Enjoy Your Meal

I guess Maggie's been with us three months now. I've been working with her out in the barn area because it said online to make her life a living hell in the barnyard, so that when you go on trail rides, she won't be in a hurry to turn around anymore and go home. So she's getting lunged outin our little back paddock area and she challenges me sometimes but mostly she does exactly what I say. She's a quick learner. Smart, but strong. So I have to be firm.

She's also just a big fat pile of brown playdough. She'd much rather just stand there and stare at you and perhaps fall asleep. So maybe when I'm done and I've built the perfect horse, then we'll both just stand there and fall asleep.

I was having a bad day the other day and I went out to see her while she was eating. I laid my head on her fat side and told her whatever problem it was that I was having. Probably about how life is speeding by and how does anyone figure out what they're doing, or who they are or what's important or what makes sense.

And she lifted her head up from her hay to look back at me, chewing contentedly.

You should really try the food here, was her message. There's nothing else, Jule. It's simple. Enjoy it.

Tiny Steps

I know this has become the Maggie blog, but I haven't had much time to ride lately. I mean, we ride a bit every day - Monday Nathan stayed home sick from school, so of course I made him ride his bike while I took Maggie up the trail. Only when you're trying to keep up with a bike do you realize how incredibly slow this horse actually is. Much better to have your head in the clouds than in real time when riding her. And today I got on for ten minutes doing bending and circling in the street in front of our house and then I had to run pick up Lilly for school and on the way shovel a pile of horse poop in a bucket and stick it in the trunk so it wouldn't be in front of the neighbor's house where she had deposited it. Then I forgot it was in the car so when I went to get the kids at carpool, I actually had to REMOVE a bucket of manure from the trunk so as not to gag the 11 year olds.

Today was one of those really hard days - packing my mom (again) this time in smaller and smaller suitcases, getting her plane stuff worked out, getting her dog into the vet so she can fly on the plane, hoping she even gets on the plane since she's going standby, trying not to feel guilty for all the things we didn't do while she was here, everything rush rush rushing because we have 3 busy kids all the time around. Then Lilly saying (when I had to go to the vet), "Is she going to die?" because the last time we were there we had to take in old Maisie. Then I had to run to the gyno for a look under the hood, and all evening was spent in the garage and helping Nathan do an earthquake project for science. As well as cooking. And still I'm mad I didn't get on the treadmill because then I could eat more banana cream pie.

And life moves too fast and there's too much going on, and I'm not even rich or famous. And sure, maybe I spend too much time helping my mom because I'm hoping that she'll actually love me if I do it. That she'll find happiness. It is truly a ridiculous life.

I'm sure if she does get on the plane, I'm going to have a very strange adjustment period after all these years of trying to make her happy and content, and helping her, and now she'll just be gone. I hope I can think of ways to spend the time. Relaxing might be good. I was just starting to go crazy, too much togetherness and not enough nurturing. But I love her, but man, it's hard because I am passionate about things, and I can get really angry when people are stupid and don't do things my way. I may have some faults. Today at carpool I stopped to let Nathan out to buy some awful fatty snack from a street ice cream vendor and I didn't pull up enough and some lady (I hesitate to call her that) had to pull her car around me and yelled out her window, mad "White people!" Wow man, that hurt. Am I bad driver because I'm white? Or because I'm a bad driver? When I see all the Mexicans and South Americans dropping their kids off in all sorts of terrible areas around the school in the morning, do I think racist slurs? I think I do. It's a base instinct, easy to access. Then I realized the Armenian kid I like was blocking traffic as he got dropped off the other day too. So it isn't just white vs hispanic. We're all against each other. All nations, all skin colors - we are all bad drivers. I can celebrate that unity. And when I think racist slurs, I can realize, I, too, am a bad Mexican driver. It's love, man. Humanity.

Maggie is very, very fat. I sometimes sit on her while she's eating. Because she's the cushioniest chair.

The hay guy Sal dropped off the hay while I was having my ten minute ride this morning, and he stopped to say hi. I told him I was working on bending her because she was a little barn sour lately (feeling desparate, I can't keep going). I always hang on anything anyone says, so as not to give up. And Sal said, "She's doing great." So that bolstered me up. Sal says she's great, I'll keep going. Tiny steps, big swaying belly.

Limp Away, Jog Home

So Mags and I did the trail yesterday after a few days of bending and turning and getting her used to listening to the rider. And she was better about being barn sour - she did still try to turn around and go home, but I could win the battle easier than last time. I figure I'll work with her a few days on bending, then go on the trail, then more days on bending. Eventually she'll quit, and be the big dope I'm hoping for, where you get on, aim her at the trail and ride.

Our little work area is out in front of the house on the street, in front of God and everyone. We're the weird little couple who just go in circles and never get anywhere. But it is so nice to be on a horse's back, especially her fat back, it's like riding a couch. Everything is peaceful up there because there I can't do anything for anybody, I just shrink back to my actual size. I think that's relaxation. Of sorts.

Yesterday we managed to open and shut the gate without me having to get off - it's like a comedy act trying to wiggle her the right way so I can close the gate without hitting her. But she was patient and helpful. Oh and she even fakes limping when going OUT away from the barn, and walks as slow as she can. Then you turn her around and she walks happily back, suddenly all better. I think I do that too, when I have to go get the kids at carpool.

Now that she can open gates, I think I may invite her in and do everything from horseback. Fry eggs, pack lunches and talk on the phone. It'd be so much more relaxing except our floors would be ripped to shit.

Day 81

I haven't blogged in here lately because Maggie had become a gigantic fat asshole and it didn't seem inspiring. In fact, I mentally quit, like I do immediately, so as to remain consistent.

She had decided that after a month of riding, she was going to turn around and go home everyime we went out. And she's got a really strong head. It's like trying to turn the Titanic away from the iceberg. Except without the big budget effects.

Every time she does something that seems insurmountable I think, time to make her into dog food. This was a mistake. She's a terrible individual. I will surely be killed. But then today I went out again because I had time off and I'd rather do that than write or clean. And I worked with her on turning and bending. Stepping back a step, since I realized that it's only been a month since we started riding everyday, which means that out of 10 years of her life, she's only had 30 days of someone pulling her around with a bit in her mouth. Maybe I should go back and get her really good at turning and listening to cues, respecting her rider and driver.

So we went out and slowly worked on the street, just turning circles, not getting anywhere, and she slowly got used to it - I just had to realize she can't just be pointed and aimed up the trail and expected to be a seasoned trail horse when she's still just learning and wanting to figure out the rider/horse connection. She's going to test everything, and wait to see who emerges as the leader.

I am learning today, as I drove her on long lines in the driveway, that it's actually an illusion that riding or driving is mellow and easy. You are always in contact with the horse's mouth, and you can't let the reins slack because then the horse is actually just floating out ahead with no leader. No matter where you're standing or walking as the rider/driver, you have to have contact and be the gentle but firm leader. A horse needs a leader. Later on, when we have a pretty solid connection, and she's a seasoned trail horse, then we can have moments of daydreaming and she'll know who's in charge. But I can't slack off now in the formulative years/days.

So thirty days is not enough it is just the beginning. But it's better than no days.

On the way home from our short ride we kept turning and bending, stopping and starting and turning and getting her used to listening to me no matter if that squirrel over there looks more interesting, or if going back to the barn for a nap seems like a good idea. She did improve - and the three Friends Of Maggie who keep telling me to not give up - they keep saying picture the horse you want to have, don't be afraid of every bad moment is the ACTUAL horse, the terrible horse. She's just a big doofy dog, and she's trying to learn. She likes her people.

When I got off her yesterday at the intersection by our house because one my friends stopped in her car to talk, and I was complaining about how she had turned into a gigantic piece of doo doo, we kept talking and talking and as we were talking, Maggie just stood there innocently and then slowly stepped closer to me until she was almost leaning on my shoulder, with her head hanging there like um, I don't wanna miss anything. She wants to belong.

That's why I kept going today. I'm going to focus on the idea that she will be an excellent, giving and gentle horse - just as she is now, I'll just school her in the cues I want her to follow, so she can be confident, and pliable.

And we've been calling her Agent 91 because of her brand on her butt. She's a retired spy (or is she retired?), and in the witness protection program.

Family Therapy Horse

I usually write about the Mags and her progress, and she's doing great. Katie and I took her to the park yesterday and let her run free in the arena where she rolled and I got her to walk and trot on a lunge line, by voice command. She's still not always sure what I want her to do, and she'd much rather be sitting in a big fat hammock drinking a drink with a flower in it, but she does try for me.

The biggest lesson with this horse is learning to trust that just because one stupid mean pony bucks you off and breaks your hand and costs alot in hand surgery, doesn't mean that every horse is mean. In fact, most horses are just mosey-ing along. I don't like things that break my already tenuous confidence. That pony needs a few firecrackers in her horseshoes, as payback.

