writing

Long-Handled Titanium Spork

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

I want to start with the book recommendation first. I’m afraid the rest of this writing will be a big rant, and you can just skip it and go read the book “Deacon King Kong” by James McBride.

I was first introduced to James McBride’s writing when he was the keynote speaker at the Greensboro Bound Literary Festival in the spring of 2024. I was in Greensboro, but chose to attend my grandson’s birthday party instead. His last book (James McBride, not Bridger Honey),was “The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store”. So of course, I read it. It was good. I enjoyed the story and recommend the book.

As I was perusing the Montana state interlibrary website for our next book club read, I found another James McBride book, “The Good Lord Bird”. I ordered the kit to be sent to Darby. Did I like this one……..well……I did notice that several people in my ‘open to the public’ book club returned the book early instead of at our planned meeting. I started the book at the beach. It was not a beach book. I got to page 100 and decided to stop, and for the first time, not finish my book club book, that I picked out, and a book club that I head up. Ugh.

The next day, I kept reading. The writing was good, the premise of the book is great, it’s historical fiction, one of my favorites, but it just went on and on and on with Civil War battles and details and would drag along with not much progress. I finished. I still don’t recommend it, but I did like it.

And next, I had found a James McBride book in a free library box on the street and had grabbed it and added it to my stack at home. Brett read it, liked it and said I should read it. So, after finishing “The Good Lord Bird”, I started “Deacon King Kong”.

It takes place in 1969, in the projects in New York City. I started this book on my river trip. I had to read a whole page and a half of the beginning of the book to my river crew. I read the same page and a half to my book club. The writing is incredible, the story line astounding, and the characters are as real and genuine as your next door neighbor. I highly recommend “Deacon King Kong.”

Next paragraph. Donald Trump gave me $500 this week and a letter. He told me in the letter that there was a surplus of affordable care act money. He wanted people whose subsidies were taken away to get a one time $500 refund. He said that Joe Biden took away the subsidies. Wait. What? I think I will write Mr. Trump a thank you note and explain to him that it is my understanding his administration took away the subsidies. The 6% refund, based on my annual expenditure of affordable health insurance for 2026, is generous, but now I question your system. How do you have excess? I know……me, personally, I do not go to the doctor. The annual $10,600 deductible is not in my budget. I spent $8400 per year for insurance I can’t use. So you don’t actually spend any money on me. I think maybe I should get more back.

Next paragraph. How many fiber internet companies do I need on my rural dirt road outside of Darby, Montana? The companies just keep coming, tearing up my road, installing ugly green plastic pods, installing orange tubing underground, move rocks and roll them down the mountain. And they are ALWAYS going backwards in their trucks. The entire summer was filled with the constant noise of a backup beeper, all day long. I have high speed internet. Sometimes it isn’t great, but mostly I can watch You Tube videos, stream Hulu and follow my daughter on Instagram, just not all at the same time. Word on the street, literally, is that there was a lot of federal government money to get high speed fiber to rural areas. The two best parts of this story is that I already have high speed internet and the second is that in order to get the new and better stuff to my house I have to pay to have it come down my quarter mile driveway. Then pay for the monthly service. HAHAHAHA. But I’m paying for affordable health insurance. Also, Brett is going to end up plowing those ugly green plastic pods right off of their stands in the next big snow storm.

Next paragraph. The people running for political office must be the scum of the earth. The political commercials tell me every time I turn on the tv how horrible these people are. Running for public office is not about budgets, jobs, cost of living, health care. It is not even about abortions or guns anymore. Apparently, these horrible people want to have drag queen shows for children. Really. No joke. That’s what they said on the commercial. And this is what they are focusing on; spending donator money on. They are also very concerned about a person transitioning to another sex playing sports with their daughters. Not worried about their sons, just the daughters. These are the issues that voters are concerned with? Is this a problem somewhere? Am I not up on worldly events due to my rural internet?

Next paragraph: Sunshine Protection Act. HAHAHA. I think this is a bigger misnomer than Daylight Savings Time. You can not save daylight and you can not protect sunshine. You get what you get. Noon is when the sun is directly overhead. The end. Days are longer in the summer period, and not because you changed the time in March.

Next paragraph. Who talks in a library? I’ll tell you. The librarian and the lonely old guy. They are having an in-depth discussion about welding. For an hour. It’s a library. Read about it.

Next paragraph. My spork. I own a long handled, titanium, spork. This is a backpacking essential. And sometimes, a hiking essential. Heidi and I will go for a day hike and still pack our backpacking stoves, fuel, food, mug, tea, chair and spork.

