Backwards in time

It should be no kind of secret to anyone who knows me, reads this blog, or follows me on Facebook that I love many things, but I especially love history. Living as I do in central Virginia, I'm pretty much in the cradle of the beginnings of this country. From the Jamestown colony, to Colonial Williamsburg, to the American Revolution, the writing of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the White House, the Civil War, and many, many more of the most significant locations, houses, battlefields, and events of American history exist within a day's or less drive of my house. I've been to many of these places, but a significant amount of time that has passed since I have had a chance to visit many of them again.

It's spring break week here, and with three kids, I like to plan at least one structured activity or day trip for the week. We tend not to travel much, so day trips are perfect. The original plan was to go to Washington, DC, about two hours away, and visit a couple of the Smithsonian museums, a place very dear to my heart. Alas, the fickle spring weather in Virginia wasn't conducive to a fun trip. Instead, we opted for a trip closer to home, to Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson.

TJ's place is situated on over 2,000 acres on the top of a small mountain just outside of Charlottesville, Virginia. We opted for the guided tour of the house, but toured the grounds and gardens ourselves, maps in hand. Noah was especially enamored of the map and took great care to make sure he knew where we were, and compared it to the illustrations on the map, at each stop we made. He loved it!

The view is stunning, even on a cloudy, cool, and otherwise dreary day. Our guide told us Jefferson had no outbuildings built at Monticello so he would have a completely unobstructed view from the house.

All the dependencies are built into the terraces under the house -- the kitchen. smokehouse, stables and carriage house, house slaves' quarters, and storage rooms are underneath wings of the house. The vegetable garden is immense and beautiful, as well as the vineyard and berry patch. Behind the house, the west lawn is expansive and bordered with tons of flowers -- tulips, daffodils, and hyacinths now in the early spring. The kids were all over the place, loving the peek into the kitchens and other dependencies, especially those with artifacts like dishes and bottles and sewing tools.

Inside the house, no photography (as with most house museums), so I can't share the wonderful things inside the house. Jefferson truly was a genius, in the layout and decoration of his home. Floor to ceiling windows, alcove beds, and huge skylights in octagonal rooms were my favorite. The details are simple and amazing, even down to the molded friezes over the doorways. His dining room is Mars yellow, a shockingly bright color that makes the room just glow,`and the tea room off to the side, surrounded by windows, is where I would spend all day, if I could. Our excellent guide told us that 60% of the furniture and artifacts in the house actually belonged to Jefferson, including some of his books. Oh! The books! Two shelves of his own personal books, plus hundreds of others that were of the era. Shelves and shelves of books in his library. And all I could think as I walked through the house was, Thomas Jefferson actually lived here, walked here, held these books, slept on this bed, wore these riding boots, sat in this chair....

And his books and papers, things he actually touched, silhouettes of family members that are hanging still on the walls in the South Square Room, it makes me want to see everything they have in the collection. I know because I work in a museum that there is so much more not on view to the public that is held by the Monticello Foundation and in the Thomas Jefferson library. Can you imagine? Ledgers for the farm and plantation, recipes, correspondence, sketches...I could sift through the papers and artifacts for days without getting bored. Our tour guide was really good, and I soaked in all the information he was telling us, and his enthusiasm for the place and the stories, and I just felt so happy. One of my favorite things about working at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts is getting to tell people who come on my tours all about the history and the stories behind the works of art. I would love to teach in a house museum, too. I think I love material culture and archival 'stuff' -- papers, photos, other ephemera -- as much or more than I love the artworks. It's the stories about people and how they lived and who they were that fascinate me.

Some days I know I really missed my calling. I should have gone to library school, or gotten the history degree I had planned on. I would love nothing more than for my second career to really be about my passion for preservation and history and the stories of the people who came before us.

I hope I at least pass on some of my interest in history to my kids.

Come to Jesus

So, Joe, who I have been riding since right before Christmas, and who I am now leasing for my training and competition mount this year, and who I spoke about in this post, well...he and I have been having a little difficulty seeing eye to eye on this whole work thing.

It's a challenge, sometimes, to handle a BIG guy who doesn't think you've got the stones to make him do the job he is signed up to do in this life. Given that he's rather opinionated as it is, and then he discovers his new regular rider is....me....coming off a bad fall with injury, and trying to get my balance and strength back, and learn the buttons to push to get Joe to work at the level he is capable of, well, sometimes it doesn't go as planned. Like anything with horses, really.

