VIVAcini August 3, 2012 by Vivacini!

August 3, 2012

Serving southern New Mexico . . . and the rest of the world!

photography by Helene Kobelnyk

“Though it’s cold and lonely in the deep dark night, I can see paradise by the dash board light.” - Meat Loaf 2

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Into the Rabbit Hole

by Helene Kobelnyk

This week’s cover story was a trip down memory lane for me. When I lived in

Roswell during the ‘70s, Buena Suerte Ranch was the center of the equine racing world. This is where legendary stallions of quarter horse and thoroughbred lines such as Go Man Go, Easy Jet, and Northern Dancer serviced mares in a top notch breeding facility. The annual yearling sale was a posh, dress-up champagne affair. I did not attend as a prospective buyer, but rather as a dreamer soaking in the beauty of these magnificent animals. I was born a horse lover and through all the growth and transitions in my life over the years, this has remained a constant. So when we headed out to our interview that day, I travelled the same road without hesitation and turned into the drive of Buena Suerte Ranch. The fact that another name was inscribed on the sign didn’t matter. I knew this place quite well 35 years ago, and I now recognized the drive and the layout. At least that’s what I thought. Everything in my life is an unexpected adventure and this day was no different. As I stood in front of what was supposed to be the ranch oﬃce, something seemed a little out of place. The once magnificent stallion barn did not seem to be the same, and behind the oﬃce building, a large herd of dairy cows enjoyed their breakfast. As we stepped through the doorway, the first thing I saw was an antique, red piano. How quaint, I thought. The place was dimly lit and to the left and right were rooms full of antique items. In the eerie quiet, large Victorian dolls scattered around the place seemed almost surreal. Just as I was beginning to feel as though Lady Haversham would step out of one of the rooms, something stirred on one of the sofas in the larger room. The figure of a young man walked towards me and when I asked where the horse facility was, he replied he didn’t know. What was this place, I thought to myself! I suddenly felt as if I had stepped into a wormhole. Part of my mind was fixated on what should have been there and another part was trying to somehow make this fit into my expectations and memory. It never dawned on me that I could have been in the wrong place. The part of Buena Suerte Ranch that I remembered had been sold and the equine facility moved to a different part of the property. When I finally returned to this dimension and found the horse center, I was glad that the same spirit that existed at the original ranch, was alive and well. The stallion barn is still full of feistiness, strength and famous lineages. Yearlings are being prepared for the annual sale and resident mares and geldings gallop and graze in nearby fields. The day ended as magically as it had begun. Given the recognition, honor and love he deserves, Mine That Bird—2009 winner of the Kentucky Derby—gets to romp and play in a grassy paddock next to his friends. Incredibly playful and sociable, he’s as much a star today as he was during his grand career and magnificent wins, and his owners treat him as such. Memories, expectations, adventures. Throw deep love and passion into this mix and wow, what a grand life we’re lucky to have!

Helene Kobelnyk

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Born to Win

It looks like 2012 is about to be another stellar

year for the remarkable little horse that could. “Mine That Bird,” New Mexico’s 50 to1 long shot, and come-frombehind winner of the 2009 Kentucky Derby, is about to be immortalized by Hollywood. Academy award-winning producer Jim Wilson, (“Dance’s with Wolves,” and “The Bodyguard”), and a long-time collaborator of Kevin Costner, is set to begin filming “The Wild Ride” this fall, shooting in Roswell—at Buena Suerte Equine Farm and Double Eagle Ranch—home to Mine That Bird’s owners, Dr. Leonard Blach and Mark Allen.

