Barnmaven

Miles, time and diesel: Someone made a difference for me.

 

Well, HAY THERE!

(Haha, I crack myself up sometimes).

That's Bumi in the picture.  She's one of the guest horses I've had since March.  She's a real sweetheart and a very lovely horse to ride.  She very cooperatively walked around with her breakfast stuck on her face long enough for me to whip out my phone and capture a photo.

I know I've written about it before, but I am struck constantly by how much I owe where I'm at horse-wise to the loving support of other people.  My horse journey has been influenced so much by my parents and my husband, all of whom have willingly given up whole days to make sure my children were fed and cared for so I could go enjoy time on my horse.  My deepest gratitude is for my friend Michelle, who has unselfishly driven hundreds of extra miles over the last three years to pick up my horse and me for trail rides and clinics.  She's kept horses at her place for me, she's shared her doctoring skills and her advice, and most importantly she has shared her friendship. 

The love of horses, or "the sickness" as some call it, is somewhat indescribable.  When you have it, one of the things you simply need in order to feel truly happy, to be truly yourself,  is a horse in your life.   Its also a real luxury, because horses are expensive to feed and maintain, and if you don't live somewhere you can easily ride at home or have the money to find a good boarding facility nearby or don't have a truck and trailer, you can't really ride your horse much, and that sucks.  My relationship with my horses is as deep and as meaningful as it is with thanks to Michelle's willingness to sacrifice her time and diesel to make sure I got lots of rides in.  I owe most of the miles I put on my horse the last few years directly to her.

This year I was lucky enough to find a truck and trailer I could afford.  They're far from new, the trailer especially, but they have made it far more possible for me to just go and ride when I want to.  Michelle doesn't have to go 30 miles out of her way to collect me when there's a clinic or a trail ride the opposite direction from her place.  I can get my own hay when I need it and not pay extra to have it delivered.   It makes a huge difference for me, and this summer I've gotten to ride even more.

I have a couple of friends who don't yet have a way to haul their horses and pick up their hay.  I sincerely hope this doesn't come off as sounding preachy, but I have it in my mind that I have a responsibility to be a "Michelle" for others, to make it possible for them to enjoy their horses.   They are big shoes to fill, and I'm pretty sure I'm not as generous or gracious as Michelle, but I commit to making the effort.  Its worth it to see more horse people getting to do what they love, and having more friends to go on our trail rides with us. 

My friend Debbie gives riding lessons to kids for prices most trainers wouldn't dream of giving, because her mission is to get as many little girls to fall in love with horses as she can.  She does this not just to create the next generation of riders and keep the sport of riding alive, but because research shows us that by age 10, if a child doesn't have a passionate interest in something, they won't have something to keep them focused and on track during their teenage years.  A sport or hobby can mean the difference between graduating and maybe going to college vs. getting involved in drugs or getting pregnant.   Make riding lessons affordable and therefore putting horses within reach of more families is just her way of paying it forward.  The great feeling of watching little girls beaming with pleasure the first time they are able to canter or go over a jump, that's just the frosting.

I was cleaning stalls a couple of weeks ago and I heard feed sacks rattling.  I figured SG was just out throwing scratch to the chickens and he would eventually come and find me, but after a while I didn't hear anyone.  When I went to put the poop fork away, I found someone had left three bags of horse feed outside my feedroom door.  I had just been thinking that day about what supplies we needed and fretting about a lack of both time and finances.  Someone paid it forward, and it made my day. Hell, probably my month.

There are times we pay it forward and the people we help don't appreciate it or they take advantage of our kindness.  But we don't do this to get something in return from others; the return comes from within, from our own sense of being OK with who we are and what we do.  Intent is important.  I can't set expectations for how others will react or what they will potentially do in return for me, that only muddies the waters of my giving.  I struggle with this sometimes, but I know what's right for me and so I have to continue to strive for healthy thinking.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by this world.  Its easy to feel the weight of all the tension and fear from our crumbling economy, our bitter political rivalries, the horror of war and violence.   Focusing my attention on the things I can do rather than the problems I can't solve helps me feel somehow less frightened of the enormous challenges we all deal with.  Doing something positive helps take away the sting when one of my kids is having a tough day or I come home from work feeling defeated.  Maybe we can't change the whole world, but we can sure change something small for someone else today. 

