A very dear friend recently pointed out to me that I had a blog.. a very good one, as a matter of fact. A blog you say? No way! That is a country unheard from.
Now why did I let my blog lapse? I can only offer excuses. I've had nothing of particular wit to say. Yes, that's true. It's been a very looooong, trying, show season. That is also true. Somewhere in the middle is probably the actual reason-- my brain is currently at the creativity level of moderately intelligent pond scum, due to it going on passive shut down from over-stimulation brought on by show season. In layman's terms, my brain basically said, "Up yours! I'm taking a break. I've been trying to keep up but it's apparent you don't actually need me anyway."
I know in entries past I've said, repeatedly, that we're streamlining the business.. not working quite so hard.. Yes, well. Not so much. It's not that we've not tried. Our hearts are in the right place. Unfortunately, so is our stomachs, and we like to eat, and eat well.. which, since we've not got time to tend a garden or hunt for our supper.. well... Horse trainers are like whores- not much we won't do for money.
It's been a SUPER show season... one of the best so far as a matter of fact. But, still.. it's August. Feeling a little frayed around the edges. Regardless, it was time to bring the date up on the "last post" on the blog. March really WAS a long time ago, it doesn't just FEEL that way.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Seabiscuit Effect
There is something about times of economic recession, times of general woe and depression in the populace that gives superhuman efforts put forth by the little guy a special glow. It gives it a meaning that transcends boundaries, and the actual event is elevated beyond reason and crushed close to the national breast.
In this case the "little man" is Johnny Flynn. Which is actually kinda funny, because he stands 6' tall. But that's 6' tall on the basketball court, which just barely puts him out of pygmy status. Syracuse's epic game against the University of Connecticut was one of those moments in history that gives you, me and Joe Plumber, hope. It was the epitome of "Reality TV". Like watching Publisher's Clearing House show up at your neighbors with their gargantuan check, or like having the fairy godmother of basketball wave her magic wand over that bunch of hooligans that gets together down at the local court and immediately elevate those scrappers to star status. These sort of events give us hope for a better tomorrow- that we can achieve greatness even if we weren't born with a silver spoon in our mouth- even if we aren't perfect. We too, can exceed ourselves: all it takes is a tremendous amount of guts and titanium determination.
This isn't exactly a new phenomonon. At the tail end of the great depression, a little bay racehorse, barely above pony status, rose to the highest levels of racing. He kinda had the pedigree, but he wasn't built to do it. He didn't exactly look the part. He took down the east's blue-blooded racing star, War Admiral, in one of the smashingest upsets of all time. He broke down and came back to beat the up-and-comers soundly, depsite all the odds being stacked against him. He was Seabiscuit, and even after all these years, his performances are still fodder for the big screen. He's still a national hero.
It'll be very intersting to see how far Johnny Flynn can lead the Orange down the path to immortality. You couldn't ask for a better stable of performers if you were a coach. They're all guts and heart. Raise your glass... here's to hope.
In this case the "little man" is Johnny Flynn. Which is actually kinda funny, because he stands 6' tall. But that's 6' tall on the basketball court, which just barely puts him out of pygmy status. Syracuse's epic game against the University of Connecticut was one of those moments in history that gives you, me and Joe Plumber, hope. It was the epitome of "Reality TV". Like watching Publisher's Clearing House show up at your neighbors with their gargantuan check, or like having the fairy godmother of basketball wave her magic wand over that bunch of hooligans that gets together down at the local court and immediately elevate those scrappers to star status. These sort of events give us hope for a better tomorrow- that we can achieve greatness even if we weren't born with a silver spoon in our mouth- even if we aren't perfect. We too, can exceed ourselves: all it takes is a tremendous amount of guts and titanium determination.
This isn't exactly a new phenomonon. At the tail end of the great depression, a little bay racehorse, barely above pony status, rose to the highest levels of racing. He kinda had the pedigree, but he wasn't built to do it. He didn't exactly look the part. He took down the east's blue-blooded racing star, War Admiral, in one of the smashingest upsets of all time. He broke down and came back to beat the up-and-comers soundly, depsite all the odds being stacked against him. He was Seabiscuit, and even after all these years, his performances are still fodder for the big screen. He's still a national hero.
It'll be very intersting to see how far Johnny Flynn can lead the Orange down the path to immortality. You couldn't ask for a better stable of performers if you were a coach. They're all guts and heart. Raise your glass... here's to hope.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The better they are, the harder you fall
In over 20 years of riding horses- horses of all levels- I've come to this conclusion: The better they are, the more likely you are to take one HELL of a digger off them.