Let’s breakdown the spork. Long handled, this is so you can dig out your rehydrated-eat-in-the-bag meal. Some of the bags are deep and the long handle keeps you from having to insert your hands into the food bag and getting food on your hands. Titanium, this is to make it light. Ounces make pounds as they say. Spork, this is so you have a fork and spoon in one, also saving on weight, so you don’t have to take a fork and a spoon. It is an important tool not to be lost. I’ve lost mine twice now. Not really lost, as I can specifically see exactly where it was left once I realize I do not have it. The first time I lost it was on a through hike on the Selway River. We had camped at Horse Creek, got up early to beat the heat, hiked 14 miles, set up camp at Moose Creek and my spork was not where it was supposed to be . In my mind, I could see it still laying in the crook of an old rotting log. I had to borrow a spork after the spork owner had finished their meal. How embarrassing. The second time I lost my spork was on a day hike. If Heidi and I can’t get out for a backpacking trip, we will day hike. We will sit by a water fall or high mountain lake, soak up the sun, and enjoy the wilderness with a hot meal and a cup of tea. Once again, I got home, no spork. In my mind, I could picture it sitting in the dirt waiting to be placed in my bag. Two days later, Heidi and Shannon went back to Gem Lake, found my long-handled titanium spork and returned it to me. Spork rescuers, those are the kind of friends I have.

Next Paragraph: Digital coupons. Fuck me. First you want my phone number every time I purchase something in your store, now I have to have my phone, I have to down load your app, “clip” your coupon, then find it while checking out. Can I just get these grapes on sale without all the technology involved.

Last Paragraph: The five remembrances. I just learned these. Seems apropos this month. (My mom wanted to name me Apro Poe.)

The Buddha taught his followers to recite the Five Remembrances every day:

I am of the nature to grow old.

There is no way to escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill health.

There is no way to escape ill health.

I am of the nature to die.

There is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.

There is no way to escape being separated from them.

My actions are my only true belongings.

I cannot escape the consequences of my actions.

My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

If we look at the Five Remembrances only as ominous warnings of what is to come, they will serve only to create more suffering. Our practice is to smile to them, to look deeply and shine the light of mindfulness in order to transform our fear of old age, sickness, death, being separated from people and things we love, and to see the nature of our actions.

My Biggest Blog Fan

/ Lisa Poe / 2 Comments

Our parents teach us, whether they want to or not, how we want to be. We take away some things we don’t want to be, but we also take away attributes we do want to emulate. We unknowingly pass along these attributes as well. And this becomes our parents’ legacy.

I started writing this blog in 2014. The blog started out as a way to share and comment on good books that I have read. It then turned into a blog about my daily adventures. My adventures range from taking 12 high school students backpacking in the Grand Canyon to getting my hair colored at the Electric Beach and Hair Studio in downtown Darby, Montana. It soon became apparent to me that my biggest fan, follower and reader of my blog was my dad.

Mine and Daddy’s communication has always lacked any consistency. We could go months or more with no contact. When we did talk or see each other, it was the best. He was easy to be around, and fun to talk to, but he didn’t KNOW me. My blog turned into, without any other reader knowing this, a one sided conversation with my dad. I wrote the blog so my dad would know who I was. It was my connection to a man with whom I so badly wanted to connect.

But why? He’d pissed me off so badly, for so many reasons, for so many years, to all of my family, annually bandaging my wounds with a cheesy birthday card and a fifty dollar check.

I wrote a particular blog post about dealing with a co-worker/friend who was complaining about paying for every Darby kid’s braces, meaning, he made money and the Darby kids got braces through socialized medicine. The blog is titled “Thanks for the Braces”. I thanked my co-worker/friend for the braces and the shoulder surgery, because, yes, he was describing my own kids who are now contributing members of society and happily paying into the system that takes care of others. Daddy felt the need to comment via an email to me about this particular blog.

In his email he said; “Hi Lisa, Your latest blog affected me deeply. I felt compelled to write you a letter which I have attached and to send you a prayer, which is also attached. Your blog shows me that you have both courage and wisdom. Thanks for sharing those with all of us. It makes me want to do a better job of loving my neighbor. Love Dad.

I will paraphrase his attached letter.

“Lisa, I love your blogs and this one is especially thought provoking. My favorite part is where you listened to your friend while he vented and threw his feelings about his being a victim all over you. You showed empathy for your friend and thereby saved the friendship.”

The blog continues, stating that I could not run for office in Montana and listing my “labels” that would prevent me from getting many votes. In my dad’s response letter he also listed his “labels”, which were directly opposite of my labels. For example; republican vs democrat and Christian vs atheist, etc, etc.

After listing his labels he said: “Here’s the thing. None of that matters. You and I can still love each other because we both know that I will listen to you and that you will listen to me and I have gratitude every day that we have that kind of relationship. I am proud of you, I love you, and I am grateful that you are in my life.”

The feeling is mutual, which is why our relationship has continued to exist through the years.

I wrote a blog about my dad called “Cat’s in the Cradle.” Feel free to click on the link to read it.

My dad had two favorite blog posts. One was about me, Zach and Hannah going to his church called, “The Bible Story” He shared it with the minister of his church who then read it at his annual Presbyterian preacher conference in Oklahoma. Dad’s other favorite was the one about his mother, my grandmother called, “Mamaw.”