How do you pay it forward?  What ways have other people paid it forward that made a difference for you?  Share your stories!

 

Dragging

I spent Thursday and Friday over on the Wet Side of the state to join a small group of report writers to learn our new reporting software.  The program we've been using since I started at my job is being phased out.  Even though I'm a manager now and no longer an analyst, I still keep my hands fresh writing ad-hoc reports and working with our project manager to put new reports up on the portal. 

Training classes are frustrating to me.  Instructors have a script to follow, and they spend (to me) an inordinate amount of time talking about structure and theory.  Dude, I know why I'm writing this report, I know when to use a chart, when to use a list report, when to use a crosstab, blah blah blah blah blah.  Just show me how this new software works with my data and let me have at it.  Please.  So I spend the first part of the day busting through all of the exercises in the material and the rest of the day twiddling my thumbs.  Its really exhausting. 

The nice part was getting to have dinner with my friend Julie and her man and check out their new digs.  I'm in love with their house and I assume they won't notice if I sort of quietly move in.  I also got to see my brother, which doesn't happen often enough.  We had a lovely dinner and caught up on things. 

I got home after a four hour drive over the mountains late last night and then got up while the moon was still out this morning to head up to the Blues with Michelle for the last orienteering ride of the season.  9 miles round trip, I think we came in second this time.  Bugs had an excellent day, with the possible exception of the fact that he hates water.  We had to cross two small streams and when I say small, I mean they were little trickles of water, inches wide and less than that deep.  But it was water and therefore he didn't want to cross it.  His final resort, after it being explained to him that across was where he was headed, and no, I wasn't going to get off and walk him over the terribly frightening water, was to LEAP ACROSS.  Like a 15-hand mule deer jumping a 6 foot fence.  On the upside, if he's ever a wash as a trail horse he may have a career in the jumping ring.   Silly nag.

I have one more trip over the mountains for work on Monday and back here again on Tuesday and a week full of meetings after that.  I say all this only as a way of letting you know that if I don't manage to post anything for the next week or so, its only because I'm frantically trying to find time to sleep.

On a bright note, one of my posts was syndicated on BlogHer this week. Go check it out! 

More than Mommy

Last Thursday and Friday I was in a meeting room at a hotel that faces the waterfront in Portland, Oregon.  For two days I was sharing ideas and planning goals with our operations team.  Its a group of exceptional people, all very smart, all very good at what they do.  Listening to us collectively I was once again struck by how much I like each and every one of my peers and how well we collaborate. 

For a couple of days I was free as a bird, even though I was working.  S took care of the zoo, the kids were at their dad's for a couple of nights. No one was calling my name, needing to be let outside, demanding a snack or requesting my presence.

 

Even after things in my marriage got really bad, the thought of separation was terrifying to me.  It wasn't being on my own, it wasn't fear of falling into a financial black hole.  What I imagined I would not be able to cope with was spending nights or weekends or even longer without my children.  Merely considering being away from them made it hard to breathe.  So when the end of the marriage inevitably came, as much as it was a relief, fear remained.

The first night my children stayed with their father felt like the longest night of my life.  I couldn't concentrate on anything, sleep eluded me, and when I finally did sleep I had horrid dreams.  I'd already given up the role of being my husband's wife; now I felt like I was abandoning, however briefly, being my children's mother as well.

Throughout those first months, Friday nights were a struggle.  Mondays weren't so bad, I always had work to keep me busy and so much to do with taking care of animals that I didn't feel the emptiness of the house until almost bedtime.  But Fridays into Saturday mornings -- too many hours alone.  I didn't even consider going out or socializing.  For a few months, I immersed myself in the computer, playing games, the same place I'd escaped from an unhappy marriage became the place I hid from the bitter pain of missing my children.