A few weeks ago, he started stating a very strong opinion about actually going forward when asked to do so by his rider. This opinion he made known by kicking out with one hind leg or another, and if the rider were persistent enough, he'd plant his front legs and throw in a huge buck. He declared working as a school horse to be completely out of the question, and then he decided that that short, middle-aged woman with the loud red hair was not possessed of the mettle necessary to convince him he really needed to do his job.

I started to worry maybe the universe was trying to tell me something, after a string of other mounts just didn't work out in a pretty persistent and obvious way. I started to worry that maybe he hated me, or that I was annoying him in some way, or that he was just not for me. Then, worse, I started to think that maybe I *didn't* have the stones necessary to be the pack leader, so to speak. Bucking isn't always a big deal, but it can escalate, and I've been bucked off enough to know how much it hurts, and how easily a horse can throw you off their back if they want to. THEN I started to worry about getting hurt again. Joe is HUGE, well over sixteen hands, and the distance from his back to the ground seems like falling off a building. But I knew that attitude, keeping that fear in my mind, would color every ride I took from here on out, no matter the mount.

And I don't want to be a timid rider. I don't see myself as someone who can or will just get on any horse at all, but neither do I want to be limited by my own brain to horses who don't have at least a little brilliance in them, if that makes any sense. So, with the help of my fabulous trainer, we set out to solve this issue. It took a team on Sunday, people cheering me on, encouraging me, my trainer getting on, a couple people to work with Joe on the longe line, and then me getting back in the saddle and reminding him how this whole situation was going to go. I got off after we did some nice work together, and although my legs were jelly with nerves, I knew I could handle him.

My weekly lesson was today, and my trainer warmed him up for me, through a couple of bucks and a bit of resistance. When I got on, I just grabbed mane and let him know I was running this show. One buck and a little bit of horsey whiny drama, and we were working together beautifully. It was incredible. I felt him just like I did back in December, before I got hurt, all smooth and rhythmic and forward. I could stay with him, sit up tall, hold my position, tell him where to go and how to arrange his feet and it was beyond wonderful. I could feel myself riding, really riding, instead of bracing for drama or getting flopped around like a sack.

My confidence shot up tremendously. I felt like I could ride and ride and ride forever. I can make plans for the show season now, and think about the things we will do together. One good come-to-Jesus meeting in the Church of the Arena, and we are well on our way. It turns out I *do* have the stones, and they are big ones. Today I (re)learned to never underestimate what I am capable of in the right setting.

I love this guy. 

New Year, New Perspective, New Horse

Well, 2015 did not start out the way I had hoped, what with a fairly significant riding accident, and what I planned to be doing this month has not yet come to fruition (lots and lots of riding). 2014 definitely was the Year of the Horse for me, even though I didn't end up purchasing my own horse as I had hoped. I rode more in 2014 than I have in years, and improved so much, that I am thrilled. I even lost a whole bunch of weight (just about 18lbs), which I am desperately trying to keep off during this month of forced (relative) inactivity.

Since the early spring of 2014, I have been focused on improving my dressage skills, and because of the generosity of a new friend, I was able to lease Silver's Destiny, a 14h Welsh/TB cross pony mare with the capability of First Level work. It took a while for us to build our partnership, but we were able to do some really good things together, earn some respectable scores, win a couple of classes, and try out the First Level work. Unfortunately, she and I are not continuing into 2015 together, but I have been so very grateful for the opportunity to ride and care for her for the large majority of last year. I can't wait until the Virginia Dressage Association - Central Chapter end of year banquet tonight to find out how we did in the placings overall for Introductory Level!

Toward the end of the year, I started riding a mare, Something Victorious (AKA Flicka), a 15.1h Arab/TB cross that belongs to my trainer. Beautiful, forward-moving, graceful, she was MUCH different than Destiny, and I loved riding her. Another teenage girl at the barn has been riding her for the past couple of years, too, and I considered taking this mare on for 2015. A little less well-schooled, definitely NOT bombproof in the least, but still safe and willing. We did some nice work, rode out on the trail, and I never had a problem catching her in the field. I rode her in the last schooling show of the season, receiving not-terrible scores, and learned what to do when your horse totally freaks out during your test (answer: keep moving forward). She is the mare I was riding the Sunday after Christmas when I fell. Totally NOT bombproof, indeed.

