This baby needs a name, y’all! We’ve been sent some really good ones, but if you haven’t already, look at her pictures, and send us YOUR name suggestion! We’ll vote on them at the end of the week!

Another beautiful day out at the farm. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: To a farmer, there is nothing sweeter than a brand new calf. One of the most refreshing things is to be close to a new life, in this case 24 hours old, and see first hand what it is like to be unafraid. She’s so little, and so new that she is totally unaware that she should be afraid of me. When her mama walks away in the pasture, leaving her tiny one curled up sleeping in the sun, I can’t resist cuddling up, petting & talking to her. For a few minutes anyway. ‘Dot’ (Mama) watches me from a distance and seems OK with it all. Baby seems to like it and ‘Dot’ doesn’t mind, so it’s just too sweet to pass up. I think we all start out that way, and then something teaches us that hurt is possible, so ‘be afraid’. Some learn it sooner and more deeply than others. But for today, that little baby cow is a blank slate, totally unharmed. Completely trusting, wide open to a relationship with this human, even following if I walk away. Not caring that I don’t look like her, sound like her, or feed her. No matter that I’m much bigger than she is. She just knows that I sing to her and rub her little face and back. The beauty of a living, innocent, uncorrupted being makes me think about Jesus. Today I realized one more of the many facets of why Jesus is referred to as ‘The Lamb of God’. Wow.
Mama beckons, and off she skips. . . rather, trips to her side for a mid-morning snack. Only, she wobbles to the ‘wrong’ mama. She reaches ‘Jadie’ first, and heads straight for the refrigerator. . . H-m-m-m. Nothing but empties. Just then, ‘Jadie’ turns on a dime and looks at this little peanut of a ‘bovine’ and says (I can speak cow. Plus, all ‘grown ups’ think this on occasion) . . “Who are your parents, and when are they coming to pick you up?” . . . I guess the ‘harming’ has begun. . . .
And amidst all this chaos . . . God loves me . . .

She’s HERE!!! She’s HERE!!!

Baby Girl, born this October 28, 2007 morning. . . Mama and baby are doing well. Stay tuned . . .in the meantime. . .

NAME THAT CALF!!!!
PLEASE send us your name suggestion to feedback@alltalkforwomen.com.
What does she look like to you? ANYTHING but ‘Bossy’ . . .send in your suggestions. . . . PLEASE!
If we get enough response, we may end up putting together some kind of a ‘contest’. You might just WIN something if your name is picked!!! . . . , nudge nudge, wink wink!!

Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t bet money, because Dot is STILL carrying that baby around. I don’t know how though, because it looks as like it’s practicing for the PBR (Professional Bull Riders) inside. Watching her stand still, and her belly shift about like a sleeping bag zipped all the way up with a frantic occupant still inside, is a trip! O-o-o-h-h-h-h . . . . I feel her pain. Been there, done that. Only my calves all had just two hooves.
Anyway, I had my mind set on finding a new calf this morning because last night was a full moon. No such luck. Dot looks less like a ‘dot’ and more like a ‘globe’ if you ask me. Maybe we should call her ‘Globie’, sister to ‘Jadie’.
All the signs are there, and it may be, that we have a fresh face in the morning. I will try to keep you up to date. Every day she carries that calf, the bigger it gets, which increases the risk that it will be a difficult birth for her. This is her first, and she is VERY FAT. I hesitate to even begin to tell you what needs to be done if she needs my help. I hardly think farmers or their wives are fans of All Talk, so I will keep it to myself for now. Those of you who have seen the movie “City Slickers” with Billy Crystal, may have kind of an idea. . .
I have friends in Colorado & California that have all insisted that we video if we can and load it up on YouTube. If we are lucky enough to get anything good on tape, I’ll put a link up here. In the meantime, pray! I feel like an O.B. Intern with her first REAL customer!
The Hubby and I will try and be at the ready if nature beckons our help. My husband will be a great asset to her if she needs him. He can bring her ice chips, rub tennis balls on her back, sing praise songs with her, and hold her hoof and count through contractions. He’s really good at those things. I know from experience.
And amidst all this chaos. . . God loves me . . .