Winter was long and it was dark.  It wasn't until spring came that I began the slow crawl out of that hole.  My friend had our trainer out for a clinic at her place, which got me out of my house and back on a horse.  That clinic led to weekly trail rides, led to me finding my dream horse, led to friendship and laughter and fun.  Fridays and Saturdays began to take on a new shape, no longer looming on the horizon as time to be endured but as something to anticipate.  I was not only finding a role for myself outside of mother, I was building a friendship, meeting other people who shared my interests, being outdoors.  Outside of my job I was meeting other people whose first impression of me wasn't that I was somebody's mom or somebody's wife.  I was ME. 

I started fostering for the rescue, and staked claim on another role for myself.  I began to understand that although being my children's mother is the most important job I have, even though its a job I will hold until I die, it also won't be as encompassing forever as it is now.  Someday my children will grow up and start lives of their own.  Between now and then, they will become more independent, finding their own roles in life, and they will need less of me.  As that gap widens, if all I have been is "Mom," who will I then be when they don't need me anymore? 

Women with children often get pigeonholed as being little else than mothers.  Women without children often get pigeonholed as women who are "missing" something in their lives.  Our reality can be - truly is - so much richer than that. 

I believe it is important for anyone, but especially for women with young children or careers to carve out space in their lives to do the things that interest them.  Music, photography, crafting, cooking, gardening, creating artwork, writing, carpentry, car repair, remodeling, horseback riding, karate -- whatever those things are that make you feel truly alive when you do them.  Find your groove and go do that as much as you possibly can. You will not always be your job, you will not always be herding children from school to dance to basketball games.  There will come a day when you will be at loose ends more than not, and if you don't have something to fill that void, I guarantee you will feel a greater sense of loss than the person who has already discovered their passion outside of work or parenting.

I'm no longer bound by fear of losing my role as a parent.  I realize that mothering my kids is something I will do to varying degrees throughout my life, but it is not the only thing I will do.

When I'm free of the responsibility of my life, for a few hours or a few days, I'm no longer stumped for ways to fill that time.  I'm not spending countless hours interacting with other characters in an online game -- I'm spending rich, immensely satisfying hours interacting with my animals and with other people in real life, taking part in activities that bring me tremendous pleasure.  It wasn't until I learned to honor my own needs and find my own niche that I was able to outpace the fear of loss that was holding me hostage.

I am a mother.  It is the most important job I have  - FOR NOW. 

I am also:  horsewoman, animal rescuer, singer, writer, musician, friend, bibliophile, manager, someone's love...and for a few more weeks, puppy chew toy.

I get to keep them

I had a long overdue visit to the Dermatologist today.  About six years overdue, honestly.  I've had two precancerous moles removed in years prior, and since I've moved to the land of everlasting UV rays I've been terribly negligent about following up. 

I have a standard list of responses I know I'll have to cycle through at least once every visit:

1.  Yes, I know my skin is dry.  My skin is always dry.

2.  No, I don't have a "skin care routine."    No, I don't have time for a routine.  Shut up already.  I know my skin is dry.

3.  Yes, those certainly ARE a lot of tattoos.   That?   Its a Claddagh.  Claddagh.    Its an Irish thing.  No, they didn't hurt all that much.

4.  No, I don't want to buy your $40 teeny weensy tube of super duper exfoliating spf 150 perfecting skin cream. 

It wasn't all that bad, though.  Dr. Smith was rather cute and funny, and he very kindly took care of the small broken veins next to my nose for nothing more than the cost of the tears it brought to my eyes when he zapped them.  He did go on rather monotonously about my dry skin, but I'm used to that, so it didn't bother me all that much.  Best thing though was that I didn't have to give up any of my moles to the scalpel today.  As I've written before, I'm not real big on needles OR blood, so any day I don't have to consciously avert my eyes I chalk it up as a win.

