...quiet, about a lot of things...

You meet some interesting types when part of your world revolves around horses. I could talk about the different breeds of women who are "Horsey, like me...". But for those people who actually know me, thats a little bit too much like gossip...and this is a small world I live in.

Yesterday, I started thinking instead, about all the support personnel needed to survive in the equine arena. There's the stable help, the barn owners, the show managers, the JUDGES, the massage therapists, the chiros, the saddlefitters, and salemen... and, oh yes, the horse show moms. All of them, ...well, you could write a book. But my all time favorites, are the Farriers and the Vets.

God knows, I love a good horseshoer, and a well set shoe is a thing of beauty. As my old shoer trained me to say..."a High nail is a Happy nail"...(whatever that means.....) Under nitros at the dentist, the other day, I told my dentist..."No hoof, no horse....so no Tooth, no girl....." as I giggled.....He looked perplexed over his mask....ANYWAY....Horse shoers are fascinating men. They are thowbacks to a different time...the mechanics of the past. They are also very shrewd businessmen, and make a pretty good living..taking it all in their backs. You spend the day bent over hammering..and holding an 1200 lb horses leg in your arms and you'll feel their pain.

I've had some really interesting conversations with the butt end of wranglers jeans...(take a moment..to visualize....) I've talked about horses and houses, spouses and Kids...I've talked about getting old, stayin young, and marching bands. I always give Christmas presents to these great guys...and consider them the older brothers I never had. After they polish my horses hooves, as they hand me the lead, I want to just hug the stuffing out of them....sometimes I do.

Then there are the VETS. Ahhhh, The vets. Those wonderful men (and women) that can fix the object of my affection.....I think of these Guys as Saviors...well ok....maybe Gurus. Mostly all Tall, they wear cowboy hats in this part of the country. Whether flexing a joint, or palpating a mare (think fertility doctor) they are amazing. My Vet, not to be confused with my Emergency vet, or my Surgical Vet....no...MY VET...is a great man...and I blush when he pays me a compliment, on being a good owner, or doing my homework....

He once let me watch at his clinic, when he "gathered" a stallion. (again, think fertility) It was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. He let me watch, because he knows I'm an interested and curious person. I felt like an insider.

My emergency Vet, had to come out , once, in the middle of the winter at about 9:00pm, to suture up one of my horses side...don't ask what the horses did to himself ...i don't know. He was just a bloody mess when I found him.... My husband held the lead rope (until he almost passed out) and I helped the doctor, like an OR nurse. Watching him make those neat sutures with that curved little needle, I was in awe. He was a fixer, no a healer, no, A MAN.

I told this to my husband, later on, still feeling high on the experience...He thought the whole mess was just GROSS. When I told him I thought that being a Fixer Was sexy as hell, he reminded me that he fixes things, all the time...To which I replied....."That's why I married you...silly!!".

Lots of things keep me up at night. I've never been very talented when it comes to sleep. I have vivid dreams that I remember with great detail....ask my husband. I have been known to stay vaugely pissed off at him for trangressions he committed no where but in my head, for days. Have I mentioned, I'm a dope?

Summer weather has come to the Rockies...we had no spring...ANYWAY.. the crickets are back, and so are the thunderstorms. Last night, I tried to sleep with my french door open. At first everything was bliss. The humm of early summer, the whirl of the fan, almoooost had me thoughtless.....until....The wind came in, first as a gentle breeze tickling the windchimes below me....Clang...CLang...CLANG...then the gale made me think I was portside. I have been known to take down windchimes in the wee hours of the morning...take down??? well,.. pitch over the side of the deck two stories down....Did I mention that the crazy gene runs in my family?

The damage had been done....the windchime MUST DIE!!!! Down stairs go I, with murderous intentions. But alas...Twas not to be...this windchime has a magnetic "donger"..so I attatch it to itself...feeling jipped of any carnage....and stomp back to bed.

No use. I'm thinking again. This is never good. Ask Michael... The phrases "just thinking" and "just looking" are some of the most dangerous I can utter...

Michael snores peacefully, unaware of the peril next to him, lying awake, crouching in thought...lost in the tall grassed "what ifs", at the edge of sanity and sleep. I wait motionless for something to stir, and try to flee, so I can pounce.

