What I'd be blogging about if I hadn't become such a slacker

AS IF IT WASN'T BAD ENOUGH THAT I CRY AT DOG FOOD COMMERCIALS

Way to go, Budweiser.  Of course I didn't watch the Superbowl.  Although I did hear it got in the way of a fantastic Beyonce concert.  I heard the Ravens won the game. Or maybe it was the Cravens.  Or the Jetsons.  Anyways.  The next day on Canada AM there was the recap of the commercials.  We were warned to get the kleenex out for the one about the Young Feller who raises a Clydesdale colt.

We can assume an orphaned colt since there's no mare and the guy bottle feeds the Little Youngster.  Well, young Fella starts training Youngster and he's a bit of a brat, wiggling his way out of his nice red halter and other such coltish shenanigans, and soon becomes a magnificent creature who likes to race young Fella's Ford F150 on the way out of the lane.

Then the big Budweiser horse trailer comes along and Youngster steps up and leaves young Fella's life.  Heidi weeps.  See, I'm doing it right now.  THREE YEARS LATER Fella is having a beer, sorry, a BUD, reading the paper.  The Budweiser Clydesdales are coming to the nearest big city!  He gets in his F150 and shows up to see the parade.  There he is.  There's Youngster, gorgeous powerful Youngster, in his show harness.  Heidi weeps.  Fella walks away after the parade with a lump in his throat. But Youngster wiggles his way out of his nice show harness and races down the empty barricaded streets, just like back in the day when he raced the pickup truck down the lane, and the soft part of my soul wants to believe that Youngster wants to see the Fella one more time -  damn you tingly nose and watery eyes -  and Fella, being a guy who knows what to do when faced with a large running horse, gets out in the middle of the street, calm and zen-like but quick as a cat, arms up and out.

Youngster stops and the young Fella wraps his arms around the horse's neck and I cannot even speak as the tears roll down my face.  I am silently sobbing right now.

Cute dogs grinning at the camera?  And now THIS?  Sigh.

Oh did I mention, the song in the commercial is Landslide by the Dixie Chicks.  See, now you're weeping too.  Budweiser is friggen dangerous, man.





SKELETAL REMAINS CONFIRMED TO BE THOSE OF KING RICHARD THE III

Two things about this:

1) Oh boy, when I was 13 I wanted to dig ancient things out of the dirt for a living.  How cool would that be?

2) This guy had some wicked debilitating scoliosis.  I feel so much better about my own crooked spine. Popular mythology-history has painted him as a villain.  Well I know how much my back hurts on a daily basis.  Maybe we'd all feel murderous if we were shaped like that.





THERE ARE AWARDS SHOWS GOING ON

Without me!!!!

And there's this kind of stuff happening!!!!

Claire "Hot Damn" Danes

Lena "Grade 8 Graduation" Dunham

I've never watched her show and probably won't, but she looks great in that dress, despite looking uncomfortable and making the mistake of not practicing walking in heels.  BUT I actually enjoy her goofy honesty about the whole thing.  

Kate "Whaaa??? Wow!!!!" Hudson

Jessica "Forehead Smack" Chastain

She's one of those unfairly lucky redheaded and cheekboned women who can and should really look good for these events but roughly half the time gets it all wrong.  This dress.... What's with the fun bags?  They're not very fun looking.

And of course, I didn't watch or blog the Golden Globes this year and missed my opportunity for an immature boob joke.  Too bad she didn't wear this to the SAG awards.  Which I also did not watch or blog.  Really off my game.  And such rich material here.  

Mayim "Amy Farrah Fowler" Bialik

My son refuses to believe it's the same person.

Nina "I want that pink dress" Dobrev.  

On second thought, I'll let her wear it.

Kelly "Kelly Osbourne" Osbourne

She's always been cute in a bratty way but she's become gorgeous.  I don't get the dress but I love her lavender hair.  Why was she at the Golden Globes?  I don't care.  She should be at every party, simply to shake things up a little.  

I'm really looking forward to the Oscars this year.  

People, it's going to be even crazier than that time somebody put sweet Anne Hathaway onstage with crazy James Franco.  This time, some deviant genius decided to let Seth Macfarlane host the gig.  Clearly, there are people in charge of the Academy Awards who weren't aware that BRIAN THE TALKING DOG is going to host the Oscars.  

You're thinking, look how cute and charming and baby faced this guy is!  But don't let him fool you -- this is a deeply disturbed individual!  

It's going to be hilarious.

And likely troubling.

I can hardly wait.