What is it about coats and six year old boys that don’t mix? Why is it that to them, jamming your hands in your pockets, and jumping up and down is infinitely better than just slipping on a jacket? There was even a light misting of rain going on to make it that much colder. His little cheeks were round and red as Washington’s best, and his arms were covered in goose bumps, and all bluish gray blotches. . . and yet, you’d think I had asked him to chew tin foil. I would barely have the words out “John, it’s cold. Here, put on your jacket”, and he would shout “Mom! it’s not even cold!” Then bounce like Tigger from one foot to the other all the way around the outside of the car, thinking that I wouldn’t tell him again. . . “John . . .” . . .”Mom!!!”. . . “John?” . . . . “MOM!!!” This little table tennis lasted about 2 minutes. Then I heard myself blurt out “It’s the law, son. You have to.” I quickly and deftly rationalized in my mind that it wasn’t a lie. It’s just Mom’s new law. I never said words like judicial or legislation. I just said it was the law. . . . Dillinger had met his match, and in between hops, halfheartedly slipped his arms in the sleeves and pulled it on up. . . but if his pea shooter had been within reach, I wouldn’t be writing this . . .
I have to say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, though. I HATE being too hot. His Dad is the same way. Our theory is, if you’re cold, you can always put on layers, but if you’re hot you can only take off so much, ya know? Anyway, all my life I have loved Fall and Winter, and I would give everything we own to retire in a three room cabin on a ranch near a river in Wyoming or Montana. Even if it meant dodging grizzly bears and cutting our own firewood, for those legendary snowfalls. OK, that’s a little over-kill. I’d make the six year old cut the wood. If he’s working like that, then not wearing a coat would be much more understandable.
And in the midst of all this chaos . . . God loves me . . .

On this day in 1993, I made the best decision I’ve ever made. I married my husband. I remember standing in the foyer of the church with my Dad, waiting for the music cue to walk me down the isle. The man I was about to marry had been married once before for 7 years. He had sole custody (rare for a man) of 2 beautiful little boys as a result, and we met long after his divorce, and ‘courted’ for over 2 years. I had thought this out before, but for whatever reason, I was only able to articulate it into words while standing there in my wedding dress with several hundred guests and a ‘real cute guy’ at the altar waiting for us (me & Dad) to make our entrance. I looked at Daddy and said “What if in seven years I am married to the man she divorced?”. My wonderful father looked me in the eye and said, “I can’t help you, Baby. This is your decision. You decide whether I walk you through those doors, or through the exit. Either way, I’ll walk you with great pride, but it must be 100% your decision. What do you want to do?”
It wasn’t that my Dad didn’t have an opinion, because he certainly did. What I remember most at that moment was seeing in his eyes & hearing in his kind, firm words that I could do anything. That even under pressure, I could handle anything. He believed in me, and respected me as a wise, thoughtful adult. As an aside in this story, I have to say that the greatest gift my Mom and Dad gave me was fierce independence. They allowed me to make mistakes and suffer the consequences early enough so that I experienced how strong I really can be. Anyway, Dad could have easily patted my hand and said ‘There, there. It will work out fine. You’re just nervous’, or he could have swept me up, rushed me to his car and gone back in to explain that ‘the bride has had second thoughts’. But he didn’t. He let me do it, and I did.
Fast forward to our seventh anniversary. We were all at a family vacation with my parents, sisters, brother & all in-laws in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. I remember standing in the cabin kitchen talking to my sister-in-law Mary about what I had thought and said to my Dad that day in the church foyer. I started crying as I was telling her (I was so embarrassed! It was so sappy!) how lucky I was that I had actually married him! And not only that, but that I loved him so much more after seven years of marriage than I did that day seven years ago. How could that be? And, fairy tale of fairy tales, I dearly loved my mother & father-in-law! So much so, that I wished they’d moved in with us! How many women can say that they really, really love and LIKE their husbands parents?
I had always heard that the honeymoon is over after a couple years, and that you start to see the ‘real’ person you’ve married. And that’s true, but what was being revealed to me in those seven years was that I had married the best person I had ever known. I don’t know how else to explain it, but this was a man that had traits of real character and integrity. I mean for real. Not the cream cheese lies you hear in political ads. I mean he is a real man of great character and integrity. Don’t laugh, but he is really very much like what I think Billy Graham is like, only better looking and he doesn’t have that funny accent. He’s also very sexy. I hardly think of Dr. Graham as sexy.
Fast forward once again, seven more years. It’s today. Here I am still getting teary eyed about the kind of man I married. I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were. When will he be fed up with me and realize he’s made a terrible mistake? Instead, today he came smiling through the door with a big bundle of flowers and a hug and a kiss and says, “We can’t just let the day come and go without something to mark it, so I brought you these flowers” (we’re not really celebrating until later in the week). There I was in the kitchen with my muddy jeans on from being at the farm all day, no make-up, and a lovely cold sore on my lower lip. The vacuum cleaner is broken so the floors are more like the beach than a home. It’s almost six o’clock and the kids cereal bowls still have not migrated to the sink yet. Though he’s been asking me to, I haven’t balanced my checkbook in almost a year. And yet, he made me feel like I was the most beautiful, fabulous, together creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Our children were standing around us blushing. The mere fact that this man chose me as his wife is proof beyond reason, that amidst all this chaos. . . God loves me . . .

