Time...and time again

Ugh! I hate being sick! I'm home nursing a severly swollen throat with chills and stuffy sinus'. Double ugh!

Duke, on the other hand, is healthy and happy. Yesterday the farrier pulled his shoes for the winter so now he's barefoot.  He's put on his teddy bear coat...getting all fuzzy and turning from summer slick red to winter rich chocolate brown. I love running my hands across his long neck and feeling his plushy thick coat. Think I'll forego blanketing him this winter, unless the temp drops down below 20 degrees; let him go au natural!  The cut above his eye from three months ago healed nicely and is no longer visible, thanks to Vetricyn. Anyone with animals needs to keep it on hand! Seriously.

Been getting several rides a week in, bareback and with a saddle, working on upward and downward transitions, leg cues and side passing. During a session last Sunday I realized the problem with side-passing was me...I wasn't using my seat properly. So I set Duke up to side pass to the right over a pole, only this time using my left seat bone to push him. It took a couple of tries but he did it perfectly, without any bend in his body or neck. Each time we accomplish success like this, I am reminded that Duke already knows everything he needs to know when I'm in the saddle, and I'm the one who needs training.

Last Saturday night I thought I'd try my hand at team penning, but in the end I wasn't quite ready. I was tense and nervous (this was my first rodeo!) and didn't set it up to succeed. Had I been thinking properly I would have taken the time to warm Duke up in the little arena, away from all the noise and other riders before we headed to the larger upper arena where the event is held. So for me, I'll be taking baby steps toward this goal. Next time we'll warm up like we always do in the lower arena, then just hang out and give myself time to get used to the sights and sounds of the upper arena. It's all very fast paced and as a Level 2 student I'm not quite there in my training. However, my friend Debbie (who has been there for me through it all!) expressed an interest in riding Duke for one of the rounds; he is after all a former ranch horse who spent the first eight years of his life on a cattle ranch. She offered to pony him during the warm up after I realized I wasn't ready for this. Duke took to it like milk to a cookie as I watched from the sidelines. He ponied great, never rushing ahead of Debbie and Ringo, nor dragging behind them. He showed interest in the cows and moved with them whenever Debbie stopped by them. Funnily enough, everytime he'd pass by where I was standing, he'd look my way as if he was searching for me in the crowd. At least that's what Debbie said...I think he was looking for the gate.

Met up with my brother Mick and sister-in-law Char on Sunday while they were visiting from their home in the Portland area. Turns out they are both into horses and have two beautiful Arabians named Bay (short for Baythoven) and Boo. Who knew!!! One day I receive a friend request on Facebook and lo and behold, it's my brother. I have to admit when I saw Mick's photo of him wearing a cowboy hat, holding Bay you could have knocked me over with a feather. At first I honestly didn't think it was him. My brother...into horses?! Cool!!!! We spent two hours swapping horse stories at a local Starbucks. Sam was a real trooper, and if all that horse talk bored him, he gave no outward sign of it. It's been a long time since I last saw Mick and Char (1998) and seeing them again was a real heart warmer, and a great way to start the week.  BTW Char has a blog too, cleverly titled Canterbalance...pop over and check it out!

Fall trail challenge

On Saturday, October 23, Duke and I participated in our second trail challenge held at Lewis Clark Saddle Club in Clarkston, WA. This challenge was quite different from the one last May and more challenging. There were a few tense moments, and Duke was definitely on his toes, more extroverted than normal. All in all, we had a lot of fun and learned a great deal. This was a real test of our relationship. And I have my homework assignments.

But I'm gonna have to have a serious talk with my cameraman-husband, because at times I'm not sure what he was recording.

Once upon a cold, dark night (re-visited)

Hmmm, here I am with a great place to write and yet when I sit down to do so, nothing happens. I used to write so well...it flowed like water. What happened? I need to reconnect with that part of me again, because buried deep beneath all the layers of my life I know the writer in me is stirring.

So, until I find my muse (or vice versa), I'm reposting a previous entry I created in 2005 when my blog was a part of the AOL J-Land community. You can find the original entry here. 



With Halloween just around the corner, many are sharing scary stories. Sandra, owner of Sandra's Scribbles often finds a ghost story to share. And our beloved Blogfather, John Scalzi is prompting us to write, to draw on our own experience and relate a bone chilling, flesh crawling, hair raising Halloween story. Well, maybe not flesh crawling.


