Rainbows, Unicorns, & all that is practical

I was told the other day by a "horse professional" (and I will leave it at that cause whom said it isn't as important as the fact that it was said) that the difference between this person and myself was simple; they were practical and I was impractical. It was said as I was explaining what happened to Patch and added how the grief for this horse had brought me to my knees. That's when the "impractical vs. practical" comment was made. I choose not to voice my opinion right then or frankly to this person; it would do me no good.

I woke this morning and my very first thought was about Patch. I had never ever considered the possibility of Patch leaving. It quite honestly never occurred to me, or perhaps "unheard of" would better describe my feelings surrounding the possibility. It still seems unreal to me. I have always known that there was a possibility of Katie going to live with someone else, it was pretty much the plan to find Katie that special little girl that could jump with Katie. With Tex, I would love to think that Texas will never find another home but "technically" speaking it is always a possibility. When Patch came here he was to never ever without a doubt never go anywhere else for the rest of his days; those days should have lasted so much longer that his leaving when he did...it just never entered my mind as a possibility. Perhaps in that sense I was "impractical", I don't believe my grief to be impractical. 

Patch was an incredible soul, he was strong, brave, proud, and wise. I swear that horse could look at me and say more then half the people I know. He told on Texas a LOT and I'm serious. Tex thinks he is the king of all that is Hidden Springs, we all let him, however once in while he needs to be reminded that his Crown is a privilege not a right. Patch would seriously look to Tex, look to me, look to Tex and look to me until I did something about whatever Tex would not let Patch have (typically food related). When there were apples involved Patch knew to walk up to the top with a simple point from me in that direction; again Tex... He would come to the front door and stand there and patiently wait for me to notice him so he could be given a carrot or an apple and if all was right with the world a peppermint. I watched him stand there and watch me eat dinner at the kitchen island, waiting patiently. He got a treat afterward for his patience alone. I've seen him walk to the truck and point to the bed when he knew oats were in there, I've seen him sneak a bite of hay that was on the truck and look right at you like "ummm yes well you left it there" and all but smile. He liked one stall in the barn (we have three). If you put him in that stall he pooped in the back and kept the front totally clean. If you put him Anywhere else, he made a complete utter mess of things. If you were sitting in the driveway he would walk up and literally stand next to your chair for as long as he could, or Tex came around. He didn't really "need" anything but to be next to you, so he'd just stand there. He'd chase Leo within an inch of his little behind, backing off when he got too close. He discovered potato chips and thought he'd found horsey heaven. He protested every time he saw his blanket in a way that reminded me of an old man being told he had to wear a hearing aid, crotchety but so damned lovable you hugged them anyway. He pinned his ears and swung his head around to stare every time I fussed over his tail but after a minute his head was down and he was either eating or drifting half asleep. 

He came here so passive, I don't think he'd have protested anything. He came here pretty sore and pretty unhealthy. I got to watch him find himself and his voice again, I am sure there are some out there that would claim that "impractical" however I was damned proud of him. In my world of rainbows and unicorns we all deserve a voice and we all deserve a place in which that voice can be heard without fear. Patch had that here, he was able to find that again, and I got to love him through it. There is really no greater honor.

Yes I sat with a "dead horse" covered in a tarp, shivering and talking to the wind. Yes I wanted to curl up and never wake up when he died. No I didn't understand it. Yes I blamed myself and talked myself down a million times since last Tuesday. Yes I slept with his tail and yes it is on my night stand and I smell it before bed and did again this morning when I woke and remembered that he is still gone. I cried this morning when I went to deliver breakfast and didn't hear his nicker; did I collapse? No. Did I cry a little? Yes. Will I continue to hurt from his loss? Yes. Will I eventually look back at pictures and not find a tear in my eye? Yes etc etc etc. 

Is honoring the love we shared, and yes it was shared, by allowing myself to grieve that impractical? No, I think not. Is it impractical to believe, with all my heart, that the grief has nothing to do with the number of legs Patch had or the language he spoke and everything to do with who he was? To a lot I suppose so. Patch, I am sure would disagree; he knew who he was and he knew who I was. He didn't care that I couldn't gallop anymore then I cared that he couldn't open his own bag of oats. There was love, a lot of it. Without Patch there is a hole; I'm not so impractical as to believe it will remain gaping forever. I am however impractical enough to honor our love by grieving in whatever way I need. I think he'd be proud of me for that. 

Read More

Patch

I'm almost afraid to touch the subject of Patch. I'm still lost somewhere in that hour before I saw him standing there holding his leg in the oddest position.

I was walking to the store, that's not odd. They all followed me through the pasture, it's a short cut, that's not odd. When I told them "No Tex, no Katie, Patch go back" it was not odd. When I heard them running as I made my way up the road, it was not odd. There was nothing remarkable about the exchange, nothing at all. I walked away, sorta shaking my head at the "antics".

I came back, no less than an hour and a half later, and saw Patch standing stock still, looking my way, holding his leg in a position that even I could see from a distance (I'm half blind at a distance) was really really bad. I remember walking closer to him and half way thinking "no, no, just no" and half way thinking "what the heck has he gotten himself into now, damn it Patch".