My friend Linda, recently gifted me the book, “Star Spangled Jesus” by April Ajoy, an evangelical Christian who writes about Christian Nationalism taking over Christianity. It’s a great book and I highly recommend it. I marked mine up, underlining passages, making notes in the margins and sent it to my dad. He read it and called me twice to discuss. I have another book to send him “Separation of Church and Hate”, but now it is too late. He died this week. Who will I write this blog for now?

Me and dad golfing, I totally missed the ball and we are bend over laughing, he is still bent over in laughter. It was a good day and I am not a golfer.

Daylight Saving Time

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

You know that we are not “saving” daylight, right? This is a misnomer. The light is the same amount; time is man-made. We are all clear on this. The middle of the day is still when the sun is directly overhead, whether you call it 12:00 noon or 1:00 or 5:00.

On Sunday, November 1, 2026, there will be slightly less sunlight than on Saturday, October 31, 2026, not because we went from Daylight Saving Time to Standard Time, but because the days get shorter due to the revolution of the Earth around the Sun on that day of the year.

I say change our schedules. Work 7:00 am to 4:00 pm if you want more light so you can get in 9 holes before going home. Or, if you like morning sunlight, work 9:00 to 6:00. We act as if the parameters we have set are set in stone. Let’s make some adjustments.

I’ve never celebrated Daylight Saving Time. It’s against my religion.

The House just passed a bill to have permanent Daylight Saving Time. What about Arizona and Hawaii? They don’t participate in the time change.

Let’s not have a time change twice a year, but let’s keep the time consistent with the sun. When a sundial says it is noon, it is noon.

This is all a perception problem. Getting up at 5:00 am sounds too early, so we change 5:00 am to be 6:00 am, and now it sounds acceptable. What the fuck??!! Truly a mind fuck in the making. Still, nobody has enough time in the day or enough sleep at night. Making Daylight Saving Time permanent is not going to fix these problems.

I had a co-worker who would get his monthly paycheck as a physical check (not direct deposit), would hold on to it for a week, and then deposit it into his bank account, making it only three weeks until he got paid again. This made him feel like he could make it to the next payday. This was how he budgeted. Self-induced mind fuckery.

This is what we are dealing with.

My biggest complaint about this whole thing: THIS is what we find important right now? People can’t afford gas, health insurance, or food. And what about the food? Should we figure out the explosive diarrhea conundrum? What about the wildfires? Climate crisis? The federal government is passing bills about a one-hour time change

Sundial. Go with the science. Feel free to comment with your thoughts.

If you want to read more great blog posts with adventures, book recommendations, and a few rants, click here: Wild About Books.

If you want to buy my recently self-published novel, click here, Lucida Sans.

If you want to purchase my first book, click here: Montana Wild Woman.

If you don’t want your kids to go to the bus stop in the dark or try to put them to bed with it still light out, call your congressman.

You do you. Hike your own hike.

A Novel by Me

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

I feel like there are different levels of artists. Someone who paints or draws can be at multiple levels of talent, yet still be at a show and sell their art. The better the artist, the bigger the show. An author, on the other hand, feels like there is only one level, the top. Where a painter can love their work and display it in their home, you must dive into a book to actually know what is in it. A person must take a leap of faith with a book. If the author is self-published, with no editor, agent, and not even trained or schooled in writing, what right do they have to print their work and call it a book, much less sell it for money?

That’s where I am.

Again.

Impostor. (Not the syndrome, for real life.)

Well, it’s out there. Mistakes and all.

I love the book. I wrote it eight years ago. I gave it to some family and friends for help. Some of them returned it with notes and suggestions. I went through it again and adjusted it with their ideas. My good friend proofread it for me. I don’t want to say her name because I probably should have had her proofread it again, but I didn’t because I’m done and I want to ride my bike instead, or pick up the other novel I started writing and get that one going.

I love the book, and I also love all of the characters in the book. There are a lot of them.

The genre is Literary Fiction.

“Literary fiction is a category of novels that prioritizes depth, character psychology, and artistic prose over a fast-paced plot. Rather than focusing on external action or world-building, it serves as a profound exploration of the human condition, inviting readers to reflect on complex social, political, or philosophical themes.”

This is also my favorite genre to read. Makes sense.

I wrote the book during a time in my life when sleep was harder to come by. I would listen to NPR or BBC news and write at three in the morning. I wrote the whole thing in notebooks, four of them total. I had no plan, just wrote. I didn’t even go back and read any of it until I transcribed it onto the computer.

The book takes place in the 90s-ish, in North Carolina-ish, before there was much technology-ish. The book has a lot going on. Religion, gun violence, racism, and more. It seems just as prevalent today as it did eight years ago.

I wish I could write a good “elevator pitch” for it, but I’m at a loss. Brett has been pushing me for a long time to get this novel finished. I credit him for this happening, as it has mostly been sitting in the closet.

I want to write like David James Duncan or Barbara Kingsolver. I don’t know how to get there. A jack of all trades, a master of none.

And before you berate me for the fact that you have to buy my book on Amazon, there is a reason Jeff Bezos is so fucking rich. His business is genius. And Kindle Direct Publishing is also genius. Yes, I’ll pay more in taxes just from my meager book sales than he pays ever, but I guess that’s why he has money, and I don’t. That’s where you can find my book. Amazon. Put Lisa Poe in the search bar. Both of my books will come up. Paperback or Kindle version. Sorry, no audible. I’ll read it to you if you need me to.