Okay. If you thought I was a little bit crazy before, well I'm about to remove all doubt from your mind.


Somewhere between fear and imagination lies the truth. And many years ago I learned the line between is often blurred. During the time that followed I have struggled to grasp the meaning of what happened to me on a cold dark night. Even now I do not fully understand exactly what happened; but I do remember.

It is September 19, 1978. I am a newlywed of just three months, spending the night at the home of my in-laws. They live in a split-entry house with four levels and the guest room is downstairs, in the daylight basement. A few hours before, at 12:45 a.m., I received news of my mothers passing. It is now 3:30 a.m. and I can't sleep. I keep wondering what life will be like with her gone. I feel cold, chilly, and alone, even as the heat of my husband's sleeping body radiates next to me under the warmth of several heavy blankets.


When I feel the internal urge, I get out of bed and silently make my way through the dark house to the bathroom across the hall. I switch on the light, shut the door and go about the business that called me out of my bed. The events of the night play out in my mind, and I think about what the days ahead hold for my young sisters. At only 12 and 14, they are so tender and young, too young to lose their mother.

I finish and wash my hands, struggling with the loss I feel in my heart. Looking up at the medicine cabinet mirror, I stare at the reflection; is the person looking back at me strong enough to deal with this? Do I have what it takes to help my sisters cope with the heart break I must deliver to them? Beneath my eyes the bags and dark circles belie my age. I am only 21 yet I look to be in my 30s. My mothers illness has taken its toll. I rub my eyes, take a deep breath and step away from the sink.



Without warning, I begin to shiver, as if the temperature of the room suddenly dropped several degrees. I shake it off, rubbing the skin on my arms vigorously with my hands, eager to slide back under the warmth of those heavy blankets on the bed. But when I reach out and grab the doorknob, an electrical shock stabs my fingertips. I stop and pull back my hand. Thinking it is static electricity created by rubbing my arms, I reach out again, and quickly withdraw my hand when the vibration of electrical energy touches my skin.



What?
 I look down at the linoleum, then at my bare feet. How can I be getting shocked? I glance at the sink, step toward it and touch the metal fixtures. Nothing. Slowly I wrap my fingers around each knob. No shock. Okay, so it wasn't static. It's nothing. Feeling relieved, I turn away from the sink and cast my sight on the door knob. That's when I hear it. An inner voice that stops me in my tracks with the words, Don't look.



Look? At what? Gathering my wits about me, there I stand, thinking about being shocked by a door knob while standing barefoot on the linoleum floor in my pajamas listening to some voice telling me not to look...at something.
 Nonsense! This is crazy, I tell myself. Not to mention silly and stupid. Again I reach out, ready to take control of the situation. Even as I wrap my fingers around the door knob, my sense of touch vibrates with electrical energy. I withdraw my hand, staring at it in disbelief.



What's happening? This can't be real.

Don't look. You must not look.

Slowly I back away from the door. Look? At what? Is there something out there?

Get a grip. I shake my head. I've been reading too many Stephen King novels.

This is just my imagination getting the best of me. I'm tired, physically and emotionally. It's late at night, everyone in the house is asleep, and my overactive imagination is working overtime. Go to bed. Just open the door, turn off the light and go to bed. You've done it before, hundreds, if not thousands of times in your life. Do it again, like before. Open the door.


Even before I reach out a part of me resists. I am tired. I need sleep and I am not going to get it standing in this room. Once again I reach out, only to stop and withdraw when the shock of electricity hit my fingers.

Don't look.Again, I back away from the door. My heart is pounding in my chest, I hear it thumping in my ears. My pulse is racing. This isn't happening. This isn't real. I know what is real. This is not real. As if to convince myself, I do everything I know is real. I wash my face, splashing the cold water on my skin, willing myself awake. I'm still dreaming. I brush my teeth. I brush my hair. I run in place. I do jumping jacks.




 
And still the knob shocks me and the voice reminds me, Don't look.

I'm going crazy. My mother's death has pushed me over the edge of reason and sanity. There is nothing out there I tell myself. There is no need for fear. And yet my feet refuse to move, silently disobeying the order given by my brain.



It comes on suddenly, a sense of disturbance in the air. A feeling of unrest. In my minds eye I can see something, beyond the bathroom door, up the stairs, past the kitchen and dining room, where the drapes are open, on the other side of the sliding glass door. It's there, in the car port.