I also rode my trainer's gelding, Reiner, a Dutch WB/Arab cross, about 16.something hands, grey, lovely mover who covers some serious ground. A little lazy when he isn't fit (and he isn't fit, really), but comfortable and fun to ride. He's TALL, and it's been so long since I rode a horse over 14h that he feels like a skyscraper, but I like the way I look on him, and he seems to fit me. I've only ridden him maybe two or three times -- once in a lesson -- but I think he might be my guy. Not loving the Arab in him, since I generally think Arabs are nutty, flighty creatures (and this was fairly proven the Sunday after Christmas...), but the warmblood part of him seems to be more prevalent. Of course, I rode him in a lesson, we did some First Level work, and then he was lame. Thankfully, it was only an abscess, which blew out of his heel a week or so ago, and now he is fine. He'll be who I get on, when I get back to riding.

And so far, tentatively, that day is Tuesday, January 27th. I'm going helmet shopping with a friend on Saturday the 24th, and then on Tuesday, I will ride. I can hardly stand it, the not riding. Thursday, I spent part of the afternoon watching my trainer and others have their lessons with Debbie Rodriguez, and I just wanted to ride so badly. Ugh. Soon, soon.

2014 was a great year for my riding. I can't believe how different I look, how much better I have been riding, and how much things have changed. I found two pictures of myself that Travis took, one in April of 2014 and one this past December. I was completely astonished by the difference in the way the photos look. Two different horses, yes, but everything about me is different in the December photo. Amazing. That's what good instruction and lots of practice gets you. Thanks so much, Wanda. I'd never have gotten this far without your excellent guidance. I can't wait to see what I look like at the end of 2015!

Falling

On Sunday, I was riding. The horse I was riding, not unfamiliar to me, spooked at a dog in the trees next to the ring, and I fell off. We had been cantering, and so falling at that speed resulted in some injury. I hit my head, and my back and hip very hard. There is one small section of the sequence of events that I cannot account for, and it all happened so fast that I am not sure I can't remember it because I hit my head, or because it was all so quick. I remember the feeling of Flicka spooking and shooting off to the side, and then I remember seeing the sand of the ring rushing to meet me, and the split-second "OH SHIT" moment that always accompanies realizing you are falling.

After that, it was all pain, and the awful moment of thinking I just wanted to take a nap.

I know I rolled around in the sand for a few seconds, calling to my friend that I couldn't breathe, trying to find a position that didn't hurt, knowing I could not get up. I thought I was bleeding from my back, I tried to sit up, but almost passed out. I laid in the cold and wet sand of the arena for a while, covered with horse blankets and a saddle pad under my head. My friends came to sit with me, three of them nurses, and one a doctor, plus others who were there and came to help. I cried. It was scary, and I knew I had hit my head, but I remembered my husband's phone numbers so someone could call him. I remembered I wasn't wearing my ID bracelet, because I had taken it off to go to a fancy party at the museum. The ambulance came and took me to the hospital. I had a CT scan and tests, an IV, X-rays, multiple neuro checks. I was admitted for overnight observation.

I'll probably say this again...and again....but this is my page and I can say it as many times as I want to. You don't have to listen.

Yes, I'm a Helmet Evangelist.

Me, riding Flicka  (Something Victorious)
November 2014

No, I would not even consider *sitting* on a horse without a helmet on my head.

I cannot, I mean, really CANNOT, fathom how *anyone*, English discipline, Western, Saddleseat, whatever, would ever consider riding without a helmet. I simply cannot grasp it at all. In fact, the helmet use issue is one of the things that utterly turns me off of SCA riding, although I know some folks do wear, and advocate for wearing, helmets at all times. The ones that don't are usually the worst riders with a very inflated sense of their own competence.

I've heard the arguments -- "I'm very experienced... this horse is SO QUIET... I am an adult and I can handle the risk...this horse is bombproof... we're only walking... I don't jump/we're not going to jump... this horse isn't very tall", or my personal favorite chunk of BS, "Helmets can make your injury worse/give you whiplash/some other stupid argument about helmets making it worse".

I'm here to tell you that you can say whatever you want, but those arguments are crap when technology today produces lightweight, decent-looking protection that absolutely protects your brain. Absolutely. I know for a fact that had I not been wearing my helmet, I would have sustained a significant injury that would have had me in the ICU, very likely post-surgical, instead of home on my couch with my family. It would have given the neurosurgeon something to do instead of standing in the hallway,outside my space in the ER, being annoyed that some radiologist saw a speck of blood on my head CT films, and protocol dictates I be admitted for observation. Now, I love some neurology, and the guy was really nice, but I prefer he practice neurosurgery on someone else.