The book I’m recommending is “Lucida Sans” by Lisa Poe.

More great book recommendations and adventures can be found at Wild About Books.

Entrepreneur

/ Lisa Poe / 1 Comment

I love being challenged. As you read from a previous blog, I’m being challenged to afford, keep, and pay for my “Affordable Care Act” catastrophic, high-deductible health insurance, as well as afford gas and groceries. I fear I have retired too soon.

This is why you have not heard from me in a while. I’ve been busy on my solution (and not substitute teaching, which I am awful at).

Solution. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

I started my own business. I’m going to write off lots of stuff, including my health insurance.

Lisa Poe LLC, Professional Organizer, licensed and insured. I did it all. It is legit. I registered my LLC with the state, bought liability insurance, supplied my tool kit, and bought a step ladder. I’ve had two clients so far. One is done and paid, the other is ongoing for now and prepaying. As of this writing, I’ve made $2,140 in revenue!

What is a professional organizer? I declutter your space. Drawers, closets, pantries, garages, storage units, bills and paperwork, craft rooms, etc. I give you space to relax, peace of mind, a fresh perspective, and a love for the space where you live. The projects you spend days procrastinating on, I complete in four hours. I give you respect for your emotional attachment, while at the same time helping you dispose of the clutter that nobody uses anymore. Whether you are downsizing, moving, or cleaning out a recently vacated space that you have inherited, I will show up with boxes, labels, and lots of trash bags. Downsizing is hard. I am also the emotional support and that little push you need to remove all that does not serve you anymore.

Oh dang? I like it. How’s that for a quick elevator pitch, to basically say, NOBODY WANTS YOUR SHIT.

I’m taking new clients. Ask about the New Client Promotional Rate. My headquarters is located in Darby, Montana, and I have satellite offices in Greensboro, North Carolina, and Patagonia, Arizona.

I’ve also been spending my time getting my novel finished. I wrote it eight years ago, and it’s been sitting in my closet waiting for a professional organizer to get rid of it. I’ve had it proofread, made the corrections, and will read through the draft one last time before self-publishing it for the Writer’s Day event in Darby on August 1st. “Lucida Sans” will be available this summer.

I’m also working on my greeting card business. Affordable, non-traditional greeting cards. Poe’s Tits Notes. Do you need a card for a lesbian wedding? A thank you card for a ride to your colonoscopy? A Baby Genitalia Reveal card? There will still be Birthday Cards and Mother’s Day cards, too, but not what you would find in a store. Unusual, slightly inappropriate, quirky. Oh wait…. that’s how people describe me! Send a little note with a Poe’s Tits Note.

I’ve been biking. I signed up for the Get Lost Gravel Bike Ride in Hamilton, Montana, for August 2nd (an anniversary day that will forever be burned into my psyche). I’m in over my head. Forty-seven miles and 4100 feet of elevation gain. I will have all day to do it, and my goal is to beat Heidi, who is doing the 82-mile ride with 6,100 feet of climbing. Yeah, in over my head, but I am training for it. Putting in the miles, climbing the climbs, soaking up the sun or rain or wind, all the weather, sometimes all the weather on the same ride. It is Montana, that’s what you get. I’m excited to participate in this basically in my backyard ride, and better than how I spent last August 2nd.

And….I’ve been reading. I have several books to recommend. Not just recommended reading, these are required reading.

“Star Spangled Jesus” by April Ajoy: Thanks to my favorite Jesus Freak, Linda, for gifting me a copy. I’ve underlined my favorite sections and plan on sending it to my other favorite Christian, my dad, for Father’s Day. Yeah, spoiler alert, daddy. Follow the author as she is raised an evangelical Christian, but starts questioning the turn of events as the Christian Nationalists create their own Jesus that bends to their self-imposed rules. An entertaining and educational read.

“The Correspondent” by Virginia Evans: This novel is told only by letters and emails to and from the protagonist, an elderly woman who lives on her own. This is a real treat to read.

“Yesteryear” by Caro Claire Burke: This is one of the best books I’ve ever read. Talk about weaving a bunch of story lines into a masterpiece. I could not put this book down. It got my attention right from the start, and I struggled to get anything else done besides reading this story. The book itself is like nothing I’ve ever read. I highly recommend “Yesteryear”. Let me know what you think.

More great adventures and book recommendations can be found at Wild About Books. You can also read about August 2, 2025, and about my health insurance.

Ernie’s Morning

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

I was relieved when AdMo arrived.

AdMo is short for Adventure Mom. She’s the one who joins us on a lot of our backpacking and white-water rafting trips. She is a substitute warm lap for when my mom is busy setting up her tent, brushing her teeth, or collecting water for dinner. I’m always looking for a warm lap. I run cold, but I’m just a nine-pound Yorkshire terrier.