At first I think it is my mother's spirit, checking on me, wanting to know how I am coping. Dressed in white, she waits for me, calling out my name. The feeling permeates every pore of my skin, drenching me with an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. I lean against a wall, propping myself up, my mind swimming with thoughts, desperately trying to make sense of the here and now. It wanders back in time to conversations about the weakness of the human spirit; particularly when dealing with the loss of a loved one. I remember stories I heard and read about people who, faced with the death of a loved one, claimed to be visited by something. Each person thought it was the spirit of the departed, bound by love, unable to leave the other's side. It made sense; what could be deeper than a mother's love for her children. Maybe what I sensed was my mother's spirit nearby, hovering, lingering, wanting just one last look, before moving on to the other side.


No. It is not your mother. It wants to hurt you.


What?

What wants to hurt me? Mom wouldn't do that!

Don't look. It wants to hurt you.
 I feel like the room is shrinking and the walls are closing in on me. I need to get out of here! I want to get out of this room. A part of me needs to confirm I haven't lost my mind and there is something out there. But I'm too scared. There's nothing out there. It's just my imagination getting the best of me. I try the door again. Shock. Okay. I won't look. Just let me out. I'll keep my eyes straight ahead. I won't look up the stairs. Just let me out of here!


Don't look.


Out loud, I say it. I won't look! Tentatively, I lift my arm and reach for the door knob. Nothing happens. I wrap my fingers around the metal and take a deep breath.

Do it. Go! Open the door, eyes straight, and move quickly. Don't look!

I turn the knob and with the other hand I switch off the light. My chest feels like it is about to explode! I jerk the door open and bolt across the threshold toward the guest room. As I pass in front of the stairs and the open drapes an ice cold chill runs down my spine.

Go! Don't stop or look.

My knees feel like Jell-O, my feet feel like concrete and I lose my balance, slamming into the bedroom doorway. I stumble in the darkness, bent over with my arms out, searching for the bed. What just happened? I feel the comforter and follow the bed, flinging my body down onto the mattress, then under the covers. He doesn't move. I feel like I've made enough noise to wake everyone in this house, yet my husband lies beside me. Undisturbed, the sound of his slow breathing fills my ears.

I don't feel safe, just yet. I feel like whatever is out there is now right outside the window above me head. Go away! Whatever you are, leave me alone. Go away! Fear racks my body and I shake as I pull the sheets over my head, burrowing myself under the safety of the covers. Go away. Leave me alone. Seconds pass, the tension in my muscles begins to ease, I close my eyes and slowly drift away...to sleep.



When I wake up I am alone in the bed. I check my watch and remember what happened last night. What had happened? Whatever it was, I knew I could not, would not tell my mother-in-law, or my husband. Neither would believe a word and write it off as a bad dream. They would do their best to convince me it never happened. I imagined it all in my sleep and it was just a nightmare.



Thing is, it was. At least the part about losing my mother. That morning I remember the haunting feeling of being abandoned. Sitting on the edge of the bed, with the sound the words I didn't want to hear resonating in my ears, I realized my worst childhood fear had just come true. My mother had abandoned me. And that little girl who suffered from the nightmares which woke up her, and everyone else in the house, now found herself alone in the company of strangers.


 Until this moment I have shared this experience with a handful of people. My sister and a few close friends, as well as religious and spiritual advisors. A couple of pastors and priests scoffed at my words, explaining the events of that night as just the workings of my imagination as they patted me on the back and led me to the door. But the majority, they listened intently and many came to the same conclusion. The death of a loved one makes a person weak, spiritually. On that they all agree. From there, their interpretations vary. Some say in my weakness, the devil came to take my soul. Others say the devil only exists if you believe that it does. As for me, I think there is truth in both sides.



Throughout my childhood, I had nightmares; dreams in which my mother abandoned me. On those nights I would cry out for her and she always came to my side, her gentle voice soothing away the fear as she held me tenderly, rocking me back to sleep. She said she knew when the nightmares would come because an angel told her. My mother always said I had an angel at my side, silently watching over me. She said the angel spoke to her, but I never sensed it, or even heard it speak to me.

Until that night. I wonder if it was the voice of the angel I heard, telling me not to look, warning me. Guiding me through the darkness and reminding me...I am not alone.