The horror that ran through me when I knew it was "no, no, just no" and not "damn it Patch" came like waves; one second there they were playing at my feet, the next second seemingly pulling me under, only to let go so I could dance away just in time for it to start again. I held him, stroked his neck, gave him some munchies, he couldn't even bend all the way down to get his hay so I was hoisting it up for him, I talked to him. Not one ounce of what I said made any sense. All I could think was "Oh God no not Patch not him please god not him". I knew for Patch I had to shut up the fear and just let him know I loved him so very much, I'd always love him and how oh so special he was, so I just kept repeating it all over and over. Perhaps my need to say it over and over was for both our comfort. I told him how brave he was, how strong he was and that if we could we'd do everything to fix this, everything, anything.

My friends came over, Jenny and Kate and soon Kenneth and Kate's dad followed and Dale was here as well. I was praying Kate would see Patch and say "Ok now we know how you get all worried, he just popped something out of socket, he'll live". She didn't, she confirmed what I already knew. We all stood by him, got him some oats and hand fed him while three young women who loved this horse dearly talked to him and each other about the vet coming and telling us it's a blown muscle or something no one had seen before and that he'd make it through again. He had come through so very much, this could not be happening, not to Patch.

When Kate first got here I fell apart in her arms, this is not something I do, however the pain I felt when I looked at him was so intense I lost it. I look back and wonder if she had any idea that I'd fall into her arms and blow snot all over her sweater when she confirmed what I already knew. His leg was beyond repair. The vet came and made it all too clear again. It's all murky for me, the time that the vet was here, and it's all so vivid that each memory brings me to tears. It's as if time stood still the moment he said "Oh no that doesn't look good, there is nothing we can do, you can feel the breaks, his leg is swollen with blood, the one good thing is there is no wrestling with a decision here, we can do nothing for him except put him down..." I think those words followed by, "right here?" will haunt me for a very long time.

He was crazy gentle with Patch, and me. He explained it, he helped Patch down when the sedative took hold. Patch, right till the end didn't want anything to do with laying down, I suspect he knew that once down he'd not be up again. He didn't thrash about, he didn't make a huge fuss, he just didn't want to go down, the Dr. guided him in the end.

I sat with him while the Dr listened for his heart beat to stop and repeated the same I love yous that I had been repeating to him for the last two hours. I pray he knew I was at his side, holding him while he left.

After everyone left I sat with him some more and cried to my mom on the phone. I remember telling her I was freezing and that it couldn't be the weather cause it was not cold. I had been shaking since I saw him standing in the pasture with his leg all bend but I couldn't go anywhere, I sat there and thought how odd it was that I could not make my legs move, I could not get up and go get the jacket my mom said I probably should go get. So I sat there, holding his face, apologizing for fussing over his face when I knew he hated it, and promised him I'd resist the urge to bring up the brushes and make him "pretty".

I knew I should go comfort Tex and Katie cause they were watching me from their windows but I didn't know how, not right then, fuck I could barely move truth be told. Finally Leo, sitting a good hundred feet away got me to move. He was scared, I couldn't let him just sit there sacred. We went in the house for about an hour. I spoke to a friend of mine and asked if I was crazy to want to brush him and be there sitting in the middle of the pasture with him covered in a tarp. The tarp just drove me crazy, I hated covering him like that. It seemed so horribly undignified for such a proud proud soul. Jenny thank god, understood this and brought his blanket up so his gorgeous wonderful face was covered in that and not some god forsaken tarp. My friend assured me that I was not crazy and if sitting with him was what I wanted then by god go sit with him.

I sat with Patch until about 10pm. I talked to him about everything, about how special he was, about how I'd miss his standing at the front door waiting on a carrot, how proud I was to have been part of his life, how incredibly brave and wonderful he was always, how lucky I was to have known him, how sorry I was that he had to leave, and promised again that I'd not bring up the brushes and fuss over him cause I knew how much he hated it (or at least acted like he hated it).

The next day we (Kate, Jenny and I) called to have him removed and cremated. Kate and Jenny somehow knew what I needed yesterday and delivered it to me without one single word. We went to lunch, we went to see Perris, Charlie, and Lady, we went to meet a fabulous woman who was rescuing two ponies and then we came back to the farm to meet the gentleman who was to remove Patch. I will be forever grateful for the people that helped him through this, the Dr, the service that took him, not to mention my friends, there was respect and love in every moment.

I have wished so hard, over the last two days, to find the words that would do Patch justice. Words that would serve him well, explain somehow to whomever was listening that this horse was not just a horse. He was brave and proud and out spoken and smarter than most people I know. I looked at Patch every single day, a thousand times a day and every single glance found my heart swelling with love, every single glance. I may never be able to touch Patch with the written word and do him justice, he was and is beyond words for me right now. One day I hope to be able to tell his story, for today I will simply close with I love him, I will always love him and not a day will go by when I don't picture his blanketed rear end, or remember how many times he looked at me and spoke through a turn of his head or a blink of his eye.

Read More

The trouble with poetry (and ponies)

Recently I put a collection of my poetry together and published it through Amazon as well as Barnes and Nobel. Not long after I put it on Amazon and saw a few sales, but a relatively flat response, I started to wonder. I did not advertise it with anything more than minimal effort however even with that minimal effort a little interest could be reasonably expected. I wondered what it was about poetry that made most everyone shy away, perhaps applaud the "courage" they thought it took to expose yourself in such a manner however consuming it (for lack of a better word) not so much. Let's face it, people don't generally read poetry, a lot of people have preconceived notions that play into that but by in large I believe it is because we don't want to think. We really don't have to anymore, and we certainly don't want to.