AdMo was the first person to walk through the door that morning whom I knew. I sighed with relief when she walked into the bedroom. I was lying on my dad on the bedroom floor. I was trying to keep him warm for a change. He was cold. My mom was sad. She cried so much. The windows were wide open. The breeze was strong, blowing through the bedroom windows. The room was chilly from the cool morning breeze. I tried not to shiver. The willows outside the windows were rustling in the wind, but mostly the sounds came from mom that morning.

The morning started with crying and confusion. It was not our typical Saturday morning. Strangers with uniforms were in and out of the house. I was glad when they put my dad on the floor so I could lie with him. Two of the strangers pushed on his chest and shoved a tube down his throat. It was chaotic for a bit, and then they left. The other two uniformed men stayed all morning.

I knew what was happening. My goofy sister, the Labrador retriever, did not. She was running around the house like a crazy ass lab does, greeting all of these strangers as if she knew them and they were here to see her. I was staying out of the way. It’s easy to step on a Yorkie.

This was my adopted family. I had been through this before with my original human mom. I spent hours in her lap at the nursing home facility. I was there when she died, too.

I remember being removed from my original mom’s lap and carried by this big, big, strong man, my new dad. Did he know he could crush me with those hands of his? I was not happy about changing families. My life was slow and comfortable in the nursing home. I was placed in a large truck with a hyperactive yellow lab and this big man who drove with wild abandon, passing on double lines, honking, complaining about the other drivers. What was I going to? We arrived at my new house, where I found my new mom and took to her lap, where I felt safe. They took me in and treated me like a part of the family. I was happy. I transformed from nursing home Yorkie to adventure Yorkie, including my own life jacket, puffy coat, and even a dry suit. It didn’t take long to love my new life and my new family.

My dad was communicating with me, just like my original mom had when she died. The communication is so much better in spirit form. It put me at ease with both of their deaths. My mom was too devastated to communicate with him. I wished I could help her. She was so sad.

AdMo would come and go from the room, meeting people who came to help, making phone calls to Dad’s relatives. She would sit with my mom on the floor next to my dad. That was when the hyper lab would join us. AdMo must have given the lab some stability, as she would lie up next to AdMo, and Mom would cry. Mom would touch Dad. You could see he was cold, as his lips had lost their color. Mom cried that she would never see him again. “How could this be happening?” she would repeat. “How can I go on without him?” Her heart was breaking. She was in shock. We all were really. There had been no sign that this was coming. He had died in his sleep. A perfectly healthy man on the surface. An active, physically fit, full of life, happy, fifty-three year old man.

Eventually, another man in a uniform came into the room. He said he needed to take pictures if we could walk out of the room for a bit. I stayed. He took the blanket off that I was lying on. I hopped off, but stayed by Dad’s side as the bald man with a compassionate face took photos. He took the tube out of Dad’s mouth, the stickers off of his chest, and covered him back up with the quilt from the bed. I jumped back up on him; he was colder, the color gone from his face now, but still so peaceful looking. I couldn’t get over how peaceful he looked this whole time. It gave me comfort. I wish it gave my mom comfort. She couldn’t walk more than ten steps without collapsing onto the ground. Her friends stayed by her side, held her, and gave her words of encouragement. There were moments I was with Dad alone, and Mom would go blow her nose or talk to the bald man with the compassionate face, but I never left.

The next strangers to show up were not in uniform. They looked more like they were going out to dinner, except that it was 8:30 in the morning. He wore a collared shirt and slacks; she wore a skirt and blouse. Their faces were solemn, professionally solemn. Mom and AdMo stayed as Mom kept saying this was the last time she would see him. AdMo told her it was not him. He is with you now; that is not him. AdMo helped mom stand up and walked her out of the bedroom. I stayed and was nudged off the blanket for the last time. The solemn-faced people and the bald compassionate man managed to move my Dad onto a wheeled bed. I remembered the same thing happening to my original mom. They covered him with a new blanket and wheeled him out of the bedroom. I followed. No one noticed me, that is my super power, but also how I get stepped on a lot. Mom came in from the back deck to see him as they wheeled him through the kitchen. Dad’s friends moved some furniture and they took him out the front door. Mom collapsed again in the kitchen.

Now that Dad was gone, I had to stay with Mom. That’s what Dad had told me in the bedroom. Mom still has a warm lap. Mom went out the front door before the van left with Dad. She wanted to see him one more time. The well-dressed, solemn-faced man opened the door for her to have one more look.

Somehow, we all ended up in the living room. Mom, AdMo, Dad’s two friends, me, and the lab. We were spent. Mom’s lap was finally available for me, and I took my familiar spot. She put my fleece jacket on me. I felt my Dad join us on the recliner. Mom did not notice. It would be a while before she felt his presence. I would help her get there.

Molly Update

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

There is a good chance you have forgotten about my yellow lab, Molly, and her handicap. I wrote about it in January 2024. It has been a minute. If you recently read my new book “Montana Wild Woman,” you will be more in tune with Molly and her fibrocartilage embolism, FCE.