Oh, poor little Dot. Or maybe I should say poor big as Montana, Dot. Yesterday as she ate, I was rubbing her back and talking to her. She kind of went into a trance. . . not unlike when you put a chameleon on his back and rub his tummy. She stopped eating, and dropped her nose nearly to the dirt, let her eyes relax and stood very still. It looks as though she should have had that calf two days ago. But I know that they come on their own little schedule, not their Mama’s. I feel like I can identify with how she feels, and I think she can sense that I care about her. Of our two little (HA!) cows, she is by far the more skittish of the two, and for her to ‘let’ me rub her back is no small feat. I felt like I needed to take advantage of her quiet submission right then to help ‘condition’ her to human touch (more than she has been, anyway). If we are ever going to be able to get to her little calf, she has to let us near her first. We’ve worked on it some, but with Jadie being so human friendly, it was easy to just gravitate more of the attention to her, and leave Dot in the background. Anyway, yesterday she seemed to let me make up for lost time, and I even scratched her belly underneath for a long time. She would just turn and look at me with the most grateful expression. Animals are funny though, just because she let me handle her yesterday, it has no relevance to today. And especially when she has a calf at her side. Then all bets are off!
Today, if I can get her into the same friendly state, I will try and get her halter on her and leave it on. If she gets into trouble having this calf, it will be helpful to have a ‘handle’ of sorts. I am on my way to the farm in a few minutes. I wonder if she has had that baby already . . . If she has, I will for sure post about it if you’re interested. In the meantime I remind myself that. . . amidst all this chaos. . . God loves me . . .

It’s true, we’re gonna have a baby!!! I guess cigars aren’t really appropriate though. What do people give now anyway? H-m-m. I’ve seen those bubble-gum looking pretend cigars. . . . that’s a little better, but not exactly right. . . I know! I’ll get little ears of corn and give those away! Or maybe some little half pint cartons of milk! Or both! I am just tickled pink about having a baby around. Is there anything sweeter than a newborn little calf? I think not. Not in the farm world anyway. And our little heifers are BOTH pregnant! (Mom, if you are reading this and are dissappointed in any way, I’m sorry.)

We are so excited! One of them, Dot, has been very obvious about her pregnancy, with NO mistake about it. . . waddling around with her gigantic belly swaying her off balance as she lumbers along, and now her milk bags are filling up and it looks terribly uncomfortable. Anyway, we knew she was pregnant, and due in the next week-ten days. But our little Jadie, that’s another story. She has shown no signs of anything other than just being a fat cow. I hope that doesn’t hurt her feelings. We had sort of decided that her visit with her . . . . ‘Beau’, just wasn’t fruitful, and we’d just have her bred next spring. After all, there’s no rush. It’s not our livelihood or anything; we’re just doing this so the kids can experience more of God’s abundant life than the Ps-2, computer or television. But now we know for sure, Jadie’s gonna be a Mama!

It all came about today when a new vet was treating a horse in our barn. We don’t own this particular horse, and while we were waiting for the owner to show, my husband and I were just talking with this new Dr, you know, just chit-chat. It turns out that he used to only treat cows, and knows quite a bit about them. We asked if he could give us an idea by looking at Dot if we’re right in expecting her to calve in the next week or so & he did. He in passing asked about the other cow (Jadie), and we told him we didn’t think she was pregnant. That’s when my husband face lit up like a sparkler and said “Say, would you do a pregnancy check right now, so we’ll know for certain?” And being the friendly fellow that he was, he agreed to at least try. You see, until tonight, the only pregnancy tests I’ve experienced were taking a urine sample & waiting 3 minutes for a sign to appear in a test kit. I’m not stupid, I knew we weren’t going to ask little Jadie to tee tee in a cup, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how they ARE tested. Anyway, this vet asked if we had a safety chute to put her in and of course being a 2 cow outfit, it never occurred to us that we’d need a place to pen up our cows so they can’t move (or kick!) while a vet ‘checks’ them. He asked if she was halter broke, and fortunately she is, but she’s not real smooth at it yet. I put her halter on & fastened on a lead rope. Have you ever seen one of those ‘mighty man’ demonstrations where a steroid junkie in a muscle shirt pulls a freight car with his teeth? Well, that’s about what it was like leading her into the barn. It was a slow go, but I got it done! Once in the barn, this 1500 pounds of fat stared at me like all the sudden I had elephant ears! If you’ve ever owned a cow, you know good and well why they aren’t used in the circus. They can’t do much except look surprised a lot. So I’m holding her lead rope trying to scratch & pet her so she’ll be calm and stay still, while my husband does the same thing on the other side of her.