There you have the connection between pony and poem. We (collectively) don't want to think, and they certainly deserve thought. 

Considering all this I have decided that the two truly do belong together and any sales from the poetry book should go to Pony Up Rescue in Olalla, Wa; people who DO think about the ponies!

Below is a sample from the book and a couple links to purchase...with any luck we can generate thought, if not for poetry then maybe for the ponies...

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Moving-On-ebook/dp/B004MPRAZM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1311215945&sr=8-1

Barnes and Nobel:

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Moving-On/Carol-Flores/e/2940013647459

From the book:

Witness

There was a second when I thought to breathe,
to feel, to crawl under my own skin, turn it
right-side out, claim nothing more
than capability. As if disrobing
mid-sentence were entirely normal (accepted).
More likely it'd find you half undressed
with as much life as an eight (times 7) year old
hound stuck somewhere in Iowa exhausted
with July and it's knee high corn, serving him
as much purpose as you, naked on some corner,
skin all upside down and backward, stumbling over
your words, wondering who's idea was this anyway?
Still there was that second when I thought to reach under,
to touch myself as if I cared a great deal.
You came to watch, and did so fascinated
it was hard to tell which was more beautiful
more natural, you struck silent
or me, struck alive by my own hand
at your witness


I choose this poem because so many misunderstand the original intent. It used to insult me that everyone that read it believed it to be about the obvious. Anymore I figure it's none of my business what the reader chooses to see, it's enough that they took the time to "see"...

Read More

Patch, a lesson in listening

Last Saturday we had company on the farm and there were small people that wanted to pay attention to the ponies, the ponies love this. They get brushed on, talked to sweetly, and treats are generally involved.

On Tuesday we had company again. There was some brushing, there was some ohh and ahh'ng, there were pieces of melon, and there was a lot of sweet talk.

The children involved in both cases were no younger than nine and not ever in the presence of the ponies without myself and or Dale.

Texas and Katie loved this. I could wax poetic about the feeling of joy that comes when I see a young person touch a tail and light up like a shooting star however that is another post.

Patch was not a big fan. He tolerated this "pretty pretty pony" thing I had going on with the little people on Saturday, probably confident that it was not to continue. He became mildly irritated with me allowing these strange people (I don't think it had much to do with the fact that they were little people) to come into his room on Saturday. He also voiced that, mildly, Saturday.

Patch has a crabby face when he wants to. Patch also has a "I'm not speaking to you" face.

I got them both on Saturday.

On Tuesday I got the crabby, I'm not speaking to you, cause now I'm pissed, face. I even got the don't you dare touch me and get that "other" person out of my room glare.

I didn't get out of his room. I did have the little person get me a halter and leave the "room". She had been standing by the gate during the series of faces, no where near Patch; it was me he was mad at, not her.

I put the halter on him and proceeded to brush him out. He didn't move about, I didn't get any mean faces. I got Patch standing there, a little smug and a little resigned.

It was just him and I, she (the little person) was standing outside the stall. I talked, Patch mostly stood there and tolerated. I'm not sure he listened so much as he stood there and hoped that maybe I'd figure it out since he couldn't speak English.

I didn't say anything profound. I was confused by his obvious displeasure and I hadn't figured it out yet. I only knew that if I walked away I'd miss something important, so I stood with him and brushed and said things like "wow Patch what was that about?" and brushed some more. He stood there, in a halter, which is unheard of for something as simple as brushing in the stall, and looked almost as confused as I was.

We finished up and after everyone had left the barn area I went in to talk to Patch. He was still not happy and although he was not as pissed, he clearly wasn't going to come play kissy face before final lights out. I turned out the lights and went down to the house.

I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out why he was so upset. What he was telling me was clear, he was not cool with people he didn't know really, strangers if you will, fussing over him. I kept thinking "ya know maybe he didn't like you letting someone else play pretty pretty pony with him". It's not like anyone was hurting him, we are talking a soft brush and a lot of innocent, starry eyed wonder showered on him. That being said I suppose it could be a bit like being put on display I.E. playing pretty pretty pony.

Texas and Katie love it.

Patch, I think, does not.

Patch tried on Saturday to politely tell me that he had boundaries and this was one he'd like to keep intact.

I didn't listen.

He told me again on Tuesday, a little less politely. I was listening, I just didn't understand what I was hearing.

Patch has never been pissed at me, and he clearly was. He was not "speaking" to me. He tolerated me on Wednesday, sorta gave an inch on Thursday and today actually did me the favor of slobbering on my hand.

I'm pretty sure I am forgiven. That being said Wednesday afternoon I apologized for not quite getting why he was upset. Thursday I apologized again, knowing where I had gone wrong, and Friday morning I stood with him and without apologizing and just told him how much I loved him while he ate his breakfast.

Last night he was his normal self, he stood at the kitchen door waiting for me to notice him for a good five minutes (perhaps patience equals a treat?), he came up to the lawn chairs to say hi at least five million times, he nuzzled my hand, slobbered on me, and even reminded me that sometimes my back is the best scratching post ever.