AND SPEAKING OF AWARDS SHOWS

The Grammys are coming up too and that's a national holiday around here, so it's time to get out the Grammy decorations and the Grammy tree.  

Also, we have to wait two more stinking weeks for Juno nomination announcements.  

Good thing I'm too distracted to really obsess about all this stuff.  

IT'S REALLY HAPPENING... JOHNNY DEPP IS GOING TO BE IN A COWBOYS & INDIANS MOVIE

I'M SORRY I CANNOT TALK RATIONALLY ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW.

AND FINALLY... I BOUGHT A NEW WINTER COAT.

Here's how it differs from my most recent winter coat, which I wore for about seven years or so:

-it's purple instead of drab olive

-it's fitted instead of huge and bulky

-it's a women's coat instead of size small men's which was still waaaaay too big for me

-it has dainty little pockets just barely big enough for my hot pink multicoloured mitts

-but I have a big purse so I can stuff things in there

-except when I go to a rock concert and don't want to bring the purse, and this new coat doesn't have any inside pockets since we assume that all women carry big purses around with them

-seriously don't coat designers think about where we're going to put our ID and earplugs and cash when we go to concerts?  It's not good to carry a purse at those events

-no it's not weird that rock concert survival is part of my coat- buying criteria

-I have a husband with pockets

-have you seen the guy?  Nobody's gonna attempt to rip off anything he's carrying

-it's an actual ladies coat, like from the women's clothing department at the store

-it has a hood with fake fur around it

-aaaaand.... PURPLE! 

So there you go, a week's worth of blogging in one post.  Maybe I'm not so much a "blogging slacker" as I'm simply becoming "more efficient" about it.  Yeah.  I'll tell myself that!

On Mind-reading and Horses and All of Us Talking About Horses!

I recently read something very interesting over on The Mugwump Chronicles.  Janet has been thinking about the responsiveness, the lightness, that we ideally want our horses to have - almost to the point that we think it and the horse does it. She wrote about the discovery that her horses always stood still for her to mount up, because she expected them to.  If any of you horse people out there haven't read this yet, go read it now.  Just go read it.  Even if you aren't a horse person read it anyways.  I'll wait. 





Okay.  I hope you read all the comments too because it really is an interesting discussion!

This is the comment I made:

People meet my horses and always compliment me on how nice and quiet and well behaved they are. And I thank them for the compliment but the whole time I'm thinking, "yeah...because they should be able to be like that and I expect them to." 

And now I'm thinking, duh. What am I expecting during a ride? Confession: they're not all well trained. (one is but she thinks she wants to forget). Don't get me wrong- they're broke. Adequately. They are just right for brand new riders: quiet and polite and agreeable. But I'm still working on lateral movement and lope departures. Collection and lightness. Stuff they should know. 

But I Don't entirely trust my training abilities. 

So. Hmmm. Maybe I don't truly believe it when I think I want them to do something. 

Because last week the one who pretends she forgot all that fancy stuff did a perfect 180 haunch turn. After months of one step at a time. Did she finally figure out what I'm asking or remember it, or did I at last make it clear, or did I expect her to get it right? All of the above?





I've been running this through my brain for a few days now.


I think about it when I open the barn doors and let the horses out for the day.  I don't lead them out one at a time.  I open the door, then let them out of their stalls, and one after the other they neatly walk down the aisle and outside.  In the evening we do the same: I open the door and holler at them, they come in like good little students and head into their own stalls where they wait for me to shut the stall gates.  The only times I halter them to lead them in and out is for practice, or if they know I'm putting them in their stalls to deworm them and they don't wanna.  (And yes, somehow they know.  They just do.)


Now let me tell you about The Loping Problem.  


For years, my half-Arab gelding and I struggled with a nice lope departure.  I'd ask, and he'd slam us into a bone jarring fast trot instead.  He did this to me a few times at shows, which was comical, as he could trot faster than most of those nice little Quarter Horses were loping. I worked on it, mostly out in the pasture field, because in the corral he seemed to run out of room.  It didn't make sense.  He was 14.3h of short bones and muscle.  He could take off from a standstill out in the field on his own.  What was going on?  I tried sidepassing him into it, trotting him in a tight circle in the direction of the lead I wanted, and I tried kicking him senseless.  

I concluded that it was me.  My friend DW had him doing dressage moves, for crying out loud.  The horse was not the problem.  Okay, he was typically stubborn but that wasn't it.  It was me.  I wasn't firm enough, I was a kinda wimpy, and for sure I had this crooked spine problem that I already felt was a problem.  My posture was pathetic and I had great difficulty staying in position without slumping forward.  


