sjdortch

food.

Passing The Torch

Freedom rings in the hearts of many
And lives on wings of gold
Ever shall we resound our spirits
And shine in futures to behold

What comes of us will only shine
As we become our hearts desire
When carried on the Lincoln roads
When torches lighting ways unfold

Your heart and mine and those of now
Come together as we plow
Pressing through the plight of fighting
Singing songs of courage bright

What power man has over men
Is not the question burning through
It is what burns in the hearts of man
That questions power over truth

So you and I today will shine
And ride into the futures mind
Singing songs of courage bright
Freedom patriots with all our might

sjd...jan.20,2009

Passing The Torch
Passing The Torch

Freedom rings in the hearts of many
And lives on wings of gold
Ever shall we resound our spirits
And shine in futures to behold

What comes of us will only shine
As we become our hearts desire
When carried on the Lincoln roads
When torches lighting ways unfold

Your heart and mine and those of now
Come together as we plow
Pressing through the plight of fighting
Singing songs of courage bright

What power man has over men
Is not the question burning through
It is what burns in the hearts of man
That questions power over truth

So you and I today will shine
And ride into the futures mind
Singing songs of courage bright
Freedom patriots with all our might

sjd...jan.20,2009

Passing The Torch

Freedom rings in the hearts of many
And lives on wings of gold
Ever shall we resound our spirits
And shine in futures to behold

What comes of us will only shine
As we become our hearts desire
When carried on the Lincoln roads
When torches lighting ways unfold

Your heart and mine and those of now
Come together as we plow
Pressing through the plight of fighting
Singing songs of courage bright

What power man has over men
Is not the question burning through
It is what burns in the hearts of man
That questions power over truth

So you and I today will shine
And ride into the futures mind
Singing songs of courage bright
Freedom patriots with all our might

sjd...jan.20,2009

And The Good News Is...
by SJ Dortch

FIT

It was time to tuck everyone in. Well, at least two out of the fantastic four. The two youngest were still  up for a bedtime chat, a back rub and the opportunity for some one on one 'i'm the only child' attention, stretching out bedtime conversations with a million guess whats and mama, what would happen if you???

And of course an opportunity to completely remind me how blessed I was as their pure love continued to capture my heart. Putting my babies to sleep was always a bitter sweet experience yet a part of the day I looked forward to. Each one of them presented me with a unique experience to discuss, in their individual ways, how their day went and what they were looking forward to the next.  Even though I was happy once they were all asleep, at the same time, I didn't want to miss a minute of them. 

I usually started the good nights with Sam first. Seven years going on Albert Einstein, Sam's bedtime ritual was a fair mix of goofy and cerebral with just enough sage to make you feel like you, as the parent, needed to study up for the experience. The belly laughs kept him awake and I was sure he prepared his monologue to entertain himself as well as me. He would beg me to stop laughing so hard so he could tell me the next quantum one-liner. However, he was still into me singing his favorite tunes. When I mustered up enough strength to keep a straight face, I'd start humming one of the two standards and watched as his face contort with all it's might to keep his eyelids open. When it lost it's nightly battle, he was out like a light and I was on to the next lullababy's turn.

When it came time to put Emma to bed we went through the motions just for the heck of it. We both knew she wasn't really going to fall asleep. It would be hours of talking to herself or reading with a flashlight or turning on the light and playing in her room after everyone was asleep before that happened. On this particular night, she was very quiet when I came into her room. The light was already off and she had a blank look on her face.

"So how was your day sweets?"

"Blaaaaaaannhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, whannnnnnnnnnnnn, aaaaaaaaaaawwful.I don't , snif sniffle...I don't FIT IN ANYWERE!"

"What do you mean you don't fit in anywhere?"

It seemed that the class bully, a girl, made fun of Emma's size and freckles and just about everything about her. The class bully wasn't just any girl, she happened to be the younger sister of Emma's big sister's class bully...and my Goddaughter, so I needed extra soft kid gloves to handle this one with.

These situations are where parents reach deep into the back of their minds and right into the middle of their hearts and hope to God the answer is there. And there was no bluffing my kids. I'd always shot straight with them, no glossing over the issues because they expected an answer they would think of.

"Look at your feet, Emma."

