TIK TOK ROCKS!

So in a confessional blog, it's ok to admit that I am a member (or could be a member) of many 12 Step Programs.  Given my predilection for addictive behaviors (yeah horses, Facebook,etc) and substances (chocolate, ice cream among the many), I try to avoid anything new that could trigger binging.  

{{{OK, I did lose the Ted Lasso binging obsession and quite frankly really need an intervention.}}} 

So when Tik Tok became all the rage, I avoided it like the plague.  I already waste so many hours "managing" Facebook pages, including my own, that I did not entertain getting the app.  So, folks would send me one or two that they thought I'd be interested in...  And yes, I would watch it and maybe the one after that but always caught myself if I went to a third.

Then something called a Reel (Tik Toks) showed up on my Instagram/Facebook feed.  Here's another confession, I have been binge watching the horse ones...  Friesians galloping in the snow, barrel racing, young horses being broke, funny little bits from a dressage groom.  And, when the temperature hit a -5F, I couldn't stop...  folks - men and women -  with helmets, without helmets (had to stop judging them so harshly), jumping, galloping, loping...  just having fun.

Let me say that again...  Just.  Having.  Fun.

I don't belong to the Facebook group, Shiteventersunite.  There are too many falls, too many stops, too many problems that we are meant to laugh at.  We are meant to laugh at these moments and commiserate at our mutual problems.  For me, it triggers my already overactive anxiety issues and helps my demons show visions of what could come.

Give me the cowgirl, cowboy and backyard Tik Tokker...  show me your joy, show me the ease in which you gallop and laugh.  Run delightfully through the fresh snow never once worrying about the potential for ice.  And show me your high horse and how you let them burn it off with a good run.

And Shanti, cooped up and confined due to a polar freeze, enjoyed her rider today.  When she kicked up her heels NEEDING to move, this rider thanked those Tik Tokkers and allowed her to move as she needed to move. I had my metaphorical cowboy hat, a fleece lined bomber's jacket and jeans glued to our big ole western saddle riding out the energy...  The only thing not metaphorical was the smile on my face and the feeling of freedom in my heart.

One last thing...  OK, I work hard at not judging but damn, wear a helmet.  This shit is dangerous.

IT'S NEVER ABOUT THE FOOD

You know how you chit chat before a meeting begins?  "How was your Thanksgiving?" "Did you see the game?"  "Whatcha doing next weekend?"  Sometimes you're the listener and sometimes you're the teller and if you're on Zoom, maybe you're swiping through your emails nodding as if you're engaged.

W/permission
www.dogsimeet.com

"Thanksgiving was...  you know ok.  Not sure why we do any cooking, the meal takes hours to make and its over in 20 minutes."  "Yeah... waste of time."  Somewhere in the murmurings, I raised my head out of my emails..  

What?  Thanksgiving is never about the food.  Oh it seems like its all about the food but it's really about the memories surrounding the food and later, as life changes, the stories, thoughts and moments recalled as the food is prepared.

This year I cooked the full Thanksgiving feast.  It was just my niece, a neighbor and I.  So much trouble for 3 people, why bother?  It's never about the food.

As I stood over a cutting board, carefully chopping celery and then the onions, I remembered so many Thanksgiving evenings watching my dad carefully chop celery and then onions stopping every so often to ask my mom if she thought he'd cut enough.  If the answer was no, he'd look at us kids and say something funny about being in a Navy mess kitchen.

I remembered my mom sautéing the vegies in margarine as I sautéed the same in butter.  I was with him when we added the milk, S&P and parsley so deep was the feeling.  She added the mixture to the bread and mixed it just so and when it was perfect he took over and finished stuffing the bird.

It's never about the food.  It's about a memory so deep and so pleasant that I'm not sure the tears were from cutting an onion so carefully for a feast held later in the day.

Tomorrow is my dad's birthday and while physically he's been gone 16 years, his memories live in me.  And, he may have thought that the Thanksgiving meal was too much work, this year he was with me as I created my own memories.  I love you Pop!

  

LESSONS LEARNED AND LESSONS GAINED

I know you've all heard it and I know you all have answered the question time and time again.  "Why are you taking lessons?  I thought you knew how to ride!"  Yup, it is a question asked year after year and sometimes right after said lesson.  

My confession today?  Yeah, I like lessons.  No, I mean I really like lessons.  I like them with big time trainers, gifted trainers and I like my trainer who train both the Lil' Redheaded Girl and I.  I guess I could really say that I love lessons.

Today I had a goal.  It was a simple one - loosen Shanti up and improve our Up and Down transitions.  I'm sure its a goal that everyone has had at one time or an other - nothing too crazy or unachievable like riding down the hill to the outdoor.  (Maybe I'll tell that story at some point.)  I wanted good and I wanted improvement.