Reed Palmer Photography

Equine veterinarian, Dr. Leonard Blach’s partnership with trainer, Mark Allen can only be described as one between the “Man of Science” and “The Charming Rogue.” For 50 years, Dr. Blach has contributed to the development of equine medicine and surgery through his close association with Colorado State University where he has been involved in research and training—with a special focus on equine reproduction in the stallion and broodmare. A native of Yuma, Colorado, Doc knew from a young age, growing up on his family’s ranch, that he wanted to be an equine veterinarian, “Yuma was a real small town of

by Lucina Sarber

2,000 about 150 miles northeast of Denver. I was one of eight kids and we ranched cattle on a wheat farm.” After receiving his doctorate in Veterinary Medicine in 1960, Doc began a large surgical and equine practice in Santa Fe, the first of its kind in New Mexico. He pioneered the establishment of a racetrack practice, and was as one of the founders of Santa Fe Downs, which saw its glory days from 1960 to 1975. In 1971, Doc was approached by Houston horse-lover, Harriet Peckham to start a large breeding farm in New Mexico. Doc designed Buena Suerte Ranch on what was

Reed Palmer Photography

then 330 acres of alfalfa and cotton fields. According to Doc, Harriet “made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and I knew it was an area I wanted to get involved in. It was a whole new page that opened up in my life.” Initially, Doc was resident veterinarian and general manager but before long became Harriet’s partner in “one of the largest, most sophisticated quarter horse breeding farms—standing some of the leading sires in the nation and breeding 600-800 mares annually.” As such, Doc became co-owner of Go Man Go (three time world-champion) and other spectacular horses, like

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Born to Win

by Lucina Sarber

Easy Jet, Rocket Wrangler, and St. Bar. In the world of quarter horses, this was the first time a part owner of a breeding operation was also the resident veterinarian. Doc’s lucrative partnership with Harriet lasted until 1986 when he opened “Buena Suerte Equine Clinic.” In his words, “I continued to specialize in equine reproduction and surgery, developing new techniques in artificial insemination, embryo transfers . . .and maintained a breeding farm in conjunction with the clinic, standing several quarter horse and thoroughbred stallions.” So how exactly did Doc, the man of science, meet Mark Allen, the charming rapscallion who is his partner and co-owner of Mine That Bird? Doc allows Mark to respond and they both laugh heartily, “I was kinda wild and Doc avoided me, he knew I was trouble—but in the end, my sparkling personality won him over.” The relationship between the two is more like that between a wise, patient father who simply shrugs, smiles wryly and when needed, is ready to slap the upstart kid upside the head. According to Mark, “he’s not afraid of telling me to settle down or calm down or focus—I can get out there sometimes.” Actually, “getting out there” is how Mark met “Chip” Woolley, Mine That Bird’s trainer nearly 30 years ago when Mark was about to get whupped in a barroom brawl. Located in Raton, New Mexico, the bar was called “Annie Get Your Guns” and Mark describes it like it was yesterday. “Chip was galloping horses and I was training them at La Mesa Park in Raton. We were both former rodeo bareback riders and we didn’t like each other very much. But one night after work, I’m at Annie’s, all hell breaks loose, and I’m out numbered by four. Chip showed up and jumped right in to help me out—and we’ve been friends ever since.” Mark James Allen was born in Monticello, Utah and travelled the world and across the U.S. as the son of Bill Allen, “Dad was in oil and that

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Born to Win 2012

meant we were never in one place too long. I went to high school in England and Scotland but by the time I was 16 years old, I knew what I wanted to do—I quit school and began to travel the ‘Turquoise Circuit’ as a bare back rider.” The famous charm is now on full throttle. “I rode the circuit for 12 years. I did some bull riding ‘cuz it got you the girls but I was a better bareback rider— so I rode bulls for girls and bareback for gas money.” Mark left the world of horses, training them and riding them in the mid ‘90s when his father asked him to come up to Alaska and help him out in Veco, the oil services company he owned. “Dad had the biggest oil services company in the world, at one point, he employed more than 3,000 people world-wide.” Asked to help for “a couple of years,” Mark remained there for a decade, “I was a sorry executive, so I became an executive outdoorsman.” He would remain there until 2005. Two years later his father became embroiled in Alaska Senator Ted Stevens’ corruption trial—agreeing to plead guilty in exchange for immunity for his son and other

