How does one walk a Ladybug? You put a leash around the white fluffy neck of an eight pound Papillion little girl dog. We are exploring the California desert where I live six months a year with my husband Kip. Ladybug takes me to all the familiar holes in the sand where we can only guess at who might be the inhabitant.
For days on end rain rattled the flat roof of our desert home. Fires were made, warm mugs of soups and teas, books were read.
These stormy moments took me back to days gone by of a young girl and rainy days in the remote San Andreas Mountains in San Luis Obispo County. Rainstorms were rare there in the semi-arid high desert of my childhood. I could predict rain by the electricity in the air that caused my hair to take flight and the musty and aluvial scents filled my senses. I remember one such day when the rain began. I ran head long to catch my mare, Sugar, bridle her and set off bareback for hours with the sheeting warm rain pouring over me. I saw the golden grasses turn soggy and brown, the dry gulches exploded with hot chocolate torents as the steely sky turned the landscape shades of purple. Sugar was a run-for-the-barn kind of horse and having lost track of time we raced head long back to the shelter of our white Victorian house. We were greeted home by Mother Jewel. She wore a worried face and carried an elm switch which she reserved for serious offenses. Soon I was being escorted briskly into the house and into a warm shower. Normally, being the youngest of five I could slip away undetected, but not that day.
Jewel's Jewel for the day: "You don't have any more sense than a chicken that does not know when to come in out of the rain." She said that sometimes when it was not even raining.