Left alone, the second it gets hard my demons peek out just a little - no name calling but acting like a passive aggressive "friend" who might enthusiastically tell you before a first date or some special event "that they love that dress but is turquoise really a good color".  And adding, "I mean you can pull it off like no one else."

Maybe they mean to be encouraging but just don't know how to do it well.  Or maybe they are being guided by the great demon, Perfectionism.  Maybe they are pushing success like the sport crazy parent that sees the Olympics in mind*.  They just keep a nagging monotone hoping that it triggers success.

Well, it does trigger something and it often isn't very nice.  And, since the only thing one can control (and poorly at that) is oneself, Shanti gets the "GOOD GIRL's"  and I get the, "Am I ruining what is good?  Am I really helping or am I hurting her back?  God I suck at this!  Oh come on, just give it up...  I am doing everything I can...  I ride like crap."

My love of a good lesson (which is actually the lesson itself), is about someone who can guide me, talk over the demon Perfectionism and encourage goodness and development without the negative judgement.  And, it's not about praise (although that is nice), its really more like marriage counseling - balancing out what is real, acknowledging the development and helping guide us to be better together.

So I love a good lesson which is a lesson itself.   I continue to ride on my own whilst wanting help with the balance not of the body but of the head.  Shhh, I have goals and they be lofty ones...

WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT?

 It's been said that I am unlucky, that things happen and happen often...  What is luck?   Well, winning the lottery would definitely be lucky (MA Lottery Division, the $10 check doesn't quite count) and some would say finding the perfect parking spot or making it through all the lights and getting to that appointment on time is very lucky.

The ultimate judge of who is lucky and who isn't is really and simply you. I've always felt that I was lucky and stepped up into the unknown if the Universe said, it's time, do it... sometimes a little nudging helps and once or twice I believe that the Universe kicked me into it.

But, this is post about love which is very lucky indeed.  

Once upon a time, way back when, the Bestest Eventing Buddy and I were planning our 2011 eventing season.  You know...  where you sit around in January and dream the big dreams of all that you and your ponies will do and all the fun you'll have.  At one point, I said that it was the year that I would find a mate and marry living happily ever afterwards.  We laughed the big laugh of hyenas... hmmm, was it that far fetched (oops, another post perhaps).

And then came OBNH Chandler Bing, a 4.5 month old foxhound puppy who in a great escape realized that leaving the barn was scarier than the climb down a 20 foot retaining wall to get back to his kennel.  A badly broken elbow, surgery and then, he was mine.  Chandler joined Jonah and became known as Da Boyz.

This is a post about love, that deep, bottomless pit of love.  That feeling that happens when everything comes together - that your foxhound wants to be closer to you than the lab who was bred to be your companion.  That warm feeling of home when you enter a room and his crooked tail wags and he leans his body into yours grateful for your return.

And, that feeling of completeness as you take your pony out for a ride and your two friends are trotting and cantering with you as we all explore the new morning as the sun rises.  Most of all that look he gives you in stillness, that look of confidence and adoration so secure was his knowledge that he was deeply loved in return.

Chandler was king from the moment of his birth to the final moments of life. He never doubted that he was loved, never wondered if he'd be fed and lived a very good life.  Our adventures together were epic and I am so lucky that he was in my life.

My wish for us all is that we get to experience the confidence of being loved, knowing that we will be cared for and that someone will always have our best interest in mind.

My dear friend sent me this poem by Mary Oliver, Blackwater Woods, American Primitive Collection 1983

"to live in this world

you must be able

to do three things

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go"

Chandler, you were my heart hound and per the Bestest Eventing Buddy, my husband.  I will miss you terribly 12/22/10 - 6/26/21

 

GATE HER DONE!

 Some would say that its just a gate. And others would see it only as an obstacle to be cleared. And for me, it did appear like maybe I have to  jump Dante's 9th Circle of Hell.

"Be kinder to yourself." "Know that you are not alone... most adults have to jump regularly in order to be able to jump at all."  "It's time to stop saying that you're mind is broken." 

Turning my first ever trip to Aiken into my own private adult boot camp is just what this brain and body needed to begin releasing the demons determined to hold my inner Honey Badger hostage. I am a long way from banishing them and kicking some eventing booty but today, I feel closer than I have in 3 years.

We jumped today, outside on a cool windy day.  

I approached the lesson like a prisoner cuffed and dragging chains...  maybe I should just quit.  This is tooo hard!  The demons raged on in my head... torturing me with all my "failings".  And the sad, sad part about raging demons and "failings" is that they cut deep through any self-help book one may have read, causes all the therapy and sports psychology completed to disappear until you're a quivering mass of anxiety.