Eventually we got it together but it was always a weakness.  Out in the field or on the road, we could lope.  In the corral, we struggled.


Now, big sweet Phoenix who is a darling gentleman on the ground, is totally pluggy under saddle and we're getting some downright ugly lope departures going on.


So we have two situations here.

-they walk single file into the barn and into their stalls because I insist on it.  I had to correct them a few times but now they do it right.  I expect them to do this right.

-I had problems with lope departures with the horse I had for 17 years... and I'm having problems with the gelding I have now... and I'm realizing that I expect to have those difficulties.

(I've eliminated physical problems.  I've got a good fitting saddle and a bit he deals with better than mere toleration.  I lunge him before a ride.)

When I put a student on his back, he plods along like an old pro. He is rock solid and doesn't spook. He goes where his rider puts him.  When I lead him he walks beside me on a nice slack lead rope, he stands tied like a good boy, and lowers his head every time I say "down."

When I ride him, he's lazy and sullen and feels heavy in my hands.

So... I'm going to let him get away with that?  I'm going to let these guys train me into letting them be sluggish and reluctant?


It's so brutally simple, and geez, even slap-your-forehead obvious!  

But I get all hung up on mistakes I made in the past, and pressuring myself to be all perfeshnul, that I forget to...

 just ride and expect my broke horses to just do what I ask them to do!!!





(Isn't it great that we have this place to share our horse philosophies?)

The Horse Chiropractor

It's been almost a year since Tia, the gorgeous Quarter Horse mare at the Little Valley, started coming up lame.  In that time, her devoted owner has tried almost everything.  The horse has had her legs wrapped, she had an equine massage therapist work on her a few times, and on one expensive occasion we loaded her up and took her for an X-ray.  Susan was told that the sesamoid bone (a tiny bone in the fetlock, or ankle to those not familiar with horse anatomy) had been cracked and then healed at some point.  They referred to it as "roughened and remodeled."  They didn't really give any treatment advice, other than to take Tia to the Veterinarian College in Guelph.  That sounds like potential surgery.  That sounds really expensive and scary...

Tia wasn't ever dead lame.  Just slightly off.  Just enough that it didn't seem like a good idea to use her for lessons.  She spent the winter up north at the family farm and came home two months ago, looking pretty okay.

But she's not okay.  She was still looking stiff.  

What do you do with a slightly lame horse who's only 12 years old- in her prime - and is so good, so talented, well trained, and has such ladylike manners?  She should be a show horse, not a lawn ornament.  But at what point do you draw the line on how much money will be spent to figure out the mysterious unsoundness and get it fixed?  I knew a woman years ago who'd spent close to $10,000 on a $200 horse.  In a perfect world we'd have unlimited funds to keep our horses sound and healthy but it's not a perfect world.  

On a recommendation, Susan got in touch with a horse chiropractor.  She figured it was worth a try.  I had to check it out because I was very curious about the treatment.  Plus, I am concerned about this horse.  She's been so important to my education for the last three years.  I love the look of her, I love her hyper-aware but respectful attitude.  She's been good to me.  I want her to be healed up again.

Out of respect for the Dr's wishes, I won't be showing pictures of the treatment.  Or, for that matter, describing what he did.  This is very much a "don't try this at home" kind of thing.  

I will say this: He didn't adjust her with a sledgehammer and a 2x4!  Don't believe anybody who tells you that!  And don't judge me for my gullibility!!

This man is gentle in manner and seemed to not really care about getting information about the horse.  I think he could find out what he needed to know in a few minutes of watching her walk.  

When he first lifted her lame front hoof, his first utterance was, "Uh-oh."  

I felt a sick chill, and this is not even my horse.  Dr was concerned because the front leg had a limited range of motion.  After a few clicks and jerks, she was much more mobile.  

He slowly worked his way around her body, and with each adjustment her head would go up and her eyes widened.  At one point, she suddenly let out a breath. I could see a change in her eyes.  She appeared to be relaxing.  Now Dr was saying things like, "She's going to respond well."

Susan was starting to relax too.    

He explained that her ligaments have been stretched and that it will take some time for everything to strengthen again.  He's optimistic, but can't say how long before she's sound again.  He also warned us that the bones will easily pop back into the wrong place again, since it was like that for a long time.  She'll have to be on stall rest, and walked for 20 minutes twice each day.  

That's not so hard.  It can be done.

Of course, putting the alpha mare in the barn means putting everybody in the barn.