Michael stirs, but instead of fleeing, he picks up my arm and kisses my elbow. "Yuv ya" he mutters, as he rolls over,his back to me now. I let the back of my hand graze his shoulder gently."luv ya too" I say, into the air, to myself, for he is already far away..in a land I can't reach...."Don't worry," I think, "I'll keep watch tonight."

So what to write about..the morning after,....as usual, observing life makes topic choice painfully simple....As Rachel creeps ever closer out our proverbial door, yesterday, I reaffirm that Michael is becoming his father.

We went to see an animation movie to celebrate Rach's b-day...kind of a tradition....and sitting next to my husband I heard sleep breathing twice in a 90 minute movie...quick elbow from me...to which he responds.."just resting my eyes, dear". It was 5:10 in the afternoon....and it was a fairly good movie.

My husband's dad is a old school GOOD GUY. He's the closest example of "father" behavior that I've ever seen. You'll never hear me talk about my own father, not much to say. But "M" Senior...is a walking, talking charactor study. I spent the early part of my marriage soaking in his details, like a little child. His stories, old to everyone else, were hysterical. He has a way of being instantly trustworthy, though he spins the hugest "fish tales" ever. The tiny girl in me has been caught believing, when, REALLY...I know better.

My Michael, has been known to put on ratty clothes to go purchase anything of $$$$ substance, to keep "THEM GUESSING...you don't want to advertise your position"...no dummy..the credit report does that.....and likes to shop for houses in the "DOG DAYS" of winter...always in the dog days....

I've seen "M" Senior change from a lean tall military cut 50's style fisherman exec to a softened and greyed grandpa of 15 grandkids. Always willing to pull out a whoopie cushion when needed, or watch marathons of Hitchcock films with which ever grandkids are available..(regardless of age.....)

Watching my husband load his glass with ice and milk...to sit down to a way too big slice of b-day cake...looking more like a 5 year old than a 30 something year old....I say "havin a bit of dessert there..M Senior..are we?" His blue eyes twinkle just like his dads... as he takes a BIG bite...and swallows that compliment...gladly.

Today is Rachels 16th birthday. One of those benchmarks. As with any story, there are several versions that can be told about Rach. There are happy ones, and tragic ones, hopeful ones, and desperate ones. Today I'll only pick a couple of brief moments that are some of my pinpoint favorites.

1. Rachel got chicken pox on her first b-day. She and I(well, mostly I) were working as the manager of a childrens clothing store. She came to work with me each day...where someone infected her...We had planned to go to Baja California to celebrate Memorial Day...she was born on Memorial day....The first day of the trip was great...we did such crazy things as go ATVing on the beach(fast)..My husband holding Rach...and I, holding my husband. We ate sponge cake under the palm fron cabana. All was well as she blew out her giant one candle and went to bed. I drifted off feeling thankful to have kept her alive and well for one year. Sweet dreams of a happy family....until a piercing cry at 2:00am...one I'd never heard before...woke us to searing hot child with pox....and the first time I lifted my eyes to the stars and pleaded for help.

2.My sweet baby gave me chicken pox...ughhh.

3.My sweet baby gave my very high maitenance sister chicken pox...(secret high five..secret hee hee hee..evil, I know)

4.Rachel is a puplished author and poet...small publications...OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL. One of her poems was on a bus plaquard for a whole season...so she gave commuters something to contemplate.

5. At the banquet for the celebrating the above honor(Poetry to go),A small briefing was held, introducing the sponsors, explaining the program,and informing the poets in what order to recite their works to the conference of women writers in the room beyond. The speaker finished her intro, and asked if there were any questions...In a room filled with teens and old women in hats...one older woman raised her hand... Her questions...Where's the Bathroom?...Rachel and I were the only to to (almost) laugh out loud. I leaned over and whispered.."The whole world is a bloody SPECIAL ED classroom"...we laughed so hard that I don't think she had any mascara left when she finally recited her poem later on...The poem was hopeful and young and innocent..just like her.


6.She has songs from Jesus Christ Superstar, Phantom, and Lord of the Rings on her IPOD... as well as the Clash, Queen, and Bob Marley......

7.All those years that she has waved to me from on stage, singing, reciting,receiving this and that. All those shy grins and sideways waves from her life.


I think I'll stop there.