I have learned that Maggie doesn't buck or rear when she gets scared, she just leaps forward for a few strides. As long as I can hang on to that, I won't fall off. She usually does that when a dog startles her by charging a fence. That seems like her only pet peeve so far. She always leaps forward but then stops, because ultimately she is extremely lazy. She has no interest in running off with me. She is really strong, though, so I have to make her very supple in the bridle for the kids, so she won't manhandle them into going her way with her strong mouth.

Otherwise, she's the most excellent family horse, and it's only been 2 1/2 mos. I figure safely by Valentine's Day, anybody could ride her. At this rate. Even Barry likes her, and doesn't mind that hay costs too much right now. She's like the family therapy horse. Each night we go on a walk in the neighborhood and all the kids get on bareback for a little ride. We talk about our day.

Couldn't have done all this work without Katie, who has helped on the ground and in the saddle. Building my confidence and also being a strong, capable adult who could be another set of hands when training. She also loves horses. Really lucky how it all worked out.

Nascar in a Dumptruck

Mags learned to trot in the last few days! She's really comfy to ride too. She is stubborn, when she wants to come home, you have to have the arms of Hercules to get her to turn the way you want (back on the trail). I took her out in the rain, and she got used to splashing trucks, walking through puddles - the noises sound differently in the rain. I also rode in a bareback pad with stirrups, and since it was cold her nice fat body kept my legs warm. (bareback is the best, but I'm too chicken to ride without stirrups yet, my leftover fear from pony-that-broke-my-hand years ago).

So now we'll work on canter, which for her is like Indy 500 fast. Like driving a dumptruck at Nascar. And we'll keep taking her on the trail and getting her used to going out. Just repetition, and positive reinforcement. And lots of hay. (I love my dumptruck horse, though. Did I tell you we passed a house on our trail where a guy was standing out front putting up Halloween decorations, and he said "That horse needs alot of exercise. She's too chunky." I just stared at him, 5'4 tops, with the gut of sumo wrestler hanging over his belt. So many things came to mind to say back to him. She's supposed to fat, dorkus. She's a draft. YOU, on the other hand. Too many quesadillas, pal, and it shows.)

Wagons Ho

Our first wagon...

Maggie the Milk Maid

Katie and I have been working with Maggie everyday. It's day 65 today, and we borrowed a driving collar and some harness pieces from my neighbor and we suited her up in all the heavy equipment, complete with bridle with blinders on. She ended up looking like a little old man horse, off to make milk deliveries in the neighborhood.

She is the most amazing horse, because not only did she let us dude her up in all this heavy stuff around her neck and on her back, she also let us tie a big fat heavy tire to some string behind her and she pulled it scraping around behind her like a man-eating tire monster in the driveway, without any fuss.

I realized the dreams of a young Amish boy by hearing the clinking of the harness as she walked, I just erased all the cement and city noises and replaced them with rolling green fields and women in the kitchens making pies in long dresses. That's how it is in my mind when I work with tubby Maggie. I sweat out there with the tons of fun horse, but I know that after work there's going to be a fresh pie in the kitchen. (Except there isn't.)

After our little tire drag exercise, we unharnessed her and then took a little trail ride up the mountain, to get her used to going out. It's only her 4th time up the mountain and she's getting used to dogs rushing the fence and barking, and cement trucks with air brakes. And I (who walked half the way, Katie and I switch halfway) saw a bug on the trail that was flailing around on his back and I righted him with my shoe cause he looked so in need. I was later repaid for this good deed by finding a eucalyptus leaf laying on the trail that was the perfect shape of a heart. (Picture of that later.)

Who says there's no treasure in them thar hills?

When I put Maggie away to eat her hay in the barn, I peeked in the hay bin to make sure she had enough and there was a perfect green egg, nestled there. Lovely, lovely surprises.

Farm life in the city.

My goal - to have an old wagon that Maggie can pull. I'm only missing one piece of harness. And the wagon.

61 Days

Rode the Mags out on the street yesterday without anybody on the ground (Katie) helping. We only went about 1 block. All she wants to do is see if she can eat every lawn along the way. So I had to steer her into the middle of the street where alas there is no grass. The challenge now is getting her focused on steering the way I need her to go, not stopping at every In and Out for a shake and some fries. (Hey wait, chocolate shake? Why aren't we stopping again?)

Cause I read a trainer that said "there's only going to be two ways of doing things, your way or your horse's way, and it always has to be your way. Cause with horses there's no 'meeting of the minds.' They want a leader."

It's been 61 days, and Maggie is rusty at steering, but better at bridling. Bridling seemed impossible about a week ago. Now she's just getting it without a fight. She turned a corner. I figure her steering gently like glass is a few weeks away too. I am very close to being able to get on and just go on up the trail, and relax.

Now I'm slowly going to borrow all my neighbor's driving equipment and teach her to drive. She does like to go out. She's an adventurer.

Also her feet have to be trimmed and her teeth might have to be floated. Since her teeth were probably never bothered with when she was on the pee line. They can get sharp and have to be filed down with this huge file. Doesn't take long for the vet, but like the DMV, it isn't a chore you love to do.

All I know is, when the kids are demanding things, or homework swallows me whole and I'm lost in a vast wasteland of Nathan's middle school experience, I slip out into the barn and there's that fat Maggie looking for a pet or a scratch or goddamn it how bout a freaking apple once in awhile?? She loves apples now. She has big quiet brown eyes and she's grateful for everything.

Mom's therapy. At the cost of hay. Love the smell of hay too, smells better than money.

That old Maggie is doing great. Today, it's been 7 1/2 weeks since she came here, and today I was ground driving her out in our back driveway (me walking way behind her with long ropes up to her bridle, steering her), and she was actually kind of figuring it out, to keep walking, turning and stopping when I said. She doesn't always understand, sometimes she turns all the way around to look at me like "Hey why are you back there, all the scratching happens when you're up here by my face." But then she'll turn back around. There isn't a fast speed on this horse. Nothing is important enough to get to in a rush. I think she's Southern. I perhaps should have named her Georgia.

What I'm liking today is learning that (I keep learning this) repetition of the basic things actually works. Doing the smallest things, gently and over and over, actually gets you a compliant horse. Mostly. I should try this in other areas of my life. Shooting for 2%, instead of 100%. Score everytime. But for now I'm building a mellow carriage horse. Very fun.

What I also like is that when I go out to her paddock to clean up her poops (which she lines up neatly against the back wall), she comes over and stands directly behind me, like a giant shadow. I don't even hear her, she's just suddenly there, and she just waits there.

She isn't even looking for food, she'll actually leave her hay (a very big deal for her, hay's all she's got, she has no pockets) and come over to stand behind me like hey, how bout a scratch.

Love that.

Safe and Steady

Well let's see, it's been 7 weeks since we got the Mags, big fat horse in the backyard.

I've been working in the garage (cleaning it out), and sometimes we let her out to wander in the driveway - she likes to pick through boxes like she's shopping, and then go over to Moose's door and take a big poop.

I haven't had time to work with her except at night like 9 pm, I go out and saddle her up and ride for about 5 minutes in the back paddock. Just to get her used to the basics of saddling, bridling, mounting, steering and stopping. I say it's for her, but I'm figuring out that maybe it's for me. Routine and the basics, getting us used to each other, making it boring so that when we get out on the trail she knows what I want and there are the least amount of surprises, most amount of control.

Last night it seemed like she finally was understanding steering (yay!), then tonight she was more heavy at turning (boo). Last night she was worse at bridling, tonight she finally figured out what I wanted - that she didn't have to lift her head up, that nothing bad was going to happen with the bridle. My friend Nigel said, she's just not used to it, that's all. So she's not evading to be mean, she's just learning it all.

I'm going to try and do 30 days in a row under saddle so she expects to be worked with. Tonight when she wasn't steering so well from the saddle, I got down and put long lines on her and tried ground driving her, and she did really well. So she is learning - our back area is a little confined, so it's hard to manuever. It is amazing to build the horse, doing all the training. I have the little bits of time, and I'm learning her as she's learning me.

She'll do anything if you scratch all her itches - her stomach, her chest and the back of her back legs - she sticks her nose out and quivers with happiness when you scratch her.

She does like to work - when I come out at 9 I expect to see her sleeping, but she comes right over like hey, allright, bring on the molasses. I can see her pulling a cart for us, all the kids piled in back, not really getting anywhere, maybe just around the park and back. But who needs to get anywhere, it'll just be fun. But first things first, I'm still going to keep making her safe and steady.

Sweetness and Love

Day 42 with Maggie the Wonder Horse. It's been a month and a half today. I gave up a few days ago (you may recall), then read up a little bit more about how to gain control of a dominant horse and decided, well hell, might as well try waving a little plastic bag on the end of a stick. Supposed to gain you some respect in horse body language.