If you don't want to wear a helmet when you ride, that's fine, I guess. It ultimately *is* your decision. None of your arguments will sway me from my point of view on safety, and I reserve the right to think you are an idiot. When you are riding a bike, fine, go helmetless and take your risks. When you are riding a 1200 pound being with its own separate nervous system, goals, and ideas, put on a fucking helmet.

Or don't. I work in rehabilitation, so it just ensures my job security.

Believe me, I want to wear that top hat in the ring at the FEI levels, someday when I finally get to that level. It looks so damn spiff with the tailcoat and the shiny, braided, super-fit horse. But I'll be wearing a top of the line spiffy safety helmet instead (like world champion dressage rider, Charlotte Dujardin), because it only takes one fall, one horse tripping over its own feet, one mistake, one accident to change your life forever. I have too much to live for, and I wouldn't put my family through the horror of the ICU, then inpatient rehab, and the myriad of life alterations that would be necessary to accommodate my changed abilities.

I'm thankful that when I had my injury this past Sunday afternoon, I was riding with someone, that I was in the ring and not on the trail, that I could be attended to immediately. I'm also grateful that I happened to pick the barn with the trainer and other riders who are medical professionals.When I fell, I had two critical-care RN's, another RN, and an anesthesiologist right there to provide first aid, call the ambulance, provide specific and accurate information to the EMT's, and handle calling my husband without freaking him out.

I can't thank them enough. Really.

I'm not able to ride for a couple of weeks, and I definitely feel crummy. I might have to miss a favorite New Year's party, and I absolutely will not be able to participate in my tradition of riding on New Year's Day. All of that matters so little, though, in comparison to what might have happened had I not worn a helmet.

Above my finger, the crack in the foam where it absorbed the impact

To the right and left of the crack, the imprint of the straps that held the helmet on my head at impact

This retention harness is supposed to be attached at the sides of the helmet.
That it isn't means the impact was significant.

The color is abraded off the helmet where it skidded in the sand.

I'm so lucky.

Immortal

I think I was maybe 12? Maybe younger, when I first realized I was not going to live forever, that people did not just live forever. That seems old to be discovering that fact, but it's when I had my first experience with a family funeral -- the death of my maternal grandfather. I saw the ritual, the mourning, the disbelief and devastation that the loss of him wrought on my family, and it was odd to think he would no longer be around.

I think I was 30 when the *actual* realization of my mortality hit me. It was then that I made some significant changes in my life -- painful, difficult, with long-term ramifications -- but necessary, as I realized then that I did not want to live the rest of the time I had left in the manner I was living it.

When I was forty, well, that's when I got scared. Not by any particular thing, except the realization that this life, this very life that I was living, would end someday. By forty, I had had all my children, my career was stable, my marriage solid and joyful, and I was living the best life I could ever have imagined for myself. It was in that year, and in subsequent years, that 'things' started to happen around me. Not TO me, but near enough that I felt twitchy. Accidents, unexpected deaths, CANCER, irreversible changes in economic status, career, relationships...all to people I knew, people I loved, people in my sphere of acquaintance. It was, and still is, periodically, enough to make me want to hide. Or to do something reckless, because I'm going to die anyway, right??

Except I have come to the separate conclusion that there really aren't as many opportunities to be truly bad-ass anymore, once you've passed your thirties or so. Definitely by 40, the *chances* of badassery are much less, sadly. Not saying it can't, or doesn't, happen, it's just...less. Badassery in your forties is typically some level of insanity, and is described by others as such. Not that I much care for others' opinions at this point in my life. Although I do, sometimes.

But I digress.

I've come to make a level of peace with the fact that I will be gone from this earth one of these days. Hopefully not soon, and hopefully after my children are well-established in this world. I think the biggest fear of leaving is that I would hurt the ones I love, so I am trying to have as wonderful and fulfilled a life as possible, so that when I am gone, my loved ones can say that I lived my life to the fullest. It's a personal goal. I'm under no illusion that I will leave this world having done all that I really want to do -- that list is long, and monumental, and my personality is such that I am constantly finding new experiences that I want to be a part of. See my previous post about creating, for some of that.

