, not yet.  Back and forth we went.  We looked like a bear cub luv'n up a football.  More so,  I'd been to the USBCHA finals blog and read about all the handlers who are prepping and how often they've been.  My two times without showing great promises, paled next to their attendance every year, their high placings, their obviously greater talent.  I was thinking, I don't have a chance.  I'm not that good a handler, I don't have their experience, the western ewes will kill me.  What kind of fool am I?  Right?   My confidence was zip, zero, zilch.   Then the circus act of trying to load the sheep.   I was chapped.  I had the red ass.  I felt sorry for myself.  I did not want to be there.   Panic parked next to rage.  Almost crying like a pity brat, almost.   Then that dam day lily.

      So all my talk about doing my best and being satisfied, and having fun regardless.  Just talk today.  I did nothing but fail. I have no great predictions or hopes.  I'm sitting down and tired.  If I could back out I would.  To old to fat to tired. 

     Then that little day lily.


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