If you are prone to anxiety, you know what this feels like.  If you're not, be incredibly grateful because, for you, this is the adrenalin that keeps you safe and kicks you on.  For me, anxiety manifests as physical weakness.

We jumped today, outside on a cool windy day with a new instructor.

Warning JT that I wasn't sure I could do this (with maybe a hint of panicking tears), that just being here was success, she calmly said that she would lay down a pole to do figure 8's over and that would be good enough.  {{{Hmmm, we can do that.}}}

A good instructor has an instinct, a connection with bodies and brain that is not always visible.  And the really good ones are fluid in their methods with a touch of mysticism in their teachings - they make things happen and the student evolves...  JT is all of that.

We jumped today, outside on a cool windy day with a new instructor, over a gate.

"Let's get that nice relaxed trot and add the cross rails as caveletties."  "Just keep asking her by giving and releasing, no effort, just go with it." "Good, that's right, Good."

"Now add the gate."

WTF!  The gate? I haven't jumped a vertical since January.  WTF!  THE GATE?  (Apparently she didn't know that Sugar had gate issues and thus, I have gate issues and that, even though I know that Shanti doesn't have gate issues, what if she does?)

I stopped and told her that I wasn't ready for the gate and that we could do it later, like maybe next week.  She calmly stated, "I really hoped you would have just done it instead of stopping. Now, you can do the gate and be finished."

OMG!  This woman gets me.  The incentive to stop far outweighs my anxiety or past issues.  Hell, I will jump Dantes' 9th Circle of Hell to be finished.

So, I jumped the gate!

And I actually think the lesson really started.  That gate turned into jumping the verticals, the crossrails and then the gate over and over again.  

We jumped a gate today and I am in heaven.  I can't wait to do it again!

INTO THE GREAT OUTDOORS

Sigh, when I don't want to write and I keep getting nudged to write, I know that there are words that need to be said and a confession to be made...  I'm 60 (no that is not the confession) and I feel like I'm on the precipice.  I could come back, like really come back or I could just be a "natural horsemanship expert" always getting ready to do something but never actually doing it. (Shhh, I'm actually not good at natural horsemanship.)

I wish I was regaling you with an awesome tale of a wild adventure... over hills at a gallop, whipping around a cross country course or captivating the world with our stunning jumping.

Well, I'm not.

Today, for the first time ever, after traveling 16.5 hours and barely caring for our bodily functions, the Cowgirl and I landed in Aiken. with our horses.  One day we're locked in an indoor, whining about 18 degree (Fahrenheit) weather and the next day it's sunny, 76 and Shanti and I are heading to the outdoor "fully prepared" for our first lesson. 

And maybe all you young things aren't phased by anything and approach things like the Cowgirl...  "let's git ur done".  Ten years of off and on writing, I can still tell you that for me, that is not the case.  And it bothers me.

Landing in what feels like summer and being outside for the first time since November was mind blowing.  Oh, let's add a new instructor and the anxiety will just wash away.

Well, it did not.

I felt assaulted by all the stimuli - horses moving about in the pastures, a dog or two playfully checking us out, a stallion calling to all the mares on the farm, her pasture mate and traveling companion calling for her.  

I was the Lil' Country Bumpkin riding an upbeat, tense horse.  She was as unfocused as I was and while I did all the "things" to bring the focus back to me.  My brain ticked off - "Is she galloping way down there?"  "Why did the horses decide to gallop around their paddocks?"  "Is that a pony in the woods?" "Is she really going to cut the grass?"  "I wish her buddy would stop calling for her."

Finally, after breathing deeply, I could let go of all the awful things that would not happen.  Anxiety has its own life cycle and breathing deeply seemed to settle it long enough to let go of its hold on me.

It was a beautiful lesson under the guidance of a skilled and kind instructor. The best thing was finally slowing the brain down to actually feel like I can ride and that Shanti and I are ok.

Coming to Aiken, getting outside was a very good decision.  Now to just put the self flagellation away and live in the gratitude of how lucky I am and maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I need to find myself again.

Maybe it is...

ROBBING DEPRESSION OF ITS PLEASURE

So, I can start this confessional by telling you all the things that I am grateful for just so you don't think poorly of me. And trust me, I do know how fortunate, how priviledged and how deeply lucky I am. I have a job that I can do from home. I've been healthy and none of my close friends or family members have died from COVID. And, I have an amazing amatuer-friendy and fancy pony to call my own. (See, still trying to have a judgement-free zone.)