So I went out there tonight and darn it if it isn't true that she did not like the waving of the plastic bag on the stick. She liked doing whatever she had to do to have me put that stick down. Then we worked a little slow and easy with the bit, to try and get her to keep her head lowered when the bit goes in. It's me, shoving it up there too fast that causes her to raise her head. So I have to relax, and act like I have nothing better to do than stand there with molasses dripping down my arm while I get her used to me approaching and taking away, approaching and taking away with the bit near her mouth. The long way is the short way, they say. Tiny steps. Once you get her happily taking the bit, it will be easy to do forever.

She has gotten (at least today) really good about letting me have all four of her feet to clean out. This is a major accomplishment in 6 weeks.

She has also learned Whoa, and is learning to turn right and left. This is helpful when there is a big firetruck coming down the road and you want to get out of the way in the future. So I'll make sure we have these cues pretty well established.

All in all a good training day. After our little work session I then scratched her entire body because she likes that. I think that is really why she lets me clean all her feet. Because I scratch her huge stomach, and this is bonding. Molasses and belly scratching, it could stop all wars in the world if we tried it. Works for her anyway, sweetness and love. Kinda love that. Pretty great journey if you look at success in small increments.

I'll Never Quit You

Isn't that from Brokeback Mountain?

I decided the other day that this horse was a big mistake and I should take my midlife crisis wrapped in fur and trade her in for I don't know, some Icees at Target or something.

But then two of my friends said, wait, aren't you expecting a little too much? Yes. If you slowed down a little bit, wouldn't you be happier with the small steps and results? Yes. Slow down? What's that? If I slow down I'll fall down. That's why I never sit and watch tv with the kids. I'd just be asleep in seconds.

So then my one friend bought the mare a bale of extra hay, the sweet alfalfa kind that I can't afford, and my other friend brought her a little fly mask to keep her eyes nice and protected, and there is this tiny group of people that are really interested in how she turns out. So the next morning I once again dipped my hand in the jar of molasses and rubbed it all over the bit and she loves Molasses Hands, she would put the bit in herself if she had hands. And she lets me pick up and clean all her feet each day, which she hadn't done a month ago.

The more I work with her, the more she knows what to expect, the more the work becomes routine and boring, the more settled and predictable horse she becomes. She just needs to be allowed to learn the routine. She will be first in line to see the outcome.

So we continue to work toward boring. Something I've achieved with my all my personal goals. And what am I really losing, spending all this time in increments with this cow of a horse? Molasses makes your hands smell pretty good.

Dissolve Yourself

There was a point, outside with our big horse today, where I did something right. Or I don't even know if it was right, but this huge, 1400 pound lump of motherly love was balanced between my outstretched arms, going in the circle I was trying to teach her (to lunge) around me.

I wasn't forcing her forward, I was encouraging her and then letting her go forward. And when I stepped in closer to her tremendous girth instead of being afraid, at a safe distance, when I moved in that's when, magically, she just started moving around me, like with me closer to her, she felt supported instead of attacked. Picture me standing in the middle of our back dirt paddock, barefoot, at 10 at night, and I decide to step closer to the giant mare, and hold my arms straight out from my sides, crucifix style, and jiggle the leadrope in my left hand to encourage her forward, and wiggle my right hand at her rear to let her know that this is where I end, that she's in a safe little pocket of me, and then magically, she trusts me. I'm so close to her that it's like she's a half ton ballerina and I'm supporting her weight, even though she's not touching me, she is leaning on me, the air is heavy and we are doing a little dance, where everything is moving the right way. We're in sync, and we are connected. And it's easy.

It's like the one time I was a good actor. For one moment in a play we did back in Maryland at our little coffeehouse theater, it was me and Paul, my friend, doing a scene from "Burn This," (no doubt badly) and in the play he storms out of the room and my character is supposed to crumple to the floor and want him back, and when Paul stormed out of the room I actually forgot that I was in a play and I felt my body say "Is he coming back?" And I cried for real, I crumpled down to the floor because I felt the loss, and that's the one time acting was real, when I forgot, and it was like crossing over to some other place, where I wasn't OUT HERE and everyone else was OVER THERE. I was THERE. I wasn't even I. The moment was everything, and I was dissolved into it.

That's what it was like tonight, out in the misty dirt, with the beautiful horse, balancing on my outstretched arms like she was floating. Lasted maybe four whole seconds. Because perfect only lasts that long. Then I scratched her way under her tummy and she stretched her neck out with her lip quivering because it's really hard to reach your itcy bellybutton when you're a horse. And I thought maybe it is worth it to have our little barn and family, even though she had to give up 30 gorgeous rolling green acres in Colorado. All the food she wanted, but none of this glorious dancing with barefoot humans.

Connection is something.

Everybody Call 911

I got on! Exactly one month after working every day with her. On 9/11, and the tatoo on her butt says 911. It was destiny.

And look how highly dangerous she looks.

Tale of the Horsey Continued

I have no idea where we're going with this horse, if we're even keeping this horse. But for now, I guess we're just trying to see if I'm not too chicken to keep moving forward.

We took Meg to the park yesterday, first time, me and Nathan on his bike and Katie our friend, and Hank and Owen, doggies.

She is the slowest horse ever. But when we got to the arena and let her free in that thick sand, she just ran around with her head straight up in the air. She was checking out the green grass, the kids playing in the park (she'd never seen a park, never seen a baseball field, never seen anything.) Of course I was scared seeing she could go fast and was huge. It just looked like death on horseback to me. I think I'm fixated.

But on the walk home she did finally relax and get back in her laid back mellow surfer state. So I have to realize that with each new step and experience, it is all new and all scary, for her and for me. But that new things are supposed to be nerve-wracking and scary, that's how it starts. That's hopefully the worst of it. Then it morphs into routine, normal, everyday. I just love boring. But I'm having to take all the scary steps to get to boring.

So maybe next time she'll be a little bit less excited, and then I'm building into things being reliable. It's all just time, and experience.

Horsework

Day 22 with our new horsie - I hate to sound optimistic, but I think she's kind of great. I mean, she's really slow - I'll probably never make it more than 10 minutes from the house before I have to turn around for the hour ride back...this is if I ever actually ride her... But she seems level headed. Just inexperienced. So we're going slowly. It's only been 3 weeks now.

Today I got the saddle on her, got her used to the feel of that, and leaned on her back while standing on a chair. I also got her to pick up all four feet without kicking me. And she is starting to like the bit - it's going farther in her mouth each time we try. So no rush, this seems to work. Tiny bit at a time, and we might end up with a sweet horse. I think she eats about a bale and a half a week - which is about $30 at our high hay prices of the moment. But if I get a boarder in here, or get my horse job going again, she'd be covered.

Well, it's a good experiment. Everything seems like the first time, like I don't know anything about horses. All I know is to be scared. But we're building something. I'm building confidence.

Believe in Yourself

So I'm covered in molasses but very excited because tonight, day 16, the horse did everything right. She did everything I asked. She slurped molasses off the bit and let me fiddle with it without yanking her head away (or maybe I learned not to be so forceful). She let me pick up her feet with a rope using light pressure. She let me put a bareback pad on her back and cinch it up gently, and then walk around.

Hmm, so slow and gentle, with a sense of humor... it does seem to work. All I did was stop trying to get somewhere, and remember that this mare is new to everything, and then there ya go. We're working out our relationship. So today was good.

There's this horse. She's been at our house for two weeks now. I've been working with her every day, at night when the kids are asleep, and I'm sure the horse wishes she was asleep.

On day 13 (2 days ago) I decided this is too much for me. This takes too long. I don't know how to train a 1400 pound animal. My kids don't even put their dishes away, and they're a waifish 80 pounds.

So I started looking on the internet for how to work with horses like her and then I started reading about life as a PMU mare, which is what she is. She stood pregnant, tied in a stall starting every September until May. She had a little pee bag strapped to her pee area (that's the professional term) that collected her pee so it could be used for hormone replacement in humans. She was just a pee machine. She couldn't lay down, or wander over to smell flowers. No one gave her a carrot. In May, she'd have her baby and be out to pasture to loll free for three months. Then they take her baby away, get her knocked up again and stick her back in the stall for the long winter in snowy North Dakota.

I went back out there this morning to feed her. She was rolling in the dirt, free. She got up, shook off and stood there looking at the sky. She saw me and she came ambling over, sticking her nose out for a pet.

I can't believe I expect this horse to do anything except take deep breaths and enjoy her freedom. I don't need to rush to shove a saddle on her and bit in her mouth. I'm just getting to know her, and asking her to do small things to get her used to working kindly with me. Of course I want to ride, like yesterday. I want a horse that knows everything and is just easy. But my small amount of money buys this horse, the one that needs help and guidance. I have the space, and little bits of time. She is wide, fat and hilarious looking. And she loves molasses. Maybe sometimes you get what needs you, not what you need. Or somewhere along the line it works out, if you commit to it. And in the meantime maybe I can learn patience, and empathy here. Start gently, and fresh. With understanding of where she's been, the way she's been standing for years. It's only been TWO WEEKS.

I did just spend two years working with a filly doing exactly what I'm doing with her. I do know a little bit. I could do it.