" THEY ARE HUGE AND BONY, SO WHAT ABOUT MY FEET, WHANNNNNN" 

Her bawling finally subsided into quiet sobs.

"Does Emily fit into your shoes?"

"What? What kind of questions is that?"

"Does she fit into your shoes?"

NO WAY, HER FEET ARE WAY TOO SMALL."

"And can you fit into hers?"

"No way and why would I want to anyway she's............"

The dark room almost lit up with the flash that went off above her head.

"OH MAMA YOU ARE THE BEST MAMA IN THE WHOLE WORLD!"

"Emma, you fit your shoes perfectly. No one ever can take your place. Your place in this family is a perfect fit, you fit into my heart and you remember that you fit into God's world perfectly by standing out and that's the only place you should think about when it comes to fitting in."

"Good night mama, I love you." 

"I love you, too."

And she went right to sleep.


sjd 2008 all rights reserved copyright sjdortch LiveImageInk!

Do Your Best
by SJ Dortch

from 'And The Good News Is..."

Every day when I dropped the kids off for school, I left them with short  MOM-isms. Sometimes I made them up and sometimes they were hand me downs, lifted from another mother or father I thought had some inspiring words of wisdom to share. The particular one I was quoting that week was borrowed from an author's mother. She patted her son off to grade school with something I thought might not fall on deaf ears, so I gave it a try.

We exchanged kisses, I love you's and this new MOM-ism du jour. As time went on, it was the last thing my fantastic four heard every morning as they gathered their backpacks and fell out the door. It was so good it became a standard. After a while, it made the golden oldie list, and I only had to utter the first 'd' sound before they stopped me mid sentence and always finished it for me.

"We know MOM! Do our best and God will do the rest."  I'd smile, say "Hey, a mom has to do her best," they'd wave, slam the door and up the steps went their blue and red plaid bodies.

I always missed them as soon as the car door closed and couldn't wait to see them when we reversed the process. What I really looked forward to eight hours later were their stories. And they usually had some doosies. And this is one of them.

"Guess what Mom, guess what !!?" Sam's eight year old body was wiggling with anticipation when he got back in the car. "What, Sam, what???" 

As he was fastening his seat belt, I turned around and asked him what he was so excited about.

All thumbs from excitement, I finally heard the buckle click and him say 'I got to use 'do your best' today."

"You got to 'use' do your best?"

"You know, Do Your Best and God'll do the rest. I got to use it."

"How?"

"Well, you know how scary Sister Helen can be to new kids who don't know her like we do, right? So me and the new kid David  were doing our math and I could see he was really having a hard time with it. He didn't want to ask for help, but I told him it would be ok, just to go up and ask her. He was really scared but he did it anyway. I could see Sister Helen wasn't being very patient with him and when he came back to his seat he was crying. He and I being kind of brothers 'cause both our parents are getting divorces, and him being the new kid, I kind of felt like I should be a big brother to him. I didn't care if Sister Helen got mad at me for talking to him. So, I just put my arm around his shoulder and said, 'It's ok David, just do your best and God will do the rest.' "

Later that week Sister Helen told me what Sam did. David's mother called me and thanked me for Sam's kindness. I told her I didn't do anything but pass along another mother's good words and Sam decided to use them. She thanked me anyway.

The next week when I picked Sam up after school he said I would never believe what David's mom was telling him every morning.

" What's that Sam?"

"You know, Mom, Do Your Best and God'll do the rest."

"Wonder where she got that?"

"You know, mom."

"That's good news, Sam".

sjdortch copyright 2008 all rights reserved. duplication and/or use of 'Do Your Best' is prohibited by law unless written permission is obtained by the author.

I AM NOT MY LEGS

I am not the legs I left behind
Nor am I the legs I have left
I am not less without them
Nor more with them

I am not living for them
I am not living in lack
I am not your idea of imperfect
I am not not anything

I am a man
I am a father
I am a husband
I am a soldier

I am a friend
I am hopeful
I am faithful
I am in sync

I am my breath
I live in each one
I am my attitude
I live God's faith

written by sjdortch from an interview with US Army Lt.Col.Greg Gadson, copyright 2008 all rights reserved any duplication or use of in full or in part is not allowed unless written permission is gained from the author.