Happy Bithday, Rach....long may you wave.

....while ye may. One of the many lines of poetry, seared into my brain. It's become an creed, a friendly, beautiful reminder to... enjoy IT while I can. Find those tiny rosebuds amidst the chaos of my life. Look for those little buggers even in the thorniest of places. and GATHER them, hold on to them, weave em into your hair, if your arms are full...but take them with you on the journey...Put them in your pocket,if you're too embarrassed to show them. Here's an idea...If you can't possibly hold ONE MORE thing. stop, and drop one of the boulders of hate or even a pebble of self doubt, to make room for even one or two more rosebuds. They are much lighter to carry.

Here are some of my gatherings from yesterday.

Rosebud I

I've mentioned I work with special needs kids..gardens of roses...despite the thorns...Most of these kids have one disorder or another...or learning disability,but they are all great kids. They just need to be tended too..as all roses do...I feel this is my work..to tend to them....Little did I realize, they are tending to me too.

Yesterday I was tired, had a cold (perhaps from one of them) and was feeling OLD..the blush definitely off this rose...My eldest had just gotten out of the car that morning, and announced that today she was AN UPPER CLASSMEN! I'm too young for this....NOT..grumble...

Flash forward to my day..in the midst of a pretty normal day I had this conversation:


Mrs F (me): What's the difference between EXIST and EXTINCT?? Do you know, B?

Student B(oy): Weelllll, Extinct means your dead.

Me: Right, and EXIST??

B: UHHHHH.....

Me: Means LIVING, to LIVE: to be ALIVE.

B: Someday humans may be extinct..If mommies stop making babies.

Me: This is true...

B: that's why I'm havin kids..to keep going...I'm going to have 3.

Me: Cool, first you need a wife..(aside, this kids in 3rd grade)

B: Yeah, I know...uh..you're married ..right?

Me: yep. (Blushing..really!!!)Ok, time to go... I've gotta go..Good work today..B...

B: oh...(pause) can I ask you a question?

Me: Sure..

B: Who picks you up to go home, your mom or your dad?

Me: WHAT??

B: To go home...who picks you up???

Me: Sweetie, I drive myself.

B: YOU drive?!?!!..wow.....

........and scene.


Rosebud II

Working with an mildly autistic kid....somewhat verbal.. though gets stuck on certian topics and can't move on...one of his favorite topics..video games...

He want's to go on my computer to play his video games. I explain his games aren't on my computer..

B(oy)(different from above B)(2nd grade): UH HUh....

me: no, I don't have your games on my computer. Sorry.

B: UHHH HUHHH!!

Me: No I don't...sorry

B: Let ME See.

Me: No...

B: JUST GOOGLE IT!!! (swear to God)

Me: (silent, jaw dropped)

......and scene.


Rosebud III

Last boy, 3rd grade.....bi polar..aggression disorder..

B(oy): I've just killed that dragon...(in a Math blaster Type game)

Me: I saw that...Good for you..

B: I've eaten dragon before...

Me: REALLY?!!??

B: Tastes like chicken.


.....and scene.

Ahh, rosebuds... I tucked these behind my ear, rolled dowm the window of my very own car and drove home...Feeling light and refreshed. Thanks Boys.

from this angle
she could not see me
watching

checking her reflection
chin up
fierce straight on

only a moment
then eyes soften
downward
mask crumbles

too much
her mothers
daughter, i fear


wlf 7:00 this AM

Labels: Poetry Thursday

while i try to fix my blog

for those long losts that have never seen my kids....heres some pics.First rachel..she was very mad...and why souldn't she be...it was our christmas picture..twas the season. I picked this photo because it really looks like her...dark, menaced,brilliant and beautiful.








Next is Maggie, the blond, with her best pal...running pals..remember...
Maggie is a force of nature.






These will be the principal leads in most of my melodrama.

These are the girls. This was last halloween, we were all dressed up...and went no where. The first year they both decided they were too old to trick or treat. They helped me deck out our house....and no one came...not 1 single kid. I held back the tears and went upstair, pulling off my fake eyelashes as I ascended...to the reality that my days of winnie the pooh and unicorn costumes were behind me. I turned off the porch light and let the deer make a feast of the pumpkins. It won't be long...maybe a decade away, when I'll get the chance to wear a new costume...of Grandma....I hope I still fit in to my "witchy poo" go go boots and miniskirt.....

br>

Labels: Poetry Thursday

I swear I have two daughters...but at (almost)16, the elder, Rachel, seems to be taking a break from homicidal tendencies. She's battling math finals and yesterday she actually DID do the dishes...so from where I sit this morning, she's golden.