One lady trainer I read said Slow and Easy. Throw away your watch. She'll learn everything, just go slow and easy.

I have hay for awhile longer.

A Swell Summer

Sold our doggie door today to a strange guy in a truck. He was a big guy, who looked too old to be driving a truck. He made lots of jokes that were a little bit weird - you know when someone is trying to be casual and it just doesn't fit on them, they're just not good at it.

So he took the doggie door which is good because we're getting a new one put in the wall. But he wasn't someone we'd want over for tea, even Nathan agreed he was a little odd.

There's alot going on at our house - guys outside builing a deck that seems much bigger than the feeble one Barry and I had in our tiny minds. Things seem to take longer when power saws are involved, and they main guy who's working seems to pump up his muscles every day. By the end of the job he's going to be all arms, you won't even be able to see his face. Tina and I like to ogle him, big stong man. It is a construction site, so someone has to ogle. It's in his contract.

People come to swim, so the house kind of expands in the summer, friends come and go, food comes and goes, (mostly goes), the day always starts out with the usual Oppers and then there's this big middle day where people jump in and then it winds down to just us Oppers again. That middle part is swell. Like, full, swell, it swells. There never seems like they'll be enough food. There are always many stomachs. Luckily the stomachs usually bring extra - but the sheer amount of food preparation, have I mentioned this?? How do other people do this??

Okay, well anyway, a swell summer.

I'm in the Money

I'm only writing in here because Nigel said he'd pay me $50 bucks for every blog I write. Cha ching, look this one's only two sentences.

Big Fat Horse

There is a big fat horse at our house right now, and dammit I'm too tired to get the camera and plug it all in for a picture on here. If only Nathan was running my downloads or uploads or whatever, this would be a way cooler blog. Filled with pix and games and things you click on and whoosiwhatsits. That's not even a word I'm comfortable with.

This mare got here 1 day ago. She looks like a cow. A cow who swallowed a barrel. She has big cow eyes. She has never seen so much action in her life. She's been on 30acres in Colorado for a year, and before that at a PMU farm where she stood in a stall and had her urine collected for 7 years.

Now she watches kids riding bikes over ramps in the yard, and airplanes flying overhead. Her eyes get wide when she hears something she's never heard before. I'm sure she's sitting out back thinking "wow, I really drew the short straw on this one. Where's all the grass??"

But she is having something she's never had in her life. A family. Kids feeding her hay. Pats on the shoulder. Someone sitting with her. Putting fly spray around her eyes and face. So she's still adjusting to this new life.

The good thing is, she can always go live with my neighbor and be a trail horse for a living. But for now, we're just seeing what it's like to have a horse here, and giving her some love.

The weird part is, when you get something you think you want so bad, it doesn't feel like what you think. It makes you realize that the wanting something is a great thing - the getting it just makes you realize you were already perfect before - my life is already so wonderful. I didn't need anything else. I see that. Just having these kids, and a car that works, and living indoors, and occasionally pizza and books to read - this is much. Huge.

Nathan on The Workers at Our House

Nathan says tonight, "You know you like someone alot and then you find out something about them...like they smoke or they have a tatoo... and you don't like them as much?"

Home Improvement

Whoever said that opening new doors is a good idea has never gone door shopping with Barry.

It could be me, it might not be Barry, it might just be that you can't take two people with little sense of home style and put them in front a million doors. Will this one open in and clutter the room? Is this a bad choice, the boring sliding glass door? Who pays $800 dollars for a door?

Lilly lays on the bottom of the Lowe's cart and is so bored that she invents a new game with two gold screws she found behind the cabinet section. I think the screws are both dogs and there is something about napping going on. Either way, it's more interesting than Barry and I standing around on concrete floors with big drooling Lowe's employees trying to figure out which frigging door should lead out of our bedroom.

Then we get home and we have to move the broken diving board to make room for the new thrift store diving board, and somehow Barry ends up knocked off into the pool. Barry is now not allowed to do anything involving the OUTDOORS. Since his phone (which was in his pocket) is now sitting in a bag of dry rice in the kitchen. Praying for a miracle.

Stealth Chicken

Our white chicken did not like that we moved her nest. Since the chickens have been moved over into the barn while the millions of chicken mites die tragic deaths alone in the chicken house, the white chicken has been holding out laying. In protest. I knew she had to lay, too, cause she kept going in and out of boxes, looking for the right spot, not able to focus on anything else, she obviously had a worry on her mind.

I could NOT find the nest. For days, I knew she had laid, just couldn't figure out where the heck she found a place that I couldn't see.

Yesterday morning when I went out, no white chicken. Uh oh, that usually means that overnight, chicken has become possum's Sunday dinner. But later when I went out again with some treats (who doesn't like old watermelon and stale crackers heaved over a fence?) I SAW the white chicken fly down from a tree. Eh heh, okay, I got you.

While she was eating I pushed my way past the foliage (sorry) and on TOP of the rabbit hutch, in the midst of a bunch of leaves I find a MILLION white eggs, all organized into her secret nest. Okay, 13 eggs. So it had been exactly 13 days she had kept her nest hideaway a secret.

I've checked the hideaway the last two days now and NO eggs. Craft hen. I believe she is building an underground railroad. If you see her, do offer her shelter and solace. But grab the eggs.

My House Has Me By the Balls

I'm pretty good at looking competant at a lot of things. Mothering, cooking, animal husbandry. (wifery?) But with the house, forget it, it all leaks out, I cannot hide the fakery, it all comes sloshing around the corners as I run to try and pose, and block the landslide. All day, I could spend all day trying to organize as my three little destroyers unhinge all I have done with a simple bathing suit thrown on the floor or a spill of macaroni or a broken tooth or some other wild act where some limb waits to be broken.

I am always in the middle of something, usually involving my hands and a great deal of worry about all the other things I'm NOT getting to while my hands are busy doing this one VERY dumb task. I need multiple heads to manage all the worry - in fact, good idea, I should look into that on Craigslist, my true husband. If I had more heads, I could feel bad in more minds than just one, and that would feel pretty good, at least the space would be useful. Set up some lawn chairs and serve up the worry in a more relaxed fashion.

I snarl at the kids to help and basically let them know how they have FAILED me by not jumping up to help at each squawk I make so that now, deep in the summer (although it only feels like a few weeks) I have shown them how Mommy Cancels Fun because there's so much boring work to be done. I make them vacuum and mow the lawn and pull back the pool cover and feed the chickens and make their bed and fold the couch blankets and stop watching tv. I say things like Don't watch teenage shows because they're badly written and I don't want you to think buying shoes and wearing lipstick is what's Really Important.

I guess the house is always secondary, looming around us, a squalid shimmering mass of Undone, Unaccomplished, a gnarled, pointy finger shivering at me You Lose. I am adrift in this file-less ocean, an unalphabetized mess, piled underneath broken toys and lost library books. Someday I WILL climb to the top of the heap. I will build the bonfire and enjoy the burning of the stuff, I will be able to see the other side of my garage. Which I think is still there.

I am SORRY, house, that I've been so busy making quesadillas. Trust me, may I never see another corndog. It's that I have to manage things from the heart on down, so the building of the kids is more important than the wiping of your walls or the brooming of your sidewalk. My house will never be the palace of virtue that my prim grandmother's house was - it was always silent in her house, and undisturbed white like the inside of a starched leather shoe.

Our house is lived in like my (other, more relaxed) Arkansas Gramma Yvonne's hairstyle. She was tan and had big boobs and in her kitchen all the lemon drops stuck together in the glass jar from humidity. So you could take the whole glob of them out and just suck on the giant dome of lemondrops.

It was a beautiful world, there. I have, yes, successfully achieved the glob of lemondrops. In every corner of my house. She is chuckling in approval up there, in Heaven, jiggling her foot and flicking her ashes absently down on us. Those lemondrops taste pretty dern good, don't they? She's saying, taking a long drag.

Now go find some playing cards. (She had them stashed in every drawer of her house.) Like leprechaun gold.

Shock, Terror Mixed with Hooray

Lilly learned how to jump off the diving board today. In her blue bathing suit that matches Emma, that she got for 9 dollars at Target. With Lilly, baby #3, I am always IN the pool when she does something great, and I have no camera built into my hands cause I'm swimming, so I keep saying I better remember this because there is going to be no picture.

This summer, where she went down the slide for the first time and it was so fast, the look on her face, shock, terror mixed with hooray in a split second. Her nice fat little legs getting her in and out of the pool, running off the board, spinning, jumping, not afraid of the wind or the cold air as sunset approached, so happy to be doing something new that it required no less then 300 tries in a row. Aiming for 3000.

I said to my mom, hey, I remember when things were so exciting I had to try them all, and weather couldn't stop me. Nothing mattered except trying that new thing, cause joy was in that new thing. I had a pang like, oh no, I'm past that point in my life. My mom pointed out that you just learn to pace yourself - Lilly can get out, jump in, get out, jump in and then at the end be exhausted and wrapped in a towel and loved the rest of the night. But the mom has to take the joy in small bits, because she has to get the towel, make the late night snack, brush the teeth, put away the clothes, find the pajamas. It's all there, all the little acts of maintaining joy. When you grow up you learn to stretch out all your joy of new experiences so you can make it to the end of the day. You sort of store it all up and savor it slowly. So it's the same - but different.