8000 BUBBLES
BY S.J. DORTCH

EACH DAY YOU BREATHE 
YOU WILL FIND
8000 BUBBLES
OF BASEBALL SIZE

BLOW OUT YOUR MOUTH
LIKE HEAVY METAL
INVISIBLE ORBS
OF CARBON DOUBLES

THESE CO2'S 
ARE DOUBLE TROUBLE
CLOGGING PORES
AIRBORNE  RUBBLE

WHERE DO THEY GO?
ARE THEY STORED? 
WHAT HAPPENS TO THESE
CARBON ORBS?

HIGH ATOP
A FOREST GLEN
THESE  BUBBLES FIND
THEMSELVES A FRIEND  

AN ANCIENT FOREST OR
CANOPY  DOOR
BECOMES THEIR HOST
TO BE TRANSFORMED

ORBS ARE EATEN
OR STORED IN BARK
THEN TURNED INTO
OXY FREEDOM SPARKS
 
HEALTHY LEAVES
ABSORB THE GARBAGE
GIANT DUMPSTERS
FOR CARBON MONSTERS

NATURES MAGIC
BARK UNFOLDS
TO WELCOME ORBS
INTO THEIR HOLDS

OLD TREES
YOUNG TREES
UP AND DOWN TREES
INSIDE OUT TREES

TREES UP HIGH
TREES DOWN LOW
TREES IN FORESTS
TREES ALONE

TREES IN WATER
UP TO THEIR KNEES
TREES WITH SNOWY
BLANKET LEAVES

TREES OUTSIDE
AND IN THE HOUSE
BROAD LEAVED TREES
OR NEEDLED SPROUTS

SHINY TRUNKED
OR SHAGGY BARKED
SPINDLE SMOOTH OR
CRAGGY SHARP

THESE GUMMY BRANCHED
SAPPY FELLOWS
ARE EARTHY HEROES AND
NATURES TELLERS

TREES OF EVERY
SORT YOU SEE
ARE HERE FOR YOU
AND ME... TO BREATHE

DEC. 10,2007
© SJDortch
all rights reserved
no duplication,use and/or reprinting of  all/any/ part of '8000 Bubbles' unless written permission is obtained by the author.

From ‘MY WYOMING’
BY SJ Dortch

You stand outside just after a rain and you will be spoiled for life with what real sage smells like. That smell haunts you forever. Ask my son or anyone who rode in rainstorms in places only wolves knew about. Ask them what the air smells like when it rains on sage.

Every tourist who came into the herb shop where I worked wanted to duplicate the bloom of that fragrance.  ‘What IS THAT SMELL?' they would say. ' ITS’ UNBELIEVABLE.’ They wanted to buy an essential oil that smelled ‘just like that’ to take home, so their home would smell the same as ours.

We all just had to smile and shake our heads. Can't duplicate God' we'd say.

Rain on sage is something your whole body lives for, waits to inhale and any taking it with you will have to live in your memories.


Resurrection

tundra
cold sparse wise open space of rain sage moat
where life moves flat and bold
across the fast plain

snow
strong arms comfort you under miles of white cape
resounding no fear
rich deep soft face

metal
high and mighty sharp peak magnets
majestic mothers hold you close
to what you are made of

remembering
like no place on earth boundless agent of the first breath
where life and love move high and wide
forging deep other-worlds

love
midnight moonlight snow memory footsteps on my heart
tundra holding my hand
no time space

now
remembering then
what i loved about then
meditating on the past

alive
wanting the memory to have a life
a warm body soul snow tundra wide open space of rain sage moat
be there/here now

resurrection
how it felt then feels now
blushing spring mountain bride
match made in heaven

copyright sjdortch 2008 all rights reserved any duplication, publishing, and/or use of any content  in part or in full, is prohibited unless written permission is gained from the author.

TESS AND VIOLA
from
THREE SPICES AND A FIRE SERIES of children's adventure learning stories
By S.J.Dortch

Once upon a time there were two horses named Tess and Viola. 
Tess was as red and shiny as a new copper penny. 
Viola’s dappled brown coat glistened in the sunshine.

Tess and Viola were both two year old mares. Their parents were an American Thoroughbred Sire and Argentinian Criollo Dams and were used to play the sport of polo.

                                               
Tess and Viola were very fast and athletic like their parents. One day they would be used as polo ponies, too.
Their human friend Andy was an athlete and he played on a team with other polo players. One day, when they were old enough, Tess and Viola would be in his string of polo ponies.