A good hair day (revisited)

I originally posted this entry almost five years ago, in November 2005. It deserves another visit. May all our returning service people return home safely from their tours of duty to open arms. God Bless 'em, today and always.


"Today is a good day," the woman said as she walked through the hair salon.

There was something in the way she said it. A calmness in her voice that pulled my attention to her. Ev stopped cutting my hair momentarily and looked up as the woman sat down in the chair at the station next to us. With a smile, Pam draped a shampoo cape around the woman. "Oh?" she remarked as she cocked her head, eye brows raised in curious expectation.

"Yes," the woman smiled. She looked up at Pam, then said, "Today my son is back on American soil."

With those words everything stopped. She held our attention. There were only four of us in the salon, but with her words I was taken by the sense that I would carry this moment all my life. Ev dropped her arms to her side as I turned in the chair to face the mother, swallowing the lump I felt in my throat. "You must be relieved," I heard Ev say. "Does he get to stay home for the holidays?"

The mother turned to both of us. She radiated with a glow; a peaceful serenity of total calm surrounded her. "He's home to stay," she replied, her words floating in the air like the promise of a new day.

Pam asked the question we all formed in our minds. "Where was he?"

"Iraq." It was a simple one word response, filled with such emotion I wondered how many times she had said that word before, her voice then filled with uncertainty and a mother's fear. The uncertainty of wondering how much longer, how many more times would she say that word. The uncertainty was gone, replaced by pure joy.

For the next few minutes she shared her joy with us. Through her words I learned. Her son served in the National Guard, called to duty almost two years ago. Now he was returning back to everything he left behind, his family, his home, and even his job. His employer was holding his job for him. I learned the most dangerous part of being in Iraq for the soldiers, is the trip home. The soldiers do not fly out of Iraq, they must make a long journey across the country...a journey across open terrain in which they are vulnerable. A journey that for some ends much too soon.

"That," she said, "is when many of them die. On their way home."

As she calmly spoke my thoughts turned to them. Silence followed.

It was an ordinary day that started like any other. Normally I make my hair appointments late in the afternoon, after work. But when Ev offered the lunch hour time slot, I took it. I'm glad I did.

I am a creature of habit and while I don't always resist change, I thrive in the mundane and routine. In the structure of that routine I find security. Then one day, I changed the routine and did something differently, with a few second thoughts. Now, I realize that change can bring us blessings. I felt blessed to be there that moment. It gave me the chance to witness first-hand one of the happy stories. After months of hearing and reading so many negative accounts of this war, for me, this one moment helped to counter balance some of the negative. Not all of it, by no means, but some of it.

The mother finished sharing her story with us, then eased her back into the chair as Pam lowered her head down to the sink. The salon was quiet as Ev turned to me and lifted her hands back to my head. I turned my thoughts inward, silently remembering all the news reports, all the numbers, all the anger.

It was the opening of a simple door, and a simple change in my schedule, that brought me to the moment. A moment I never expected...a moment I will never forget. Guess you could say it was a good hair day.

Moments ago, as I was preparing to save this entry, I heard the sound of a car door outside. I looked up from the computer screen, out through the window and watched a young couple with a baby walk into the tree farm across the street. For years I have watched families walk amid those trees. Today I watched this young couple, undeterred by the blowing wind or cloudy skies, their baby carefully bundled against the cold, moving carefully between the trees, searching for and then selecting just the right tree. Creating a tradition. It is a time for traditions, old and new.

Change, it seems, can be apowerful thing. Sometimes change is good for the soul.


~~Create a new tradition this season; do something out of the ordinary!~~

~~Forgiveness is a choice to release the other person from the need to make them pay for what they did that caused harm. Forgiveness is the key to restoration in a relationship.~~

Dave-isms

Dave-isms =  musings and comments from Duke's veterinarian expressed during examinations and general conversations.

"In my next life, I want to come back as your horse."

"Don't worry, that cut is a long way from his heart."

"I like this horse."

Healing

Getting better every day...almost healed after only two weeks.

Day 18, Tuesday August 17, 2010

Probably would have healed a lot faster were it not for the numerous times the scab was rubbed off by Duke scratching it, or me accidently knocking it off while bridling him.