Some horses aren't necessarily great show horses, but they are great horses to show. These ones are successful in the pen- but almost to the last this is due entirely to what is between their ears, versus what they do, how they look, or how they move. This is Oliver. He's been exceedingly successfull- especially for a 3 year old gelding. Top 4 in the nation in a brand new class.. in his first full year of showing. Amateur Champion. ROMs in ever class he shows in. He is consistency personified. THAT is what wins for him. Movement? He's a bit above average. He's not exceptional in that department. He IS exceptional in his attitude. It takes something over the top to beat him, and that brings me to the OTHER type of horse.
The exceptional individuals- the exceptional movers.. the ones that set themselves apart somehow.. by being almost "freakish" in one department or other. These ones.. they stand above the crowd, they almost glow with that extra "something" they have. Unfortunately, that extra something lends itself to a "keen-ness", an extra sensitivity, that can, at times, make them hard to ride. They are the ones that go for weeks being a bronc, for no reason other than.. other than... well... who knows really? They are the ones that take to pitching simply because the wind and rain hit the wall near them... or someone is sweeping... They are aware of every molecule in their environment. Every vibration. That sensitivity is what sets them apart. It's what makes them special. It is that something "extra" that causes them to go from being good to great.
Of course, as a rider, one has to decide... is it for the fun of the ride, or the prize at the end?
Some horses aren't necessarily great show horses, but they are great horses to show. These ones are successful in the pen- but almost to the last this is due entirely to what is between their ears, versus what they do, how they look, or how they move. This is Oliver. He's been exceedingly successfull- especially for a 3 year old gelding. Top 4 in the nation in a brand new class.. in his first full year of showing. Amateur Champion. ROMs in ever class he shows in. He is consistency personified. THAT is what wins for him. Movement? He's a bit above average. He's not exceptional in that department. He IS exceptional in his attitude. It takes something over the top to beat him, and that brings me to the OTHER type of horse.
The exceptional individuals- the exceptional movers.. the ones that set themselves apart somehow.. by being almost "freakish" in one department or other. These ones.. they stand above the crowd, they almost glow with that extra "something" they have. Unfortunately, that extra something lends itself to a "keen-ness", an extra sensitivity, that can, at times, make them hard to ride. They are the ones that go for weeks being a bronc, for no reason other than.. other than... well... who knows really? They are the ones that take to pitching simply because the wind and rain hit the wall near them... or someone is sweeping... They are aware of every molecule in their environment. Every vibration. That sensitivity is what sets them apart. It's what makes them special. It is that something "extra" that causes them to go from being good to great.
Of course, as a rider, one has to decide... is it for the fun of the ride, or the prize at the end?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
V-Day
No. Not "victory day". Although, if a guy makes it through the day without raising the ire of his woman, or a girl is able to get 'THE guy" to give her a valentines day gift, it sure might feel that way. I'm not really sure who decided to make the anniversary of a man's beheading a holiday involving love, lust, flowers and a LOT of chocolate-- but I vote to put them up against the wall first when the revolution comes.
Mostly Valentines Day is just a bunch of pressure. Everyone has different expectations. All of which is based on a laundry list of criteria that can (and has) driven the more literal minded insane. First things to consider- how far (intense, serious, intimate) is this relationship? Or, is there even any relationship? Would you like there to be? Then there is- what is your significant other/wanna be significant/just close friends/just friends/booty call's expectations regarding this holiday? Are they romantic? Not at all romantic? Just a little romantic? Do they like flowers? Are they allergic? Dinner? Movie? Chocolate? Do I need to get creative? Spa day? Or would just sex work? Are we even at the sex stage? Would I like to be? Can I use this day to get there? What do I want anyway??
Holy cow. Is it any wonder many people just break up for the duration of this "holiday". Who needs this sort of pressure?
While we're at it, lets be totally honest here. Most of the aforementioned pressure falls on the guys. When faced with such a colossal amount of it, the majority of guys do one of two things: 1) Fold. They err on the side of caution and do nothing. WARNING: HUGE HUGE MISTAKE!!! 2) They go completely overboard leading the day to feel like a marathon of appointment meeting set inside a florist's shop. Do not have the spa treatment followed by the, jewelry gift, dinner, box of chocolates, theatre, carriage ride, couple dozen roses, marriage proposal (more jewelry.. okay.. parts aren't bad), followed by.. ALRIGHT, so my point is, do NOT try to cram every single Valentine's Day cliche into ONE evening (or even the entire day). First of all it's exhausting. Second of all, unless your girl has one massive sweet tooth, your saccharine attempts at romance are going to leave her feeling faintly nauseated. On top of that, flowers only die anyway. One can be pressed to remember the day by. A dozen dead roses is just ugly.