Yet, living alone in a Global Pandemic is hard no matter how many gifts I have, no matter how many gratitude lists I write or how closely I hug the hounds. I read a great article recently about how working from home, self-isolation, and the lack of human contact is wearing us down, increasing anxiety and depression and, sitting for hours in our kitchen chairs (meant for a 30-40 minute meal) is wreaking havoc on our bodies and souls.  

I didn't ride last week. And, work and a snow storm kept me away from the barn. You see, there were many important meetings, and a new project that had to be finished and well, you know, work allows me to have all the great things that keep me happy. Right? Shanti will be fine and I'll get back in the groove when "all of this" is behind me. Right? 

Depression and anxiety are funny things. Sometimes you are in it, can feel it and resist the pull to bring you deeper into it. And there are those times when its like fog rolling in on a warm winter morning. The snow looks the same and the wispy vagueness in the lines are barely noticable so you just keep moving into it. If you're lucky, when turning a corner and the fog envelopes you, you stop and work your way back to the sunlight.

Sometimes you just have to get there to be successful.  Sometimes when you're there, you just have to brush her to be successful and sometimes you just need to throw your saddle on and plan on just walking around the indoor to be successful.  And, then you notice that she's a little stiff, a little spooky and your mamma instincts kick in until the ride has balance, Shanti has flow and your face has a smile.  Wow, that was quite nice.

Shanti and the HYP, her BFF

Knowing that fog swirls around filling low spots, you reach for a hand that reaches out to guide you further into the sunlight...  you say YES to the lesson.  And for the second day, with the guidance of the Happy Young Professional (and Shanti's BFF), you allow balance, flow to lift the fog filling the indoor with smiles and pats of "good girl' cheating depression of another day rooted in routine.

It is almost always about doing the next right thing and incorporating those things you love to rob depression of its pleasures...

ONE DAY A GIRL MUST LET GO

 We all have our great loves.  For those who open your hearts, you will have many loves and those loves may also become great ones.  You are the lucky ones for it took me a long time to believe that love (and good things) were infinite that the bucket it filled was deep and ever flowing - so much that you could have all that you wanted and there was still more to be had, to be shared and to be freely given.

This post has been haunting me for so, so long...  And when I think that this blog's entire existence started with my beloved Sugar and all that went into loving a wild thing and all the living and healing that comes with it, writing this is hard.  Sugar was my great love and I had her for a memorable ten years...  a memorable ten years.

Those memories make me smile even if once when talking to a PTSD therapist, she felt that I was in an an abusive relationship.  Most of my injuries were due to freak circumstances, not her fault, I should be a better rider, etc.  I think she saw a patttern.

Sugar, god rest her soul, is still with me.  I'm not talking about her spirit or a ghost but that accumulation of energy around the spooks, spins and injuries.  It is not her fault nor do I ever want to say that I didn't love owning her and that I still miss her but I carry the scars of those things that no longer exist.

Happy Young Professional
Riding

Shanti is not Sugar. And as I write that, I wonder if I'm being disloyal to Sugar.  It is all so confusing.  Shanti is not Sugar.  And I can still love Sugar and honor that she was a challenging ride, right?

The haunting is in my own head.  When I head out for a trail ride with a friend, I have to remember, Shanti is not Sugar.  In her most animated, Shanti just gets big - 18H+ and launches into a military march forward.  When she spooks, she moves to the side and then stops to look at what scared her.  I can canter in a field and that is all she does, waiting to see if there is more.

Happy Young Professional 
Hunting Shanti

Shanti is more anxious about poles on the ground than she is of anything on, under or around a jump.  They are just things to get over and wow, getting over them is fun for her.

And yet, I wonder when will I finally let go of my beautiful ghost? When will I get on, do something new or jump a jump without thinking "what will make her spook?"  Will I ever enter the warmup and not look for the thing that will cause an explosion and will I ever enter a ring thinking, how do we make this brilliant vs trying to get through the test quietly?

Sug, I love you and our life together was most spectacular.  I will never ever forget you, for your place is deep in my heart.  What I am going to do is remove your place in my brain... not our memories or adventures but all that stuff that an anxious "master" (old) rider stores up to release at inopportune moments.  

And letting go is not about less but about allowing more, allowing Shanti and I to build memories and have adventures ghost-free.  For all loves never go away but continue to accumulate into ever expanding love...  

ALL THEY WANTED WAS A CUPPA TEA

There is a story about Buddha fighting the Demon God, Mara, on the eve of his enlightenment.  Instead of denying his existence or driving him away, Buddha calmly acknowledged that the demon was there, "I see you, Mara".  He invited Mara in for tea and served him like king.  Mara drank the tea and then left, bored with Buddha’s response.

Well, I think we all know that I am not Buddha, that I am not on the eve of my own enlightenment and, calmly is not always the way I greet my demons.  And often, when confronted with my demons, I don't have the self awareness to invite them in for a cup of tea.  And if I am really honest, my demons sweep in like over-caffeinated Dementors out on the town looking for some rip roaring fun.