Bo was very happy to give Tia a big smooch as soon as they were side by side again.  She actually allowed him to nose her.  She must have been feeling better!

Everybody was happy to have Tia close by.  Her presence means all is right in the world.  See the two "kids" here?  They crack me up.  Being the smallest, they get the double sized stall.  They can barely see over the wall. 

Tia will have to have several more treatments to get her back in shape.  Finally Susan feels like there's hope for this wonderful horse.  I'm thinking about my own little mare, who has ended up being cinchy despite all my efforts while training her to go slow and not develop a phobia about it.  It makes me wonder if she's got a pinched nerve or something.  

Forest Ranger Dave thinks the horse chiropractor is a magician... who magically removed a chunk of cash from Susan's wallet.  I think sometimes money is a small price to pay for peace of mind, and a happy horse.  

Has anybody out there gone this route for treating lameness?  Anybody had an adjustment yourself?  I've gone to several chiropractors over the years, some very good and some just in it for the pay.  I'm not seeing a "backcracker" right now, although I should.  I know it'd do me some good.  Especially with my scoliosis, it's good to get everything mobile.  I'd love to hear your opinions!

The Heidi-and-Bo progress report

It's rainy and windy today, meaning I'm not in a big hurry to get out to the barn.  (When I called out there to say so, I was told, "Go back to bed!)

Time to share with the world what I've been learning:

-deadlines are good for me.  Unrealistic deadlines are just stressful, but a reachable one motivates me.

-Bo is an old horse.  He's 19. He needs regular work to stay in shape.  He's been at the Little Valley for a year; the year before that was spent being a lawnmower.  He's so much more flexible and fit now!

-he's generally grumpy and it's not an old age thing.  His owner says he's always been like that, since she got him at age eight.  We put up with it because he's so great under saddle.

-if I get out the little rubber "Jelly" brush and rub down his forehead and ears, and his legs, I can darn near put him into a contented sleep!  Nice.

-gonna miss him when his owner is done school and takes him home in September.

-he's in better shape than I am; my legs are a little sore!

-my neck is stiff too and I believe it's because I've been tensing up when riding the two-track.  (I'll describe that later.)  I know I need to relax into it.

-if my spurs ride up on my heels I know I've been using my feet incorrectly.  I need to stretch that heel down to cue him.  This should keep my knees on him too.

-gloves are good when riding with a lot of contact on the reins.

-I'm still having a hard time riding with contact... growing up being yelled at to ease up on the reins so the pony will go forward has stayed in my head.  "Don't hang on with the reins, or she'll stop!!"  Of course they weren't really reins, they were twine string, but still.

-he needs contact to collect up and do that two-track.

-as of today the riding test is a week away.  I'll be ready.

-I can't wait to get my own two horses up to this level of training!  

And most of all, I had this amazing revelation yesterday.  I mean, at first I couldn't believe it, but it has to be true.  I never let myself think it, I always chose to look at the stuff that needed improving rather than the abilities that I do have, but I must let myself believe it.

Despite a crooked spine, gut-compromising medications, ADD, depression, anxiety, a house full of kid-mess and pet-mess, and surviving on one income, I AM ACCOMPLISHING THIS GOAL.

And furthermore, what I really have to let myself believe...

I'M ACTUALLY A PRETTY DECENT RIDER.

We're taking the horses down the road today to a neighbour's indoor arena.  It's big enough that I can do the entire pattern with that big lanky horse and not have to compress it to fit the small sand ring at the Little Valley.  It takes a bit more room to move Bo around.  Plus it's dry in there.  I'm still bringing my rain coat.

Later!

Fear. Sabotage. Success. Anonymity.

I’ve given myself some time to think, squeezed in around all my projects and brain fillers.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s next.

If 2005 was about therapy, and 2006 was about recovering, then 2007 was about returning. I think I’m back, for real, in the land of the living. Mostly. I trust my brain and my crooked back and my multi-faceted self a little more now. This next year will be the year that things change, and of course, I don’t know what those changes will be!

I’ve spent most of the last few years in my cocoon of a home, living my huge small life, taking the little tentative steps towards the big steps. I have worked so very hard at it. It’s gone pretty well for me, and despite setbacks along the way, I think I’ve been improving. I write. I ride. I laugh with my kids. My husband still loves me. It’s okay. It’s good.

I have stepped back from my novel. It’s been read by people I trust. It’s been critiqued, submitted, and rejected. I know by now that ten rejections is nothing. That’s just a test run, kids, just a warm up. I’ve got more to go, and I know what I have to do to my book and my query letter before I send out Round Three to my list of newly discovered agents. I’ve done some serious considering and thinking and rethinking. I’m almost ready to go.