by Lucina Sarber

family members. But the world of horses had never been far from Mark’s mind and heart, so he returned to what he knew—owning and training them. In 2008 he made a trip to Canada with Chip to look at Mine That Bird who’d just won the Sovereign Award naming him the top 2-year-old in Canada. Chip, who has trained thoroughbreds and quarter horses for nearly three decades, suggested that Doc and Mark buy Mine That Bird and they did, splitting the $400,000 price tag. And thus began their road to winning the Kentucky Derby, completely unbeknownst to them. If Mine That Bird was going to do any better than the fifth or sixth finish Doc and Mark were expecting, this son of Birdstone, winner of the 2004 Belmont Stakes, would need an experienced jockey—and by a chance of fate, Doc and Mark secured Calvin Borel, who had already won his first Derby in 2007. Calvin would ride Mine That Bird with such fearless audacity it bordered on the heroic, causing his fellow jockeys to declare as Gary Stevens did, “Someday he will be in the Hall of Fame, but he’s already a legend among his peers.”

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Born to Win

by Lucina Sarber Tim Layden’s May 11, 2009 Sports Illustrated article on the Derby titled, “Did That Really Happen?” — describes the win as “shocking on all levels.” “A hopeless outsider named Mine That Bird took the 135th Derby at odds of 50-1, the second-longest shot to win in the history of the race . . . he became just the second gelding to win the Derby since 1929 . . . In the Derby, the smallish Mine That Bird was squeezed coming out of the gate. “Once that happened, I just put him on a loose rein and dropped back and relaxed,” said Borel. He was last at the quarter mile. Last at the half. Last at three quarters . . .What took place next was stunning. Borel passed 18 horses in 21 explosive seconds . . . on the rail, swept outside . . . ducked inside, and just past the three-sixteenths pole squeezed through a tiny gap between Join in the Dance and the rail. Mine That Bird has no stones, but Borel’s are big enough for both of them . . . “Once free, Mine That Bird extended his lead with every stride, winning by 6 ¾ lengths, the largest margin since Triple Crown winner Assault in 1946.” As for the most unforgettable day of their lives—Doc remains incredulous and grateful, “My right hand man, Raul and our groom Charlie Figueroa and of course, Chip—we could not have done it without them, it was a dream come true.” Mark smiles thinking back on the day some New Mexico cowboys took the Derby from the bluebloods on their own turf. “All that’s left now is for me to see Doc’s name, and mine, on the All American Futurity trophy. I’ve had a good life. I’m luckier than most and having Doc as my friend and mentor has been an honor.” We exit and go looking for Mine That Bird, armed with hands full of peppermints, his favorite treat. Sweets for the sweet.

Last week I talked

about art but the issue that has been jerked to the top of our national consciousness once again is FEAR. We should probably look at how we, in this country, handle fear. Truth be told, the response of many Colorado citizens to a mentally deranged kid walking into a theater and killing 12 people was exactly the same as HIS response to whatever fears were rattling around in his own damaged mind—go out and buy more guns. This is a growing and disturbing reality in our country. We seem to have gotten stuck in some time warp anchored in the romanticized old West of Roy Rogers and John Wayne. Whatever there is to be afraid of can be shot and the problem’s solved. Of course, in the movies the bad guys can never shoot straight and the good guys always win. Innocent bystanders hardly ever get killed in the crossfire. These days we proclaim that it is an absolute right, in fact, a necessity, that anyone and everyone can, and should, have guns. Any attempt at a REASONABLE limit on who or what kind or how many is met by massive outcries that the government is trying to take away ALL of our guns. Now, I’m not anti-gun. I was a “marks kid” back in summer camp and actually went on a couple hunting trips with friends [fortunately, no creatures were harmed during these adventures). And we own a gun now—a .357 magnum my partner inherited. It came with massive hollow point bullets. One day I was at a meeting when I got

