Tugboat

** This post was the last I wrote before my son became critically ill. Since March 11th I have been in Austin, while he has fought for his life in the hospital. We are nearing the end of his journey to wellness and I am so happy to report, he pulled through, is doing well, and I will return to Maryland soon. My apologies for the big gap in posting. You can read about Parker's Journey at: www.leapoffaith111483.blogspot.com

~ I went to watch Ceara ride Tugboat in a dressage show yesterday. I have never seen him look so happy, more fit, more relaxed or so loved in his life. He is one lucky pony!

One of the things I wanted to point out is that Ceara and her trainer, Carolyn, have worked very hard on getting Tugboat to be able to let his neck go long and low in a free walk across the diagonal. Tugs has such a muscled neck, the "free-walk" part of his dressage tests are always tricky. But Ceara is a dedicated equestrian and has done a fabulous job with him.

Like I said, what a lucky pony!

Horse Girls Part II

Today I went to a horse-friend's baby shower. This is a friend I have known for about 15 years, since she was a little teenager running around the barn where I got back into the horse business. The friend goes to Wyoming with me, and whose mother was my mentor. I remember how we used to sit in the barn office in the evenings while she did her homework and my younger son, James, was learning to post on Chocolate Chip. Now my horse-friend Kate is all grown up and getting ready to have a baby of her own ~ a boy.

Kate manages a horse farm like I did when I had my first son, Parker. I gave her the same gift I received, a papoose type snuggly which allowed me to continue to work in the barn while Parker was held safe and secure against my chest in his carrier.

Most of the people at the shower were "barn people." Horse girls, all of us. Some of us in our 70's and still riding. Many of us middle age, not riding as much as we used to, if at all. There were plenty of younger girls who wear ankle bracelets and dangly earrings and flip their hair the way horse girls do. One of them, an adorable teenager named Michaela, was a toddler when I first met her. She ran around the barn after her mother in her diapers and boots, and rode an old pony named Watergate.

I realized something while I was there. The job I have now, at the florist, I try to create outings or get togethers with the girls who work for me as a way to bond, to cement ourselves as a team. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But when I managed the horse farms, I didn't have to create anything. I never had to worry about one of the girls getting sassy with me or copping an attitude when I asked them to do something. It was completely different. Because the thing is, the common bond we all share is that we are all horse girls. We are there because we want to be there, not because we have to be there. We are there because it is the job of our heart, it feeds our soul.

It is all still the same, I can see that in these young girls. It hasn't changed. Horse girls are horse girls are horse girls. Tomorrow I will write about one of my ancesters who read Black Beauty, then saw a horse being mistreated and stood up for the horse in court. That was back in the 1800's, so apparently horse girls were the same back then.

The Magic Shirt

This may look like an ordinary, run of the mill red polo shirt to someone else, but this shirt has magic powers for me. Horse people tend to have superstitions with clothes, or tack, or colors, and this is mine.

This is my writing shirt, and amazing things happen when I put it on. It was my father's shirt, and I get some of my best writing done when I wear it. I sit down at the computer and the words just flow from my heart and soul and spill out onto the paper looking like a seasoned writer's polished novel. Not that I still don't have to edit ~ it isn't quite that magical. But I am so happy with everything that I write when I wear it, I almost feel like I am missing my left pinky finger when i don't.

It's my lucky shirt, my creative muse, my happy place and comfort food all rolled up into one. I think I'll wear it to the Princeton conference the end of this month.See how the editors I will meet like it.

Arabian Foals

I was very happy because I thought I was going to go see Dallas over the weekend. Dallas is my Arabian mare who lives at my friend Kate's farm about an hour away. I don't get out to see her much, so I spent the week very excited about spending time with her.

But then the snow storm came. So instead of driving in the storm to go see her, I took the time to organize old photos. I came across this photo of Dallas's ancestor and set it aside to have it enlarged someday and put up on my muse wall.

The gray mare's name was Sar Ra Leila. The foal with her would have been a half sibling to Dallas's great-grandmother, Sar Ramora, through their sire, Sar Farafic. My brother Jamie took this photo.

There is something so photogenic about an Arabian. Especially an Arabian foal.

The photo on the right is Dallas, who is now 6 years old. I need to see her soon.