Tag Archives: deer

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #62. Happy New Year! (September 2021)

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            What? New Years already? I know it may sound strange, but that’s what this time is for me—and always has been. When I was a kid the final days of summer marked an end to my untethered happiness and freedom. The start of school threatened to undermine my sense of well-being as visions of long hours trapped indoors permeated every bone in my body—lowering a cold, dark veil of doom. I can’t help but think that my feelings of malaise, which tend to surface toward the end of each summer, might very well stem from these strong childhood emotions. Intellectually, I understand that this state is very confining and limiting, but it still takes a bit of an attitude adjustment to move past it.

Later, as an adult, this time of year had me preparing and beginning a new session of dance classes at the studio, along with the collaborative decision of what story ballet would be our focus that year. It was all so new and exciting each time, launching our whole family and so many wonderful Ramona dancers into another cohesive work of art, incorporating music, choreography, dramatics, gymnastics, costuming, dancing, backdrops… It developed a life of its own; one that I feel extremely grateful to have been able to enjoy for so many decades.

            This fall ushers in a new school year, and the weather begins to cool ever so slightly. The sun arcs across a lower part of the sky casting longer shadows and yellowing light. Vacations come to an end, extra-curricular activities fill children’s after-school hours, the holidays slide into view… And the thought of another year of not getting together (indoors) with relatives puts a damper on what we can safely look forward to.

            But as The New Year awakens, there are glimmers of hope out there. The deer are still going about their business here in the canyon and more are coming in closer for water and food. Rutting season is approaching—so there’s that. Something to look forward to? This past spring’s young, who still look so vulnerable, may not think so. But who knows? I certainly don’t.

            But this is the time of year when I reassess the things I’ve been doing: projects, writing, puttering, attaining or not attaining goals… and do some hard thinking about my priorities. Am I fulfilling my obligations to myself, family and community? Am I being productive enough to keep me satisfied? What can I reasonably look forward to for the coming year(s)? Not that I come up with all the answers—or even close. But for me, it beats frittering my time away without at least contemplating the alternatives.

            Sometimes one day can drag on as if it were five while others disappear in the blink of an eye. This year has flown by and I find myself trying to grab it by the tail and ride it into the next—hoping (beyond hope?) that we will come out of this pandemic intact and perhaps better for it.

            No matter what all this may mean for each of us—I wish you all A Happy New Year!

 

Chi Varnado has four newly published books. The Old House in the Country, women’s fiction; and three YA novels in The Dance Centre Presents series. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are also available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com. You can follow her on Instagram or on www.Facebook.com/dancecentrepresents.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #42. Stretching Out (October 2016)

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS #42. Stretching Out (October 2016)

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I’m actually stealing away for about half an hour or so during a prep period in a substitute teaching job. It’s rare, but when this happens I seize the opportunity to write. I feel fortunate today that I get to be outside most of the day overseeing PE classes out on the track. At least I’m not cooped up inside behind closed doors under florescent lighting. Carpe diem!
This weekend was bitter-sweet for me as our youngest flew the nest. Again. For a mom, each time this happens it creates a tug on the heart strings even when I know that it’s for the best. First, his coming and going during college breaks; and then, returning home after graduation. Working locally, it made sense for Chance to live at home and pay rent. Almost a year-and-a-half later he’s moving down the hill, to the city, to live with his sister, Kali, and her family. This will help them with their mortgage and he will be closer to the kind of energy that seems to fuel a millennial’s psyche. Logically, it’s a win-win for everyone and I know it’s what he needs. But I still have to go through my own grieving process as Chance moves out yet again. However, this time feels more permanent.
Milo, our big yellow cat, will miss him too. He’s used to Chance carrying him around outside on the porch for a shoulder ride, almost daily. For an inside kitty this is a special treat. I’ll miss the little unexpected connections we share. Just the other evening we watched three deer frolic on the hillside. We’ve often seen a big doe wander through the front yard and stop for a drink from the water trough fountain. At dusk a bobcat’s whisper-bark grabs our attention. A few nights ago I woke to a coyote’s yipping just outside the bedroom window. In the mornings, pre-dawn, as we are all up by then, the owls serenade us in the last hours of darkness. I’m grateful that I’m not moving to the city.