Saturday Sam and I, with friends Frank and Barb, ventured south to the small town of Joseph, Oregon for the 14th Annual Bronze, Blues and Brews Festival. Nestled in the peaceful and beautiful Wallowa Valley, Joseph is named for Chief Joseph, famous leader of the Nez Perce tribe. While the first theme of the event was bronze, it quickly became obvious to us that the primary focus is the blues and the brews. There were very few bronze sculptures (Joseph is a major bronze foundry of the Pacific Northwest), there were several bands, but there was lots of brew. We had fun, got too much sun but probably won't go back next year.

Passing by a buffalo farm on the way to Joseph, Oregon

There are two bronze statues in this photo. Can you find them?

Sam, me, Frank and Barb enjoying the blues and brews.

Sam and I with our new 2005 Jeep Wrangler in front of Lake Wallowa

Returning home on a lovely stretch of road called Rattlesnake Grade.

Birthdays and head wounds...

Saturday morning I took Duke for a ride to our local fairgrounds to check out their 100' round pen and huge riding arena. It was something new to do and we had a great time. Amy brought the girls over but they're just not ready to climb on Duke's back yet. To them he must seem like a giant! That's okay, we have plenty of time...

Relaxing with Duke after a nice long ride at the fairgrounds.

When Duke and I returned to the barn I noticed a nasty cut above his left eye, and for the life of me I can't figure out how he cut himself. He didn't have the cut when I loaded him at the fairgrounds, and I didn't notice it when he stepped off the trailer. It wasn't until he was in his corral that I saw it.  I was a little panicked and called a friend who got me calmed down and pointed me to a great product called Vetricyn, which I've seen advertised heavily on RFD-TV.  My tack room is stocked with several first aid products, but with a wound so close to the eye the risk of the medication running into his eye is too great.  My biggest concern was get the wound clean without getting soap or medication in his eye. Vetricyn can be sprayed directly on the wound without damaging or hurting the eyes. All the while I'm cleaning the wound, Sammy is calling wondering where I am (I'm at least an hour late in returning home by that time). I explain the situation, he's pretty sure I'm exagerating until I show him the pictures. A quick trip to a local pet store and I returned to tend to the wound. This stuff is amazing!! Within 20 minutes of spraying Vetricyn on the wound, the swelling reduced by half!! If you have animals, you need to check out Vetricyn! It's not just for horses.
Duke annual dental work and vaccinations were coming up, so we visited the vet on Monday to have the wound checked out (ironically it was shaped like a check mark). I thought the vet would opt to stitch the wound, but in the end it was best to cut the flap of skin off so the wound could heal cleanly.

 

Day 1: Saturday, July 31. Right after I first noticed the wound.

Day 3: Monday, August 2 after our visit to the vet. Still swollen and looking very painful.

Day 6: Thursday, August 5, swelling gone and healing is underway. He even looks happier.

I've been going out twice a day to apply the Vetricyn, but we've reached the point where we can cut the daily treatment back to once a day.

Dukey loves his kitten.

We have several barn cats, two of which had litters this spring. Three of the kittens from a feral mother adopted me last April and they've been living in Duke's hay room ever since; they just showed up in the room when they were about three weeks old. Only two remain now, exactly one month before making the decision to put Rumbeau down I had to make the same decision for one of the kittens who did not have any use of her hind legs. She just dragged both behind her; a visit to the vet revealed she had no hip joints. As I debated taking her home with me, the vet took me aside, and offered guidance as to the amount of care she would need. She would not be able to urinate and defecate on her own, she would require constant care, and such care demands 100% comittment from every family member. Then the doctor left me alone in the room to make the decision. It was a very difficult decision, the kitten who I had named Honey was barely six weeks old at the time. Concerned that I would want to hold the kitten during the procedure, the vet explained this wasn't something I would want to see because of the way she would have to put her down. I hated having to do it, and even today I still cry. Born to a feral mother who probably didn't get enough nutrition during the pregnancy to feed herself, let alone her babies, I just wanted to give the kitten a chance for a normal life.  Her brother and sister, who I've named Boots and Bitsy, are happy, healthy and thriving today; and Dukey loves his little babies.

Sam turned 55 on Sunday. We celebrated the occasion with dinner at Amy's on Saturday and dinner with friends on Sunday. Amy prepared a wonderful grilled steak dinner and our friends put together a crawfish feed (fresh from the Snake River). Both were scrump-dilly-lish-ous!!!

Snake River crawfish....yum!