And find myself stalled.

I think I might be on the verge of sabotaging my own possible success.

Finding out that I have more work to do than I figured on in order to become a certified riding instructor has been a bit of a kick in the gut. I’m telling myself that it just means I have to do more work. I can do it. I have a little bit of control over it. It won’t ruin my life to get to this goal.






The writing thing is a slightly different though. Riding and teaching is hard, sometimes frustrating work, but rewarding. I feel the satisfaction right there on the spot. Writing is exhilarating and fulfilling, but it can be mental and emotional torture, and it doesn’t always reward me quickly or recognizably. I can take off my riding boots and have a warm bath and get away from it. But when I’m flinging horse manure, my imaginary people run wild in my head. I cannot get away from them. I wouldn’t really want to- they’re part of me. They want their stories told. I have to tell them.

And then what? What if it really does become an actual book that people can read? I fear that it could ruin my life.

Here’s where the fear takes hold. It affects everything- the way I want to live, where I want to live, who I want to be surrounded by, and what I will actually do.

You’ll notice that I don’t use my surname on this blog. It’s for a reason. I don’t really want you to know. I’m pretty sure I like you all, but I don’t want anybody to figure out where I live and just show up. I don’t want to be recognized while I’m sweating and panicking my way through the grocery store. I don’t want my phone to ring.

(Unless it’s a literary agent...I’d hang onto something sturdy and pick up the phone with shaky hands...yes I would....)

I have shown my face on this blog, over the course of two years, for only two events: One, the juno awards last year because my husband won. Two, the day my new horse came home.

I don’t really want to show my face.

Big problem. If you want to teach people riding lessons, they’re coming to your home. I don’t want to leave my (future) farm to work. I want to work on my turf. I have to have a last name for that. And show my face. I can’t go sprinkling fairy dust around my fences so that nobody can find my place.


If I want to sell books, it’s very very important that I have a face and a surname. Lemony Snicket can hide his face and hold close the secrets of his murky past. I’m no Lemony Snicket. Readers need to know that a real person made it all up, a person who has a life and sees things and experiences things and turns it into fiction. I need a name that can be catalogued and kept track of.

No matter what I do, I can’t stay anonymous.

Scares the hell out of me.

In terms of teaching riding, it’s not so bad. Riding instructors usually don’t draw too much attention. As long as good word of mouth spreads, it’s okay. Lots of people in the small saddle club world around here already know my name. There’s a Quarter Horse trainer in Texas with my name- my married name. I highly doubt we’ll be mistaken for each other.

But, the writing thing...

Your writing makes you memorable, but your name sells you.

And I want it, people. I want it. I want to be a household name.

I want you to sit down at the table and say to the person you’re eating with, “That Heidi ****** book I’m reading is really pissing me off, I just want to go in and smack those people for being so stupid. It’s infuriating.”

And then when someone else asks you what you like about the book, you can say, “ Nobody writes a charming bad guy like Heidi ******”

I’d love it if you said to one of your friends, “I just read a book by Heidi ******. It was really descriptive, and it made me think about the way I grew up and how it made me who I am.”

I won’t even mind if you said, “I will never ever read another book by Heidi ****** ever again, not if the world blows up and it’s the only book that didn’t burn to a crisp, because that book is practically a how-to manual for bad behaviour and I was deeply offended.”

You can even say, “Heidi ****** should be ashamed of herself for writing such a disgusting story.”

Yes! I want you to tell everybody!

I want you to be standing in the book store and see a sign that says “Heidi ****** will be here to sign her book!” and you think to yourself, “I’ll come back for that. Heidi ******'s book really stuck with me after I read it. I can’t stop thinking about those kids.”

I need that name.

I want the success.

The price I will have to pay is my privacy and anonymity.

I fear that loss. It surprises me, because I never have been truly anonymous. People always knew who I was. I’m small, but not inconspicuous.

I am telling myself (one of me placates the other one of me) that this will not be a problem at all.

I don’t think anybody really cares.

There is no privacy anymore. Even my father, a guy who has never touched a computer and only recently figured out how to use the call answer phone, has web presence. I typed his name into Google and he came up in a geneology. We Mennonites love our family history. He’s in there.

Privacy is an illusion. And I don’t think it’s such a big deal. Riding instructors do not have fans. Writers, with the exception of King and Rowling, don’t have to have gates around their houses to keep the crazed fans out.

I’m making a big deal out of my insecurities and neuroses, and all of this before I even land an agent.