Today I jumped my Lil Redheaded Girl.  I've been eyeing a jump set up for a lesson earlier in the week.  Every day, I'd look at it and say, "I can do that!"  And another day would pass, "Shanti is a bit too excited, I'll jump it tomorrow."  Tomorrow came and I thought, "Well I have a lesson in the morning, I'll jump it then.  I know I can do it... tomorrow."

Its been weirdly bi-polar.  I know I can do it.  I watched so many old videos of Sugar and I doing it.  And when I talk about Shanti being wild, her worst  is really just a level 3 on the Sugar 10 point scale of exuberance.  And you know what?  I competed Sugar often at a Sugar level 8 and cliniced on level 10s.

Getting there slowly

And yet this morning, when I entered the indoor, the Demons swept in very Dementor-like.  I didn't know what hit me, my anxiety level was at a 10 and all the strength was drained out of my body.  WTF just happened?  I felt fine, actually great, until I saw the "JUMP" that was so easy.

God Bless anyone who teaches me...  I wouldn't know how to deal with this kind of anxiety...  Wait, I actually do.  I spent so many years learning coping skills that I teach this stuff.  Oh, right...  I did no prep work for my "big" jumping lesson.

Like the Buddha, our trainer did not ignore or deny the anxiety...  We invited Anxiety to acknowledge itself, invited it to watch (with a cup of tea, kind of) and continued on.  Eventually, bored, Anxiety left.

I KNOW I CAN!

I jumped Ms Shanti... we're still not going big but I cantered over the "Jump" that had been calling my name.  And, I have a pony who is bred to jump.  When I finally reacted and ask her to balance around the corners while sitting on her haunches, I understood the difference.

There is amazing power and grace when she comes around a corner and seeks the next jump.  Her powerful hind quarters are under you and her front end is lighter and lighter - bold and eager - you know, there is a heaven and you're riding it.

Maybe my enlightenment comes slowly...  we are definitely working forward towards it.


For the full story from one of my favorite teachers, Tara Brach https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/finding-true-refuge/201508/inviting-mara-tea

"I THOUGHT YOU KNEW HOW TO RIDE"

Tonight the lottery is at $321 million dollars and yes, I have a ticket.  Some say that the odds of winning are so slim, why bother?  I say, "I have my ticket and that one person will be me.!"

And, as my mind wanders into all the wonderful things I would do with my winnings, it hits me...  If I got one dollar for every time someone asks me why I still take lessons or mentions that I should know how to ride by now, I would already have all those wonderful things..

Shanti and the Happy Young Professional

Tonight, almost 12 hours after I stepped up onto the mounting block in an indoor warmed to a blistering 10 degrees (fahrenheit), I am still wrapped in the euphoria of a lesson well done.

Can I get that feeling on my own?  Without recreational objects to ingest?

If we are talking about riding... um... I confess, sometimes.  Yeah, that's right!  Sometimes I hop off my pony and I think, "That was fabulous!"  And sometimes I revel in all those moments that felt spectacular and celebrate the things we did to get there.

The key word here is sometimes.  And, here is a god-honest confession, a good portion of my rides are done with a head full of self-doubt, a mind just a bit impatient for results, and an ego that still thinks that someone else would be doing a better job. 

Sugar and I (Photo used with permission)

Left too long riding by myself, (no lessons) I begin to "not work on that, I may mess things up" or "is she getting ewe-necked because she's not using her back" and then there is the, "Am I ruining her?  Better not push, better not try, better just walk and practice halts and the free walk."  {{{All my horses are halt and free walk rock stars, just sayin.}}}

Two Girls Dreamin

With Sugar, lessons were strictly marriage counseling - bringing an old couple together to hash out their issues and bring harmony.  With Maisy, it was mostly about tapping in all that movement and helping us use her body well.

And, Shanti... wow.  She is young, appropriately green for her age, with move movement, suppleness and enthusiasm with just a hint of...  "If that's all you want, fine by me!"

Lessons remind me that I do know how to ride, they break the over-thinking log jam in my brain and they inspire me to do more.

Today, in the frigid cold, Shanti and I danced together, encouraged to ask for more and pushed to be better - together.  Our last canter, her hard direction, was light, powered by her hind end and floated up and through my body.  For the time we held it, I was in heaven...  This is what it should be...

Yeah, I still take lessons!

THE HARDEST THING

Each night at my Writer's Retreat we had a prompt and the writing from that prompt was limited to 15 minutes.  My mind would search memories and like a spinning roulette wheel would land on something and the writing wrote itself...  The Hardest Thing...