Margaret Elizabeth, aka Maggie, on the other hand, has been surfin the Diamondhead of teenage angst, and hang tenning all over my last nerve...from sunrise to sunset..
An(almost)13 year old with rockin little body, and a gigantic mouth, Mags has always been a whirling dirvish. When I was about 8 months pregnant..I swear I thought she was going to kill me. All babies kick, punch, and generally terrorize their ever tightening wombs without a view...But Maggie, it seemed, was hell bent on total demo and renovation. I became somewhat of a sideshow freak as people near and far (yeah, right...) would watch as Maggie would summersault, cartwheel, and bring the roof down, sometimes 3 times in a row. By month 9, she was restricted,and saved all her energy for her debut....and has been screaming ever since.

Maggie had a very bad day yesterday...why? I don't know...when asked..."JUST LEAVE ME ALONE MOM"...is spewed at me with such power...I have to admit...I'm impressed...She is a very confident...BRAT. The WB used to have a cartoon on animaniacs...called "Katie goes Kaboom"...about a rockin teen with an atomic temper....the show's been cancelled...but "Maggie goes Kaboom" lives on in reruns at my house, 24/7 without commercial interruption.

Rachel, the eldest, reprimands me, and wonders why I can't get Maggie "under control"..she has selective amnesia of her own episodes, where she was the star of "Kaboom".

During this exchange, a thunderstorm blew in, ratteling my house..make of sticks not stones, like the big bad wolf. Running to close Maggies bedroom windows, I noticed the magnetic poetry calendar on her wall. She has concocted phrases like....We**melt**and**sizzle....... and ...I**always**remember**hot**y**s.......Oh GOD!!oh GOD!! oh GOD...I panic as I crank her windows shut...I stand and stare as the storm grows inside and outside my home...

The words on the magnetic board beckon me to send her a message... a becon in this squall.

"I love you" would have sufficed, but would likely be ignored. I let go and let the words take me.

I left this message..for her to notice in her own time..

***To weather a strong child, you see more in this storm than her rain****

I studied it for a moment, than retreated quickly to my bedroom, to catch tommorrows weather report...Let's all pray for sun!

The thing that I keep most quiet about, is my disability. I was born with slight CP or a bracial plexic head injury..or an in utero stroke...ok SOMETHING happened to me..my left side is perfectly normal...my right side slightly impaired...and my coordination is not normal to the right. Remember I mentioned I tend to trip alot...and I also mentioned that I ride horses.

Truth is I'm trying to go to the Paralymics in Bejiing in two years. This week I went to a clinic with the paralympic coach. He is a very nice man, a good coach, and has a slighty off color sense of humor. We get along just fine.

Most, I'd say 95% of my life, is spent with "able bodied" people. I say 95% because I teach special needs kids...so I do deal with learning and behavioral disabilities all the time. My horse life has me competing and training with "normal" athletes. "Normal" is a major faux pax in disability speak...but I'm not very PC..I compete against..and have been known to beat other athletes all the time. I like this. Discovering that I was an athlete was one of the most important things that has ever happened to me.

This weeks clinic was held for disabled riders only. The show that followed was for both able bodied and disabled alike.

Competing against other disabled athletes is very new to me..and one of the most diffucult things I have ever done. These women and men are truely people that I look to as icons of courage. There are different "grades" of disabilities. Grade I riders are usually quad or paraplegics. Some hold the reins in their teeth..Grade IV riders are the most able bodied. They can be amputees of one limb or have a disability such that it mimumally affects their range of motion..such as polio effects. I am a grade III rider...somewhere in the middle..upper functionality. You only compete against people in your own grade....like against like. This grading process is intensive and very accurate and specific.

The problem is that its hard to compete against people you don't want to beat. When I compete against normal athletes, I want to beat them. Be it a jumping competion, or "Dressage"..(french for anal...just kidding) my job is to do the best I can and if my best, beats their best...all the better. I have made alot of friends by showing that hard work and sheer stubborness can produce rich rewards. I
have also picked up a few enemies along the way....some people can't stand to be beat by me...It really messes with their egos...