That’s the whole point though. If I quit now, I’ll never know. I’ll never have to deal with more rejections ever again... never have a book that an agent can’t sell to a publisher... never have the crushing disappointment of a book that fails to leave the bookstore.... never have to meet somebody who will interview me or give my book a bad review.



That part of me will not be allowed to let down or disappoint the other part of me, the one who demands attention and starts the party when she walks into a room. That part of me wants you to read the book, and the reviews, all of them, and the interviews. She wants it all. She’ll white knuckle her way through the agony of breaking out of the little comfy shell and strap herself into the roller coaster. She actually wants to leave the comfort of her little patch of land to meet people and talk about words and mental images and the story that everybody has tucked away inside themselves, no matter how scary it is to take those shaky steps into the outside world.

That part of me loves a little bit of fear.

And right now, she’s satisfactorily terrified.

sometimes he needs a good ribful of spurs

(and after typing that, wonder what kind of awful traffic will stop here...)

I consider myself to be gentle and forgiving with my critters. I am well aware that my horses outweigh me by about a thousand pounds. I know that I cannot physically force them to do as I ask, and that instead I have to out-think them, gain their trust and respect, and always be firm with them so that they do not get away with undesirable behaviour. I don't abuse them. They have decent manners (if not always perfect) and they generally don't act like wild maniacs.

So you can understand that I'd be really, furiously, hotly, intensely ANGRY when I get hurt.

I'm not one to hurt back.

However.

Nobody gets away with it.

I finally broke a sweat on that big horse of mine. I peeled the saddle blanket off of a wet horse. After the incident, our ride became an extremely focussed lesson- trotting on a snug rein, no matter if he wanted to speed up, or stop, or spin around and head back to the corral. Every step was a firm boot to the hide. Every muscle in my body screamed for mercy but I ignored it because there was a lesson to be learned and the pain wasn't going to stop me from teaching it. I had been calling his mother nasty names in a menacingly low voice. I'd been whispering to him in no uncertain terms that we will get along and that he absolutely will figure out that we are doing this my way and that if he wanted to know how far he could push me...He's just found out.

Far enough.

And he will not push me that hard again.

Because now he knows.

He cannot, ever, EVER, think that he can get away with bad behaviour. He's had his last unruly outburst.

He's clever, my Phoenix, and he's hardcore stubborn. He's also gentle on the ground, a fast learner, and a hell of a smooth ride.

I fully believe he's going to be an excellent partner for me. He had some good training before he came to me. He's a good horse. But, he isn't very experienced. He hasn't had as many hours under saddle as his little friend who was trained by me only, and on weekends. All this time I berated myself for her spotty training, and her lack of whatever it is that makes her what I consider to be a well broke horse. As it turns out, when I think about it, she's further ahead. She's had the wet saddle blankets pulled off her back. She's done the work. This big boy hasn't had to work very hard in his life and I figure he's not real pleased with the new job. I mean, who wouldn't want to just graze and swish flies and be gorgeous???

Yeah well...he can do that when he's not working. For crying out loud. I'm only here on weekends, dude. Learn to deal.

I didn't really feel the pain until the next day. Luckily. I needed to ride his ass hard after his little hissy fit. I think he learned. He's been a real remorseful suck up since then. This is why they tell you to always get back on. Let this be your lesson. This is life. You have got to get back in the saddle.

Always

get

back

on.

Scatterbrain

I want to write about the barn today. As I sit here, I can still smell the shavings on me but I'm not sure where it sits- I've washed my face and hands, so it must be my clothes. I could change... but then I wouldn't smell the barn anymore.

Here- have some pictures...





Two people have emailed those to me in the last week.

I want to write about my future horse. But I can't. Not yet. Soon.

I want to write about rock bands and how I am stupid and a brute for punishment because I have started writing another novel and yes, it has to do with music and horses too.

I want to write about how truly self-hating I must be because I insist that one of the characters in the above mentioned started work just has to be psychic. Why do I do this to myself?



I want to write about the author reading I went to but I can't concentrate on it long enough to put it together.But I will tell you this: I need to go to as many as these events as possible.








I don't want to write about violence and hatred and murder. But I think I'm going to have to. Not yet.

I want to write about spring. Finally we have green grass and a few clutches of crocuses are poking out of my front flowerbed, among the remains of last year's leaves.

I want to write about my aching body, but I don't really want to. I want it to not ache anymore.

