NaNoWriMo Test 2

So, three days in and by my word count, I'm half way there.  (To 50,000 words in the month of November for those who have no idea what I'm talking about.)  I only wish I could guarantee such productivity everyday.  Alas, I know tomorrow morning is that most dreaded of days, Monday.  Granted, my Mondays are a great deal calmer than most, which must be why my Saturdays are so busy. They compensate.  Still, the world must go on, and much as I'd like, I can't just sit holed up typing for the foreseeable future.  Vitamin D is very important and horses like to be fed.  There are also those lovely stolen moments where I actually ride, but Saturday here was an absolute tempest.  It's hard to muster any desire to leave my characters and my computer when roofs are literally being blown off buildings.

Am I alone in feeling completely and totally drained after so much is poured into one goal?  I highly doubt it.  It would be ignorant, vain, or maybe both to think that.  A long time ago, I tried a theme of my posts mirroring Dixie Chicks songs.  I think somewhere in the Fly album there is a line "am I the only one who's felt this way."  I could be wrong.  I often am.  Perhaps not as often as I am forgetful, but, still, both happen with increasing frequency.

Right about now I'm battling with the idea of diving into the next crazy output or saving my breath for another day.  The only problem is: I know the world will be here tomorrow.  Horses will need to be fed, stalls will need to be cleaned, bills will need to be paid.  What I can't know with any real certainty is will Annie, Lee, Mary, and Peter be here?  Will I still know where they're going in the morning?  Do I dare risk it?  I think not, so adieu. 

Off to my solitary rambles I go.

BlytheLea
 

NaNoWriMo Test 1

It's official.  I've joined NaNoWriMo.  I'll admit, the idea of writing 50,000 words doesn't frighten me, but doing it on a time schedule, well, that adds a bit of spice.  If I truly want to be a writer, I need to know what it's like to write on a deadline.  Should be fun.  Sherlock Holmes shoots holes in his wall when he's bored, I join writing competitions.  Or riding ones, depends on what the season is.  But seeing as the last show I did, I put on, well, it's a long time until spring.  Here's to a fun time to all, and good luck to all those who need it!  Myself included.  However, these precious few words are taking from the final number tally goal.  And if I'm going to be wasting time, I should really be doing it with my horses.

Keep rambling on, world.

BlytheLea

Try, Try Again

There is a general conception of success and failure being defined by outcomes to certain events.  I tend to look at a bigger picture.  If I happened to fall off at my first horse show of the year, by most accounts it would be deemed a total failure.  However, by looking at the bigger picture, I saw what was to be gained from the experience.  My horse successfully (and because it was a schooling show I was allowed back on) cleared the obstacle in question, and we successfully finished all of the remaining obstacles cleanly.  Despite perhaps more logical thinking, the relative success of this endeavor has spurred me on to try bigger, better things.

A moment of back story though, to better understand where this is coming from.  My herd of horses, all five of them (minus one, plus another) have one thing in common.  In their lives with me, they have been asked to jump varying obstacles for the fun of it.  I once saw a bumper sticker that read Jumpers Jump for Joy.  I'll freely admit, that has not always been the case.  I have, at various times, been absolutely terrified by anything over three feet in height.  At one time in my life, it was a measly two and a half feet.  Again, logic might have dictated that I give up on jumping, perhaps even horses in general, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and so I endured.  After a terrible fall last year (over 3'9" fences) I was faced with the very real dilemma of continuing on as I had or trying a different path.  For six months I tried the different path of pure dressage.  Unfortunately, while I admire the principles of the sport and truly love the upper movements, to school only for Second Level or below was, in a word, boring.  I had my now 15 year old Thoroughbred learning piaffe, my Mustang freely offering airs above ground, but to go back and recover the basics made me venture back into those forbidden waters.  This time, however, when I came back to jumping, something had changed.  One would think, after the near back breaking (literally) fall I had endured, I would have freely moved on without looking back.  Such was not the case.  Instead, my Mustang and I are now poised to enter into the registered circuit, a world long held at arm's length due to the idea of failure and the sheer price of it all.  At home, we've jumped his height (he's 14.2 hands, so that would be a 4'10" fence).  My Thoroughbred mare has been allowed back up to 3'9" after accepting that cross rails can be noticed too.  The newest addition, a 17 year old Thoroughbred who is doubling as a lesson horse, has been taken up to 3'3".  The three foot glass ceiling, it seems, has finally been broken.

