AREN'T GRANDKIDS JUST THE BEST THING IN THE UNIVERSE?

2 NEPHI 2:11

"For it must needs be that there is an opposition in all things. If not so,...righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good or bad."

You can't know happiness if you have never been sad.

You can't be good unless there is evil.

You can't appreciate good breath if you never smelled bad.

Well, you get the point, right?




99.9% of the time, I am just perfectly fine being here at home with the dogs and horses and wild rabbits. I love hearing the wind - the horses nickering (mostly when it's about time to be fed, I must admit) - birds singing - the huge airplanes that fly low over my house as part of border patrol... well, that last one isn't quite as romantic sounding, but it is part of reality three miles from Mexico.

I play a lot of music - I watch every single episode of "Whose Line Is It Anyway" and "Castle" for company - I talk to the animals probably more often than is necessary to be diagnosed with clinical lycanthropy.


But most of the time I am fine.

Until I get someone to talk to for an entire evening - someone that I share a background with, who is comfortable with me and I am comfortable with.



And then suddenly, I feel kinda lonely knowing they aren't going to be here tomorrow.

SCHADENFREUDE

I have a dark, dark secret to share with you.

I laugh at people when they are in pain.

I am so ashamed.

The other night I was watching "Drew Carey's Improv-A-Ganza" on the Game Show Network (this is what happens when you can't sleep at night & have 8,983 channels on satellite television), and they did a sketch where (I am being honest here) the floor was covered with BAITED MOUSETRAPS and the improvers, blindfolded as well as BAREFOOT, were left to act out a scene.

Needless to say, the mousetraps snapped and pinched and bit the actors, and the audience AS WELL AS MYSELF roared with laughter as the event progressed and more and more pain occurred.

Now why do we do that?

There is a word in German, Schadenfreude, which has become one of those wait-a-minute-you-mean-that-is-not-English words (like Gesundheit, graffiti, shanghai, bikini - bet you didn't know bikini is not English) which describes something in a way the English word/expression can't.

Schadenfreude literally translates as 'damage joy', but it's come to mean pleasure at someone else's pain or discomfort.

And I am ashamed of the fact that I do it.

Wait a minute, YOU do it ALSO?!

I'M STILL STANDING

Do you sometimes feel like you are fighting against yourself?

The technical term currently is Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) (used to be multiple personalities), which involve "two or more separate and distinct personality states (or identities) (which) control the individual's behavior at different times."

All of us can relate to this, right? I mean, how many of us on the very same day that we pledge to lose that final 5/10/25/100 pounds also pounced on the container of Ben & Jerry's Mint Chocolate Chunk in the big freezer and devoured every last spoonful?

Don't we faithfully plan our trip to the gym - pack our bags and our shoes - and still stop at Sonic and instead of the appropriate small cherry-limeade (only 170 calories) we somehow order the large Oreo Sonic Blast (only 1,020 calories.... and 490 of those fat calories)

We plan on conquering all the Great Books as one of our New Years Resolutions... but then after actually printing the list out, and going through it, with okay, Homer… yeah, but not Simpson… History of Rome… wasn’t that made into a movie with Angie Dickinson?… and Machiavelli - that’s about the Prince of Persia, right? With Jake Gyllenhaal, right? A hot actor with even more difficult last name than my own?

Well, you get the picture, right?

So today, I have decided that instead of fighting my other, my 'dark' side, I would embrace it - and include it.

When I have that irresistible urge for B&J's hit me, I'll go right ahead and eat it.

Without guilt. Without shame. Without apology.

However, I am also going to walk the dogs an extra time. Not out of culpability. Without ignominy. But because I can.

When the Oreo Sonic slips down my throat, it is going to be thoroughly enjoyed, relished, and appreciated.

But I will work one more horse for at least thirty minutes.

I'm not going to fight it.

I am going to embrace it.

OPENING THE GATE

Does anyone know a reliable history of, I don't know, some of the small items we deal with daily but just take for granted? Things like doors - so who started using doors first - who came up with the concept of a lock on it - when did people begin fencing in their places? Why are doors always rectangular? Are hobbits the only ones who thought of maybe having them circular?

The only reason I am even thinking these strange thoughts is because of some considerate actions of one of my horses.

Horses are often viewed as pretty stupid animals... by people who don't like horses. While horse people will usually say, if your horse says no, you either asked the wrong question or asked the question wrong.

I've even found that my horses use tools. Really.

I must explain to those of you who don't live in Arizona -- mesquite trees are 1) legumes, 2) able to survive where almost nothing else can grow... like in the Arizona desert.... and 3) mesquite trees are ARMED with needle-sharp thorns up to 3 inches long, with spines tough enough to go right through regular shoes and puncture tires.

So Najale will step on a branch of a mesquite tree - then positions his big fat belly right over the adjacent branch, and jiggle the first one until he gets that huge tummy of his scratched just in the right spot.

That's called using a tool.

The colt also has an odd habit of picking up random pieces of bark in his teeth, and then using it to scrap the dirt at his feet. I don't think I can call it writing, but he certainly concentrates hard on what he is doing - maybe an artistic equine streak.

And several of my horses have learned that art of opening gates.

Najale began the gentlemanly habit of opening the corral gate when he was certain that his symbolic mom, Sally, has eaten enough of her own feed, and would kindly race over and devour whatever was left.

Then both Renegade and Triple A decided to get in on the same trick, and soon any gate was also secured with a double-knotted rope to prevent such food encroachments.

Now EVERYONE has figured out how to easily lift the new simple gate latches, and tonight the horses have scheduled a class specifically on how to UN-KNOTTING.

An escape is obviously being planned.