I don't think my "most favorite handsome pony ever" likes to be fussed over and or rather put on display. I think what Patch was telling me was "I love you, and you, you can do whatever you'd like so long as it does NOT include random people coming into my room and fussing over me as if I am a barbie doll pony, I'm over that, retired remember??"

Shorty, Apache, or Patch has served so many people. At twenty (give or take a year) I think that if anyone deserves to kick back and "do nothing more than be a horse" it's Patch. Normally, I don't ask him to do much more than be Patch, and he knows it.

Normally, he doesn't have to work so hard to tell me something so simple.

Lesson (or rather lessons) learned, again...

Read More

Tiny Budda experiment part one

In one of the daily Tiny Budda emails that come daily (if you are wise enough to subscribe) there was a list of questions. It took me eight days of off and on thinking to answers these questions, oddly enough the answers I put down were no different then the answers I had eight days ago. What I was pondering all those eight days was more how to phrase the answers as opposed to what the answers really were. I answered them this evening, short and simple. I resisted my urge to elaborate on each answer, instead I emailed them back, in the short version, to the friend that originally sent me the email (it was before I was wise enough to subscribe myself!).

I'm going to use the blog to elaborate on the questions, one by one. They are great questions, questions I'd recommend answering. I am also dying to elaborate on the questions, hence the "Tiny Budda experiment".

The first question is simple.

1. Why are you here?

My answer was equally simple, to learn.

I believe that we are all here to learn, I believe pieces of us return after each visit and continue to learn. I believe that our final journey ends only when the lessons have all been learned, makes for a long journey if you think about the number of possible lessons.

I believe this life is teaching me over and over the value of patience, of acceptance, of love. I believe it is my responsibility to learn those lessons and use them to show others, and myself, that it doesn't have to be so very hard; hard in this case identifies an approach, a stance, a view.

I've heard, and some of you have probably heard as well, that there is no "easier softer way", I believe that. I've always believed that, I've also always warped that into "one must learn the hard way". I've used that to dismiss the very core of my belief system, there is a gentle way of life.

I'm learning that gentle does not necessarily mean "easier and softer"; neither does gentle mean weak.

If one day I can take these lessons in gentleness and help one living thing see that life and love alike do not have to hurt then I suppose my "job" this time around will be done. Perhaps next time around the gods will appreciate that they taught me this time with very little capitol and give me a better paying lesson next time around :-)

Read More

Moods and the like

Ever have one of those days where you didn't do much more than go from one mood to the next, generally before you had time to process said mood? I am not even sure why I insist on processing moods, I just do. Today was one of those days and currently the mood is very good. It's as if I've had too much and too little on my mind at the same time to make much sense of anything today.

So that's what we're doing, we are processing the various moods that flitted through my world today. I am working very hard at understanding my moods these days, as opposed to controlling them which often ends with the opposite result.

I suppose one of the benefits of being kicked off the island is that I now have time to sit back and think about these moods, or feelings, whatever term you are most comfortable with. I've found that the self reflection that comes almost without thought lately is both funny and enlightening in many cases.

I was kinda down in the dumps this morning, dreading "having" to go clean up the Kingston pasture, complaining about "having" to go to the grocery store. There was no real reason for me to take my mood out on the pasture or Albertsons for that matter because frankly I liked them both. I wasn't pissy cause I "had" to go to the grocery store and I sure wasn't pissy cause I "had" to go to Kingston, see two of the most beautiful horses I've ever met and spend an hour and a half exercising in the fresh air. I was pissy cause I wanted answers to questions that likely have no answers yet. That being said, I know the answers will come, I anticipated a slow process before the asking. It still makes me a little nutty and prior to my island departure I'd attempted to "control" these moods/feelings. The resulting behavior would likely have been the same, I'd have bitched about "having" to clean the pasture about "having" to go grocery shopping however I would not have thought so hard about why I was being so pissy. I'd have been pissy in my head, all by my lonesome, perhaps snipped at someone whom didn't deserve it or toss out a sarcastic remark at, or about, someone that didn't deserve it and pretend it was stress, and likely congratulate myself for my very sharp (and sometimes hurtful) wit.

Today however I thought about it and realized I was simply anxious for the answer to a question I didn't expect an answer for right away.

It helped that a friend sent me the littlebudda.com email about patience and waiting.

It helped that I've started this process of trying to understand rather than control.

I did not enjoy grocery shopping however it wasn't the act that I didn't like today; I've always loved to grocery shop. I've always loved to cook but I LOVE to grocery shop, always have. I didn't like it today because the budget wasn't "pretend", it was real and that pisses me off. It's been a long time since the budget was strict and not simply a guide line for my math games in the grocery store aisles. And that my friends pisses me off, I understood that standing there trying to decide between seven pounds of apples vs. five pounds of carrots. I felt much better once I got it; I didn't like it anymore than I did before the realization but I felt better.

I always enjoy Kingston and today was no exception. I understood what the problem was there well before I turned in the drive and hauled the wheelbarrow out of the truck. I started feeling all "poor me" about money and questions left unanswered and drifted into "and now you have to go shovel shit, lovely". I even spent half of the drive trying to come up with a cute t-shirt that stated something along the lines of "I might shovel shit but I sure don't take it". Silly no? Yes. It's not about money, it's not about shoveling shit, and the situation is a far cry from "poor me".  I still went there for about half the drive. I did however understand my silliness; I resent this starting over bullshit etc etc. And sometimes even though I chose this starting over bullshit I get pissy about it. I did cheer up the minute I pulled in the drive and unloaded the wheelbarrow because honestly there is no where I'd rather be then taking care of "the ponies" and sucking the joy out of that for myself was downright hurtful.