a frantic call from him. There was a huge diamondback rattler that our dogs had cornered out by the workshop. Now, I’ve lived in the wild most of my adult life and while I don’t have anything against rattlesnakes, in general, I don’t want them in or around my house with the dogs, cats and kids—so I usually beg forgiveness, then murder them. My usual weapons are a shovel and a lot of adrenalin. This was my partner’s first encounter and he didn’t relish the idea of getting that close so he opted for the cannon. Problem was, we had been good, responsible gun owners, had a trigger lock and had separated the ammo from the gun—and being of the age we are, we had forgotten where we put the bullets! While still on the phone with him, I suggested a few more places to look and stressed that my method was more eﬃcient, and hung up. When I got home the snake was dead with two holes blasted through him/her with apparently no effect whatsoever—my mate finally dispatched that snake with the trusty shovel. But fear of rattlesnakes is not driving the nation’s paranoia. The loudest protests come from those who fear our own government. Time for a reality check—do we REALLY think the government is going to even attempt to take our guns? You mean OUR government that took ten years to find one terrorist is going to actually come into every American’s living room that owns a gun and take it away? And do these people think that having an AK-47 in the closet will hold them off if they DO decide to come “get them?” Yes, there are real “dangers”—our government is not the most intelligently run nor has it been the most democratic in recent decades—but I don’t see a shootout between us and “them” any time soon. Most of our problems can be

solved by intelligent dialogue among the various players. If the American people took their responsibility to educate themselves about the issues seriously, instead of depending on talk show hosts, pundits and TV ads to inform them— and, further, demanded that their elected choices actually engage in intelligent dialogue with each other (ALL of the parties), then most of our problems could be dealt with. Won’t see it in my lifetime, unfortunately, but neither are they gonna hunt me down for my .357! The other main scenario driving rampant gun ownership is allegedly as a defense against armed bad guys. Last week a citizen with a gun, in fact, did face down a nutcase with a knife in a grocery store. Unfortunately, the timing of that event on the heels the Aurora incident will see it touted as justification for everyone and their grandmother needing to always be armed. But, seriously, when’s the last time you heard of somelike that actually happening? And, given the number of people with guns in this country, how often have they been used for a successful defense as opposed to accidentally (or, on purpose) killing/maiming friends, relatives or other good guys. Even a former vice-president screwed up and shot a friend! There have been several news commentaries about what kind of horrific scene would have ensued if the many, presumably armed people in the theater that day had started firing back. Chilling! But I want to suggest that the fears that inspire us to be armed are just a symptom of something far more insidious. Over the past 50 years we have been deliberately bombarded with a culture of fear—actually indoctrinated and taught to fear things that are almost pathologically irrational. This has been done primarily to FIRST, scare us, and SECOND, sell us things or ideas or actions, to sup-

posedly alleviate those phony fears. We have become a nation terrified of strangers, people who look or think differently, germs on our kitchen countertops, poison in our Tylenol, and of course, the destruction of the institution of marriage! We’re terrified that attempts at trying to solve social inequity will lead to “socialism,” or that if we don’t get just one more expensive pill or treatment or surgery we will DIE—don’t forget underarm odor or bad breath! So, nationally and individually, we arm ourselves with all kinds of really BIG weapons of mass destruction capable of wasting the planet or our neighborhood several times over; we arm ourselves with unending exhortations of moral outrage and cower at the medieval threats of an angry, vindictive god by proxy. We arm ourselves with personal arsenals of herbicides, germicides, insecticides, stain removers, sun block, deodorant sprays—and spend grotesque amounts of money on both real and imagined health problems. And we’re still terrified! What we should be afraid of are the “remedies” we’re sold by the very same people—political/religious ideologues and corporations—that made us afraid (and/or CAUSED the problems) in the first place. What IS out there that we really need to spend precious time in fear of—I mean, really? Concern, yes, for a lot of reasons—fear, no. As Frank Herbert, said in “Dune” “Fear is the mind-killer . . . it is the ‘little death’ that brings total annihilation.” White Oaks resident Dennis Dunnum is a former restaurateur, teacher, builder, model, Carrizozo town councilman, and advocate for the homeless and those sufferingfrom AIDS. Look for his upcoming columns on life matters in “From the Edges with Love.”