When is it time?  When is it giving up?  When is it my time and not his?

They tell you that you'll know...  that they will tell you.  Then someone slips in the clinical signs, "can't get up, won't eat, incontinent - any one or more of those things may mean its time.

The Happiest Dog

A wise vet told me that she would rather do it "one month too early than a day too late."

Jonah is my friend and he's been through so much with me.  He was never the favorite - a shit head puppy, the Convict - kicked out of every barn in New England.  Oh, they loved him as they banned his eager hungry self for his gift for finding food was legendary.  I almost went broke reimbursing friends, neighbors and barnmates for all his stolen loot.

If Jonah had been a man, he would have been the BFF I should marry - loyal, eager to please and always there when I needed him.  But alas, he always remained the BFF while the Bad Boy, Chandler was the pup I married.

It's just a cough and yeah, its harsh but he's fine when its over.  And yes, sometimes its so violent that he loses control of his bowels but really, its ok...  Not much of a mess, just hard little balls of poop.

There is not a more joyful face than Jonah's.  His eagerness to please is palpable.  There is no greater expression of that joy than the greeting he gives when you come home.  It's a complete physical experience - a wiggling body, a wagging tail whipping trinkets off the table as he weaves between your legs.

Jonah and Chandler

Not now, look how happy he is.  Look he is eating with gusto.  Not now, not yet.

But that cough - Maybe in a week or two...
But that cough - It really isn't that bad, right?
But that cough - "Jonah, please breathe, come on boy, just breathe..."

One month early versus a day too late...

I hold his face in my hands.  I tell him the story of his life.  I apologize for not loving him as much as he loved me.  I stroke his thick black coat and I promise him peace....

Is it one month early?  I pray that is really isn't a day too late.

Rest In Peace - Nightwinds Sweet Jonah - 11/25/2005 - 10/14/19

I was lucky to know you!

I AM WHAT I AM AND WHAT I AM IS BACK!

Hmm, that title seems to be a bit bold, a bit of a pronouncement and perhaps a teeny weeny bit of braggadocio.  And then one must remember the saying... what you think, is what you are (or something like that).

So, today I think that I may have found myself again.  Maybe its too much to believe that the self that has been found is the pre-tree incident self. And yet, this self that sits in front of the computer typing is a being that cannot contain the joy and enthusiasm found in today's jumping lesson.

You see...  I jumped.

That alone is not a pronouncement from most and from me, it's been more regular since Eventing Trainer gave me a prescription that said - jump!  Jump every time you ride until whatever it is that you jump feels normal.  Every time, jump.

HYP riding, not me!

For me, I should add - I jumped, I laughed and greeted the newness of Shanti and I's relationship with curiosity - not worry and fear.

Let me repeat, I jumped and laughed when she took a long spot, was so excited that I saw that she was going to take the long spot.

I squealed with delight when we cantered over it again and her jump went up and through me.

I jumped and for the first time in a very long time, I greeted my mistakes with a smile and patted the Lil' Redheaded Pony with an apology and did it again.

And, that little demon peeks out occasionally and notes that it wasn't a course and the vertical was "just" 2'3" and whispers gruffly - you should be doing more, you should be better.  Today, I acknowledge the demon and asked him to leave.

I am what I am and what I am is BACK!

TELL ME YOUR STORY

Warning - Non Horsey Post.  The writing prompt at my very first Writers Workshop was "What I didn't tell you then..."  After combing my life for something, meditating and dreaming of some subject matter, this is what flowed:

Yes, I am that person. There is little I leave unsaid.  As a kid, I was the Hermione Granger of my class.  A teacher's question and my hand shot up - "Me! Me! Me!  Oh, please choose me!"

Oh I could give you a million stories on why I needed my voice to be heard - a silenced child, a body born into a family of so many bodies - all loud and craving to be heard, a girl amongst men whose voice always seemed to be trodded on.

" You will hear me." screamed a voice threatened to be lost.

So I am that person who has no trouble confronting an angry soul, saying goodbye to the dying, and I have little fear of saying things that need to said.

Oh, did you notice the use of the words "little fear" because that was intentional.  And the use of the word "little" was kind of a lie.  I say things, appropriate things (I think) and I then worry if those things that were said were things that were the right things to say.

So, I am that person today more likely to silence my voice as my words get clouded with thoughts and fears all of my own making.  "OOO, what will they think?"  "OOO, she is so much more articulate than me."  "OOO, that was so beautifully written, so wonderfully read, I can't do that!"

And then, the words get hidden, stuffed in a brain churning with thought, brimming with stories and held captive by fear and self-doubt.

Oh, wait a minute, this writing was supposed to be about you, about the words I don't want to leave unsaid and not about the stuff holding me back.