Then, this vet puts on his examination glove. I’m not talking about the kind that our kids always want to blow up and make ‘hand’ balloons in the Dr.’s office. These could be blown up into a scale model of the Goodyear Blimp. This glove goes up to his shoulder. . . . and I thought she looked surprised before! . . . . . OK, it’s a little different being a cow owner. . . . I can handle that. . . But news flash . . . . he doesn’t go in where the baby comes out. That would cause her to abort. Nope. . . . . . they go in the back door. . . . yes, it’s true. This is a rectal exam. And Jadie thought I looked surprised before! So, this very friendly Dr. is way past his elbow and says “Yep, nice big calf in there.” This was wonderful, surprising news. We were all laughing. Not Jadie. Just the people. OK, this was just too much fun to stop here. Let me preface this by telling you that my husband and daughter are huge Mike Rowe fans. They love his show “Dirtiest Jobs”, and rarely miss an episode. Anyway, my very own Oliver Douglas (“Green Acres”) husband speaks and says “Hey, I want to feel that calf! Will you (to the vet) talk me through it? Can I do that?” Now the vet is staring at my husband like all the sudden he had elephant ears & says “Sure. Get you a glove.” I just looked at Jadie, apologized and said “I didn’t expect that.” . . . . Women, it’s like this, there comes a time in EVERY marriage that we realize that men are all perpetually 14 years old at some level. All of them. No need to be embarrassed. I found out that my Master’s Degreed, physics scholorship’d husband, is no exception. I fully expected him to suggest we all play kick the can or have a spitball battle afterwards. And by the way, the vision of my ‘prince’ with a cow sticking off of his shoulder will be with me for a long time. . . . .

There’s something else. . . . I watched his face illuminate like the sun when he actually felt that little life move beneath his fingers, tucked way up inside his/her Mama. The expression on his face was worth more than money. I wish I could describe it, but I can’t even begin to. Then he said “I could have been a vet.” Frankly, I wouldn’t care what he did. I’m just glad he’s mine. Even though every once in a while he reminds me he’s really 14.

And so the world turns. New life on the horizon, but isn’t it always that way with God? Every day is an adventure, and even amidst all this chaos . . . God loves me . . .

Several months ago, my favorite morning radio show moved from the M O R rock format station that I have felt so comfortable with. . . . Much to my chagrin, I reluctantly followed them to (eeeeeewww!) . . . . . a country music station . . . .

OK, ok. I give! Uncle! You win! All-ee all-ee in come free!!! Whatever it takes, just get off my back! . . . .

I sincerely apologize to all you fans that over the years I have looked down upon, because you had no real ‘taste’ in MUSIC; What it (music) IS, or WHY it IS. I’ve thought myself very patient with you because ‘you didn’t possess the grey matter it took to really appreciate music’. Over the years, I’ve felt sorry for you, but forgiven your inadequacies (how big of me) . . .

Just off the top of my head, and notwithstanding their personal/private lifestyles, Sting is the last one I can think of that wrote an original melody, Paul Simon wrote the last original lyric, and Donald Fagen was the last to package it all together in one blow. And somewhere in that list, Ashley Cleveland & the great Joe Sample should fall, but I’m not sure where. . . . So there. I must be the stupid one, or a dinosaur. . . .Or perhaps, a stupid dinosaur. Notice neither Billy Ray Cyrus NOR Hank Williams Jr. mentioned. . . . until now (oh Lord, help me!)