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The Expert in My Mansion

There are no experts in marketing today, don’t be fooled. Marketing has been turned upside with the arrival and success of Facebook ten years ago. Business owners who have followed the traditional lines and laws of marketing are now scratching their heads trying to figure out how to use these powerful social media giants to promote their enterprises. At the same time, self-proclaimed experts are springing up everywhere, contacting confused proprietors and convincing them that they have the answers. Then they charge an exorbitant amount of money for a service that any high school student can perform with better results. I encourage you to read my book, “Fan-Based Dupers” if you want a real eye-opener. The contents of this book are a compilation of my presentations for business owners trying to establish a presence on social media networks and figure out how to leverage them to their advantage. While many business owners have a rudimentary knowledge of Facebook, most unfortunately ignore Twitter and Google+. After analyzing several of their business pages, I discovered that most are seriously disconnected from their own social media site and their business has very few posts or activity. Their main websites also exhibited a scarcity of fresh, compelling content. “Fan-Based Dupers” provides step-by-step instruction on how to eﬀectively co-ordinate the use of websites and the social media networks to provide a unified vision of your enterprise and your professional mission. It was written with the assumption that you already have a website established for your business and that you know enough about technology to find your way around the web with the browser of your choosing.

Anonymity, “tough love” and the nitty gritty Anonymity is not cool if you’re a business—whether

by Helene Kobelnyk

you own it or are the enterprise, such as an artist, photographer, author or musician. You won’t be discovered if you’re anonymous, and neither will your business. If you don’t want to be online because you’re afraid to be bothered by undesirables, or you’re afraid that your security and identity will be compromised, you need to rethink this because you’re not going to make a lot of money and will certainly loose potential customers. Remember the “good ole days” when we reached for the Yellow Pages to find a business? Now we go online, even for local services. These days there’s a certain legitimacy attached to being listed online via an attractive and professional website. If you’ve ever worked for a public institution, bought anything online, or use a bank, you ALREADY exist online. Google your own name and you’ll be surprised by the results—unless you’re in the witness protection program, it’s not dangerous for you to be online with certain obvious precautions. My number one rule is to NEVER post my social security number anywhere, I don’t care how secure they claim their site is. For tax purposes, I have an employer identification number from the IRS so that my earnings can be reported under my business rather than my SSN. Most revenue generating sites and affiliate programs are happy with that and if they’re not, don’t use them. The second cardinal rule I follow is to never click on links in emails from senders I don’t recognize. This is where folks get into trouble. If you feel that you’re technologically illiterate, enroll in a class at your community college or hire a private tutor. Don’t simply turn the whole technological part over to a consultant. As the person responsible for the success of your enterprise, YOU need to have “hands-on” involvement in this very important area. Because I’m a lifelong learner and a teacher at heart, I

prefer to coach people so that they learn to do it themselves. This puts them in charge of their own marketing strategies. In today’s world you need to know your way around the web even if you’re not in business. To get on Facebook, you need to know how to turn on a computer and open a browser first. URL is not somebody’s name! Age is also no longer an excuse unless you want it to be, and in that case, don’t even bother starting a business. Running a successful business requires an entrepreneurial spirit. This is the age of technology and information, and it’s not going away anytime soon, barring some unforeseen planetary cataclysmic event! Learn to embrace it and make it work for you. I know plenty of “baby-boomers” who opened a business in their retirement years and have managed to learn the ins-and-outs of the social media networks. It’s more difficult for some than others, but success was always attributed to their lack of fear and trepidation as regards learning. You are a business owner—as such you have to be as dogged about technology as you are about business revenue. Like growing old, running any enterprise is not for the faint of heart. Pep talk over—let’s get down to the nittygritty. (Part 1 of 3)