I suppose the point I'm trying to make in all of this, and since when have I ever made any sense for so long, is that simply seeing a pass or a fail on a single day is doomed to failure.  We cannot look at a single ride on a single horse and judge ourselves so harshly.  We have to be able to look back over the course of weeks and months, and, more importantly, we have to be able to look forward.  I have experienced truly soul shaking failure.  I was unable, after years of schooling, to complete my first Prelim event.  But then, after severe pep talks to myself, I managed to win a Prelim Combined Training class on the same horse.  I've fallen, had horses stop, and cried in frustration and self deprication, but today, I can only see the progress I have made.  If not for those failures, then the success of that 4'10" fence would not be so sweet.  I would not go out for the sheer joy of feeling the difference in my horses when the height surpasses 3'6" or 4'.  I would never have known that because I was not able to look beyond.  For all those who feel limited by their fears, or by past failures, stop dwelling on a single moment in time.  If you love what you do and can do what you love, then do everything in your power to do just that.  Believe me, it is well worth the effort.

BlytheLea

RIP Strabo Tempest aka Fence Destroyer Extraordinaire.   

Bittersweet Morning

It has been two weeks since last I blogged.  I was feeling the fresh exhaustion of doing the right thing and staying up most the night for it.  I thought that it would carry.  It didn't.  The horse I was caring for passed away after two days of recurring colic.  It was a blow to everyone involved, and it has only been in the last few days that I've been able to move past that cold, bitter morning.

Let's be honest, though.  Life is called a circle for a reason.  And I will never forget the kindness and empathy that surrounded all of us affected in the days that followed.  For that I am grateful.  Do I wish it had happened in some other manner?  Of course, only a fool wouldn't.

But if there is one thing to learn in love and loss, it is that we are not alone.  There are people out there who will come out of their way to bring you a pick me up cup of soup in freezing weather. Others who go and bring you back hot chocolate simply because your day has been so very terrible.  And these people are not my family.  They, too, came to help heal the breach.  But what is important here is that people do the right thing.  More often than not, our inner humanity can help bridge what may seem an insurmountable hole.  If we think of anything beyond our day to day lives, let it be in how we can be better than the moment.  And if we can draw anything more to move on with, let it be that we are all capable of this kindness.  It falls upon us to do what is right when the moment calls for it.

BlytheLea

Attn: Potential Horse Owners

Okay, I'll admit, I am horse mad.  Utterly, completely.  I have altered my life to fit around my passion.  They are the reason I wake up in the morning, and the reason my weekends are usually centered around horse shows rather than social events with friends.  My mother credits horses with me turning out both normal (no drug, boy, or school problems) and "unique" (long story) at the same time.  She encourages mothers to get their daughters into horses.  And then my dad adds the caveat of the cost.

Forget the cost, my word of warning to potential horse owners, be you late in life enthusiasts or beleaguered parents, horses are more than just a trip to the barn on weekends.  When you buy one, they are with you for life.  It's like a marriage, for better or worse.  Of course, some people can buy and sell when the horse lives out its purpose, or find another home when the time comes, but not me.  To me, the horse becomes a part of the family, and you simply do not sell a family member no matter how annoying they are at the holiday dinners.  I don't mean to say that I haven't moved some horses through my life.  To better homes when they had gone as far as I can take them, etc, but my first and oldest, she's still with me.  The one who came after, that no one else truly understood, still with me.  My youngest, who isn't so young anymore, well, I will never live down how she was supposed to be a training project.  She still is.  Eight years later.  But at the same time, she is freakishly talented, and has developed into a near Prix St. Georges level dressage horse.  This from a thoroughbred who once had severe ADHD, is saying something.  I am so grateful for them all, but then there are the ones that you meet on the periphery.  The friend's horses.  The lesson ponies. The horses you care for when others are away.  It is a slippery slope, and leads more to a cliff than a hill.

And so, to add onto the previous warning, let me add one more. I run a barn/training facility when the instructor is out of town.  This includes regular care as well as lessons, and yesterday, one of the greatest lesson ponies of all time decided to colic.  I like her, I truly do, but spending fourteen hours in the sub 0 F weather was about  more than affection. It was a responsibility to make sure she got through the night.  It was a basic, deeply rooted concern that got me up at 2 in the morning to check on her and medicate her again, all the while giving her warm water and soaked hay from the bath tub in the house.  This, fair readers, is what horse ownership is all about.  It isn't about what you would spend or do for your own horse.  No, the true measure is what you would do for someone else's. Would you care for them as if they were your own?  Wait up long into the night even as the temperatures continued to plummet?  If the answer is yes, then congratulations.  I pronounce you ready to buy that horse.  It means a lifetime of love, frustration, and responsibility, but from my own experiences, every second is worth it.

BlytheLea

History Repeats

It is an oft misquoted saying of George Santanyans that"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it".  This applies to a whole world of topics, but today, it applies to Bo. 

My dad's Standardbred, Bo, likes to be annoying when he feels he's being left out.  This can mean anything from banging on his grain bucket, pawing at his gate, or trying to pick a fight with those around him.  On one memorable occasion, he started kicking at Samson, our Mustang, who truly couldn't care less, only to get his foot, Bo's not Samson's, stuck in the fence.  Before I could get to him, he had extricated himself, but his leg was sore.   By the next morning, it was more than double its size and he was lame on it for the next six weeks.  Just as he was recovering from that, he put his front leg through in a similar protest.  That particular injury only lasted two weeks. 