After I finished in Kingston I went to a consignment store I had driven by many times. I have no jeans that fit right anymore. Well I have one pair that I feel decent in and maybe three others that technically fit; one of which fits for about five minutes than sags off my ass and two that I've hated since I made the mistake of buying them about four years ago!

I debated if I ought to stop, did I really "need" jeans? I don't go anywhere, I can do laundry every day if I want to (not that I do), no one cares but me that my jeans are falling off my ass. I stopped, I care and today that is enough for me. I don't care to the point of hurting the finances however I was talking a consignment store.

Long story short, after I stopped arguing with myself I pulled a couple pair of jeans into the dressing room, one was too short in the leg and one fit perfectly. I put the one pair back and paid a mere 10.85 for the pair that fit perfectly. There is nothing that feels better than a good fitting pair of blue jeans in my opinion. I was pretty damn proud of myself and unfortunately part of that pride came with the size of the jeans I had tried on.

Now I would have basked in the delight of a size three all the way home, not allowing myself to think too much about it. Actually that's bullshit, I did not want to think about why I was so pleased cause the part of me that refuses to shut up these days knew exactly why I was dancing about in the truck cab holding a bag that contained a new size three.

My mom called me before I could put the damned bag on the seat and start the truck. Eventually I mentioned that I "had" to buy jeans cause none of mine "fit me right" anymore. I hadn't gotten out of the parking lot before she was calling me on my bullshit. I offered up everything I could think of to counteract her point which was, there was still a part of me that LOVED buying a size three, and I hadn't even told her the size I bought (still haven't).

I blamed my brothers for calling me "Carol the Barrel" when I was a kid, causing this odd body image problem. She laughed and suggested perhaps it was control and not "the boys". I suggested that perhaps I wasn't losing weight just "redistributing" the weight. She laughed and told me that at least I wasn't claiming to weigh more than I did. I pointed out that physically speaking I did a lot more these days and we both agreed.

She was right, it was always control. The only difference today is that I am not controlling my weight (the inside) because I can't control the outside world. Today I know what I am capable of doing to myself so I don't "accidentally" or "subconsciously" drop weight.

I walked away (drove home) from that conversation knowing a few things, the obsession won't ever really go away however it does not have to hurt me. I can see it for it is and although I still think it's super cool to slip on a size three it is not who I am, it's not who I have to be, and if it is what my body is today I can sleep well knowing it's largely due to exercise and only a fraction is about control.

That's growth in my book :-)

Read More

Trees

This morning I caught Sam's cold,
Ronnie Dun singing about life these days,
and suddenly your face staring at me through the trees

The trees will be forever changed now

I can't decide if it's your face or her father's
too many minutes studying through the different panes
has left me confused and grieving

for the trees that are no longer simple
trees but pictures of your face
or his, back before you both left

Read More

Self restraint is the worst

I want to write about something that is not ready for the blog so instead of staring at the blank page I'm gonna go right ahead and post a complaint!

I absolutely dislike having to restrain myself and tonight that's about all I have to say!

Read More

Kingston Ponies & doing what needs to be done

I have been cleaning up after the "Kingston Ponies" for a couple months now and wanted to touch on what they've done for me.

It's not fair to call them Ponies considering Davey is a good 17hh and Chopin as not far behind him, if at all. They are huge and make my crew look like ponies! I can literally stand under Davey's head and Not reach his chin, I'm not tall I am only 5'4" however...I've had the chance to stand under Davey plenty because he is the single most curious horse I've ever met. I am pretty sure he can't understand why I am so interested in the wheelbarrow I push around the pasture and not fawning over him for the two hours it takes to clean their pasture. The pasture is also huge, and beautiful, and peaceful, and one hell of a work out!

That's Davey, the wheelbarrow, and me. If I didn't know better I'd think he was trying to eat my head. He's not, he nuzzles every chance he gets.

In any case, Davey isn't the story really. The story today is "Doing what needs to be done"; it's a lesson most of us who grew up without the wonder that is Facebook and instant success learned as children. 

When I lost my job back in December (officially speaking it was Jan 1st; the official story and the reality are worlds apart) I sat down with about five different plans to never go back to software again. 

I'd say it was about four months into it when I realized one of my "plans" was all about software and that my heart simply wasn't there anymore. It was a disappointing revelation however it did lead up to meeting the Kingston Ponies. 

I very quietly posted an ad on Craigslist to do, what in my head was "below" my abilities, cleaning stalls. I did it quietly because I was embarrassed; had I fallen that far? Was I seriously thinking this was a good idea? I tucked my embarrassment away and remembered that the ponies here didn't care what I did to earn the money that we needed to make sure they didn't suffer through my loss of job. The idea was to make enough on the side to support the ponies and beyond that I didn't really care. 

I'm no longer embarrassed at this idea of cleaning after other animals to earn my keep as the partner to the ones I have here at home. I am actually proud of the work I have done, to date, in this weird bizarre twist of my life; if one can be proud of cleaning various pastures and goat houses that is.