www.helenekobelnyk.net

>>> Did you notice that I used all caps for the title subject? There was a reason for that. I have been wondering about ART. Not just any art, but MY ART. I began wondering just what differentiated ART from art, so I looked in a few of my art books and online. I was surprised to find that the “answers” were, to me, a bit conflicting. Stuff like: “Art is something that stimulates different parts of our brains in different ways.” Does this mean that home made moonshine is art? I don’t think so, but it WILL affect the dickens out of your brain! “Art is aesthetically pleasing and functional.” If you’re hungry, a baloney sandwich is aesthetically pleasing and functional, but I don’t think it is ART. “Art is subjective and means something different to different people.” Honestly, isn’t that a cop-out? This set me to thinking. There has to be a better way to describe ART. Not just a catchall phrase that is soothing, but something that can actually be easily understood by “the un-washed masses.” (I found THAT line in one of my abstract art pages.) So what is the best example of ART? Let’s think about that for a few minutes. Art does not mean the same thing to everyone, so perhaps we have to accept that art is supposed to be understood emotionally by certain individals,

individuals open to the experience of a particular art piece. If that is the case, then the intention of the artist has to be taken into account. Let’s call this part of the experience, “CONTENT.” ART is content! But there must be more. “Content” needs to be structured. Take this column for example. The words can be considered the “content,” but if the words are sprinkled willy-nilly without regard to any of the rules of writing style or punctuation, then all we have are a bunch of words that will not be easily understood, for example: Much is not yes ?chickenWhoo Hoo Let’s call this next part “Form.” Hmmm. Art is content and form. I like that. So we can safely say that Art is anything that evokes an emotional response based on content and form. In this day and age, what might be considered the most egregious example of “art?” THE POLITICAL AD—every political ad is trying very hard to evoke an emotional response in each viewer based on content and form. These ads use innuendo, deception, half-truths and outright lies to sway you to their point of view. I, however, am not going to indicate my political preferences, because that is not my art. The image that is shown here IS MY ART—my first painting. Since then, I have painted quite a few others. In my paintings, I try to depict a peaceful landscape, free from deception. And yet, ALL of my paintings save one are of imaginary places that live within me. Perhaps that is because I am trying to find a little peace within myself. What I am trying to say is let’s not get too caught up in all of this political foolishness. Take EVERYTHING these political ads say with a very large grain of salt. NO ONE is as good or as bad as the ads say. Just let your heart show you the truth, both in ART and in life.

Once upon a time, in a place called Golden, there was a school room in a temporary building, nestled against the foothills of a large mountain range. The little building had windows that filtered in natural light, a raised stage area in the center creating multiple work areas along with tables, chairs, a few desks against the walls and a beautiful space out back. Every day one teacher and 34 students ages nine to twelve learned together. Students spent their time reading, writing, and doing arithmetic and all subjects were integrated. Reading and writing often took three hours each day because the children loved the quiet and concentration so much. There were no bells, no “periods” and no transitions to other teachers, except for math. Because it was multi-age, a fourth grader could be in a sixth grader’s math class and vice versa. Students felt comfortable where ever they were and did not feel that learning was a competitive feat. They were not in competition with one other, only themselves, if at all. They moved between math groups as needed. There were 19 different spelling lists and students tested one another, entering their own grades. Individual and class projects were the norm—one was always in the works like designing and building a mountain shelter and living in it, or a play or presentation or an experiment. There were also many field trips. Students came and went on a weekly basis, bringing back stories and reports about how a biological lab works, or on solar energy, or what veterinarians or accountants do. In one year alone, students took 49 different field trips!