So I watched Lilly jump, right there, floating in her waves. I get to see all the joy, the whole pool, while she masters the diving board. She's building her own whole pool with these bold acts of bravery. My joy gets to be watching her as she does it.

Coyote Ugly

A coyote was jumping our fence and getting in the yard, eating his way through all our animals. I thought it was a possum (cause I hadn't SEEN him in the yard, I do know the difference between rodent and wild dog).

Anyway, after losing two bunnies and two chickens, I did finally see the coyote. Started building the fence up in a really redneck, haphazard way. He still got over and tried to go shopping again in the chicken yard. One of our chickens started hiding in the hen house, which I thought was fear related, but turned out she was just brooding (ready to set on the nest and wait for babies). But alas, us with no rooster. So I called our neighbor behind us who had a rooster, and told her about the hen and mentioned the coyote and my neighbor went into hyper drive saying oh we are going to set this coyote straight.

I hadn't wanted to figure out how to hot wire our fence, it all seemed too hard, the fencing, the wire, the hot - even she said "oh we'll get your husband out here and he'll figure out how to wire it to our hot wire.." and I'm thinking, Barry? Outside with an electrified wire? It didn't look likely. In fact, that's why I was so tired even THINKING about it because I kept having to substitute "Julie" with "husband." Barry's not the out riding fences type. It was going to have to be me. And Nathan, 10year old superhelper.

But this neighbor, it's rare you find a woman that you hope you turn out to be. She's got to be 70 years old. And she just hops up on her fence and is telling me how to put the wire here, and attach this thing there, she is not afraid of ladders or hard work or getting it done. Nathan just stood there in awe as she handed over a pellet gun which looked like a giant shotgun, still new in a box. She's against guns, she said, but she's more against coyotes.

She made hard work look like some sort of town hall dance - happy, facing the crushing waves head on. That's the kind of person Shakespeare wrote plays about - these dastardly people that dammit, have this great attitude. I'm just hoping that some of that wears off on me and doesn't get zinged away with every singed coyotes that comes to meet our fence. We did do the fence, excellently.

And putting up that fence in the hot sun was a big big drag. Because I had to supply popsicles to small people and get sunblock on and entertain - my life did not stop so I could put up the fence. My life continued on hectically right alongside my crushing need to put up a coyote ugly fence. That is the draggish part that sucks out my happy ability to face life like an agile 70 year old. Maybe it's something to look forward to. From down here in the foxhole. Deep. How I get time to do even ONE thing like write this blog - let alone build and wire a fence without electrocuting myself while simultaneaously making spaghetti and watching kids in the pool.

It's been two days. So far all chickens accounted for.

Summer Lovin

Summer hit us. The pool is our old, watery friend. Why have we been ignoring him for months when we could have been floating in his glorious waters? The kids are red already, maybe I shouldn't have gotten those marked-down sunblocks last winter. I gather chicken eggs (6 today), I make more food than I want to make, I wear pajamas all day, we don't rush, we are just here. I listen to my friends, I watch their faces as we watch our kids, I am just glad to be here.

Sets on the Brain

Visited Barry's set and remembered the time I used to use sets as my own personal bar. It's dark, it's vast, everyone is whispering like we're all in on some huge, important secret, it's cold and everyone is like 25. Ahh, I miss the old days. I never had any ambition, I should have been in the writer's offices all along, developing skills, making important contacts, shaping the stories, growing my writing career.

But the SET, man, the set had all the love, drama, action. There's a large group of undulating people, the guys are so cute big and strong, there's laughter and things are happening and changing in moments. And there's craft service, huge amounts of snack food that keeps refililng magically. I was always more flirt than work, I spent a great many years making sure my flirt skills were highly honed. In fact, they're now sadly lacking, rusting, broken off in places. I've had to vacuum seal them and place them in a gold box in my garage rafters. I keep them up there couched between my sighs and longing.

I had alot of fun on the set in my 20's. Let's just say that. And what good would a few writing contacts do me now, I've spent 11 years wiping vomit off my shirt, pulling up tiny pants and breaking up fights. The set wasn't all that different, actually. So I'm better prepared.

Anyway, the little crew and the big dark stage made me wry. Wry me? Just kidding. The tribe of a set, those drumbeats, you can still hear them, even when they basically took me nowhere. My dad, he flew straight through like an arrow. He knew he wanted to be over there, in charge. Me, I just wanted to smell every flower.

Towel Wonderland

After I don't know, 400 years, I decided to buy new towels. On Ebay. Huge towels, like you could circle the Earth in these towels, and still have some leftover for Jupiter or Uranus. Heh heh. At least that's what they said. And they're soft.

So I get them and yeah they're big, but more like Mercury big. And they're soft, but more like cheese shredder soft.

But I love these towels because they are fresh new faces in our bathroom and at our pool, and they don't mind if you wrap them around your freezing, wet body. They encourage it, in fact. It's what they do.

I Have a Chickness

Can't stop buying chickens. I have a chickness.

Don't Hold In Your Grunties

Been having this weird fight with my boarder-girl who keeps her animals at our house. She's been here 2 years, she's been really great, and then one day I suddenly can't take it anymore, all the chaining up of the fences, she overprotects her goats, and then suddenly we're in this fight through texting and I'm telling her to find another barn where someone might actually like goats. So then I feel terrible for like a week because she decides okay, I'll leave. And I didn't want her to leave, really, I wanted her to stop chaining every door.

At the same time, for months (inside the house drama) I'm battling Lilly the 3 year old because she holds in her poop. I gave her every high fiber thing in the world, finally had to use Miralax which is definitely true to it's name. Had to like rebuild her poop psyche to get her to realize that letting go is a good thing. Things are flowing like, well, logs now. Lately. So far.

And after weeks I finally TALKED to the boarder girl, now that she's leaving in five days, and said, hey, I was only kidding. I just got frustrated. Sorry I took it out on you. Wish I was a better communicator. No one should hand me a texting thing again. At night. When I'm sick, and tired. I text anger. Apparently. I need an anger detexter.

Just kept thinking of Will, my dead ex husband. How he said as a kid his mom would tell him, in a singsong voice, "Don't hold in your grunties," when he didn't want to poop.

I coulda used that advice. And here the 3 year old is so good at it.

Down Under

An old friend of mine tracked me down from high school. She was the foreign exchange student from Australis, wild and fun. Haven't talked to her in 20 yrs. She said we saw each other in London last - ohhh yeah, god, did I see her there? She had just gotten off a cruise ship where she'd been a chef and I was in Europe with my tall lanky ex-boyfriend. We met at a bar/restaurant/cafe and when he went to the bathroom I told her I was in love with two other people, a boy and a girl. I was 25. She was more interested in the boy in the bathroom - what was wrong with this one, the one right under your nose? He was a beautiful boy. I never really wanted the one right under my nose.

So 20 yrs, I had to try and rethink - did she know me before my dead ex-husband? Where was I living, what was I doing? Why did I map my life by my love affairs? While she was trekking around Zimbabwe with no electricity and using words like bloke and safari, I was living in a tiny house on a huge river in Maryland. While she was having a baby in Perth, I was in LA working on horror movies and meeting my husband. Now she's in Canada teaching art and theater to kids at her kids' school, and I'll be teaching playwriting to kids at MY kids' school. Hmm.

I never really organized my life, I better do that, huh. I just sort of followed its crazy path. And now with three kids running around, I just look for moments in the day where I can breathe, and see an ocean of silence. I am lost in it, committed. These are the busy years. I guess up there in Canade, she's breathing in a breath of cold air and doing the same thing.

Chickens are the New Crack

Can't stop buying chickens. They cost like 2 bucks. They fit in your pocket. They're fluffy. If you could coat them in chocolate, I might marry them.

My hands are all torn up from building the chicken house. It was just an old shed out on the corner of the property, cobwebby, hidden by branches, ignored. Nathan and I went in and chop chopped, then Nathan wandered off and it was just me, for the last few weeks, just chopping, shredding my hands, making piles of mean thorny branches, adding sawdust and then, just like in The Secret Garden, my bit of land is so - tranquil. Clean. Serene.

Chickens were laying eggs in there while Moose and I sat on the diving board of the pool and let the sun soak into us for a second today - glorious sun in February, no small feat. And standing in that shed with her, watching the chickens, it's funny how a place that meant nothing is now a place that is someplace, had a purpose. Is full of life. You can stand in it and feel it's worth.

During the day after I serve people food and clean up and play and work, I head out there to just stand and look at the chickens and give them a handful of food or pick up a stray throny branch. Because it's quiet out there, and there's peeping.