I am flabbergasted today (it's a good word not often used and it fits).  I go to Kingston twice a week and push around a good 200 lbs of shit for a good two hours up and down a hill that rivals the one at home. I go once a week and clean out a goat house that smells pretty rank being it is full of goat pee soaked straw (which is heavy by the way). I spend the better part of every day trying to work out how to turn this into what I want to do with my life, which is care for the ponies. I don't hate software or the industry that helped me get where I am today, I'm just done, tired, burnt out and not interested anymore. I think at this stage of my life I have the luxury of really examining what I want to do with my time, the software industry allowed that and I am thankful. I do not however understand the many walking around today as if they aren't required to bust their ass to get what they desire. It's as if everyone has forgotten that making a living is not always what you want it to be when you start out and sometimes you have to earn it by doing things that are less than ideal. I'm not special, I don't do anything extraordinary, I simply do what has to be done in order to support the life and the ones I have chosen to include in that life. What I wonder is, where did that belief go? 

I often wonder if it is the disconnect that has come with being "connected" through means that are not real. Actually that's bullshit I blame a society that has become so disconnected that we communicate more electronically then we do personally. It's not really a connection when it can all, so easily, be fabricated and is more times than not. You can't be in touch with reality when you are watching your life through a screen; I've done it, I did it for years. I lost touch with who I was for years, if that happens how can you be in touch with any other living thing? If that happens how can you possibly grasp what is going on around you?

We've created a selfish and entitled society that makes me shake my head more times than not these days. I'm  proud to clean the pasture of the Kingston Ponies today and I am proud of the work I do with the Goats on the Island. I'm no longer embarrassed cause it's honest, it's real, it allows me to be me, it reminds me every time that 80k a year was fantastic but it cost me millions in values to make it. 

Read More

How they saved me, The Conclusion

I came to live at the farm two years ago this Sept, six months after my brother died, and quite by accident. We were talking at work and a friend mentioned the farm house, we were prepping for a party hosted by our department actually. I jokingly remarked on how I'd love it, I had never seen it. What the hell would I do with a farm house anyway right?!

Well long story short I did see it, it was available for lease, and I felt strangely at peace when I thought about it. Plus, let us not forget Lexi, Leo's sister that I wanted but could not have if I stayed where I was off Totten. Always an angle (haha) however it sure wasn't horses at that time. Looking back, I had no idea, No Idea, what I was in for.

My younger brother came and looked at the farm with me one day before I moved in and when he walked in he looked right at me and said "yep this fits you". I figured he meant it fit because everything is just a touch out of wack, slightly askew, not quite perfect if you will, here at the farm. Perhaps he didn't mean that at all, maybe he's smarter than I think. I sure didn't think it "fit" me I just thought it was down right cute and whoo hoo there were ponies here BONUS! And it was out of the way, like you get lost coming here at least once, out of the way and quite frankly that appealed to me more than anything else.

I didn't instantly fall in love with the horses, they scared me. I thought my friend (whom owned the horses that lived here) was crazy to go walking around lifting up legs that reached my chest. I was definitely captivated by them but I didn't get really close. A treat now and again, mostly I stared in awe.

I watched my friend around them, I watched the horses when I thought they weren't looking and I studied every single piece of information I could get my little hands on. I really wanted to "know" about them. It's what I do.

P changed it all though. I can even tell you the day it went from, wow aren't they the coolest animal ever, to wow I can't imagine my life without them.

P is the greatest little mare. P could also be described as slightly stand offish I suppose. I've always thought of her as cautious. I've always had a respect for the way she holds herself. She has boundaries and if she doesn't trust you she likely won't come happily to you.

One day I was in the pasture talking to her and trying to pick a bunch of branches out of what I, still today, believe is the prettiest mane ever. I didn't really know if she'd let me and me being me, being unsure and nervous usually meant a physical reaction. "Sure lady stick your fingers in my hair when your knees are knocking together, great flippin' idea". Needless to say it instills zero in the way of confidence from a horses point of view.

The really funny thing is, I was never really afraid of them hurting me. I was convinced in my ignorance of them, I'd somehow hurt/damage them. That belief likely grew out of the residue left over from my sons escapades, after all hadn't I "damaged" him? The answer to that by the way is no I did not, knowing that however and believing that are worlds apart sometimes. I did not believe that two years ago.

That afternoon, picking branches out of P's mane, talking to her to ease the crazy nervous energy that refused to go away, I caught a glimpse of who I was without the residue.

And that's how the ponies saved me, they let me in. They trusted this knock kneed, shaken up mess and let me know that it was ok to love even when I was afraid.

Read More

How they saved me, Part One

A friend of mine recently remarked that it wouldn't be a bad thing to hear more about how the horses saved me. I say it frequently but never really explain.

It started about twelve years ago when my son was about 13, was in full swing ten years ago and didn't slow down, much less stop for me until just two years ago; a time period that has it's own story to tell.

My son has always had the uncanny ability to worm his way into most anything he wanted, even if it meant great fabrication. He really ought to channel that better but that's another story. In any case about the time he turned thirteen my son figured out how to work the "system", refusing to read meant books on tape in reading class, coming late repeatedly meant late start days, etc. It grew to unbelievable out of control proportions, ending with a restraining order that lasted two very long years. It quite literally ripped me to pieces; I was so incredibly wrapped up in being his mother that with that spinning out of control I was lost for a long long time. I did what any child of "dysfunction" would do and dove so deep into my job that my life became my work, my work was not my life; my life was work. There is a difference.