You can buy my book on Amazon or click this link to read the blog post about what happened to Molly. (Yes, I’m going to plug my book whenever I can, as I’m not very good at promoting or self-aggrandizing. If you buy the book, please leave a review on Amazon. Thanks.)

Molly can walk using all four of her legs. It is not pretty, it is not efficient, and she does get open wounds from dragging the bad leg on dirt or pavement. We still have yoga mat pathways on our hardwood floors to keep her from losing her footing as easily. She still loves to swim. Swimming is her best activity for not feeling handicapped. She can not run. Okay, she can run, but she mostly runs with her massively strong front legs dragging her backend which is trying with all its effort to unsuccessfully keep up. She chases chipmunks at high speed in this manner. She will excitedly come to say hi to you in the same fashion. It makes everyone think we should amputate the bad leg. But they only see excited Molly trying to run. They don’t see Molly walk on her own for a mile on the soft flat trail by the river in Hamilton. They don’t see her walk out on the driveway every morning and keep watch as Brett takes a hot tub. The leg does work, just not 100%, maybe not even 50%, but it does work. As long as I see it attempting to work, I will not amputate.

It’s been exactly 19 months since her spinal stroke. I wish I had a Garmin on her wheelchair. I would like to clock how many miles she has put on it. I have a feeling the manufacturer never intended their dog carts to go on forest trails or fat tire biking in the snow. The cart has been welded, screwed and jury-rigged back to working multiple times. We’ve ordered replacement parts. The company was shocked to hear the parts had worn out. Brett has greased and repacked the wheel bearings several times. Molly takes it in the river to get a drink. It is probably time for a new one.

The fat tire biking was a mistake as her wheelbase was wider than the trail. She flipped in the cart on a downhill, and we had to stop and get her back upright. Picture a turtle on its back, but a panicked turtle who is fighting to right herself.

Molly still goes to a chiropractor, a new one. Brett can also do spinal adjustments on her now. He does PT on her every night. She still uses her ramp to get in and out of the car. She still has a ramp at both of her dog doors. Our bed is on the floor with no bed frame and no box springs. She can easily get into bed with us. Everyone who sees her and doesn’t know her just assumes she is an old dog. She is six.

I follow an FCE support group on Facebook. I’m hoping to see a new treatment, medicine, or PT that will help her get better faster.

I backpacked to the magical camping spot on Big Creek and talked to the large tamarack trees, asking them to communicate with their friends and send their healing magic to Molly. She has been walking better since that trip.

I would love to take her backpacking again. Nerve damage takes time. She will get better; she might not backpack, but she will get better.

What book am I going to recommend for this Wild About Books blog? Currently, I’m reading “Parable of the Sower” by Octavia Butler for my book club. I’m also reading “The Awakened Brain: The New Science of Spirituality and Our Quest for an Inspired Life” by Lisa Miller. Both books touch on a “new age” thought process. “Parable” is a dystopian book in which the protagonist is writing her own Bible as she goes through the destruction of a world that has gone rogue through dishonest, greedy politicians. The Bible and the religion of her preacher father don’t give her what she needs. The book is every man for himself and your best protection is a gun, but as the book progresses you realize that the best protection is a community of people who are willing to look out for each other.

“Awakened Brain” is about how spirituality(not religion) is an innate desire in everyone and should be explored and not suppressed. The book encourages seeking out serendipitous events, believing in intuition, feelings and believing that the universe has your back. To believe that people enter and leave your life for a reason not by chance. Things will work out in the end. I find that it would be difficult to live in this world without that belief. If you believe the world is out to get you, you’ll always be on the defense, always expecting the worst. This would be depressing. This is the basis of the book, that spirituality is the gateway to curing depression. It is the gateway to believing that your energetic young lab is unable to run with her friends and there must be a reason, a lesson to be learned by all.

I was so excited by Molly’s progress that I took her for a walk without her cart. She started poorly and then got worse. She drank from the river, and her bandage got wet and fell off on the way back. She dragged the leg, and her wound opened. I tried to wrap up her bleeding wound with the wrecked bandage, but it came off. This is how we hobbled back to the car, rewrapping, rewrapping, rewrapping. Her paw was trashed.

I’m an idiot. I’ve done this before. Had major optimistic feelings of her progress and healing, only to have been over-enthusiastic. One step forward, two steps back. Should I amputate? Could she learn to run on three legs and get to be an energetic lab again? Is the other leg strong enough from the injury to carry the weight of her back end? Fuck.

I’m watching impatiently for a serendipitous event.

More great adventures and book recommendations can be found on my blog “Wild About Books.” Hit the follow button.

Retirement Rocks

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

My friend Allison is in 4th grade. She told her mom, who replaced me as the business manager at Darby Public School, that Lisa couldn’t retire. Her mom asked her why not. Allison said Lisa bikes, skis, snowboards, hikes, and in Allison’s eyes, this was not what “retirement” meant.

I’d planned it this way. I would be done when I turned 60, and I could collect my public employee’s retirement. And when it worked, I was in shock.