He asked me how often I wore sunscreen.  I asked him if "almost never" was a good answer, for which I received a withering glare. 

Sunscreen. 

I was a sun worshipper.  A sun worshipper who turned into a dirt worshipper and an outdoorswoman who could give a crap about whether her nails are clean or her skin has small pores and looks young.  Sunscreen just seems like a good way to waste an opportunity to be outside and turn brown.   The last thing I want to do in the summer, when its 95F is to put on long sleeves and a hat for a trail ride.  I'm not really keen on resembling Moist from Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, the supervillain whose superpower gives him the inside track on sweaty palms and drippage. 

And yet...

I got to keep my moles today.  And when I look at my beautiful kids, with their clear, soft, white skin, I think maybe its time for me to start modeling better habits. 

I like my moles.

Forward and Back

 

He doesn't sit still in class.  He hides behind the door when the teacher asks her class to move to the reading rug.  He takes the staples out of the stapler and pokes a little girl with them.  He pretends to be sick so the school nurse will call me to come take him home.

---

At the beginning of the ride, a mule in our group gets antsy and suddenly squirts sideways into the horses waiting to go through the gate.  Like a small brown bowling ball, he scatters the other horses like pins.  Bugs jumps ten feet sideways and tries to bolt.  He is frightened of the mule now.  He doesn't want it near him and keeps edging away from him as we head out on our ride.

---

He goes two days at after care without an incident report or without someone having to be called to come get him.  He grins as wide as the ocean when I tell him how proud I am of the way he controlled his behavior, and practically skips all the way to the car.  He lights up when I tell him this means he has earned his toys back, and is so excited to play with them he chatters all the way home.

---

He recovers from his initial scare and as we head up the road toward the first set of clues, he relaxes his neck and lets his head lower.  He walks along nicely , not trying to break into a jog or trying to crowd out the other horses.  He responds to my leg and seat cues and moves out at a brisk walk.  His ears are forward and he starts to look content. 

---

His daycare provider sends home a report:  He was scratching and kicking another child today.  It wasn't bad enough for them to call me and come get him, but it was worth an incident report.  His toys go back into timeout as he screams "NO!" at me and tells me "I HATE you!!"  He spends the evening in timeout.  I catch him swatting at the dog, who has done nothing more egregious than be in his presence.  He screams at me, "GO AWAY!" when I ask him to use "nice hands" with the animals.

---

My trail riding partner takes her horse Maggie over to the second clue in this set while I wait at the first clue so that we can get our bearing lines and find the intersection.  To get to the second clue Maggie has to go over a slight rise.  The moment she is out of sight he panics.  I attempt to let him walk over to where she is, but he tries to trot, to run.  I pull my "oh shit" rein a few times to get him stopped, but when he comes out of the last circle, he goes straight up.  I am afraid we are going to go over backward, but he somehow regains his balance.  He stands, shaking and breathing hard while I try to recover my composure and figure out the best next move.

***

He spends the afternoon with his grandmother at my house.  To pass the time, she picks up toys and puts things away, folds some laundry and sweeps my floors.  As he sees her cleaning, of his own initiative, he goes to his own room and he cleans up every single toy from the floor and puts them in his toybox. I catch him sitting on the easy chair in the living room, our little cat on his lap.  He is petting her and she is relaxed, purring and happy.

---

As we try to regain some time on the other teams, we let the horses move out.  Smoothly, he begins to trot.  When I ask him to give me his nose, he breaks perfectly at the poll, and as I let the energy flow down into my seat, he begins to extend his trot, throwing his front feet forward while still remaining fluid and smooth, keeping his neck low and his nose pointed straight at the ground.  It feels like perfection and I suppose it looks the same.

---

Every day, we have a measure of success and a measure of failure.  I know that life is a mixed bag, and that whenever we have a bad moment that doesn't mean that all is lost or that I should give up the battle.  Keep looking for solutions.  Don't give up on him.  Try to have some patience and when you have to discipline, do something that makes doing the wrong thing hard and doing the right thing easy.  Be positive, even when he isn't.  Remember, we're not looking for perfection -- we're looking for progress.  Celebrate every single win and make sure he knows how proud and thankful you are for his successes.