I ran on auto-pilot for a good decade.

It was actually moving to this side of the water that started what is more like coming out of a coma then it is saving my life. There was logic there, of course! Had I not worked at Avalara I'd never have moved over here, so thanks for that Avaland. I did however want the peace that I was sure would come from being on this side of the water. I was often in the middle of things, ok that's bullshit, I was smack dab in the middle of my son, his girlfriend, and my grandson. Amber had moved out with my grandson, my son had topped it off by vandalizing the home, tossing wild accusations, and getting arrested with charges that would ultimately result in a two year restraining order issued by the state for my protection. I think that was damned close to as hurt as I've ever been, it was also not long before my move to this side of the water.

I lived off Totten in Poulsbo with my cat for some time, enjoying this new found peace and field mice all at the same time when my Aunt Cheryl was killed. She was my mom's youngest sister. She was to me, well I idolized her. She was to me what I've always hoped to be to my nieces. It shook everyone badly in a multitude of ways when she died. There was also the sting of knowing that once again my son was incarcerated while his family fought a tragedy. There is a unique and unbearably sad feeling that comes with knowing that.

Leo came into my life six months after my Aunt Cheryl passed away. I don't think I loved anything more than I did that puppy.

I left him once to go on a trip to California to see an old high school friend and attend an "Anti-Valentine's Day" party; yep that's where my head was at! Anyway I left him in the care of my older brother because much to my disappointment flying Leo cost an arm and half a leg. I have a picture of my older brother and Leo sleeping on the couch when Leo was just a baby and my older brother was still with us. That was February two years ago. My brother died the next month, in March, alone, scared, and very cold in a river after running to something or from something for nearly his entire life. That picture is by far the best shot I have ever taken with a camera of any kind. My son, still gone, however the restraining order had run it's course by then and I was able to tell him of the news via a collect call. Again, unbelievable feelings surround this kind of a mess.

It all sort of came crashing down on me when my brother died. It felt like years of grief pouring all over the place, my dad, my aunt, my brother, and all those years of grieving a son that I never quite knew would make it back. Hell I even stopped giving a shit about my work right about then. I tried to lose myself there, it's what I do, it didn't work. I still did the work, I simply didn't "care" so much anymore. It all seemed down right stupid in the face of what I was feeling.

Leo, with his constant attention, crazy antics, and unrelenting love let me heal. That's really the bottom line, he sat on my lap and let me cry. He quite literally licked the tears from my face on more than one occasion.

I'm not going to sit here and tell anyone that they "literally" saved my life however without Leo I'd have found something to lose myself in and it probably wouldn't have been all that good for me. Leo gave me purpose I suppose plus caring for him didn't mean losing myself. He just let me love him and in that I started beginning to heal.

Read More

Patch, I apologize in advance

I'll skip the whole "wow I suck at updating this blog however I've been busy..." routine.

Tonight is a big night, we're gonna clean Patch's sheath. Nope never done it, nope not looking forward to it, yes I will have the assistance of someone who has done this before not to mention recently.

My stomach drops at the thought of this little undertaking. Just a tiny catch of the breath each time I think of it, just enough to remind me that I love that little guy beyond reason. He makes me smile every day, his morning hello is something every lonely or lost person in the world should be privy to; I quite literally thank the stars for every day that he's in my life.

All that being said, I also know Patch pretty well. I have no fears of him kicking out or anything of the sort. I'm pretty sure he's gonna be insulted though. I'm also pretty sure he's going to assure himself that he was right; I am a sissy pants, tree hugging, bleeding heart, worry wart and he'll likely use that to justify the silent treatment that will follow. I am absolutely not kidding.

Describing Patch is hard for me, he's so many things and my gosh does he have personality.

He comes to the door and waits for a treat, he only leaves if Tex comes by and then once Tex leaves he'll go back to standing vigil. He knows it works and he's in no hurry. He isn't afraid of Texas, he won't however waste his time with Tex's constant flexing. He simply moves out of the way until Tex is done prancing about as if he is the VIP of the group. That little dance goes on a lot around here and if you watch closely you can catch Patch's eye when it's happening, he is all but rolling his eyes and muttering "kids these days..."

He chases Leo, he doesn't chase Leo a lot and he doesn't ever over step when he is chasing Leo. He stays right on Leo's butt, just close enough to catch Leo's attention but never close enough to actually mis-step and land on Leo. He puts his head down, pins his ears and prances after him, it does in fact look a little like a prance. I think it only happens when Patch has had it with Leo's firm belief that he is actually the VIP of the group.

The horses are allowed in the yard, it's fenced and I like it so I don't much care anymore if it seems odd to have three horses wandering the yard. They like it too, there is some yummy grass in the yard. Anyway when they are wandering the yard the stalls are typically open as well. They will each go in the barn and check out the stalls a few times. When it's close to dinner they will go in and out checking for hay, when hay is in there for dinner they will go in, look at the hay, look for me, take a bite and debate staying and eating or grass in the yard. That's a fun one to watch but I digress...

If (during the yard wandering) Katie goes in her stall (she's in the middle) and Patch is around he will shut her door with his nose, no he can't lock it but I suspect he would if only he had thumbs!