It's pretty likely that I will live a long time more, at least another 40 or so years, given my family history, and my general good health. But I think the drive to create, to make things, make experiences, make memories, photographs, costumes, saddle pads, jewelry, dessert, essays....I think fundamentally all of that comes from a place of a desire for longevity, permanence, a legacy. On some level, I hope I am leaving enough of a mark. On another level, I know I am. Life is an adventure to be lived.

Prompting

It's been forever since I wrote here, and I again feel the spaces in my soul that contain my language-based experiences filling to overflowing. I've found that there are some things I "write" about in my head that never make it to the page. I want to write about them, and in my mind, I work out the text, the construct of the phrases, maybe even the accompanying images, but then....I never open the blog editor and fill the blank space with words and pictures. Sometimes I don't want to share. Sometimes I am being far too esoteric for my own good. Sometimes I just think people don't need to know that much about me.

Instead of trying to make up for the four months of adventures that have happened since last I documented them, I'm going with a writing prompt for this post. The short version of the last four months is thus, however, for those who are interested:

* I have stopped running regularly.
* I have lost fifteen pounds
* Wren and I have been riding in dressage schooling shows. I have won two classes, scoring higher than several actual other people.
* My mother has moved to Florida and is enjoying herself. I miss her, but I am thrilled for her!
* Kira adores her program at the technical high school she is attending.
* Noah reads chapter books in first grade.
* Wren is truly blossoming in confidence, skill, and maturity.
* Travis will graduate from the University of Richmond in May.

But that's not what I'm here to write about today.

To create.

If I had to pick a verb in the English language that captured my essence, I think 'to create' would be it. I have always closely identified with the meaning of the word -- "to bring something into existence". Whether it was mud pies and imaginary banquets, the stories and [embarrassing] poetry of my adolescence, or the concert dances of my early adulthood and the forays into making my own clothing, I see, with the clarity of an older adult, that I have always been compelled by an inner desire to bring something into existence.

Now, as a middle-aged adult, my time is limited by the demands of the family I created, and so my more typical acts of creation don't get practiced very often. My definition of 'create' is broader, and I think increasing the breadth of that definition has satisfied the soul-deep need for it. Now, I create gifts, and Halloween costumes, and small projects, but I also create whole holiday celebrations for my family, as well as possibilities and opportunities for them to do and be and make their own things. That is equally significant, even though I struggle sometimes to remember that creating isn't always about having something to hold in your hand at the end of the day.

Sure, as all my friends know, I like to do and make and practice many art forms. I lose count sometimes of all the crafts I know about and can do with reasonable competence. I think the act of creating is based in a desire for longevity, or replication, in some way. I worry a lot about time, and how much of it there is, and so creating something, especially a tangible something, leaves a small piece of me behind. I also think the creation impulse is fed by my rich inner life. Not exactly Walter Mitty-style, but I do spend a good bit of time in my head, imagining, working out problems, thinking things over. Making something real is a way to physically address what goes on in my head, in my inner experience of my life. I don't know if it's the same for all artists, but it is essentially this for me.

 Sometimes my life gets so busy I don't touch my fabric, or glass, or clay or paper, paint, ink, metals for weeks. But fall is always one of my most creative times of the year, and while I wrestle with scheduling and fitting everything in, some of the happiest moments involve planning a project, escaping to the sewing (painting, metalworking, drawing) room, and making something special for myself or my kids. Stay tuned for Halloween costumes, Christmas presents, and new stuff for myself and the ponies!

Right now, though, I need to create some breakfast.

SO Much Awesome

Last weekend, Wren participated in the county's club archery tournament at the end f the indoor archery season. She's been struggling with even hitting the target at her distance (I think 18m), not to mention handling the bow and getting the correct shooting posture and sequence. It doesn't help that she is literally the smallest kid in her club, either. She started the season trying to shoot the recurve bow like her big sister, but was convinced by the archery coaches that going with a Genesis Mini compound bow would be a better choice at this point. There were lots of tears and some stomping around about that, but once she hit the target a couple of times, I think she was convinced.

 So when she entered the warmup phase of the tournament, and failed to hit the target with any of the eight arrows she shot....well, the disappointment was evident on her face. However, she has never once thrown a fit or gotten overwhelmingly upset about her difficulty, not the entire season. It's odd to me, since I know she is very aware of what the other kids are doing, and she is definitely the type of kid to want what others have. My job, though, was to stay supportive, tell her I knew she was doing her best, and....just tell her how much I loved watching her shoot. The more I thought about it, and watched her, the more I realized just how amazing she was....not getting upset, just hanging in there and getting back up to the shooting line, time after time after time. Being happy for her small successes ("hey! It bounced off the ground and hit the target!"), and just enjoying the activity. I didn't teach her that, I don't think. She just came to it, enjoying an activity she has wanted to do since she saw the movie, 'Brave'.