For every step back, we take another forward, maybe even two.  Its all in the balance.   If I don't lose sight of today because I'm too busy looking for the day when every day is good, I'll forget to notice the many beautiful moments that happen right in front of me. 

In Sync

I used to row.

I did my college rowing at the University of Washington, Jan Harville was my novice coach and Bob Ernst was my varsity coach, back before he moved over to coach the men. (I hear he's coaching the women again now). 

After I graduated from college I took a couple of years' break from being a jock to invest more of my time into being a wastrel.  Inevitably, that too palled, and so I returned again to the world where your backsplash, your puddle, and your swing were all that mattered. 

Swing.

Swing is the sweet spot.  Its the orgasm of rowing.  Its where all rowers in the boat, all eight or four or two of them, hit the same rhythm on the slide, they come forward, drop oar, push back and finish each stroke simultaneously.  When swing happens, the boat just picks up out of the water and grows wings.  If you've felt swing, you'll never forget it.  One year at Seattle Rowing Club we entered both the eight and the fours at a four mile race in Fremont.  Our eight had some rigging problems before the start, and by the time we had the spacers set correctly, the field was twenty or better lengths ahead of us.  We rolled into the start and sort of simultaneously thought "screw it, we're behind, we've got nothing to lose, let's just row the shit out of this thing."  We just went with it.  By the third mile, we hit it.  SWING.  Before long, we were passing boats.  Leaving boats in the dust.  Swinging.  Flying.  We flew up the canal and by God we WON that race by open water. 

An hour later we did it again, in the fours.  We split the eight up into two boats.  The first four, with our stroke and all heavyweights, was heavily favored.  They got to use our club boat.  For the second four, it was me and three lightweights.  Our club didn't own a second four, so we borrowed one from another club, a heavy old wooden behemoth of a boat.  The four of us looked at each other and kind of laughed.  We had no expectation for this race.  We'd already poured our hearts out on a four mile race.  We were just hoping to have enough left in us to finish.

Inexplicably, it happened again. 

Swing.

Somewhere in that race we found the sweet spot and we flew home.  We won again. 

I don't remember too many details about the rest of that day, or anything else.  I just remember the swing.

***

When you ride, there's a thing you look for.  Its like swing, but I'm not even sure there's a word for it.  Its what happens when you start working together as one.  You have a thought in your head of what it is you want to accomplish, you transmit that thought through your hands and your seat and your legs, and your horse, all his muscle and his brain and his nerves, they act out your thought completely willingly.  Its as if he's an extension of your will, not because he's forced to, but because he wants to.

Yeah.

Saturday we took a horrendously awful never-to-be-repeated drive up mountain roads (just thinking about the dropoff right on the other side of the truck door gets my heart pounding in abject fear) to do an orienteering ride.

The night before, T-Bone smashed my nose with his head as he was jumping up on my bed.  I was up past 11 with ice and a towel trying to stop the bleeding and minimize the swelling.  I was up again at 4:30 with a headache and a painful face, trying to will myself to even want to go on this ride.

After we reached the trailhead (and I pried my fingernails out of the truck door), I wasn't expecting much.  I was exhausted but ramped up on anxiety and adrenaline (amazing how worrying about falling down a thousand-foot cliff will do that to you), my nose hurt, and you know when you feel miserable you typically transmit that straight through to your horse.

I took some time to relax and calm down, to put the drive up behind me.  To groom and saddle Bugs and walk him around a bit to loosen the long, bumpy ride out of his legs.  Belatedly I realized he'd thrown a shoe sometime in the week prior, but I was able to borrow a hoof boot from another rider. 