So.. absolutely for free.. here's a little tip. KEEP IT SIMPLE. A single long stem red rose. (yellow, if you're just getting started). Maybe a small box of chocolates, or if she's diabetic, a small gift of jewelry. (note: I did NOT say cheap) Hey, if she really likes romance and you know it, do both. The secret here is to go all Tooth Fairy on her.. and by that I don't mean dressing up your hairy self in a tutu... I mean, make it a SURPRISE. Get her when she least expects it. Leave a rose somewhere unexpected.. like maybe on her pillow. You might have to be a little more obvious with the jewelry and chocolate. It'd really suck if that diamond bracelet wasn't found until the next time you defrosted the freezer. (Ice on ice.. how nice. sorry, I couldn't resist) Oh yeah, another word to the wise- do not, I repeat, do NOT buy her an electrical appliance for Valentines Day. For the kitchen, I mean. What you do in the bedroom is your business. That is, if you're to that stage.
Mostly Valentines Day is just a bunch of pressure. Everyone has different expectations. All of which is based on a laundry list of criteria that can (and has) driven the more literal minded insane. First things to consider- how far (intense, serious, intimate) is this relationship? Or, is there even any relationship? Would you like there to be? Then there is- what is your significant other/wanna be significant/just close friends/just friends/booty call's expectations regarding this holiday? Are they romantic? Not at all romantic? Just a little romantic? Do they like flowers? Are they allergic? Dinner? Movie? Chocolate? Do I need to get creative? Spa day? Or would just sex work? Are we even at the sex stage? Would I like to be? Can I use this day to get there? What do I want anyway??
Holy cow. Is it any wonder many people just break up for the duration of this "holiday". Who needs this sort of pressure?
While we're at it, lets be totally honest here. Most of the aforementioned pressure falls on the guys. When faced with such a colossal amount of it, the majority of guys do one of two things: 1) Fold. They err on the side of caution and do nothing. WARNING: HUGE HUGE MISTAKE!!! 2) They go completely overboard leading the day to feel like a marathon of appointment meeting set inside a florist's shop. Do not have the spa treatment followed by the, jewelry gift, dinner, box of chocolates, theatre, carriage ride, couple dozen roses, marriage proposal (more jewelry.. okay.. parts aren't bad), followed by.. ALRIGHT, so my point is, do NOT try to cram every single Valentine's Day cliche into ONE evening (or even the entire day). First of all it's exhausting. Second of all, unless your girl has one massive sweet tooth, your saccharine attempts at romance are going to leave her feeling faintly nauseated. On top of that, flowers only die anyway. One can be pressed to remember the day by. A dozen dead roses is just ugly.
So.. absolutely for free.. here's a little tip. KEEP IT SIMPLE. A single long stem red rose. (yellow, if you're just getting started). Maybe a small box of chocolates, or if she's diabetic, a small gift of jewelry. (note: I did NOT say cheap) Hey, if she really likes romance and you know it, do both. The secret here is to go all Tooth Fairy on her.. and by that I don't mean dressing up your hairy self in a tutu... I mean, make it a SURPRISE. Get her when she least expects it. Leave a rose somewhere unexpected.. like maybe on her pillow. You might have to be a little more obvious with the jewelry and chocolate. It'd really suck if that diamond bracelet wasn't found until the next time you defrosted the freezer. (Ice on ice.. how nice. sorry, I couldn't resist) Oh yeah, another word to the wise- do not, I repeat, do NOT buy her an electrical appliance for Valentines Day. For the kitchen, I mean. What you do in the bedroom is your business. That is, if you're to that stage.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Brrrr....
It's been a very cold January. Freakin' cold. It's hard to work the horses. Heck it's pretty much impossible. Not only do you worry about their lungs, and getting them sweaty (thereby potentially inviting a cold), but they don't want to be out there any more than I do. The ground in the indoor is close to frozen- that means it's dusty (all the moisture in the dirt has crystallized), and paradoxically all the rocks rise to the surface. Ain't that fun to step on, if you're a horse?
It's not just working the horses I have a hard time with. I even have a hard time turning them out. The walk up and down the lane, to and from the paddocks is long, grueling, and the snow squeaks. Yes, I said squeaks. Have you ever heard squeaky snow? If not, I hope you never do. Squeaky snow means it is DAMN cold. Due to the cold, my little hooligans get turned out alone. Skin splits easy in this weather. That, in turn means more trips to and from the paddocks. NOT. The more lackadaisical of my ponies get turned out in the indoor. They probably get the better end of it. It might be dusty, but it doesn't squeak. Still, that is not the worst of it. The reason that I really hate turning the horses out right now? By the time I'm done my ass is frozen. I don't mean that metaphorically either. My feet are fine. My hands are pretty numb, but otherwise okay. My ass, on the other hand (so to speak), is absolutely frozen. It's so cold it feels like it's on fire. Why? Because it's my furthest appendage. You could say that my assets are frozen. *groan*.... even I realize that was bad. Excuse me, but my brain is frozen as well.