I want to write about how much I hate computers. I'm afraid that if I do, all three of them will rise up against me and TAKE ME DOWN because I suspect they are more powerful than me. There are three of them- I am outnumbered! (I'm sorry Mac Black, I really do love you, it's just that I don't understand your kind.)


The sun is finally shining. I feel like winter is really over. I want to feel happy. All I have is a brain filled, buzzing, jumping, scattering across thoughts and images and words and senses, like a bucking horse that I can't even get close to let alone saddle up and ride.

I can't get my printer to start again. I'm trying to print all the even numbered pages now. Why can we not communicate?

I want to go outside.

Here, have a picture of Johnny as he works on his newest project with the other love of my life, Tim Burton:



Here's one of My Favourite Pictures Ever: it's like two corners of my musical world colliding...

...with wonderfully happy results! Wouldn't it be awesome if they'd plug those in and got somebody (that I know) to hit RECORD??!!!

Scatterbrain. Screw you, difficult printer. Maybe it's not even your fault, maybe it's me, but you know what? The sun's shining and I got stuff to do. Like, enjoy the sunshine.


Have a good weekend...

Get Outta Town. So I Did.

And I feel much better now. I hadn't been out to the farm in almost two months and I was going a little bit crosseyed. A little squirrely. Stir crazy. Cabin fevered. If it wasn't for my twice weekly barn visits I'd have blown a mental gasket or something. Whew. That's a lot of metaphors in one short paragraph.

Here are some observations on life in the country that I would like to share with you. Some of you will get this. Some will be disgusted. I am just your faithful life observer.

-It's colder out in the country. It just is. I'm not sure if it's actually a degree or two colder or if it's the wind roaring across that open field on the north side of the road, but damn. It's cold. I'd open the kitchen door and stand in the entrance way to clip the tether to the Pug's collar, and he'd look up at me like, "But it's too cold to send a little dog outside." Then I'd slowly realize that he's a Pug and he always has that look on his face...and I'd boot his little tawny butt outside. But geez, I sure am glad that some relative of mine back in the 50s decided that indoor plumbing is a good thing to have in a house.

-I'm pretty sure that whoever coined the phrase, "Springtime Freshness" had never been anywhere near a farm. All winter the smell is frozen but look out when it all starts to melt. And that's with only two horses. I have conveniently forgotten what a barn full of pigs smells like. Also I'm kind of weird...I like the smell of horse manure. It's oddly comforting to me.

-Apparently out in my parent's neck of the woods, Hi-speed internet is available. I'm not kidding when I say it's on my list of Farm Shopping Priorities.

-The dog had no offending pedestrians to bark at for six days. He had to bark at my dad instead. Every time Dad came into the house, the Pug leaped off the couch, squealing and growling, then skidding to a halt for a pat. He's just not cut out to be a good watch dog, if he must wag his little curled tail after every alarm he sets off...but he sure is good at warming up cold feet.

-Rubber boots don't keep feet warm. A felt insole helps but doesn't solve it. Good thing there are only two stalls to clean.

-There are many reasons for keeping the horses outside day and night in the summer. One of them is that after a whole winter of stall cleaning I would not want to look at another little pile of round poops in a nest of pine shavings. It's not the physical work- all that twisting is actually good for my stiff crooked spine. It's not the stink- as long as I cover up my clothes and hair, I don't carry the stink into the house. It's not the look of it. It's the repetition. I can't do repetitive work. It gets burned into my brain so that I close my eyes and it's all I see. When I worked in a green house as a teenager I spent an entire March Break with marigold seedling under my eyelids. I didn't get this problem from cleaning stalls for a week. But I after an entire winter I can't wait to close the barn.

-I'm close with my folks. I can spend a week in their house and it never ends in the kind of dramatic meltdowns that some families have. We enjoy each other. I miss my own house though. I get out of routine and can't get it together. But, I did manage to chase my mom away from a few loads of laundry. She shouldn't have to wash our clothes. I let her cook though, because she's so very good at it.

-The kids are already planning our summer break at the farm. They're going to learn how to weld, and drive. And it's about time, too, I say. Too bad we don't have any little piglets to castrate anymore...

-There's no Country Fresh in the country. There's mud, manure, crusty snowbanks, harsh wind, ten minutes in the car to the nearest coffee shop, rusty well water, and big rigs jake-braking down the highway to slow down for the big curve at the end of the field.

...and I'd take it all in a heartbeat.

A Few Days on the Sunny High Road; A Day in the Crooked Path of Dark Fog.

Remember how I took a great homeopathic remedy awhile back and it wiped out my short term memory? What, I didn't tell you about that? Oh. I may have told my mother three times...