While I meant no appreciable harm, I confess to calling you names, and silently thinking to myself “How much intellect does it take to sing about whiskey, a cheating woman, a dog, or a vehicle? Not only that, but what kind of a ‘special stupid’ must you be to actually think that it’s good?” Yes, the mere fact that I am (it took a while to really win me, though) a loyal Rick and Bubba (www.rickandbubba.com) fan kind of puts me in that category to start with, but NOT BY MY INTENTIONAL DESIGN!!! I think that “The Rick and Bubba Show” was just the pot that led to harder drugs. So now. . . . I am simply forced; rather compelled to say . . . (this hurts ME more than it hurts you) . . . “Hi. . . . I’m Janet . . . and I am BECOMING a country . . . music . . . fan. . . . ” Ugh. It’s true. I have found myself subconsciously singing with Carrie Underwood . . . “I dug my key into the side of his pretty little suped up 4 wheel drive, carved my name into his leather seats . . . ” . . . . All because I inadvertantly left the radio lazily tuned to the country/drank all day/cried all night/dog left me/she was a wearin pank over alls, radio station. While I’m certainly not proud of that, it’s true non the less. And I like it. In the immortal words of the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, “Ow! Ha! I can’t help myself!”

I didn’t start out this way. I promise, I have had a crush on Michael McDonald ever since I was a mere child. I shed a boatload of tears when John Lennon was shot. AND, . . . . . while I admit that he’s written some catchy tunes, and is (was) very ‘marketable’, I have loathed the lily white Barry Manilow. . . . So please believe me. I have a great love for good music.

I don’t know how I got here, I just know that I’m here. I haven’t forgotten my roots. I’ve just added branches. . . . AND I know, that amidst all this chaos, even with my new ‘twang’ . . . God loves me . . .

I’ve been sitting on this for over a week, waiting for a jump start, a good opening, a catchy one liner to begin with, at LEAST an interesting twist to broach this touchy topic without being maudlin, but I am at a stone wall. . . . still. My common sense told me that I would be able to sift this information enough to be more comfortable to talk about it. Alas, that common sense I SO depend on has eluded me. My brain went into immediate hibernation when I got this response to my asking, “Tell me, how is _____ (my friend)?” I heard my childhood friend’s brother say these words: “She’s dead. . . . She committed suicide.” . . . . It was as if all the air was sucked from the room. My poor husband, who had not really been paying attention to this short conversation saw from across the room the atmospheric change in climate, and immediately came to my rescue and said “What? What is it? What’s wrong?” I could not answer him. I only continued my ‘conversation’ with her brother . . . As if ‘she’s dead’ wasn’t hard enough to hear, the rest of the exchange was almost as troubling. I asked (in my numbness), “When did this happen?” . . . . His response, “oh (rolling his eyes), let’s see . . . gosh, I guess about a year ago, now.” . . . I was (and am) stunned. . . . You must know the whole story though, to really ‘get it’: Add to that horribly shocking information, the fact that I have asked about her several times in the last year (including her MOTHER), only to get various ‘oh, not good, but thanks for asking’, or some such nonsense.
Call me neurotic or sentimental, or whatever else you choose, but I can tell you exactly how many real loved ones I’ve lost, and at the very least the month & year they went on to their reward. How does a brother not know exactly when he lost his only sister? I think the only way that’s even possible, is when the REAL person dies from circumstances that kills them in small, unnoticeable increments. . . . like drug addiction or alcoholism. The real death began so many years ago, that the day she stopped breathing in and out seems almost irrelevant. Only, not to me.
When I was a kid, I had a wonderful friend I want to tell you about. Later in life she had terrible struggles with alcohol and depression, but when I knew her, she was beautiful, funny, forgiving, loyal, mischievous, intelligent, brave, open-minded, loving, accepting, and a gifted horse-woman. Only now, I am still trying to figure out how to handle her “about a year ago” death. When someone dies, it is customary (for lack of a better term) to grieve with others. I however, am left out here alone. I must do this by myself. Those closest to her have quite beautifully moved on with their lives and can’t be bothered with grieving this far out from the event.
I don’t understand it. I am angry at her, that the times we spoke she was not honest, and I am furious with her family that they swept this into a closet like she was an embarrassment. There was not an obituary, no funeral, no memorial, no phone calls, no mail. As far as I can tell, there is not much admittance that she even existed past her teenage years, although she had a daughter, whom I have only met in passing once. How will that beautiful girl ever know all the wonderful traits that her mother had if we all pretend we’re better off not talking about her? Her life OR her death? And how will she ever escape the same pitfalls if we pretend IT didn’t happen?

At this moment, on this subject, this seems terribly selfish & undeserved, and YET . . . God loves me. I don’t understand why, but He loves me:)