Each semester entailed a class project along with outdoor activities like sledding—directly behind the schoolhouse in an open space among little hills that led up to the mountains. During the winter, these were the “great white zoom areas,” perfect for a garbage bag and a bottom; an instant sled everyone could have—what a sight to see! Colorful happy faces piled onto black garbage bags atop a hill behind the school, racing to the bottom, looking like magic carpet riders on clouds—their shreiks of laughter and glee peppering the air, wafting through a heavy lace of snowfall. On these days the students and their teacher were in heaven. That year, with spring just around the corner, it was time for a new semester class project. “How ‘bout a garden?” the teacher asked. The students thought that sounded like fun—she knew there would be applications in all subject areas and real hands-on learning. In an open space, near the sledding hill, supportive parents brought in gardening tools and helped their children loosen the soil. One of the dads, who was also a Christian priest, brought in a dump truck loaded down with great dirt—the teacher also made a contribution: meter sticks, twine, and nails. The rich soil the good Father brought in was spread out evenly by eager little hands and rakes across the garden bed. Soil preparation made math lessons easy—students now experienced first-hand cubic feet, area, and perimeter—now it was time to stake claims! The teacher sat on a nearby rock. Each student came to her, measured and cut out four meters of twine, took it, four nails and a meter stick and began to section out a square meter space. The staking out of 34 gardens took many, many days of students negotiating—all the gardens had to be created within set boundaries. Students had to

make sure that ALL had a space—an energized, shifting puzzle played out in the dirt. Finally, everyone staked their claim. Little countries now took shape staked out with string; square meter gardens could now be seen on the perimeter—some had small spaces between them and others none. The children immediately took ownership of their square meter kingdoms, sitting authoritatively within their stringed borders. What a sight to see—34 triumphant “Kings” and “Queens” reigning over their hard earned, negotiated territory—with borders! Parents arrived once again, bringing seedlings of vegetables and flowers. Delicate little fingers and small trowels carefully created plant beds. However, a dark cloud began forming. Access to some of the gardens required an awkward walking back and forth, and mostly on interior perimeters. So began the cries: “Stop—you’re stepping on my plants!” “Get away, you’re on my garden!” or “ Teacher, look what she did to my plants! She stepped on them on purpose!” “I did not!” “You did too!” Remonstrations, crippled plants, and hurt feelings chimed in until the teacher finally called a truce. Sitting on a rock, she held an emergency class meeting—a “gathering of the nations big and small,” all preparing for all out war! “What shall we do?” she asked. “What started out as fun has turned into ‘the history of the world at war over the Earth!’ What do we do now?” Finally, the gardeners decided—each would give up some of their space to create pathways, and “sidewalks,” so others could walk the land and not tread on someone else’s garden. Some asked if they could combine their gardens with others, to create more room for plants and less room for “sidewalks.” As time passed, some gardens flourished and some withered. Gardens with more than one gardener and more space drew envy from those making it alone—cooperation, productivity and fun was clearly being observed. (Continued on page 22)

n the late afternoon summer days of August when the sunflowers pop their heads out of the draws and ditches, and fields gleam yellow with wild buttercups, I feel my Nicky present and see with my heart once again the joy he felt when he would run leaping through the fields.

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Pet Attractions The Stuff of Angels

by Helene Kobelnyk

Some of us believe that dogs are made of the same “stuﬀ,” “ether,” or “energy,” as angels, and no other dog in my life has exemplified it as much as my beloved Nicky—he was always happy, loving and inquisitive. We were inseparable and it seemed as if we could read each others mind. One morning when he was only a year old, I was in the shower getting ready for work, idly planning my wardrobe for the day. I decided I needed to wear my black pumps, but being prone to a little “disorganization,” I couldn’t remember which closet I’d tossed them into. When I opened the bathroom door, both shoes were neatly placed side-by-side in front of the door. No one else could have done this because Nicky and I were the only ones in the house. When he came home with me as a five-week-old puppy, he lay next to me in the truck with his tiny head on my lap. He died the same way 11 years later on an August night, quietly, with his head in my lap. Many dogs have come into my life and then made their journey to the Rainbow Bridge. Each one was such a special gift and no matter how prepared I was, their passing left such a painful absence that it can only be described as a “hole in the heart.” Healing takes years, sometimes lifetimes. The ultimate illusion of “loss” and the faith it takes to believe that what we love is with us always, is much easier to accept when our world hasn’t been rocked by death. It’s much more difficult to have faith when you want to reach down and pet the soft coat that was once such a comfort to you—and you find only air. When something we love “disappears,” it seems especially important to hang on to some kind of tangible proof of their existence. That’s why photos and keepsakes become so important. Even though we celebrate their lives, human or pet, in our hearts, we want to have something in hand, something that was theirs—something that says, “Yes, I was here.”