It was impressive to watch that afternoon, her 'try'. And she was handsomely rewarded for it, with this:

A bullseye. Amazing. 

Her reaction was priceless (STUNNED!!), and even the parents around us cheered for her. Just a wonderful end to the archery season for her.

 Wren's coach, Melody, takes her picture with the bullseye shot!

And Wren happily tells her scoring partner that, yes, she DID shoot that arrow!

She also managed to earn her 'archer' rank patch, and that really motivated her to keep going. I'm so proud of her, not for the bullseye, although that was great, but for the quiet persistence she showed even in the face of failure. For repeatedly getting her bow and arrows and stepping up to take another shot, for assimilating as much coaching help as she was able to (which wasn't always much, she's 8 after all), and for trying to apply it to the next shot. For not getting frustrated, or wanting to quit. I'm so proud of her for all of that. I admit I didn't expect it, and I am thrilled to see that this orientation exists in her.

It's an understatement that sometimes your kids surprise you.

A month of losses and new beginnings

Yesterday was my 44th birthday, and as I remind everyone, it's also the 44th anniversary of the very first Earth Day, back in 1970. It's just a cool fact that I love about my birthday date, and it usually means nice weather, spring greenery, and time to be spent outside enjoying it all. Worship in the Church of the Natural Environment. I definitely did some of that, it was a gorgeous day!

Our family, as a whole, and each of us individually, has suffered a few losses this month, but we've also found ourselves at the start of some new beginnings, too.

Of course, we lost Quinn, early this month. Travis lost his foster mother to cancer on Good Friday. Several friends have also experienced the loss of loved ones. Our relationship with the owner of the barn we had been riding and boarding Cinnamon at really began to deteriorate, and because we felt the best option for us was to move Cinnamon to a new barn, we have lost Turkey, even though he wasn't really ours in the first place.

We're in the middle of some nice, new beginnings, though, too. I have found a dressage instructor I like, and a barn where there are lots of adults and some kids, and everyone seems really friendly and welcoming. Wren seems to have found a place at a large hunter barn with TONS of kids and ponies.

It became evident weeks ago that Wren was not receiving the type of instruction that she needed in order to progress as a rider, and I was not able to really study the riding discipline I wanted to study. So a change was necessary. It has really paid off; Wren even wanted to, and tried to initiate, the canter on her lesson horse last night! Amazing transformation in just about a month! What a difference from the terrified, tearful child who didn't even want to trot! Now she's talking about jumping, and wanting to take some dressage lessons from my instructor, too!

I'm really enjoying my lessons with my new trainer, even though I have not yet cantered and I'm still working on the Introductory level work. I *feel* like I am getting my basics under control, but in photographs Travis took today, I was astonished to find myself looking kind of crummy...fat...round...lower legs not as close to the horse's side as they should be...body angle too far forward....ugh. I have so much to work on. It's depressing. Not at all what I had hoped I looked like. Good grief, I hope I don't stay a damned flappy, chunky, sack-of-potatoes beginner forever.

...and these are the best pictures. I'm not posting the really fat and ugly ones....

Cinnamon joined some like-sized friends at the barn where I am taking lessons. She is settled in, and after an altercation (not serious) with a small pony gelding who was looking for love in all the wrong places, she is happily munching hay and has a new friend, Holly, the miniature mare. She's a part of things there, and seems happy and content. I am thrilled she is in a smaller-sized pasture that is close to the "action" so people will see her and be able to keep an eye on her.

Wren hopes to go "trail riding" on her this summer at the new barn. I hope we can do that, too. I've decided to lease the pony mare I've been riding in lessons, even though she is not even 14 hands tall. She's a cutie, and her name is Destiny. Interestingly, a blazon from my registered coat of arms is one of her markings -- a horse head. It's right on her hindquarters. My arms are effectively a horse head on a white diamond.

See? It's facing the opposite direction, but there it is.

So, things are looking up, even though there is still some residual drama and entanglements to untangle. Hopefully that stuff will be done soon. I hope the cycle of loss and pain is done for a while. It's exhausting.