YOU are your own words.  You are your own story and for every word, every story there is a reader.  Words heal, stories that are released from your heart, told honestly from your essence are perfect in every flawed way.  Be courageous and let your life become someone's lifeline.  Let someone say, "I thought I was the only one until I read this."

The hardest critic, the harshest comments, your silencer is not that girl who criticized your blog post and then linked to it for "ALL" to see.  Your silencer is that voice inside that says "I am a "writer" with heavy emphasis on the quotes.  The warden of your words is not the person who liked your blog but stated that it was a bit whiny.  Your warden was the person inside who believed it.

So be free with your writing and know that someone, somewhere needs to read it.  And that is good enough.

WHEN HAS BECOME NOW

Oh I do need to start this with a confession and apology... you see, I silently judge and when I'm wrong, I must acknowledge the wrong, publicly.

Puppy Jonah

When I see an elderly animal being held together by every means possible, I (silently) wonder why that person can't let go and allow their beloved friend a peaceful, loving end.  I'd muse with an intensity that went from observation to anger, "Can't you see that the tail wag is for you, that the brightening of their face and body is an expression of their love, that living in the moment means that those expressions are just that moment... what about all the rest of the time when they are suffering only to brighten once again because of that love."

No one has a right to judge until they have walked a mile in your shoes.  I am humbled and need to honor your path, your decision because I walk that path. Tomorrow, one month short of his 14th birthday, Jonah (aka The Convict, SHP - Shit Head Puppy, a member of the Lancaster Pack and cofounder of the adventuring group - Da Boyz) will be laid to rest.

A vet once said to me, "I'd rather do it one month too early than a day too late."

He has a degenerative condition - canine laryngeal paralysis which showed up in May 2018.  I adopted Maggie because I was sure that he was on death's door and I needed another dog to keep Chandler happy.  {{{Um, one should always check with the vet first before assuming that Dr Google and Barn Peeps are diagnosticians.}}} Maggie was finally the doggy-buddy that Jonah always wanted and they are fast friends.

Is it time?  When is it time?  Keep him from over exerting himself and cool, that will help his coughing.  The Lancaster Pack enjoyed their air conditioner and ice water throughout the summer. And, his travels around the yard were so slow... he was my black snail slowly doing the job of looking for rabbit pooh to enjoy his vegetarian snack.

His bouts of coughing have become more intense and are so violent that he loses control of his bodily functions.  I also suspect that he isn't sleeping much at night when the coughing attacks are most frequent.  Yet, when he isn't coughing, he is demanding his meals, playing with Maggie and following me around like the loyal friend he is...

Da Boyz

Is it time?  When is it time?  One last treatment, one last pill that has shown to help dogs with this condition.  And for a full week, it felt like a miracle.  He rested comfortably and trotted around the yard greeting the neighbors eager to meet new friends.  No messes...  he was fully present.

When has become now...  and while I am comfortable with the decision, I do have the lingering, ever present thought...  maybe postpone it til next week.  He still wags his tail, he seems happy when he isn't coughing, and look, he is eating food and still searching the yard for rabbit pooh...  maybe next week.

Every time I've had to make the decision to euthanize, it has always been clear - Bruno's body collapsing violently, Sugar's traumatic injury, Maisy's inability to breath and sustain life.  Those decisions were extremely hard, painful and heartbreaking but the timing was not my own.  The timing was critical and immediate - God's time.

Jonah's Gal Pal

But Jonah, he still wags his tail, he still looks at me adoringly, he still follows me around the yard, he still hunts for food.  He has always been in the shadow of the one before, Bruno and the one after, Chandler.  Love is infinite and Jonah has been loved deeply... by me and so many others.  He is truly a good boy, the best boy!

One month too soon versus a day too late.  It is time... a day, a week and maybe a month too early.  To hear him is to know...  It is time.

Thank you God for the almost 14 years of his life... I have been lucky to know him.

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

As I told the story of my epic weekend, my friend laughed like a hyena and said, "Oh you have to write about this one!"

"Everyone" has these moments, "Everyone" can relate, "Everyone"... And I wonder, who is this "Everyone'?  So, I put it off, tried not to remember, eeked the story out to some trusted souls - barn folk, friends who step in as your non-licensed therapist and maybe a work mate or two.  And yet, this nagging need to confess is so strong, like if I tell you, it will have never happened.

Shanti and with the Happy Young Professional riding

Maybe this "Everyone" is some horsey counselor who will heal my wilted aching ego...

In short order, some folks have said that I am unlucky when it comes to horses (I can argue that but its off topic now.)  In short order, after Maisy passed, I got another horse - a five year old Canadian Warmblood who just keeps growing.  She is the sweetest thing, as fancy as Sugar and Maisy with the brain of an old campaigner.