Here I am. Not in an office, not answering phones, not dealing with passwords, a multitude of software upgrades and changes, computers, internet, sickness, and people coming and going. I stayed for the pension. And now here it is.

I have ginormous plans. I have not stopped. I own four bikes: a road bike, a mountain bike, a gravel bike, and now a fat tire bike. I’m lifting heavier weights at the gym, finally increasing my weights. I have a season pass to Lost Trail Powder Mountain. I mean, I did. What?

When I turned 18 years old, it was legal to drink alcohol. While I was 18 they changed the age to 19. When I turned 19 I was legal to drink. While I was 19 they changed the drinking age to 21. When I turned 60 I was able to get a discounted golden age season pass at Lost Trail Powder Mountain. While I was 60, they changed the age for the golden age pass to 65. UGH! I can’t win. Yes, I had a season pass, but now I don’t. I mean, I AM retired, on a fixed income and all.

It has been a learning curve to realize I don’t have to plan everything for the weekend. It has been a learning curve to stop rushing, to slow down. But I’m there. I’ve planned my first backpack of the season.

I’m able to ride bikes with Carol and all of her retired friends. The great-grandmothers. Yes, Carol and other Lisa are both great-grandmothers and they are also the two strongest riders in the group. There are men in the group too. This is not a pavement-pounding kind of group. They enjoy sharing the adventure, sharing the outdoors, and sharing the camaraderie. You never know who might show up for the ride. There is a core group of about 10 people whose average age is probably 70. It is my dream now to be as strong as they are. To be able to keep up. For now, I’m at the back of the pack. Maybe one day, when I’m a great-grandmother, I’ll be able to lead.

I have two part-time retirement jobs to supplement my income and pay for massages with Kaylee. I’m the Adult Education director at Darby Public School, and I’m the Adult Programming Director at the Darby Public Library. The library groups that I attend include drawing, knitting, writing, and book club. My couch in the living room is more of a large seat of activities. Sketch book, ink pens, pencils, yarn, books and a tea mug. I love retirement.

I am also able to read a lot. OK, not as much as you think, because of my new hobby of drawing, mostly pencil drawings, some ink too. I was just in an art show for beginning artists.

My mom gave me a bunch of inserts from her 100 Lipton Tea Bags box which neatly divide the tea bags into organized sections and also make great bookmarks. One side is slick paper and is perfect for my ink pens. I made bookmarks to give away at the art show.

I drew my dog Molly too.

But yes, I am still reading. I lead the library book club. Last month, we read a book I had not only already read, but I had also already recommended it on Wild About Books. For the first time ever, I’m recommending a repeat.

I highly recommend reading or re-reading “City of Thieves” by David Benioff. It may be the first book in which everyone in the book club gave the book two thumbs up.

More great book recommendations and retirement adventures can be found at Wild About Books. You can also find the compiled adventures in my new self-published book “Montana Wild Woman,” available on Amazon.

Quick Thank You

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

My self published book, “Montana Wild Woman,” has an accumulated four-point-five star review on Amazon and one verbal review! Thanks, Carol.

Big shout out to all of my blog followers and Facebook followers for supporting me on my journey as an author. As of today I’ve sold 32 copies of my new book “Montana Wild Woman.” I want to apologize to all of my book readers for the typos and grammar errors that you have had to work through as you read. You’ll be happy to know, after making my many corrections, I have learned how to spell noise.

With the help of my adventure friend who happens to be the daughter of an English teacher and who may have found her new calling as a proofreader, I have corrected most of the errors and published the second edition. I know it seems backwards. I know I still feel impostor syndrome. I know my art teacher shakes her head in frustration when I say something negative about my creative endeavors.

You will now be proud to purchase this book as a gift for Father’s Day, birthdays or any other day that may require gift-giving.

You can share blog posts such as this one, with friends and family. You can even get on Amazon and write a review. Be like Carol.

Maybe you want to read more of my writing. You can always follow my blog Wild About Books. I’m also excited to self-publish my novel “Lucida Sans.” This time I’ll have Heidi proofread BEFORE I publish it.

I wrote “Lucida Sans” while experiencing the adventure known as perimenopause and was able to write all night instead of sleeping. I would have NPR news playing as background noise as I long-hand wrote in spiral notebooks. My characters guided my hand to tell their story. I filled up four notebooks before re-reading what I’d written.

The book is about a family growing up while fumbling through the unwritten rules of society. This family is not always aware of those rules. Life hits them with some upsetting realities and major bumps in the road as we experience how they navigate those bumps. Lucida Sans, better known as Luci, is the protagonist and narrator. We see the world through her eyes as she grows up with her older brother Times New Roman and little sister, Century Gothic. Their father, an author, named his children after fonts. The book deals with emotional health, racism, religion, homophobia and gun violence.

Once I have all of this off my plate, I will continue with my next novel.