We started down the long initial trail.  It had rained the night before and where the dirt was hard-packed, the horses slipped and slid on their hind legs, trying to find a grip in the earth.  We made it through the first three objectives, and got to the fourth.  It was a camp area and as we were separating to check our orientation points to find the plate, Bugs started to get antsy about being even a few feet apart from his riding pal.  I took him and circled him a few times, let him move his legs and get his brain back into the game.  We finished the objective and headed off down the trail. Where it was not rocky, we trotted and loped to make up some time.  The last ride we'd done this, and Bugs had it in his head that he was in a big fat hurry.  I spent the last hour of that ride fighting him to stay collected and not go barging off into the sunset. 

But Saturday, even with challenges, we found our sync. He was collected.  He was patient.  He went where I asked him, he stayed where I asked him. He moved off the leg like a dream, he didn't spook or get scared even when we ran into four hunters on atv's.  He enjoyed the hell out of himself, and so did I.  We found the sweet spot that makes you want to get up on the horse again, over and over again, so you can get that all-over amazing feeling that comes when you have swing.

Free Pumpkins

When we bought this house a little over three years ago, the prior owner had cultivated a large garden patch.  It had giant sunflowers, roma tomatoes, peppers, beans and pumpkins.  I suck at gardening, honestly.  I didn't have time to nurture everything into harvest.  Almost everything else went to waste, but those pumpkins...they took over.  We had pumpkins coming out our ears.  There were mini pumpkins and regular carving pumpkins.  After I decorated my entire house for Halloween and gave some to my coworkers, they were still out there ripening.  I finally took a big moving box, wrote "FREE PUMPKINS" on it with a magic marker and put it out in front of the mailbox.  Every couple of days I'd go through and pick what had ripened and put it in the box.

Last spring, after Lady died, I went through the front pasture where she is buried and randomly shoved some pumpkin seeds into piles of horse dung.  I didn't know if any of them would take, but I thought it would be nice to have some pumpkins this fall. 

I had some issues with my irrigation this year and wasn't really paying attention to the front pasture except to feel cranky about the weeds growing there (horses are picky, they don't eat weeds.  I need goats for that).  Until I noticed the pumpkin vines growing by the fence.

I have about four good-sized ones and some smaller ones forming on the vine.  They were planted late and so are still dark green and gaining size. I am guessing we will have them ripen right on time to carve for Halloween.

Its starting to cool down now.  High 40's to low 50's in the mornings, cool enough to need a sweater or a hoodie for my morning trip to the barn.  I love spring, and summer here is comprised of 99.9% sunny days, ranging from perfect (low 80's) to OMG I'm Baking (99-102).  I appreciate the plethora of rain-free weekends, since this old horsewoman has no desire to haul my arthritic hips onto a horse in wet weather.  But when fall arrives, when the air gets crisp and the long sleeves appear, when the kids start practicing for football, and when we get our first cool fall rain, it feels like homecoming to me. 

The next two months will be busy with birthday parties and buying costumes, the last few trail rides of the season for the clubs, and my yearly favorite - swapping out the warm weather clothes for sweaters.  Two big tubs will sit on the floor of my room until summer finally gives its last gasp and I no longer have to dress for both fall and summer at the same time.  We'll start decorating the house soon, with gourds and fall colors.  We'll make plans for corn mazes and pumpkin patch visits, start planning Thanksgiving menus and take long rides in the cool fall air. I'll stop drinking whites and go back to reds.  I love this time of year.

A trail of bread crumbs, perhaps

Just you, your horse, a compass and a terrain map.  Your team of three to six people.  You may NOT use:  GPS, cell phone, any map other than the one provided you.  You may not hide the markers from another team.

On your terrain map, a number of large circles are drawn.

 

On the back of your map, 10 sets of three clues.

Inside each circle, the clues lead you to three reference points, each which is assigned a degree.  A pile of rocks, a stump with a rock on it, a soda bottle hanging from a tree.    Using the three points and your compass, you will triangulate to find a paper plate with a code written on it which you  must notate on your map.

Your goal: Don't get lost.  Find the most correct codes and return to base camp with the fastest time.