Three weeks after getting her and heading out on our first off-farm adventure, I break my knee cap (another long story and no, I didn't fall off).  12 weeks later, I am ready to get going again and Shanti puts her foot through farm equipment and is stall bound for 2.5 weeks while her wounds heal (another story).

Here comes the epic weekend. This Lil Red-Haired Girl is so sane, I am ready to go xc school (little stuff but something) with the Bestest Barn Owner Eventer.  We choose her quiet, seen-it-done-it-and-it's-all-good Prelim Pony to be our companion.  The theme of the day was to just have a quiet, good time.

This dear sweet, quiet Prelim Pony really decided that we were too slow in getting ready and he wanted to get going on his time.  So... he sat back on his hind legs and jumped out of the trailer while I was putting the bridle on Shanti who was in the stall next to him.  Wait, did I really emphasize that he sat back and jumped...  when he hit the end of his halter, it tore but slowed his trajectory but not his desire.  Hanging on the breast bar, he sat back again and finished the job galloping away with pieces of his halter streaming behind him. 

Shanti was cool as a cucumber.  She was not going to let some inappropriate jumping stop her from exploring.  My Big Girl Panties were probably dangling from the pieces of his halter strewn about the parking lot so xc schooling became a quiet trail ride.

In discussing the day with the Goddess of Equine Yoga, she suggested that a day like that required shots of the alcoholic sort.  Instead, she invited me to join her and a friend for a woodland jaunt on two trusty, non-reactive steeds just a short trailer ride away.

Sigh...  I have no clean Big Girl Panties.  But, this is Shanti and she is so easy, so confident, so calm.  I must do this or become just another middle aged woman doing ground work and riding in the indoor for the rest of my life.

Someone posted on my FaceBook page, "You better be careful!  Things always seem to happen to you!"  Sigh...  Really?  I have enough Demons lurking in what appears to be a sound mind and you need to bring that up?  Sigh!

Is this where I tell you that I forgot to release her from the trailer and when she unloaded (self), it snapped and she slipped off the ramp shaving hair and skin off her recently healed leg?  Do I tell you that she was bloody and I was sure I ruined her?  

And so begins the catastrophicism...  Release the Demons!   "Your fault!  Your fault!, Your fault!"  "BAD day!" BAD Day!"

The Goddess of Equine Yoga came over and said "She's ok!.  I'll hold her still so you can get on". And we went out for a ride. Two Dependables (horses and humans) and UL Event Rider (local) whom I admire and hero worship a bit.  I want to be the cool event rider just like her.

As we ride alongside a 5 acre of so pasture, UL Event Rider casually says that the two mares in the field may come galloping at us.  The Demons scream, "WTF!, we are going to die!"  

The mares come out of their shed, tails flagged, screaming and galloping straight at us.  Shanti tightens for a second and then looks at them.  And off they go to do one more round just a bit closer to us.  And Shanti just looks at them.  And off we go.

We ride along a shallow river and UL Event Rider tells me that she would do gallop sets in the river.  My hero worship and longing grows. I tell worn stories of Sugar and I (as eventers are known to do) and I feel that I belong to this club.

At a stream crossing in the woods, I am sure that Shanti is going to launch across and the Demons are reminding me that "things always seem to happen to me" and I have the vision of her launching and me falling off and so on.  So, as we cross I feel her gather her hind end and I see saw the reins to prevent the leap.  

Shanti stops and for the next 40 minutes, I cajoled, encouraged, imitated Tik Maynard, spanked, circled and leg yielded to no avail.  The horses left and Shanti remained planted.  My uninvited "friends" kept screaming in my head that this was going to end up a disaster.  I was tired, my recovering knee hurt and it was fruitless.  

At one point, she spins and slips in the mud...  {{{Please "Everyone" be gentle.}}}  I lost it.  Now, I didn't quit or curse or storm off and go home.  No, I bawled like a baby, sobbed uncontrollably while weakly saying, "I can't, I can't, I can't".  Heaving chest, sobbing, tears streaming down my face which was buried in her mane or as low as I could get.

I didn't quit.  I was just humilated... totally and completely humiliated.  Ego?  There was no ego left and I am not even sure I have one now...(I do but that is another story.)

Finally, with a lunge line attached to her bridle, the Village, "encouraged" her to cross with me still snifflling and maybe crying.  She launched.  I stayed on and we continued with the trail ride.

As I gained my composure (well, I don't think I can ever face them again), it was a very beautiful ride, with good conversation and lovely company.  I began to feel like myself again and able to send the Demons away.

Then, someone said...  "Do you remember the time we hit the ground bees?"