Yesterday I had to get a new driver's license because I lost mine. A few months ago. Then I forgot. Thought of it. Forgot it. Finally got it done but had to go home and get the ID that I needed and had forgotten.

The good news is that I spent the last two weeks feeling really dang good! The remedy works! Just too well! I had energy; I didn't feel like I wanted to go back to bed at 10am. I took the dog for hour-long walks. I went to Ikea. By myself.

Two days ago I went to the dreaded grocery store and got $190 worth of food. Do you understand the hugeness of this? Not only was I in the store long enough to put that much food in the cart, and NOT run screaming, but I did it without the help of my Ipod. (I forgot it.) I was thinking about food, and cooking, and I wasn't intimidated but it. There was enough money in the account to pay for it! And, I even remembered to bring my wallet! This was a stunning achievement.

But yesterday for unknown reasons, things started to unravel. I felt that unfocused low grade panic creep back in. My thoughts were disjointed and alarming. I felt it coming on and I knew it, before it hit me, I recognized it. I tried to tell myself that this was okay, that a year ago I wouldn't have had this much warning because I was too mentally confused to see it.

There wasn't much comfort in this. I liked feeling good. I still felt borderline crazy. All the time. I've decided to be okay with feeling constantly borderline crazy. At least that way, I know that I am still alive and that I'm still ME. But this, this brain fog. Not just lack of memory; that in itself is scary, but the doom!

There are a few things happening here. One is my struggling to accept that I have been dealing with the Dark Doom of Fog since about age twelve, and it's been seizing me and releasing me ever since. It will always be there. My challenge is to learn to deal with it instead of fighting it, because I think when I have fought it, it has won.

The other thing is that I'm in pain, and it's not just my mental struggles. It's physical. I have Scoliosis. Or did I already tell you that? I forget. My spine is crooked. I wake up stiff and creaky every morning and for the last few months I don't always feel better as the day goes on. I was in tears about it a few nights ago when my husband and I went to bed at the same time. He quietly said that he's noticed that my back seems to be getting worse. He noticed that I mention it casually more often; it just works its way into my words. And he's noticed that visually, I'm more crooked than I used to be.

This is me. I asked him to take a photo because I want to see how bad it is. It was a terrifying idea but I've faced it now. I mean, I can look in the mirror and see that one shoulder is higher and my collarbones are uneven. But I can feel it. I could reach around right now and point to the spot where my spine heads off in a different direction.

I was standing up straight for the photos. It drove me nuts. I never stand straight. I always have one knee bent and one hip out. I've noticed lately that I can't even hold one position long. Constantly shifting to try to get comfortable.







This is me after Jethro traced the crazy meandering cow path of my spine. I looked at the photos and said, "Oh God. No wonder I'm in pain."

He said the photos don't really convey it because in my lower back, it also twists. Like a spiral. He's a little concerned.

This is so scary. I'm 35. I hope to get another 50 years out of this body. I ache like a 90 year old dairy farmer already.

Worse, I've passed it on to both my kids. The Girl's is very mild, which is a relief because she's a ballet dancer. But the Boy. I'm already worried. I'm actually getting choked up in my throat as I write this.

I have been going to a chiropractor for years. Yesterday on my run through town, I drove yet again past a new place that's opened up called "Spine Stretch Studio." It's a Pilates clinic, a serious one where they have these machines that are meant to pull you into place. It's been rattling around in my head that I would like a spine stretch. It would have to feel better than the way I feel now. I think it's time to get medieval about this.

And today I feel very apprehensive about what I'm facing. But I had my off day. I crawled down the path. It's okay. I don't believe in taking the easy road anyways...it's almost against my religion to take the smooth easy path.

There are good things to tell you before I get on with it today.
-My son, the child of two non-athletic people (neither of us were sporty) is going to the area track meet tomorrow! He's competing in the standing long jump. He's the second shortest guy in his class, but he's as strong as an ox! A very cute ox with blonde curly hair.

-My daughter, the child of an innumerate, got an A+ in geometry!!!!!!!! That's going up on the wall. She worked hard for that mark.

-Somebody bought a Hick Chic tank top and I'm so thrilled. I'll probably never know who it was but it doesn't matter. Just the thought that somebody else out there is wearing my "brand" is such a buzz.

And after agonizing over the trashing I gave an artist that I like, I've decided to not be ashamed. Scroll down to the link, and let me know what you think about it. I'm curious now.

No shame, not in my opinions, my decisions, my mental state, or my physical oddities. I'm stepping over the branches on the path and the fog is thinning out....