It's not just working the horses I have a hard time with. I even have a hard time turning them out. The walk up and down the lane, to and from the paddocks is long, grueling, and the snow squeaks. Yes, I said squeaks. Have you ever heard squeaky snow? If not, I hope you never do. Squeaky snow means it is DAMN cold. Due to the cold, my little hooligans get turned out alone. Skin splits easy in this weather. That, in turn means more trips to and from the paddocks. NOT. The more lackadaisical of my ponies get turned out in the indoor. They probably get the better end of it. It might be dusty, but it doesn't squeak. Still, that is not the worst of it. The reason that I really hate turning the horses out right now? By the time I'm done my ass is frozen. I don't mean that metaphorically either. My feet are fine. My hands are pretty numb, but otherwise okay. My ass, on the other hand (so to speak), is absolutely frozen. It's so cold it feels like it's on fire. Why? Because it's my furthest appendage. You could say that my assets are frozen. *groan*.... even I realize that was bad. Excuse me, but my brain is frozen as well.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Oh dear... maybe I AM old...
I've been in denial. I mean, okay.. maybe I've got a touch of a Peter Pan complex. I don't think it's catchy. I just don't feel old. Mostly. I might say differantly first thing in the morning when I get out of bed......
When my mother was my age, I was 11. I can NOT imagine having children at all, much less an ELEVEN year old child. Nuts. That's insane. I'm not sure I'm fit to reproduce, much less be a live-in role model for some kid. The implications of that- mind boggling. Still, it hit me today... I was passing on stories of "the good old days". Ooohh.. just saying that sends shivers down my spine... The worst of it? In the midst of listening to myself relay these stories- real, every one of them- the "mature" side of me sat up, perked her ears, and said "WHAT? Say again?!"
Okay, okay, okay... I was maybe a titch wild in my late high school years until half-way through college. At the end of my college years, I got engaged and was more than ready to settle down. Or so I thought at the time. Of course, THAT is a subject for another time. Still, at that point.. I'd rather "been there and done that". From skinny-dipping in public (in the middle of the day!!? How did we NOT get caught??), to the variety of illegal shenanigans engaged in by myself and my roomies.. from the toga parties, to the wapatoola parties.. from the guys, in all shapes and especially, sizes.... to the.... did I mention the parties?
Ahhh.. yes. The 19 year old in me misses those times. The freedom. The "joie de vivre". The 31 year old me thinks- "where you freakin' nuts?! You're lucky you made it through!" I guess both points have merit. It's not that I don't still like (even need?) to get out and stretch my wings (so to speak) every now and then. I suppose the main differance now is that my tastes are more refined. I know what I like, and more importantly I know what to avoid. Wisdom- hard, but enjoyably earned- is the hallmark of aging. Another is that little voice that doesn't whisper any more, but instead, hollers, "What?! Are you crazy? Out of your mind? Don't EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!". That voice comes through loud and clear, and now, more often than not, I follow its advice. *sigh* I guess maybe I am getting old. :-P
When my mother was my age, I was 11. I can NOT imagine having children at all, much less an ELEVEN year old child. Nuts. That's insane. I'm not sure I'm fit to reproduce, much less be a live-in role model for some kid. The implications of that- mind boggling. Still, it hit me today... I was passing on stories of "the good old days". Ooohh.. just saying that sends shivers down my spine... The worst of it? In the midst of listening to myself relay these stories- real, every one of them- the "mature" side of me sat up, perked her ears, and said "WHAT? Say again?!"
Okay, okay, okay... I was maybe a titch wild in my late high school years until half-way through college. At the end of my college years, I got engaged and was more than ready to settle down. Or so I thought at the time. Of course, THAT is a subject for another time. Still, at that point.. I'd rather "been there and done that". From skinny-dipping in public (in the middle of the day!!? How did we NOT get caught??), to the variety of illegal shenanigans engaged in by myself and my roomies.. from the toga parties, to the wapatoola parties.. from the guys, in all shapes and especially, sizes.... to the.... did I mention the parties?
Ahhh.. yes. The 19 year old in me misses those times. The freedom. The "joie de vivre". The 31 year old me thinks- "where you freakin' nuts?! You're lucky you made it through!" I guess both points have merit. It's not that I don't still like (even need?) to get out and stretch my wings (so to speak) every now and then. I suppose the main differance now is that my tastes are more refined. I know what I like, and more importantly I know what to avoid. Wisdom- hard, but enjoyably earned- is the hallmark of aging. Another is that little voice that doesn't whisper any more, but instead, hollers, "What?! Are you crazy? Out of your mind? Don't EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!". That voice comes through loud and clear, and now, more often than not, I follow its advice. *sigh* I guess maybe I am getting old. :-P
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