Now, I mentioned before that when not ridden regularly, Bo likes to become his naughty alter ego, Buck Bo.  As it was the holidays, I decided to wait for the hoopla to die down before dealing with his darker side.  However, this morning, there he was, his same back leg, swollen to twice its size.

Now, my Standardbred, Tanimara, has her own list of vices very similar to Bo's.  She has, rather memorably, been stuck under her barn wall, tried to climb a cross country bank to get to the grass while waiting to go into a dressage ring, and kicked her leg through a panel, only to get so tangled up that she ended up falling on the panel.  So, it isn't like she is some poster child for good behavior, but the saving grace for Tani, and where she differs so considerably from Bo, is in the fact that Tani, at least, learns from her mistakes.  It is not only the same issue with Bo, it is the same leg.  Which leads us back to my original point.  Bo, it seems, shall forever be condemned to repeat his own mistakes, because, as it stands, it doesn't like he's been learning.

Or, maybe I don't give him enough credit.  I know it sounds like I don't care for him, I do, but he can try a saint's patience, and, let's be honest, I am no saint.  Still, he can have a little sympathy, and, in what just might be his endgame, he won't be getting ridden any time soon.

Off to ride another day...

BlytheLea

Nothing Much...Right

So, in the dead of winter, with snow slipping to ice all around, what is there really to discuss in regards to the farm and garden?  Hmm...Nothing Much.

I had decided, though, that the easiest topic to continue on for long periods of time, the topic that occupies much of my daily thought and bores my family senseless, would be my horses.  With a new year comes a new topic, and from now until the foreseeable future, this blog will be about horses. 

To start off, I should give a quick introduction to my herd.  To make matters easy, we'll go by seniority.  Age before beauty?

Tani: Nearly my age, Tani and I have been together for over sixteen years now.  She was a flighty green Standardbred mare when I got her.  Now she's a flighty retired one.  She and I have one key element in common.  We are both accident prone.  For me, it's slipping on the porch and getting a concussion. For her, it's slipping in her pen and getting trapped under a wall.  We could share battle scars, and that conversation could last forever.  Still, aloof, quirky, and yet endearing, she was my first horse, and I am only to happy to be her retirement home now. 

Wish: Tani's best friend, Wish and I have an odd sort of relationship.  As a child, I always wanted Ginger from Black Beauty, not the story's namesake or Merrylegs.  No, I wanted the Thoroughbred with issues.  Well, be careful what you wish for.  Wish and I have done quite remarkable things together.  We showed Training Level Eventing, with two completions and one victory at Prelim level Event Derbies.  We barrel raced, got third at a show in Pole Bending, and she was the first horse I ever felt piaffe on.  Wonderfully talented, and yet perversely opinionated, I wouldn't trade her for the world, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish she was a little bit less like a cat and a little bit more like Black Beauty.

Bo: My Dad's horse, technically, another Standardbred, makes Tani look like she doesn't know how to be destructive and Wish look like she doesn't know how to express an opinion.  We call him Bucky Bo because every time he gets a reprieve from riding, he has to throw a few in the next time.  Sadly, his bucks are pretty pathetic, and he is easy to push on.  His habits are quirky, and usually endearing, but sometimes... Well, let's just say some days I don't mind he's not technically mine.

Samson:  Ah, Sam, words hardly describe this plucky, severely opinionated Mustang.  Pulled from the range at the age of three, Sam has more survival instincts than the rest of the herd combined.  He saves water, eats other's food before his, and has been called a thief.  Short, stocky, with an Andalusian's paces, he prefers piaffe pirouettes to collected trot, and levades to square halts.  He has more talent in one foot than most Lippizans have in their entire body.  He has also shown Novice eventing, jumped four foot courses, but it is his dressage that is truly spectacular.  When he wants to, which isn't often. He is my task master, my instructor.  Working with him is like playing chess with a master when I barely even know the rules.

 Mythriel: Finally, the relative youngster.  She's approaching fifteen this year, and her dark gray coat is now nearly white with plenty of speckling.  A compact thoroughbred, she has been known to have the attention span of a gnat, but a heart as true as any canine.  After all these years, she has finally calmed into a wonderful mare to work with.  She actually wants to cooperate, which, in my herd, is pretty rare.  She's tried her hand at eventing, going up through Training courses in schooling, she's done 3'6" courses at a hunter pace, but her dressage is my pride and joy, and now, after a year of painful crashes, our goal.  She can do every pace required of the two beat-ed variety, now if only we could get all of that out of her canter.

So, there you have it, the herd.  How we get through the winter will be all I talk about, which, if you knew me, would come as no surprise.  Pictures will come, especially of Sam. Believe me when I say, there is just nothing quite like him.  Signing out now...

BlytheLea