Tess and Viola both had big eyes and big ears so they could see and hear very well.

Their bodies were strong with good bone in their legs. Long tails helped them swish flies away and keep their balance while they ran like the wind.

Their short mouths made it easier to chew and give a bit the perfect ‘bars’ to rest on. A polo player has to stop and turn really fast, so a short mouth is a good thing to have if you are a polo pony.
                                          
Now it just so happens these two polo ponies were sisters.  Even though they had the same father (sire)  their mothers (dams) were different. This was ok with Tess and Viola. Tess and Viola still loved each other very much. They didn’t care if their parents were different, they just
loved each other as members of a big family (herd).                                              

Now that they were two year olds, they spent time away from their parents, living in a pasture with lots of other polo ponies.
The horse baby sitters and teachers in the herd reminded them if they forgot the proper signals that meant keep away, let’s play, this is my pile of hay, it’s ok to share, help me swat flies, and other horse language to help them communicate. 

Sometimes, when Tess and Viola were resting, they liked standing at the fence and looking out over the other fields to see what they could see.
                                             
Andy took very good care of Tess and Viola. He loved them very much and wanted to make sure they were happy and healthy.
Every day,  Andy would go out and call them in the field, “Tess, Viola, come and get it!”

Tess and Viola would run as fast as they could because they knew Andy had made a special mixture of feed for them.

Andy taught Tess and Viola good stable manners. He taught them how to bend their head down so he could put the halter on very gently. He taught them how to walk quietly on the lead rope, stand still when he put the saddle on and open their short mouths so the bit would slide in without knocking their teeth.
                                        
They did this for Andy without complaint because he taught them good manners and cared for them well.

He spoke to them kindly and with respect. Andy was very careful when he worked around them.
Sometimes he brought them special treats in their buckets and spent as much time grooming their soft coats as he could.
                                     
Andy especially liked visiting Tess and Viola in the moonlight.  The night air gave the grassy fields a special sweet smell and there was just something about kissing his polo ponies good night under the stars that made him feel like a little kid again.
                                        
Soon Tess and Viola would be ready to spend time learning how to play a real game of polo, running and spinning and going fast. Tess liked going fast and stretching out her long legs across the field.
                               
Viola liked running but not as much as she did standing and sleeping in the sunshine. 

So after watching Tess and Viola for many months, Andy thought Viola might like being a mother to baby polo ponies  (brood mare) more than she would running up and down a big polo field all day.

That day would come soon enough. Tess and Viola were only two and had a lot of growing and learning to do. When they were ready, the time would come for them to run like the wind across a long green grassy polo field.
                                    
Both mares were happy for now, swishing flies, nibbling sweet green grass and watching sunsets together with the rest of the herd. Both mares were happy to have Andy take such good care of them.

Both Tess and Viola like being members of a big herd family together.

sjd liveimageink! copyright 2008 all rights reserved.

From ‘Glimpses of Grace’
copyright sjdortch 2008 all rights reserved

Joe

September of 1975, I left Kansas and headed east again.

I was ready for a change. Besides that, I missed my horse.

Sending my beloved Appendix Quarter Horse, The Moonspinner, on the Southeastern and Midwest A circuit with my brother was a decision I made on Spinner’s behalf. After all, someone had to stay home and work to pay for his trip.

My copper-colored almost-a-Thoroughbred, who cost my parents a whopping $1000 eleven years before, returned with call backs in every class and a handful of ribbons, too, showing he could stand out among all the real deals....the classiest of the classy. 

I felt good about all the hard work I’d put into training him and thankful his blue blooded capabilities showed up when he just as easily could have shifted into his alter-ego, Mr. Bucknfart.

So now I was on my way to be reunited with my sweet ‘Spinner’ and to work with my brother , 'Speed', at his new training facility. When he told me he was pioneering some new territory training and showing A Circuit Arabian Hunter/Jumpers, I was intrigued.

Growing up, we'd ridden everything from Welsh Ponies to Cleveland Bays, Quarter Horses, Thoroughbreds to a few might fine mules and all the unbelievable school horses who had no blue blood in them at all. Arabians, for the most part though, had eluded us. 