This weekend was hard because I had no desire to be better than any of my fellow competitors. I had the desire to learn from them, help them the best I could and promote their efforts..My killer instinct was shorn off me, leaving me a lamb.

I didn't check the scores to see which of us had done the best. I have clearly stepped into an arena with true champions... I have a feeling that this will be quite a test.

I ride horses, almost every day. I have kids,a job and a husband who travels the world,(but mostly the country)all the time. (Riding horses) is a passion for me, some would say an addiction. There's a reason to reveal this fact now.

My aforementioned daughter, Mags, had another track meet yesterday. My husband has been gone now for three weeks,to Australia, its the end of the school year, and my schedule is getting stupid crazy, to say the least. All this decription to get to the point that I'm always going SOMEWHERE from the barn. I have been known to pop in almost anywhere, in my boots and breeches...for those of you not in the horse know...tall riding boots to the knee, and well, riding "tights". Before you think I strut around looking all cute in my get up...just remember I am a dope, I tend to trip and my horses likes to drool and kiss all over me..

So, in I stroll....to the mom's spectator hive...in my "horsey uniform" as one friend calls it. Believe me, people that know me, are used to this behavior..the problem is..I really don't know that many people...Track meets are slow events with a couple of hundred kids dressed just enough alike to drive you crazy. They are in the infield ...and the hive is outside the fence...I feel all eyes on me as i walk the fence line, trying to find maggie in a sea of purple (her team) and navy blue( the opponent) jersies. Women in this neigborhood are golf and tennis wives....always cute, tan, and appropriately dressed.

I do have one popular mom friend....and thank god, I hear her voice behind me. She always knows everything, has a race list and the eyes of a hawk. I trudge up the hill and she knows I am so releaved to find her. "Margaret's over there...and she hasn't gone yet." My friend is not at all surprised by my appearence....but those sitting near her are.. I sit down in the grass/dirt next to all of them. One says, "You just sat in the DIRT!" I sheepishly grin....sigh...shrink.. Friend says..."Oh, she'll plop down anywhere....she's horsey.." She says it with total bewilderment..and affection. I love this friend.

After a while I hear "mom, mom, WENDY" from the infield.. There stands mags.. I trot over to the fence..aware of everyones view of my butt...and ask her how she found me..."Oh, mom," she says..."you're always easy to find in a crowd." She says this with amusement...and love....

She runs like the wind again today, and we walk to the car, shoulder to shoulder....
She thanks me for comming....and I thank her for finding me in the crowd.

Yesterday was Mothers day, when people thank their moms...and Mom's count their blessings...and if they are anything like me, count their regrets too.I always count blessings to keep myself grateful...and regrets to keep myself humble.

Most days I feel I live a small life, that I try to make as meaningful and significant as I can. I try to end each night, thanking god for a warm place to sleep, a comfy pillow to rest my head, and hope I did or said one thing that day that will truely make a difference..in the right way. No earth shaking news conference, no big corporate deals, or heart surgeon holding a pumping heart in my hand.

Just a mother duck swimmin in a pond...leading the way, nudging ducklings this way and that, trying to keep everyone's head above water, paddling to the other side, where we all will find rest...and thank God for a well built nest.

Today is my youngest daughters, Maggie,best friends 13 birthday. We have been, well I should say, Maggie has been obsessing over details of this day for 10 days. Why 10 days?..because that's when they became best friends again...after the great riff of March...where in they were over....and friends ...and over...you get the pic.

Anyway, I think they came back together this time running track. Both of them are gazelles, cheetas, things of beauty to watch run. Both sprinters. At a time when some girls there age are struggling to steer hips and tame breasts that have sprouted cumbersome as a camels humps....these two are in control...on that track ...they rock. Always in the same heats they ave come in 1st, 2nd or 2nd, 1st I think every time. They cross the finish line with smiles and that sly high five I could never pull off..if my life depended on it.

So this AM I'm up way too early to make a treck to the local grocery store for 6 pink and 6 lime green balloons for Mags friend to carry today at school..oh and 1 happy b-day ballon...making the perfect 13..... Wrestling the bouqet in to my car at 7:00 am and hurrying to get her to school, I haven't see her this excited in a while.

