Bull by Bull

• The first things I dropped when we moved to Central Oregon were Gs. My mom was an English major at the University of Oregon, and she let me know how disappointed she was by my lack of proper pronunciation. Somehow, though, I felt the cadence of droppin’ Gs fit better in Central Oregon.

The other thing my mom couldn’t abide was living on an unpaved country road. “I would never live on a road like this,” said she. Her loss.

A while back, I had a reunion of sorts; pizza with many of my old friends at Transfiguration. It’s been years since I was the parish secretary there, yet the saints and I picked right up where we left off, including lots of laughter and talk about our dogs.

• My dog Bingo always knows what’s coming by the socks I put on. Big, heavy winter socks means we’re staying indoors. The Carhartts mean we’re going out to the barn and surrounds, and colorful, funky socks mean Mama’s takin’ her love to town, so to speak.

• Within minutes of the Queen’s death, there were rainbows over Balmoral Castle. Days later, as her coffin was being removed from the hearse into the yard of St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh, a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds alighting on her coffin. And, as if that wasn’t enough, there came the perfect last salute. There was total silence as the coffin was being moved toward the Cathedral entrance, though the area was filled with the Queen’s Guards. There was not a sound to be heard until a horse blew his nose close to a microphone. Fit for the Queen, we could all hear his goodbye.

• There is never a good time for the TV remote to die. Trust me, though, there is a very bad time for it to go on the fritz: three days before election day. I spent two evenings getting up and down ad nauseam to dodge the ubiquitous political candidates’ ads before I was able to get a replacement remote. Though it was maddening beyond words, it was also some of the best evening exercise I’ve had in years.

• When the kid at the car wash brought my 32-year-old Bronco out to me, he said, “Man, it sure is weird to drive an old car,” which I took as a compliment. I put new tires on said old car last month, which quite possibly could be the last set I’ll need, given the givens. I must say, besides feeling safer, the ride is much improved and I do like that new-tire smell.

• Wherever we live, I think the familiar sounds surrounding us are a huge part of living well. However, an unwelcome sound of late is well drilling. Over 36 years ago, we, too, were transplants from there. I can still remember The Bulletin paper guy giving us the evil eye as we rolled in pulling everything we owned including a couple of horses, a dog, and two cats. I get it. I do. But do we really have to use up what precious little water and land we still have before we put the “Welcome to Oregon” signs back up, circa 1962, with the words, “we hope you will enjoy your visit”?

• I feel like I’ve taken enough epic chances in my life, including moving to Central Oregon, such that I am enjoying simply taking a chance on some days as they come my way. And there’s always Cloverdale Road.