THE USUAL NOTE FROM LB: From the summer of 2002 to the spring of 2010, Gwen the Beautiful and I were the proud and often exhausted owners of a beautiful Ozarks property we called Cloud Creek Ranch.
In many ways, the ranch was paradise. But it was a paradise with a price that started going up before we even knew it existed. Here’s another Monday musing about our adventure and the lessons we learned.
Oh, and if y’all detect any irony, please believe me when I say it comes straight from the universe and not your kindly Uncle Larry B.
by Larry Brody
Time now for the 2nd Almost Annual Update on Paradise Happenings I’ll Probably Never Report About Otherwise.
This is the one where “Live! From Paradise!” brings everyone up to date on people and places readers of this space have been asking about. And gets me out of Dutch with all those who’ve been crabbing that I’ve left ‘em in the dark.
So:
The Old Billionaire’s Marriage. The O.B. may well have had the kind of relationship with his secretary every wife dreads, but he can’t be certain because he’s having another dreaded experience: Coming face to face with the possibility of dementia. For all his fortune, he may not be able to get out of this jam. Like all the rest of us, the O.B.’s going to need wisdom and courage.
Youngest Daughter Amber. Amber and her twin flame The Adventurer are still together, but their ‘round the world sailboat cruise failed to launch. They’re in Seattle now, deeply in love, saving the environment and co-writing songs. For me this is a happy ending. ‘Cept I know it’s not the ending at all. If there’s one thing my life has taught me so far it’s this: Everything stops, but nothing really ends.
My Lawn Tractor. That fool machine was on the fritz all summer. Refuses to shift gears. In June, I bought an inexpensive little power mower (the kind you—gasp!—walk behind), and I’ve been using it ever since. The clearing gets cut just as short, and I get a little cardio exercise for not one penny more.
Bob the Very Careful Cat. Bob’s become a real cat. He spends every moment he can sitting on Gwen the Beautiful’s lap and purring, and even nuzzles me for some petting action when I come by. Trouble is, when I oblige I very quickly end up with wet, watery, itchy eyes. Turns out I’m allergic to the little guy. (Tip: Buy stock in whatever company makes Benadryl. I’m about to make y’all rich.)
Norma, Daughter of Delly the Interstate Trucker. Norma dropped out of college her first semester, but even though she said she thought my advice was hooey she’s back at school working toward a better future after all.
The Cloud Creek Ranch Sweat Lodge. The sweat lodge is history now, gone like so many things out in these woods. And with it Ernest the Young Lakota Fireman. The sweat lodge worked so well that it filled Ernest with homesickness, and off he finally went back home to the Pine Ridge Rez. We miss him greatly, which brings up another thing life has taught me: One person’s destiny may be another’s dark fate. Or to put it another way: No matter how much you want certain things, they may not be yours to get.
Rosie the Sweet Arabian. With the healing help of J.L. the Horse Vet and her own inner strength, Huck the Spotless Appaloosa’s lady love has recovered completely from last spring’s injury to her leg. The entire process took almost five months, and for three of them it could’ve gone either way. But the great news—no thanks to Huck’s continuing to chase her around the corral every night—is that Rosie’s alive, well, and frisking again.
Gwen the Beautiful. The Mistress of The Mountain remains healthy, brilliant, and filled with love. She and I spent much of the summer traveling, both together and—due to unavoidable circumstances—separately, and both of us learned quickly that together was better. Way more fun.
Whither the magic? Reports of the death of magic in our life here in Paradise have proven to be highly exaggerated. Since I wrote about my worry that the wonders I’ve seen and reported on were the product not of supernatural wahoo but bad vision, Gwen and I together have experienced things like seeing the brown purse she bought last month turn black, Emmy the Bold go in and out of the house without ever having to open a door, and—hooray!—more dancing stars zigzagging all over the sky.
And, for good measure, after years of suffering from ticks, chiggers, and their icky ilk I’ve suddenly become immune to the effects of any biting or burrowing into my skin.
That’s right.. Not a spot, bump, or speck. Nothing to make me rend my flesh.
“Consider it your reward,” the Universe said when I asked, “Why?”
And when I said, “For what?” I felt the whole planet sigh.
“You know I never explain the punchline,” the Universe said.
Mysteries! Got to love ‘em.
After all, it’s not like they’ll ever go away.