(One week later: During the next sub job’s prep period)
Chance isn’t the only one stretching his wings. I, too, am trying to reach beyond the usual parameters of my life. It had been a year of not hearing back from a literary agent who had agreed to re-read a manuscript I’d written, if I reworked it as to her suggestions. When I’d mailed it I had included a self-addressed, stamped envelope for her response so I should have at least gotten that back. I finally got up the nerve to call the phone number for the agency and, after punching the numbers for the appropriate prompts, I actually reached her. In person! She had moved her office and had not received all her mail so she gave me the new address so that I could send it again. I’m not keeping my fingers crossed, since the likelihood of actually getting picked up by a New York agent is next to nil, but I had at least followed through to the best of my ability. I’ve done what I can.
My husband, Kent, is upping his game too. He is going to run in the USATF National Club Cross Country Championships in Florida, this December. He’s joined a team of seniors to race together in Tallahassee. My spouse has found a new niche with these guys. He looks forward to the races where they share fun camaraderie afterwards no matter how they have placed. And, of course, he still runs a million miles every morning.
We’re looking forward to our adventure in Florida. We’ll probably visit a few relatives, speckled throughout the state, during the week leading up to the competition. Neither one of us has ever been to the Everglades so we plan on checking out the swamps and coastlines in that area as well. There’s always something to look forward to when you shake up your routine every so often. It feels good to spice things up a little and add to the old memory banks. We’re trying to do these kinds of things while we still can.

Chi Varnado is a contributing writer for The San Diego Reader. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #29. Just Another Sunday (June 6, 2014)

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS #29.  Just Another Sunday (June 6, 2014)

 

            I find it interesting how we, as well as other mammals, tend to find comfort in routine. As much as we complain about the “same old, same old,” we crave it as much as we admonish it. It’s simply human nature. This is what Sundays have become for Kent and me. And for the most part, we get excited and look forward to our Sundays.

We still rise early, just like any other day of the week, but we usually get to stay home – all day long. This, in and of itself, is worthwhile and enjoyable. We also allow ourselves, independently, to take a break from our usual routines of exercising and running first thing in the morning. I look forward to this mini-vacation. This little bit of difference, in a fairly scheduled, task-oriented week, is just the ticket I need to spruce up my attitude.

Last Sunday morning while working upstairs I glanced out the window and saw a deer standing at the top of the side driveway. On the way downstairs I snagged our son, Chance, and he followed me to the kitchen. Kent was out at the washing machine so I quietly opened the door and pointed out the mule deer which was still there. The three of us stood out on the porch watching for quite some time. I spoke calmly telling her how beautiful she was. “I hope you stay up here in this end of the canyon where it’s safer for you, and where there’s water.” She kept an eye on us, but seemed unafraid.

Then she began walking toward us! Halfway down the hill she stopped to nibble on some dry grass as I again muttered sweet nothings in her direction. A few minutes passed and she moved closer. And then closer still. Another mouthful of grass. Her big dark ears projecting out from her delicate brown face perked, listening to my voice. Our Lady of the Valley rounded the turn in the driveway and gracefully walked down the steep decline behind the trees.

The three of us moved slowly to the front porch as she parked herself at our galvanized cattle trough/homemade fountain for a long drink of water. She didn’t appear to be in any hurry at all. When her thirst was satiated she moseyed across the dirt road to the meadow before heading over to the creekbed and up the bank, continuing on with her Sunday morning stroll. She made our day. What a treat. The rest of my afternoon progressed a little slower and a bit more consciously, thanks to her.

Of course, we had to get on with our usual Sunday chores: picking greens and other ripe goodies from the gardens, watering, mucking corrals, dusting the horses and dog with diatomaceous earth, chopping poison oak, fixing things… These activities make up our Sunday rituals. Without Sundays, our weeks would more than likely bump into each other and cause stress and other unforeseen collisions. At least with Sundays providing a buffer, we have a better chance to cope with life’s buildup of tension during the week.

It’s also, ALL ABOUT DINNER. I begin early, usually preparing something we picked that day, to be ready by 6:00 PM. On Sunday evenings we look forward to our KPBS shows including Doc Martin, Ballykiss Angel, or Larkrise to Candleford… Six o’clock is awfully early to have all our chores done and dinner ready, but it’s part of our Sunday ritual that we’ve come to enjoy. So much so that we fiercely protect it by usually turning down the occasional invitation that might interfere with one of our favorite times of the week.

A couple days later, after being gone at work all day, I came home and took a walk to check-up on the various projects I have going on in the canyon. I noticed split-hoof tracks along the same path as the deer had traversed on Sunday. Vehicles had come and gone in the interim so I knew they were fresh footprints. Perhaps our Lady of the Valley also has her own ritual of meandering to the fountain for a drink, walking across the dirt road to the meadow, and then over to the creekbed and up the bank. I guess we all take comfort in routine. But I think in order to continue enjoying the regularity of our lives we have to vary things just often enough to spice it up a bit. So here’s to your own ‘Just another Sunday,’ on whatever day of the week or hour of the day it might fall.

 

Chi Varnado is a contributing writer for The San Diego Reader. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Chi directs the Ramona Dance Centre. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com.