I have eulogized all my pets in a private journal, and a little less personally, on my blog. There is something powerfully healing about letting the world know how much their lives have meant to each and everyone of us. So, in the spirit of love and empathy, and in honor of any pet we have loved with the core of our being—Vivacini! is oﬀering a complimentary ¼ page Obituary for any pet you would like to memorialize. Simply send your text and a photo to ohk@valornet.com. If you need more space than this, there is a modest fee for ½ and full pages. We ask for your submissions by Tuesdays, VIVAcini is out on Fridays. I wish each of you many beautiful moments with the “Nicky” of your life. Enjoy the antics and mischief, play with them as if there were no tomorrow and you had never grown up. Remember that life and death should never be about regrets or missed moments. Cherish them TODAY for their and your lifetimes.

Others complained that it was unfair that other gardens were more productive—claiming that the “sidewalk” was destroying their space; furthermore, they claimed that their classmates sometimes stepped on their plants while traveling to and fro. The emotional and social divisions in the class were now as profound as the strings that had originally defined their separate plots. Ownership, protection, and pride now drove all interactions—the teacher had to intervene. Together they traced their decision-making, discovering how private property and the lands they held in common had created a world where rules and “the police” were now needed to monitor that which some would destroy. They learned that their gardens rested on public land—school land—that had been created through discussion, negotiation and compromise. Now, these would be the only things to preserve them.

Call for Submissions Please feel free to express yourself! Those interested in submitting articles, polemics, promotional materials, photography, artwork, etc. for publication in VIVAcini, please submit to: Helene Kobelnyk at ohk@valornet.com Articles should be in the 500-600 word range and emailed as WordDoc attachments. Photos must be high resolution, 200-300 dpi and submitted as jpgs. VIVAcini is published each Friday so “get us your stuff” no later than the previous Tuesday at 12 noon. WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF VIVAcini “where a sense of community takes flight, and knows no bounds!”

The gardeners also realized they had been given tools, soil and plants—akin to a country’s infrastructure. Finally, they understood that their teacher was like a mayor or some “government” entity that was there solely to facilitate the pursuit of happiness and equality for all. War was avoided that day in Golden, Colorado and for a while longer, some of the gardens continued to grow— then school was over for the summer and no one was there to take care of the gardens anymore. Writer, global nomad, educator and bon vivant, Georgene Inks is Theatre Instructor for grades 6-12 at the Ruidoso Municipal School District. She and her students created The Red Feather Theatre Company and produce its shows. Look for her upcoming “Where the Geraniums Grow” recollections from her multi-age class in Golden, Colorado.

VIVAcini is published weekly by O. Helene Kobelnyk. An abbreviated version, information about advertising rates, and a link for PDF and ipad dowloads is available at www.vivacini.com All content, photographs and artwork are the intellectual property of the contributing author, photographer and/or artist and are protected under copyright law. Reprduction of any part of this e-zine without the express permission of the author, photographer and/or artist and publisher is expressly prohibited. All rights reserved.

The bucolic beauty of Bonito Lake, New Mexico - January, 2011

loves Bonito Lake! If you enjoy photographing your community and/or the many beautiful places of our wonderful Land of Enchantment, and would like to share a special photo on this page, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll receive credit and a live link in the caption, and of course, our gratitude and admiration!