Thoughts on Jane

I've been spending time with the Miss Dashwoods, reading Sense and Sensibility. The woman sat writing her stories in freezing England, well-read, well educated, loved by her family, hilarious, biting, and apparently not all that attractive. (Hence all the writing.) I know she was creating the world as she wanted to see it. Building relationships and dashing them, enjoying and wielding the power of the writer. Entertaining herself, because all the books she read were so boring. Depth, insight and power.

Anyway. Writing gives hope for other writing.

"Then we began to ride. My soul smoothed itself out,
a long-cramped scroll freshening and fluttering in the wind....
Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride."
Robert Browning

Craigslist is My Whore

First of all, it's been really hard to spend time writing on my blog because of the many hours I spend on craigslist looking for the perfect horse I can't afford. I don't think I actually WANT the horse, I mean yeah I want the horse, but mostly I want the Vegas action of the horse. I like talking to the people. I like seeing the pictures. I like trying to see if I can get the horse for free. I like feeling the drama of a horse coming in. Then it all falls apart, because ultimately I have no money and yes I love the heartbreak. It's keeping me alive. It's the saddest form of addiction I can muster.d.

The Everyday

Why have I stopped writing so much? Everything that happens is funny, if it wasn't happening to me. Like Lilly cleaning a bowl for me in the sink today, actually scrubbing it sparkling clean, and when she held it up I said wait, let me get the camera (because I never take pictures of her because I'm so tired) and so I got the camera and when she held it up, clean bowl and dirty chocolate face, funny - she dropped the bowl before I can get the picture, and it shatters in a million pieces in the sink.

I don't want to clean that up so much that it's silent, I can't even express my bummerness, but it's not her fault. I go to put the camera away, dejected. Lilly says, "sorry mom." Like she's 45 years old.

I have got to start carrying the camera around. She's so beautiful, really, and I'm sucking it all in but not preserving the moment for anyone else, namely her.

In her fairy dress on Halloween. Emma is the genie, freezing while trick or treating because she's basically wrapped in plastic wrap and it's like 14 degrees. Nathan winning the most original costume at the little park costume contest. He has never won anything. He was so proud, the aviator.

Everything is so small, the small things just overwhelm you, our little boat and these three big lives full of small huge every day events.

There's a horse in Idaho that I want. Why is there always a horse, and why am I always wanting it? I tried to tell Barry about it while we ate Japanese food at a strip mall in the hazing rain with the kids. Lilly would not eat anything. She hates Japan. I have to say the noodles were like snot covered worms. It's true.

I just need another focus, I need a project, I need something that brings me peace, that broadens me. I can't go to school, I mean I can, but what am I going for? What do I want? At least with a horse, I can still stay home, I can resell the horse, I can make money on the horse. It might be fun. Want the kids to learn to ride. Want safe. Want sweet, want a new dimension. Want time travel. Want prarie skirts. Want to write but don't want to do any of the actual WRITING. Want someone else to do it.

Then I looked at Nathan cause I had a few minutes of time not doing something else like worrying about how dirty the house is or something, and I thought about his rash that he's worried about and I thought as a MOM I could just disappear into these 3 kids. They have tremendous needs, they have huge lives, they need huge guidance, they need tumble, they need love, they need brains, they need heart, they need food, they need focus. They are a huge project.

And there's this horse.

Anyway. Love is a beautiful thing. It makes you so big, it's impossible, it's laughable. And you can't stop yourself from wanting more. More everything.

What I've Been Doing

Furry Language

I'm training this 2 year old filly at my horse job in Sylmar that I do twice a week. This is because I have totally given up writing at the moment. Writing is dumb. Horses are furry.

Anyway, this has been an insane little horse. No one had handled her much, so she was alot like our dog Owen. Scared of everything, hiding under a couch.

So this lady I ride for (I ride her stallion) she said, go ahead, work with the filly. The filly is palomino, had a matted mane, just looked ratty and wild. I've worked with lots of kinds of horses, in lots of disciplines, but not young horses at all. I looked up how to work with young horses and watched some videos on YouTube. Then I set to work.

I won't go into all the boring details (and also I won't reveal my magic secrets). Plus, I'll pretend that when I drive to work I go over green hills, and out into a wide open pasture, dressed like Jane Austen, with horses nickering at me. In my mind, it is so. In reality, it's a dirt lot. But there is a frosty Diet Coke in the garage fridge, waiting for me at the end of every session.

I worked first with the filly just getting used to me approaching her. This is a strange thing to do, have to alter your normal human behavior in accordance to the body language of the horse, but it's amazing and makes you a better rider. More in tune with the horse, even on the ground. The key is not rushing up to the horse, but training the horse to stand still while you approach her. You want the front end of the horse facing you at all times. You don't want the butt end with the kicking hooves aimed at you ever.

So I would approach the filly and only go as far as I could while she stood her ground. If she started to move off, I would move her off faster by waving my arms around, making scary motions. She'd run around and circle me a few times, and I'd step backwards, giving her more room. When you step backwards, the horse feels less threatened and slows down. When she slows down to a stop, you step backwards, and slightly behind her so she has to turn her head backwards to see what you're doing. Eventually, the horse will move their whole body around to see what you're doing. You have succeeded in making the horse keep her safe face-end of her body toward you. It's a real lesson in when you FEEL like rushing forward is when you don't. You stop, and even step backwards. Then everything, somehow, pulls toward YOU.

Once she was facing me and still, slowly I would take steps forward until I finally got up to her nose. I would just stand there, make no movements. I would walk away. Then approach again. Once she got used to me walking up and back, up and back, with no movement of my arms, she relaxed. She learned, oh. This person is just walking up to me. Then I could pet her on her head.

Then you do the whole thing with a rope in your hand. Then you pet her with a rope in your hand. Then she runs off again and you start all over.

This horse was always nervous, though. Took forever. Pulling away, head up, scared of what I was going to do.

Then, last week. The miracle.

We're out in the big arena, and instead of running away from me, she has lots of room to run, she starts running in circles around me. I couldn't figure out what she was doing. She never stays near me. Then I saw - she's got her ear turned in, listening for me to talk to her. So I talk to her. She stays nearby me. She finally stops, and lets me approach her. She lets me hook her rope on. She lets me brush and pet her. She is scared, but she is 10% scared. She lets me stick my finger in her mouth where a bit will eventually go. She lowers her head so I can scratch her ears. I brush her neck. I untangle her mane, slowly, carefully.

Then she does it. She leans her whole giant dinosaur head on my stomach. She just leans there.

She trusts me.

She wants love. Having me dote on her - she decided. It felt good.

It's this amazing thing. I didn't even do anything. All I did was recognize her way of speaking and moving, and tailor my approach to what she needed and understood, as a horse. I spoke her language, and then she spoke mine. She surrendered to me.

I came home and thought, wow, that was a fluke. I'm sure it was just a really good day. It will probably start all over again when I get back the next time, she'll be nuts, I'll be nuts for trying to be a horse trainer with as much education as I've had and so many good teeth.

But I went back the next time, and there she was. I stood in her paddock, climbed through the fence and then leaned back against it and just waited, far away, to see what she would do. I decided it wasn't up to me. It took her about 5 whole minutes. She stood with her back to me. I called to her and said come on over, girl. She stood there, looking sideways, then glancing at me, but not coming. I waited. Then she shifted her feet. Then she smelled a giant pile of poo like this was waaaay more interesting than me. I still waited. Talked to her. Then I could see it in her, she was curious. She HAD to know why I was standing ALL the way over there. That's that person that is nice, she thinks. So she came over. Right over to me.

I've been back about three times since then, and this horse wants to learn. She wants to be affectionate. She wants to see what we're going to do next. She doesn't always understand what I'm trying to show her, but she isn't trying to get away or kill me. She wants to be in my club.

Love, patience, trust. These have got to be universal truths, because there they are, silent and spoken in other languages. Furry languages.

So maybe I am still writing after all. Manipulating language, in a whole other, tactile sphere.

Hitting the Trail

So at dusk we went riding with our boarder Karen. Karen has been on a horse maybe a dozen times, and now she owns Charlie, the huge Thoroughbred ex racehorse. Charlie needs a forklift just to get on his back. Charlie is what they call Death on Spindley Legs.

I didn't used to be this safety conscious. Until a dumpy pony dumped me off and broke my hand last year. Now... the tall Charlies of the world hold no interest to me. Love horses. Obsess about horses. But I don't want to ride nutty horses anymore.

So I packed all the kids on bikes. Lilly had her fake camera, a chicken sandwich and a granola bar. Emma had her new short haircut and Nathan had just recovered from 103 temperature. Ron, the tall asian dude that Karen hangs with, joined us on another bike. And Karen climbed aboard the massive Charlie.

So riding down the street with huge Charlie, I am now Worried Instructor. My kids are riding bikes in the street, but all I'm thinking is Don't Kill the Boarder. We need the income. Plus she's nice and I don't like emergency rooms.