If I feed them in the pasture and Patch is tired of the "pile hopping" that goes on he will look at you as if to say "seriously if I could pick up this pile and move it away from these two I would...".

He tells on Texas, frequently.

He acts like he HATES his blanket. He stands there and lays his cute little ears down and looks at me like I'm a ... (see above sissy pants remark).

He acts the same way when I go in his stall and hug him and brush him.

But he is the first one to come say hi, he's the first one to say good morning, he will lay his head on your shoulder so long as no one is watching and he might act like he hates the brushing and primping but he sure moves into my hand when it's happening! He might think I am a big sissy pants worry wart but he loves me anyway.

Maybe we'll have a little talk about things that are "for your own good" today. I don't have much else planned! I'm sure once he is done being insulted and Saturday rolls around (yes I know it's only Thursday, remember the silent treatment) all will be well, not to mention clean!

Read More

Herd bound

Today as I was getting ready to go to my brother's house for dinner I went wandering through the barn. Checking water buckets that had been checked five minutes before, kicking around the pellets in the stalls I cleaned earlier in preparation for this incredible trip that would take me away for a good five hours, divvying up hay for their "first half" of dinner knowing that I'd call Dale and ask him to give it to them cause I wouldn't be home by 5pm, I realized...I am herd bound.

In my defense I did manage to clean the excess mud from my boots. I even thought about make up (in that I stuffed a bottle of foundation in my purse) I never applied it.

I had a lovely time at my brother's. I was able to see my grandson, I got to see my grand niece and nephew. We had a wonderful dinner of steaks on the grill, multiple salads and a good bunch of laughter.

I missed seeing the ponies through the window while I ate.

I wondered where the "me" that thrived on cell phones, noise, traffic, and a constant connection had gone. I also wondered when I stopped missing her.

I remembered the smell of the barn while I yelled to the kids not to play in the street, which was really a street, and I shook my head.

I had changed, or maybe I had just stopped pretending.

The animals, somehow, have given me permission to honor who I am. And now, now I am herd bound. Had I been able to call for them as I left the drive I probably would have. If I had I am sure they'd have called back because really it is that simple with them, and these days (thank goodness) for me as well.

Read More

What I've learned in the last 90 days

To say the last Ninety days have been challenging would be an incredible understatement. There are days where I don't even know where to begin then there are days when I'm sure I've already begun and it's just a matter of catching up to myself.

I remember when I had my son twenty five years ago, you probably couldn't have found a more confused and desperately seeking something young woman in the whole state of California. Replace the young with accepting middle age and the California with Washington and I suppose that would be a pretty darned good picture of where I have been for the last three months.

I know a few things today that I didn't know last December, most importantly I know I am an awful lot more than my "job". Or maybe I finally figured out that "jobs" are really all they ever were. My mom has been telling me that for the last five years or so while I continued to obsessively lose myself in one piece of software or the next. Not out of character, it took me a half a decade to get it.

I've learned that people are afraid of change even when it is not their own.

I've come to understand that some changes skip a few chapters and find you with a life you'd never expected. I also understand that the person I was minutes before the pages flipped deserves a grieving period. I'm still trying to learn how to give that to her with a touch of grace.

I've found that working my muscles after years of not gives me great satisfaction. Today I lose myself in the art of strategically dumping the wheelbarrow instead of trying to find myself in the puzzle of someone else's problem. There is a simple closure there that is hugely important to me right now.

Today I almost accept that no matter how perfectly I plan, no matter how many times a day I crunch numbers the reality is it really could all fall apart any second of any day. Knowing that and continuing on is, in my opinion, the only thing that sets us apart from the animals that inspired this blog. Having the strength isn't really where I falter, it's the faith. It's getting there.

Again that brings me back to the animals. I look at them and somewhere in me I know this will all be fine. Somewhere in them there is a faith that keeps me hanging on. Pretty sure that sounds nutty because I am talking about a dog, a cat, and four horses saving my sanity :-) I suppose you'd have to take a ride in the car with Leo, rub Tex's teeth, help Patch find a private place to eat, kiss Katie on the nose, and have Amber lay her head on your shoulder to really understand. There is a level of trust and faith there that is, unfortunately, rare in the world we live in. I know today that I want that in my life always, selfishly, humanly because it allows me to have faith even in the face of what I know could happen in the blink of an eye.

Read More

Proper Voice

I often struggle to put the horses to words. How do you describe what it feels like to walk up to the gate and be greeted with a curiously large nose? How can you put to words the feeling that follows you as you run a brush through a tail that reaches beyond the length of your leg? How do you explain what it feels like to have an animal four times your size lay it's head in your lap? How can you possibly put to words what happens when a they look at you with eyes bigger than a Montana sky?

I try, and often fail, to express the depth of feeling that surrounds the horses. Tonight Amber laid down in her stall when Dale and I were still up at the barn. I happened to be in her stall when she finally did lay down and while we did not spend a half an hour laying together in her stall she did allow me to hold her head, nearly in my lap, while she rested.

There is something that borders on sacred when love, without judgement, is laying in your lap. One day I might be able to give it all proper voice; tonight I will relish the warmth that has followed me from the barn and try again tomorrow to find the woman that has the words that can describe the love that follows the ponies to sleep every night.

Read More