Occasionally, one found its way into our ‘dependable and affordable' string of Pony Club blue collar ponies. Samar Khan, ridden by Freddy Kahn, (no relation) was a compact upright little grey Arabian, and really one of the only purebreds we spent much time around.

Communicating with this highly sensitive foundation of all that is holy horseflesh would be a new adventure. And there I was, heading east on I-70 at 70, excited to be reunited with my horse as well as meet my new destinies.

Reunion

“Spinner?” “Hey, Spinner! It’s me!” The familiar knicker in response bellowed through the barn and I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

Kisses and hugs and how are yous were followed by our old game of follow the leader. I’d turn him loose and he’d buck and squeal and cut up for a minute or two.  When he was done, I trotted figure eights on foot and he’d follow behind. I could hear him grunt into a quick Quarter Horse halt so he wouldn't run into me as I slid into mine.  Then I'd turn around and he’d be dead still, staring at me, waiting for me to make another move.  We’d start all over again and play a little more of what most people back then thought was 'silly.'

Since my brother was anxious for me to see what he had behind the other stall doors, it was time to tuck my dance partner back in his box with a few extra carrots and say we’d ride later.


Don’t Judge A Book

The plain little chestnut gelding came out of the stall and it didn’t take my brother long to read the raised eyebrow  ‘this is a registered Arabian?’ look on my face.

Speed led him around so I could watch the Arabian in question move. No dish face, no high knee action, sloping shoulder, round butt,...I'm looking for a sign here...ah hah! there it is…the tell tale tail…arching up and to one side as he trotted on the end of the lead, flagging 'I'm an Arab.' Proof enough.

The next one he led out had to duck so she would miss hitting her head and I just kept looking up. At the end of the lead rope was a very, very, very, very tall, but none the less exquisite steel grey mare. Apple sized dapples covered her long smooth body and she had theeee longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on any horse, ever. 

“Wow! That's the tallest Arabian I've ever seen,” I said. Trying to be upbeat I continued with  “She's really fancy. What’s her name?”

 “Yeah…she's fancy.”

‘ Yeah, she’s really fancy alright.’ I said. “But what’s her name?” 

‘Her name is Fancy. Really.”

Oh.

Fancy stood 16'3." And when Fancy moved, she moved like a giraffe. A very elegant Arabian giraffe. I was beginning to wonder if my brother was training any real Arabians when he introduced me to the Rocky Balboa of them all.

“This is Joe.”

“Joe...wowwww," I whispered this.  He was stunning. GQ stunning.

Underneath his slick blood bay coat, heavy with chrome on two legs, was a perfect and dynamic muscular body. Joe's long black mane hung in thick folds over a stocky arched neck with an equally impressive forelock covering a beautifully centered white star and stipe. Strong hindquarters flowed into a magnificent and massive black tail, just sweeping the ground.

Now were talkin. This was the Arabian I was looking for!

For a stallion, I thought Joe was very mellow which offered me the opportunity to make friends with this guy right away. I gently rubbed his face, then ran my fingers through his massive wiry mane, over his withers, across his short back, and down his well set legs.

After this inspection, I decided Joe's flowing locks were going to be more than eye catching. They were going to be handy.

There were two things about Joe that stood out right away. The big dent in his forehead  and, well... his stallion-ness.

Speed told me Joe had been kicked in the head as a foal by a large gelding, which explained his mellow man appearance. However, it did not negate his masculine nature. It would be that his forelock came in handy and covered the dent. However, when I walked Joe down the aisles at horse shows, we were in for some attention.

People would wheel around, jaws dropping and eyes popping. You could literally see them shaking their heads in disbelief. When they recovered from the shock, the giggling set in and I could hear what they thought were whispers….‘Did you SEE THOSE THINGS?!!!? HOW DOES HE WALK!!?’ I’d smile as they caught my eye, hands over their mouths ducking behind each other thinking I hadn’t noticed them noticing.

It was true. Joe was a fourteen hand three inch powerhouse Arabian stallion with a hole in his head the size of your fist and the largest set of ‘foal makers’ most anyone had ever seen. They were hard to miss…make that impossible, even with that wide full tail as camouflage.

Joe didn’t really spend much time thinking about his manliness, though. He was so laid back about it that over time, I became as blasé as he was. On two occasions, though, he made sure I was embarrassed and painfully reminded I should pay more attention. Thanks, Joe.