Getting out of my car, I get a quick kiss, and then she's off like the wind..Her balloons and blonde hair trailing behind her..She is joy and grace..and I'm just glad I got to watch her as she leaves.

Yesterday was not a day from hell...just a day that felt like I had an anchor tied to my toe. Swimming for the surface, but never breaking through, to sweet air, is frazzeling. Here's the "have ya ever" part....I called a friend, one of my dearest truest friends, and left a seriously incorherent message on her machine, while my daughter was in explainig to her dance teacher that the laws of time and space prevent me from getting her two places at the same time.

I was on my cell phone, which I never am...no really I hate cell phones. Only when I am parked do I use them. So I'm in the parking lot of the dance studio, and I'm talking on this phone that has always felt like a barbies dream phone to me, leaving a message for my friend and...I JUST LOSE MY MIND. I don't start yelling or cussing..(I've never heard this particular friend cus..ever)..But I start a seriously scitzophenic moment..that drags on and on..5 MINTUTES on....on her machine.

If you've read any of my earlier posts, you know I'm a dope. I only hope she wasn't screening her calls....while trying sneak a quickie with her hubbie while her girs were at soccer practice. I don't think the breakdown of an always crazy friend is good mood music....but maybe it is good comic relief.

I haven't been much into reading others blogs...mostly because I didn't know they exsisted. But now...I am impressed!! It's like going to the zoo...not meant as an insult.

One thing i've noticed is that almost everyone is witty. Witty is very attractive,it's light and breezy, done right it's not condesending. It is always slightly judgemental..but aren't we all?

But is it honest? I've always wanted to be witty..breezy..or for that matter light. I stopped going to coctail parties not when I stopped drinking, but when my husband had to tell me that mostly NOBODY wants to talk about..(education, quantum physics,God, truth or anthropology...not ie the store)..what I want to talk about. So, to fit in, I usually tell very embarrassing stories about myself (I have alot of material here, believe me) After wards...I feel like such a dope.

Witty is different..it obsevational instead of confessional..Never learned that in banter class...

No woner I always feel like I have toilet paper stuck to my shoe around people...I've told 'em its ahppened befoe..They're just waiting...because now that they KNOW me...it's just a matter of time.

Yesterday, trying to settle down into sleep, I watched the news. ALWAYS a bad idea. Definately not good bedtime reading. There was a segment on Avian Flu...sayig that they expected it sooner than projected...within months w/human involvement...Federal goverment not prepared..states in control of their managing their own epidemics...Now on this very same station..ABC shame shame shame....the miniseries...on the very same subject.this week. Now I'm not an expert..and it may well be that this is the end of everything as we know it, but I think its pretty close to devilish to exploit fear in people. I am a person. I try not to be stupid and brush it off as garbage...but visual images of bodies in a huge heap, are hard to brush off. I will not watch this vile program, but didn't have the choice not to watch the preview.(no tivo)

I will die. My husband and children and friends will die...sometime. Trying to make me hysterical over possible ways this will happen is NOT ENTERTAINMENT, you sick pricks, whoever you are....bad form to you.

I just read a post on blog her..Don't know the author...I'll get better at this as I go along. The post was basically about the old bloggers telling the new bloggers they suck.

Is this the sharks vs the jets??in the blog land?? PLEASE....For me, this is an opportunity to open my diary, and let the world in. That being said, I don't care if one human soul ever reads these thoughts. The thought of it is enough to get my muses ass off the couch and into my head...Working..Where she belongs.

Consider 2 thing....1. Catholics confess,to a person, to get the info to God. I don't believe that the priest opens a portal to the cosmos...But there is something to ADMITTING and verbalizing (or writing) to another that is good for the soul. 2. Quantum physics has proven that the act of OBSERVATION changes the outcome..on a very base an atomic scale.

To all the techie nerds with their boxers in a twist...get laid...maybe that will improve your mood...It's never too late..

The above photo....shameful as it is...is me. Halloween, of course is my fav of the holidays. I've always wanted an alter ego. I wish I could be cat woman...but cat woman doesn't trip.. and I trip ALOT...in front of people.. over nothing at all..except myself....