We started sometime at 9 am up in the woods on top of a mountain.  We finished sometime after two.  I'm going to guess we covered somewhere between 15 and 20 miles.   I am going to be very saddle-sore tomorrow, but thanks to our two other experienced team members Debbie and Megan, Michelle and I won on our first time trying Competitive Mounted Orienteering.

Most fun I've had on a horse in years.  Excuse me, I need to go soak my backside in some hot water and epsom salts.

The Grand Scheme of Things

It's a good thing its Friday.  That means tomorrow's Saturday.  That means tomorrow is the day I can go ride for a few hours, and right now I really need to go be on a horse.

As much as this was a productive week (I cleared out the jungle in the front that used to be a vegetable garden.  Cleared it to the ground.  Go, me) it has also been a very difficult week emotionally.  First there was this, and believe me it has been a very difficult time at work. Everyone is emotional, odd things and comments set off random bouts of tears.  Not only that, but someone close to me is having an enormous personal struggle, and I'm worried very much about their safety and well being.   And frankly, when I read the news, I sort of understand why people feel so damned hopeless. This is a hard world we live in, and we are in frightening times of late.  On top of everything else, my dog Lady has really been on my mind lately.  I'm missing her so much it takes my breath away sometimes. 

Friday nights are hard, as well, because the kids are at their dad's, and even though I often relish my quiet time, and I get my time to ride on Saturdays because they are spending time with J, I still miss them.  I always feel a little at loose ends on Friday nights.  I don't go out much, so its just me and the critters.  Half the time I eat a bowl of cereal standing in the kitchen, watching Olbermann and wondering why I'm such a pathetic homebody. 

In this little corner of the world, I look at all the voices clamoring for attention.  I know I'm one of them, a speck among the multitude, seeking relevance, seeking understanding, seeking connection.  At the beginning and the end of it all, and most of the time in between, we are truly alone with ourselves.  We suffer pain alone.  We can seek out comfort from others, we can receive solace from the support and love of those around us, but ultimately each of us bears our own pain in our own way, and no one else knows its depths or its breadth.  Thinking of the pain of others often releases me from the necessity of dealing with my own feelings.  It tends to remind me, as well, that even when my life seems very small, insignificant and challenging, I have many blessings and that spending time dwelling on what is painful isn't really a helpful way to spend my time.  Still, its there.  For all of us.

How do we find hope and meaning in all of this?

Faith helps me.  I don't know if there's a "grand plan" for my life, but I have the hope that there's something more, something greater.  My friend Charles tells me there is.  Actually, he tells me a lot of jokes, too, and you know those help. 

My children help me.  How can I not look on these faces and feel that my life has meaning, has purpose?

 

I can also look at the kindness of friends and family, like Michelle, who every Saturday blesses me by coming by with her horse trailer and taking me out to the trail.  Like my brother, who every time he comes to visit me takes my kids to play for a couple of hours and then cooks me dinner on top of it.  My online community, who send me tweets and leave me comments, and give me so much support just by being there.

And I see things like this .  And I remember that despite all in this world that is painful and hard and scary, that there really IS love and hope.  And sparkly unicorns that leave glittering piles of happy. 

And I still get to ride tomorrow. 

Round Peg?

I'm the first person to admit that I have a problem with impulsivity.  If I ever stick my toe in the dating pool again, I'd really like to meet someone who sees this in an optimistic, "isn't that cute" kind of way.  I've been told in the past that my impulsive nature makes me a horrible person to live with.  Its not that I try to bring home animals or make life-altering decisions...its more often that I can't seem to help myself. 