Another opportunity to thank Joe was in our future, one which I will always be indebted to him for.

Magic Joe

One damp and cold afternoon, after I’d finished schooling Spinner and Joe’s half sister Fancy, (can you believe it?) my brother said ‘Why don’t you go ride Joe.’

This wasn’t a question. 

When Speed was schooling Joe, I always loved watching the brilliant bay stallions muscular body move like a little freight train and at the same time, appear not to be moving at all.  Now it was my chance to find out if it felt as magic as it looked.

Standing 5'2” made me 3 inches taller than Joe stood at the withers. So, when I put my foot in the stirrup to mount, my long legs didn’t have to go far. Settling gently into the saddle, I took a deep breath and sat with him in the stillness… just for a moment, to affirm the silent conversation that was taking place.
 
The arena was empty and the rich footing was soft and dark and not too deep. It smelled of oil and soaked up the sound of every hoof beat. I walked around on a long rein first to give us both time to get in sync...to feel Joe breathe , feel his heartbeat, him feel mine, and get a feel for his stride.

Stride for stride, puffs of steam rhythmically shot out of Joe’s nostrils as we were introduced to each other's steps. His smooth trot belied the fact that he was legally just an inch taller than a pony and his rocking horse canter became our mantra...dadum, dadum, dadum...insync...insync...insync...

Speed's quiet voice crawled over the rail with a ‘Why don’t you jump that jump.’

Again, this is not a question...dadum, dadum, dadum...

Not missing a beat, I could see the jump near the end of the arena. It was not your usual jump...dadum, dadum, dadum...

It was a single pole, 5 feet off the ground, with no ground line...dadum, dadum, dadum...

Hmmm, I thought. As we rounded the corner I took a look at all the air between the ground and the pole and smiled to myself ' well,if we loose our rhythm, I can always just duck'... ha, ha....dadum, dadum, dadum...I...want...to...dadum, dadum ....keep...this...dadum, dadum, rhythm...dadum, dadum, dadum…

Now it seemed as if Joe and I were floating towards the red and white pole…both of us were looking at the top of the pole…his ears pricked, breath quicked, dadum, dadum, dadum….

da…

I could feel his hindquarters begin to deepen his stride...then he dropped his head and folded his knees, silently pushing us off the silky dirt...rounding his back as I folded mine over his neck, up and over, gliding, as if there was no jump....no effort...effort-less...only a breath over the single red and white pole five feet off the ground with no ground line.

Landing wasn't a word I would use to describe what happened on the other side. Breathing through his body, down his legs, through the ground, below the dirt, exhaling down into what would become our next breath.

The familiar rhythm returned... dadum, dadum, dadum.

For as long as it took Joe and I to breathe down that line and exhale that jump, I had no physical concept of being on top of a horse, much less of being a human...of being aware of anything…but my breath.

For one brief moment, my body was gone.

For one brief moment, I was Joe.

Speed was looking over the rail and I could see the quirky smile on my brother's face...the  one he made in awe and honor...then the little head shake to complete the feeling. I knew what he meant. It was always such an honor to see a horse jump so effortlessly. Now it had been my honor to feel it on this little magic horse.

I didn't want to disturb the air, the feelings, the rush. Heartbeats and flaring nostrils were the only sounds as Joe and I relinquished our canter into a walk. 

I didn't want to get off either, leave that place of grace. You don't want to lose that feeling. Joe seemed to be just as charged by the experience. When he was breathing easier, I took off his bridle and saddle, and led him to his freshly bedded stall full of soft gold straw. Joe took a big shake from head to tail and became himself again...riderless and free to guzzle water and take a roll. I just had to stand there and look at him. Of course, I didn't let Spinner see me.

I'll always be indebted to that little horse. I'll always remember breathing down that line trusting the little supercharged Arabian was loving this as much as me.

Thank you, Joe, thank you for that glimpse of grace.

SJDortch
Aug.07/Mar.08

Copyright Aug.2007/Jan.2008 All Rights Reserved
Publication or reprint of any kind is solely at the discretion of and with permission from . the author. Legal written permission must be obtained prior to any publication or use of content or products of ‘JOE’, present and future. Author holds all rights to any form of production, prints or reprints of “JOE.”