I kept hammering it into her head to be firm. Be Woman of Steel. You must LEAD Charlie. Charlie has ADD. He must be constantly told to pay attention. He wants to try everything. If we passed a water slide, he would want to get on. If he could fit in a gopher hole, he would gopher it. heh.

We did ride up the trail without incident, and the kids and I ditched our bikes to walk up the dirt path to the new house they're building up there. Big Armenian arches. The kids ran through the house, picking their rooms, finding their closets. Lilly wanted to be in Emma's room, and even though it was just make believe, Lilly kept looking up at Emma in her "closet," saying "You share with me, Emma? I be here too?" That kind of heartbreaking loyalty, that little blonde face. Ay, killer.

Then it isn't all about the killer horse, where no one died, but instead about the killer mom, who gets to go on adventures, and gets to be there with these explorers, who find joy in everything.

I keep thinking the horse, the horse will keep me sane, just watching him, the way he moves, the silence of the horse...because my life is so loud and so not mine, and it's hard to grab onto, everyone growing up up and away... I don't want any of it to go, so if I just look the other way...find a distraction...

There is so much peace right underfoot. It's obnoxious, huh.

Car Trip Babble

Brain is fried from car trip with the family. The little people I can handle and understand, for the most part. When you're gone you realize how much food you eat and passes through your life. We ate, like, all the time. And none of it was really satisfying and yet I continued to eat and then sit in hot tubs.

Also passed lots of farm land which made me nostalgic for farmland except my mind is this vast green field and I am the shephard and I'm really bad at managing the dogs and the wolves have eaten almost all my sheep. I have no idea what is next, or where I'm going, and then there's my mom and she has no idea where she is is where she's going, and everything feels very unsteady. I do think it is all slowly spiraling downward and this coupled with all the pie I have eaten lately is unsettling.

And then we're back from vacation and the house looks bigger and the kids ate KFC and I thought relief, we're back, and then sad, oh, we're back. There's the same view. I'm stuck, how do you get unstuck? Life speeding by at 80 mph makes you want life to speed by at 80 mph, and a nice clean hotel room at the end of the journey. Life here in my real life is hard.

Family is wonderful, though. Loud, lovely and wonderful. Got to see my brother, and had all my parents together and this was good. A guy whittling sticks in the park gave me some religion, he had sticks and feathers on his hat, sitting in this rainy, bright green field by a stream and he told me to look at stuff. Love the stuff you're looking at. He whittled a magic wand, gave us wild blackberries just picked and even Nathan knew that this guy was the best part of our trip.

I guess I feel like whem you're yelling at your mom to get up and stop having a breakdown because you're scared she's going to die, and you just want her to get up and start acting like your mother again, and then you see her through all these other relatives eyes and the reflection is scary, you see how she looks, she looks terrible, selfish, mean, angry, annoying, self-serving, uninteresting - but then to me she is all those things, but underneath it all she brought me soup when I was sick. She held my hair when I threw up. She stayed with me.

When I was having an argument with her because she didn't want to sleep on a fold out couch at the hotel because when we opened it up there was an old tissue inside it, and then Barry was flipping out because we drove for hours and now my mom wants to sleep in the car... I just thought, wow, we're fighting so much. Wow, I have to break up with my mother.

She's saying she's leaving, moving really far away to the house where she wants to live, where she'll have her own washer/dryer (way better than having a daughter), my best friend says "hang on, my friend, you're about to be liberated" and I see that. But I also see from this long drive, staring at the back of my mom's neck, that she's old and that kills me, that she's been sick and it messed her up, and I've had to watch it all. I don't get to just glide along with these unresolved things from some woman who raised me long ago and I never see anymore - she's right here, and I watch it all, we are always evolving. Or devolving in most cases. No wonder I had a yeast infection and couldn't stop eating sugar and kept wanting to buy horses. It's this need to cover the wound with something that used to feel good.

More than that, it's having deep feelings, feeling it all, seeing all these people and being rich in people, and feeling like I had a family. I just don't get life, on the most basic level. I don't get how to be successful, or fruitful.

I know how to love people. I ate a really good tomato out of my garden, that I grew from watering and watching it, slowly, slowly turn red. It took FOREVER.

I know how to do that. Watch, love, wait. I guess I should be honest. This is all I know how to do.

Earth Mother

Gotta figure out a way to unite moms around the planet. A small goal. Also, I'd like to go Amish. Not full blown religious, just the farming and the pies. Momish.

Pee Serious

We were at the store and Nathan saw a jug of stuff that takes the smell of dog pee out fo the rug. I told him you pour it on the rug and it takes the dog pee smell out. He looked at the bottle, then he said, "What takes the smell of this stuff out?"

Count Your Bessings

Lilly turned 3 today. I remember when Emma turned 3. We were in Tahoe. I remember when Nathan turned 3. He loved fire trucks. Now Lilly Bess's turn.

I should have videotaped her walk home from school this morning after we dropped the kids off. She slid down dirt piles. She peeked into holes in fences. She squatted down and told the ants in the anthill we pass "Ants, did you know it's my birthday?" When we got closer to home, she took a bow. I thought this was a nice life. An entire life lived to the fullest from school to home. All you really need is a baby in your life to see that everything is going to be allright. It already is allright. It's bursting, in fact, just on a regular dirt road, hanging out with someone who can't read or drive. She just follows along, and everywhere - adventure.

We played with her little friend Luke. They played fishing while I tried not to fall asleep in the chair at their house. Ate a really good salad. Went home and she wouldn't take a nap (I missed the nap window, hate that). So I made her feel bad until she came out looking for me saying "I sad. I want Mommy."

We played with kitties, went swimming. Then we went to get a microwave for 8 dollars from a guy name Slav from Bulgaria. He was moving to DC. Moose played with Lilly in the backseat, so she didn't mind sitting in there for an hour on her birthday. "Where we goin, Mom?" she asks.

When we came in from the microwave adventure, Moose and I pushed her high on the swing. We don't usually stop to do the swing, because we're rushing here or there. But today is her birthday. Right after we got off the swing, the sprinklers went off. Can you believe that?? She took off all her clothes and ran around in them. The sun going down, the air hot, the sprinklers misting a rainbow. Emma came home from baseball practice and ran around with her in her baseball hat. When sprinklers go on, you pretty much have to run in them.

Lilly Bess, the littlest shipmate on our wayward vessel. She loves bandaids, and mermaids. Swordfighting. Peter Pan. Baseball. I Peen (ice cream). She loves to wrap kittens in rope. She loves Emma and Nathan, like the sun rising right in front of her, each day. She knows she is a wonder.

I came into the bathroom tonight and Emma had forgotten to put the tub drain up to keep the water in. Lilly was laying in the empty bathtub and said "Mommy! The bathtub melted!"

Count your (Lilly) Bessings.

Like Chicken, Like Chris

I know people like to get Oscars, but once you've had a chicken named after you, your life has been truly recognized.

My friend Chris who lives across the country is now embodied by a black and white chick at our house. The chick was born on her birthday, so of course, it's Chris. This chick used to be tiny and nervous, and now it's more ballsy and nervous, which is sort of how Chris is herself. She's almost 2 months old, and a 2 month old chick is like a man-chick, with a little peeping voice, also like Chris.

The chick at this age really doesn't know what it is - too small for a fryer, too big for the baby Lilly to carry around in one hand. All I know is, the chicks love the horse. Chris Chick and her friend Gigi Chick (named after a dead beloved chicken eaten by racoons) follow the horse around. The giant, dinosaur horse with huge fat hooves who could stomp them. They think it's their mother. Peep peep. Run after him. Gather at his feet. Peep. Take a dust bath. Peep peep. Whoa, there's some corn. Run over to it. The other huge chickens peck them away. They circle away, bummer. No corn when you're the little guy. Wait, there's a piece.

Chris runs and gets it.

Against all odds.

Animal House

We figured out yesterday that we have 33 animals at our house. Even to me, that sounds like some of these animals need to be made into meals. Here's the breakdown.

1 horse
5 goats
3 sheep
3 bunnies
1 cat
7 kittens
4 dogs
4 fish
6 chickens

Wait, that's 34. I think. Technically, the horse/sheep/goats are paying customers. 7 kittens will be gone in two more months. 1 dog belongs to my mom. 1 bunny is a foster bunny, looking for a home. (Are you available?) So that takes us down to: 16

That's still too many.

Carpe Diem

Lilly fell on her head off the coffee table. I was right there, too, I saw her tipping and in the second it took her to fall I had a million thoughts, like I can get her, she's right there, she can't be falling, she never falls, wait, why aren't my arms working fast enough, why am I still sitting here like I don't care, it's happening.

Then there she is, scooped up in my arms, crying, that thump her head made sounding fake, echoing in my mind. Then there's the big purple lump, like a hunk of meat, rising off her forehead. Ice, Tylenol, she's healing, but how come I can't be The Flash, how come I can't make things Not Happen?

Ever since I fell off the horse, or watched the marble egg get dropped into the pool line, I have realized that things are going along SO well when nothing bad is happening. You don't realize how well things are going, right at this minute. You aren't on fire? You aren't chasing someone who stole your wallet? You aren't en route to the emergency room? Things are fucking great, man. This is your day.