Eleven years ago after knowing J for four months, I sold nearly everything I owned, stuffed the rest into a U-Haul trailer and moved from Washington State to New Jersey.  Impulse, much?  And we can all see how well *that* turned out.  Three years ago, with a newly acquired bit of land, I bought the first horse I looked at.  Because she reminded me of another horse I used to have.  She couldn't be ridden yet, and she didn't like to be handled.  I've spent a lot of time and money since then trying to get her to be a trail horse, since that's really all I do anymore is trail ride.  My other horse, Zenon, is 20 now.  He's still fresh as a daisy after a five mile ride, thanks to his Arabian ancestry, and he's Mr. Dependable.  He's surefooted and a lot of fun to take places.  Miss B, on the other hand, while she's much younger and has a beautiful trot you could ride all day, is sadly not suited to trail riding.  She's quick as a cat, explosive, and reactive.  Twice this year I've been dumped by her, not on purpose but because a branch or a tumbleweed poked her and she just exploded sideways.  Being dumped on the trail is not only no fun, its dangerous.   I've kept trying with her, for many reasons, but ultimately I have to accept that she is not the right horse for the job I want her to do.  Worse, she's dangerous because I'm putting her in situations that she can't quite handle, and I don't' have the luxury of continually putting myself at risk of injury.  In the end, its not fair to either one of us.  I love her dearly, and I give a lot of credit to her, to our trainers Bill and Angie, and to myself even, for how far she has come from what she was when I brought her home.  She went from being a horse who was afraid, concerned and upset when being handled, to a horse who would walk up to you in the pasture and stick her nose in the halter.  But she's still a square peg, and I need to stop trying to shove her in the round hole.  She would be happier doing something she's better suited to - reining, possibly, or barrels.  With her speed and quick reflexes, she might make a decent cutting horse.  Who knows?

Michelle is my trail buddy.  We've gone trail riding together every Saturday this year, with only one exception.  She has been so good to me, coming by with her trailer to pick up me and my horse and bringing us back.  I'm lucky where I live in that I can go right down the street and ride for quite a way along the river, and I can head up the street and hit some of the open land north and west of town, but that's about all I can do from here and I'm not a big fan of trail riding in the city.  I like to get out of town where all you can hear are the birds chirping and the hawks scree-ing and the views are spectacular.  And riding alone, while occasionally good for the soul (or a great place to have a really decent cry when life gets a little too much) gets boring after a while.  Without Michelle, my riding life would look a whole lot different than it has lately and I am grateful beyond words for her generous spirit.  She loves to ride too, and I think its been as wonderful for her as it has been for me to have a friend to hit the trails with. 

Michelle and I have the same philosophy  on most things when it comes to horses.  We're both big believers in Natural Horsemanship, we like the same kind of big, stocky quarter horses, and we both have horses for the love of them and not to win ribbons or make money.  There are people in this world who make a living off of horses - but they are few and far between.  Michelle started breeding Quarter Horses years ago.  She has about 16 horses on her place, two stallions, a group of mares, "her" horse and then the few horses she is getting trained in hopes of finding them the right owner.  One of those horses is a big bay gelding called "Bugs."  That's his barn name - most registered horses have a name they're registered under  that you'd never want to call them in real life, and then they get a barn name, usually something short and simple, reflective of the horse's personality.  My second horse ever, a beautiful little buckskin mare, was "Norchas Super Fury" on paper, but to us she was just "Little Bit."  I'm not even sure what Bug's registered name is - I suppose I'll find out eventually.  Which is what I'm leading to with all this. 

Saturday when we were riding, Michelle brought Bugs along, and I, tired of hitting the ground so much, brought Zenon.  Somehow during the course of the conversation, we decided that I'm going to give Bugs a try, and so at the end of the ride, Michelle left him in my care and took Miss B home with her to go run around in an 11 acre pasture with the broodmares.  I feel a whole lot like its Christmas and my birthday all at the same time.  Its a rare opportunity, and I'm really overwhelmed and a bit verklempt over my friends generosity and willingness to not only trust me with her horse, but to take mine to her place.   If I do list her for sale, Michelle's place is a better place for her to be, since there's an arena and a round pen, and for someone to come look at her they can also ride her in a safe environment. 

This time I'm going to try not to be impulsive.  I'm going to really spend some time with this gelding and see if he's the right horse for me.  But its hard not to have a little bit of a crush on him - just look at him:

 
I hope he's my round peg.