The next book has no title at this time. The book is about an elderly woman who lives alone in the mountains of rural Montana. She has several male friends whom she has known most of her life. They are all widowed and are dealing with their offspring who are trying to get them to move to retirement communities. Life is very routine for them until a white cargo van with Idaho plates pulls up beside the woman as she is cross-country skiing from her friend’s house back to her house. Two men pull her into the van and demand that she give them all of her opioids. She doesn’t have any. The men don’t believe her. “All old people have opioids.” They take a baseball bat to her knees and drive her to the emergency room. “Come out with some opioids,” they demand. We see how the protagonist now lives life as a supplier of opioids to a drug ring, but can’t tell anyone for fear of being forced to move into a retirement home.

Writing has always been a dream of mine. My blog has given me an outlet to write and share my writing. This past spring Brett and I were doing a deep cleaning in our outside shed. We needed more room for the six bikes. While cleaning I came across papers I had written while in school that my mom had saved. I found two different autobiographies. One was written probably in sixth grade and one was written as a sophomore in high school. Both biographies ended with the desire to write books and be an author. I did not recall that this had been a lifelong dream until reading these old papers.

Also, if you need a great proofreader for your writing or websites, let me know. I’ll connect you with Heidi.

This is fun. Thanks again.

Montana Wild Woman

/ Lisa Poe / Leave a comment

I did it.

Published my book. It is available on Amazon. An ebook or a paperback.

WHAT?!!!!!

Yeah; I was really nervous about hitting the “publish” button on Kindle Direct Publishing. It felt so vulnerable. Like I was standing naked on the street.

Right off the bat I fucked up.

Version 1.0.0

I read my introduction as an ebook sample and the very first sentence is missing a coma. I would have never seen this in my draft. This was why I was nervous. What have I missed? What have I misspelled? And now I’m going to expose these mistakes to the whole world. I’M A FRAUD. I’M A PRETEND WRITER.

I couldn’t re-read the stories one more time. I didn’t see the glaring mistakes anymore.

I’m suddenly back in Algebra I class with Mrs. Idol at Western Guilford High School.

I’m sure I was an undiagnosed, on the spectrum, dyslexic. Luckily, I was given credit for doing the algebra problems correctly even though I rarely got the right answer. My numbers would get transposed along the way. I’d get a D and then get to take geometry. Theorems. Another D. Algebra II. It would have been better for me to fail the class and take it over than to be moved on to a more advanced class. My math books took a severe beating through the years resulting in hefty damage fees. My SAT scores were so bad in math that I was accepted to college only if I signed up for the remedial math classes. Vulnerability.

I knew the dyslexia existed when I worked my job at Bi-Rite Grocery store during my high school years. I would ring up a buggy full of groceries and say $89.67. The customer would look at the register and say $98.67. There it would be. Right in my face. I saw the correct numbers and totally said the wrong numbers. I heard myself say them. I’m an idiot. What is wrong with me?

Vulnerability. I would walk off the bus and into the high school while Andrew Martineau would walk right behind me quietly chanting “ug…ly…..ug….ly…….ug….ly…….”.

It took me three tries to pass my driver’s test to get a driver’s license. My mom took me. My dad took me. I think my dad’s wife took me the final time. I could drive. I could not drive with the driver’s exam person in the car.

My dad’s wife thought I might be gay since I didn’t have any dates in high school. She said it as if being gay were a fault, to be whispered about and kept tabs on. I didn’t play softball because I didn’t want people to think I might be gay, I had enough going against me already. I did play tennis my senior year of high school. An acceptable girl sport with no sexual labels. We had 12 girls on the team and I was ranked number 12. Kind of like my seat in band. Seat number 1 was the best. I had the last seat and pretended to play my clarinet for a whole year, then quit.

In my younger twenties, drinking alcohol and flashing my tits was a game changer. I would yell hooters, lift my shirt and was instantly the “fun girl”. I preformed and perfected the act of the full flesh flash for years. To this day, I can full flesh flash on my bike while riding no handed. I did not want to be known as “Lisa with the big nose and weak chin” as I had read on my chart at the orthodontist office while getting my braces tightened and rubber bands installed. I wanted to be known as “Lisa with the great tits”. It’s all about getting your arms up while you lift your shirt; everything else goes up too. It’s a great move.

Vulnerability. I’m better. Ever since I became a mom. Ever since I moved to Montana. But clearly it is in my skin, embedded. I think most people I know now would be shocked to hear of my insecurities.

I fear hitting the “publish” button. I could…… just not do it. No one would know I’m just a “writer want to be” who can’t spell.

Then there were the signs.

Yeah.

Literally signs.

I drove into Darby and there on the Bitterroot Community Federal Credit Union digital sign it said; “Believe in yourself”. I drive by that sign once or twice a day and it keeps telling me to believe in myself.

Then I went to my adult ed beginner drawing class at the Darby High School. The dated art room has a chalk board. On the chalk board was written in chalk; “Creativity Takes Courage!!! Henri Matissse”

I went home and hit “publish”.

I’ve been recommending books for over ten years on this blog and I am proud to recommend “Montana Wild Woman” by Lisa Poe as the book for this post. It may not be perfect. It might need some corrections. But I will lift my arms up high as everything else rises up. Thanks.

More great book recommendations and adventures can be found at Wild About Books.