Roman Ruins and Nevada Sage

I want to roll out spinach-flavored gnocchi

In my underslung cowboy boots

Clouds of flour rising from my station at a 250-year-old kitchen counter.

In the corner, a bundle of Nevada sage will hang from the rafters alongside

Hackmore cores

Bundles of chilies and garlic.

I want to leave a trail of ION dirt behind me as I

Happily stamp my way through the streets of Milan,

Cobblestones vibrating beneath my booted feet.

I want to watch the Mediterranean Sea

Kiss the Roman shore as we work wild, horned cattle.

And then I want to fly back to you

Saturated and filled to the brim with another’s history,

Songs, hopes and history

And live out my days

In the shadow lands of this California sky

Nevada sage and the kiss of memories from Italy’s green shores

xo xo Liz  

THESE Are The Good Old Days

Stop right now.

Whatever it is that you’re doing, put it on hold.

THESE are the good old days.

Do you realize that? This moment, this completely non-descript, painfully ordinary day will at some point and time be remembered fondly as the good old days.  

My father, besides being an incredible BA, a sniper, asymmetrical warfare specialist, saddle maker, buckaroo and hopeless romantic, is also an incredibly wise man.  “Girls, don’t rush through your time here now. THESE are the good old days you will talk about when you’re old,” he has repeatedly told us since we were young.

His warnings have helped me to stop and appreciate the ordinary moments for what they really are…precious, future memories of a season in my life that will at some point be long since past.

People rush through the special moments during their day thinking that when they reach the next mile stone, get that promotion, when baby cuts his first teeth, graduate college…then they’ll really be able to start living their lives and making some memories.

“When my credit is good, I’ll really be able to appreciate the way the roses smell.“

“When the kids are older, I’ll be able to take them fishing because they will appreciate it more. “

If you had come to visit me yesterday afternoon you would have found me, dirty and barefoot, washing a sink full of dishes, vacuuming up spiders and mopping the floor of the bunkhouse. Housework. Totally ordinary, we all do it. But 20 years from now, I’ll look back on that afternoon of chores and remember with fondness this old bunkhouse and it’s sloping concrete floor and the crack that splits the room in half. I’ll remember the view out my kitchen window, the mountains, a frame to the picture of blacks cows grazing in pasture that’s bleached of color, a trail faintly visible running from the trees on the hill to water that is used as a freeway by pigs and coyotes.

This was just one moment in time that will stand out to me someday, that I will recall with all the fondness my old body will be able to muster.

Appreciate your time, right here, right now, for it will soon be gone. These are the days that will be your future memories, the memories that will play like a video in the twilight of your life. Enjoy them.

xo xo Liz

Her Kitchen Sink

She cocks a hip and submerges both rough hands into the sink full of hot water and bubbles.

She sighs as she reaches for the first dirty dish. The first of many.

Her lower back aches, her feet twinge and her shirt sticks to her back with sweat.

She looks up and out.

The window that holds that view…sweeping panoramic shot that movie directors have tried time and time again to capture in three hour films of artistic beauty. She knows every blade of grass, each tough twig of sage and how the air feels up on the mountains in the distance.

She’s stood before this sink and many others much the same.

To say the view soothes her soul and quiets her fears would be a romanticed view of the life she leads…a townie’s aching desire that someone’s life is far different than hers because of geography and the term “cowboy”.

But it is comforting because of its familiarity, this view looking over her kitchen sink and as the last dish is rinsed and set to dry, she is thankful for the life she lives.

No more, no less.

xo xo Liz