Disclaimer

I perhaps shouldn't blog about people I'm working with. This is how I got fired from "Pensacola: Rings of Mold," the last tv job I had. Even though everyone in the office loved the manuscript that preceeded my prompt firing (okay not EVERYONE, it was slightly brutal to some), it seems when you have possibly ongoing relationships with new people, you perhaps shouldn't insult them in blog form. Assuming they may read this.

So I apologize in advance, and will take out a secret blog where I may write freely, and later make it into a television show. Or maybe I'll just keep writing here since I think I know the only two people who read me regularly. What Would Ricky Gervais Do? I look forward to your suggestions.

Work Horses

The new PTA is so badly organized, it's like a beautiful yet tragic ballet. I go to help out with the book fair and the lady who's supposed to be running it just never shows up. So it's me and the brain-fried PTA president (the fireman), who actually is alot of help. We do all the work, and the lady finally shows up later, and has one of those personalities like she's really efficient while in effect getting no actual work done whatsoever. Like, she looks clean and clear and yet her hands are not moving to set anything up. And she has no remorse. Like, wow, maybe I should've been here to help. It's more like we're an interesting movie going on that has nothing to do with her. In fact, she's going to leave now.

So anyway, me and Firestarter set everything up yesterday. Spent the whole morning in there while the baby wandered around taking down books and opening packages and destroying what we were doing. The In Charge Chick stopped by and wavered by the door, although seemed to take no interest in coming in and helping out with the project she was CHAIRING. Then just left. We stood staring. Then we laughed. Since the baby was tuckered out, I decided I wouldn't come back for the afternoon, but would instead leave a list of things they could do, like put up posters and make price labels and stuff.

I go this morning and we have Donuts for Dads morning where kids come in with their dad and have a donut and buy books. We sold 500 dollars worth of stuff in an hour. Me and the other PTA chief, the ex-cop. These guys are the most unlikely guys. They both look like they might have been recently run over by cars. These guys are actually wonderful. They should have their own stuffed animal likeness. Ex-cop is shaped sort of like my older brother, short, squat, comes in smelling of stale cigarettes and apologizing for being late, looking showered and asleep. He's like the way your gramma's house feels. Used, smoked, bright and dim at the same time,nothing challenging is going to happen here. He's an early in the week newspaper crossword.

So turns out Coppy can't read up close, so he keeps holding the books out at arms length to read them, so we take over the cash register, me reading the book prices, he punching the numbers into the register. Taking money. We work together like we've been touring the country for years.

After the Fair closes for the morning, I manage to see the In Charge Chick again and tell her the books I'm going to re-order. I also notice that no one put any of the posters up. Again, she seems interested, but takes no action. I see the pile of posters and say I'll do it. (The piece of me that is my dad, just nicely shove everyone out of the way and do it yourself. Make a joke while you're doing it, too. Then cross it off your list and have a donut.) Also there was supposed to be a poster for the 4th and 5th graders to sign up to volunteer at the Fair. Where is that, I ask In Charge Chick. Big Boobed girl-mom says "Oh, I made the poster." "Great!" I say. Then she says: "But it looked bad so I threw it away."

Hmmm. "Wow," I say. It's like I'm running a company with a handful of assistants that don't actually do ANYTHING. And they don't see the irony.

So I reach a new level of humor. Nothing, in effect, will get done.

Fireman and Coppy and I go outside to hang up posters. They trail me as I go from place to place, holding up the tape, playing with the baby, joking about stuff, and I realize this is the greatest experience of my morning. I belong here to these limping, haphazard fellows. These guys, these are the President and the Vice-President, dude. And they are mellow, slow, and they actually DO stuff. Best of all, they show up, with a sense of irony. Diluted, of course, by the sucking hole where education should be. Peppered with redneck, but still, they freaking show up and enjoy the work. Work horses. Like the carriage horses at my other job - huge, friendly, lethargic, but they're not quitters. They'll stay with you all day, and crack a beer with you when the work is done.

There's something to that.

Carnival Boobs I mean Booths

I ran back to the school because I had left something behind at the PTA meeting. The only people left inside the empty auditorium were the two dudes running the PTA (a firefighter with skin intact but most of his brain burned away) and an ex-cop who kept calling me "Cathy," and a new-ish mom with giant boobs sitting across the long table from them.

I picked up my water jug I had left and then couldn't resist going over to check out this newly formed threesome. One side of the table I knew was into firearms and women, and the other side of the table, more than ample woman. It was an adult movie set up.

The ex-cop asked me how my broken hand was healing after being dumped off of a mean pony a few months back. Then he launched into his story about breaking his foot by falling into a hole. The cast had hurt so much he sawed it off when he got home, stuck his deformed foot into the door and wrenched his foot back into place himself. Home medic - cost of surgery? Priceless.

I talked to large boobed mom, who looked about 14. She was a single mom who had three kids under seven, and none of them were in sight. Under the boobs maybe? I saw why she was sitting at the table with the two gentlemen in the long, empty wake after the PTA meeting. Better than going home to needy kids. And man, that shirt did not cover much. Her boobs looked like a giant boob swimming pool.

"Anyway, just here to get my water," I said, backing out as the conversation turned from broken bones to stun guns.

Can't wait to start those carnival planning meetings. I hope to man the stun gun booth.

Facebook Has Stolen My Friend

My friend from far away came to visit. He stayed three weeks. He's the ideal houseguest, quietly he rolls along, gentle to the kids, great at Legos, very smart, using interesting language, amazing artist, likes to study people. He can usually pinpoint the most interesting thing going on, and talk about it. Or sometimes we just watch "Extreme Loggers."

But something has changed in the 4 years since I saw him last. He's grown up maybe. We don't have the luxury of the daily or weekly friendship, where you hang out, grow up with the person. We have the accelerated version, so we have to injest our friendship in loaves. Starve until we meet again.

I guess the last time we knew each other he was more mine. Like, secretly. We were closer, we threw ourselves on each other. This time, 3 kids climbing on me. He has Russian girlfriend. We were more Jane Austen polite. So I missed that stir-fried love, take-out style that we once had. Although I'll take somewhat stiff parlor-room. I'll take anything, he's that worth it.

Since he's been gone (Nathan cried when he left), I've heard two sentences from him on Facebook. Facebook has become the dropped handkerchief that one catches and returns to the lady. Hoping for a connection.

I guess I'm old fashioned. Miss the gloves, the glint in the eye, the hope.

The Root of the Problem

I put off having a root canal for 2 years. Then, just like a miracle, yesterday was my lucky day. I could put it off no longer.

I put myself into the hands of some able Russians in Studio City. The dude gave me the first shot in the side of my face with, I'm pretty sure, a machete. Then he decided I needed a second shot, right in the roof of my mouth. You know, the spot where there's no skin. It's mostly bone. Needles LOVE to go into this area without pain. He pulled out a shot the size of his leg. You get the picture.

Okay so now he's numbed an area the size of Madagascar. All the natives are sleeping. Except for me, the one in my head. My mind is zinging, and he's assembling a whole mini-trampoline in my mouth. Some rings here, a stretched tarpolin there, it's all very complicated and that half a Vicodin I took from my recent hand surgery doesn't appear to be easing my nerves.

Then I have to keep my mouth open for one and a half hours. It's not so bad for the first hour, but then I unclench my feet and hands and start waiting for him to tell me I'm a good girl, it's almost done, but I get nothing. And the little sucker thing keeps sucking my breath away, I'm battling that thing to keep myself alive. My mom told me to picture my best vacation ever, to try and block out the whole experience of drills and noise and tooth packing material, and I can't think of one vacation I've ever had. Then I remember three things. Nathan born. Emma born. Lilly born. Those were some great vacations. Staying in my pajamas. People bringing me food. Little tiny babies that were mine. I see those moments, and I would smile, if things weren't hanging from my lips.

When my jaw has reached pain level 1000, they tag team and the other dentist comes in to finish the job. They sit me up. She tells me to tap tap tap my teeth. Easy for her to say. My jaw has the flexibility of a haunted house, boarded up for 30 years. I manage to look like I'm still coherent but life has a swirly look, with the white walls and the metal poles and alien lights hanging down. Then I slowly realize I AM done. It's done.

I stand up to go to the bathroom. "Thank you," I say kind of warbled to the tall Russian man-child who did my tooth. "My pleasure," he says with a kind of bow. I stare at him crazily then head to the bathroom. "My PLEASURE???" I mutter under my breath. "You have got some serious issues."

I then pay for what would have been a nice trip to Hawaii, and head out into the sunshine with my sunshiney 2 year old and Barry, who had spent a lovely two hours in the park with a dozen nannies and their charges.

I can eat and drink without cringing. It is a kind of miracle.

Tweak it, Baby

Do something different. This is what I learned from my friend Victor. Each day try to do something a little bit different. So you don't get rusty.