Day 1: Introduction

I’ve been looking at various blog challenges and such to decide what I want to do. Should I do a 52 week blog which is one a week, or should I do a month long challenge with a blog a day? So many choices.
The one I decided on is a blog a day for the time that my folks are in FL. I’ll have a lot of time to myself, and writing will be a good way to fill that time. I’ll do my best to actually do a blog a day. And yes, I am going to be lazy and use this introductory blog as one of the days.
I combined a couple of challenges to get the correct number of blogs, hopefully I don’t have any that will be repetitive. At the moment though, it looks like my biggest challenge will be keeping my darling Marius off of the keyboard while I type. He likes how warm my laptop is. I’ll just have to take time to write while he is asleep. Although I usually take that time to get some knitting done. Basically he is a psycho when he’s awake and it’s too cold for him to spend the day outside.
Even if it is a bit of a challenge though, I need to spend more time writing. I haven’t done nearly enough of it lately, and that’s not a good habit to get into. I don’t plan to continue this daily writing when my parents are back, but hopefully I will at least be in a bit of a habit of writing, and will be more firm about making time to write.
I may post some other blogs during this time, which have nothing to do with the challenge. We'll see how ambitious I get :~)
Interaction would be great. Leave a comment. Let me know what you think. Let me know how I can improve my blog. Tell me something I should write about.

Happy(?) New Year

It’s New Year’s Eve. The first New Year’s Eve in quite some time that I’ve not known just what I’ll be doing at midnight. See, a few years ago, I started spending midnight on New Year’s Eve with my pony Gram. I don’t know why it started, but it was a very important part of my year. I would go to New Year’s parties, but leave in plenty of time to be home for midnight. I ended the old year and started the new year with Gram. And this is the first year without her.
The last few years, I’ve really made a point to appreciate that time that we specifically shared. She was old, at least late 30s, possibly even early 40s (which for any non-horse people is really old). I had been incredibly fortunate to have a pony who lived so long, and there was no telling how much longer she would be around. I’d already said goodbye to her multiple times, when she was in such rough shape that we didn’t think there was any way she would last another month. I’d even driven home from VT as fast as I could by myself so that I could say goodbye to her. But each time, she bounced back. And each time, I learned how much she meant to me. And every year, it became more important for me to ring in the new year with her.

Poor Gram...Over the years, she eventually got used to the fact that she had been saddled with a girl who was a night owl. The first few times I visited her in the middle of the night, she looked at me like I was entirely mental. Then she accepted it, and I think she even enjoyed our midnight chats. At least she enjoyed them when I didn’t turn on the lights and leave her standing there blinking like a startled owl. When I was younger, I would sneak out of the house at night to visit her. Nights when there was a full moon pulled me out there like nothing else could.
When I started going out there, I’d usually hop on Gram’s back. Sometimes we went for a ride, sometimes I just sat there, talking to her and petting her while she ate. The last few years though, as she grew older and less able to hold a rider, I would stand with her. I’d put my arms around her neck while she leaned against me. It was sort of a reversal of our roles. Sometimes she was laying down when I went out. She’d look up and start to get up, then realize it was just me again, and she would relax. I’d sit with her, rubbing her back, and talking to her again.

The whole ‘horse crazy little girl’ thing is such a cliche. Supposedly every little girl goes through that phase. I guess I just never outgrew it. I feel somewhat adrift at the moment though. I knew when I got Gram that she was old. I was 9 and she was over twice my age. But somehow I hoped that she would last forever. And now, there’s something huge missing from my life. One of the key players from my childhood isn’t there anymore. I have the memories, which I treasure, but I can’t go out and put my arms around her neck anymore. I’ll never just about topple over her neck when she decides to abruptly stop during one of our rides. I’ll never see her fall asleep while I groom her tail. And we’ll never ring in the new year together.
It’s a big regret of mine that I wasn’t there when she died. I know my parents were there, and that she wasn’t alone, but had people there who loved her. But I wish I’d been there for my best friend who was there for me always.
But if I had been there when she died, that would mean I’d have skipped this last trip to India, and Leaf and Marius would probably be dead right now. I know Gram liked Cosette when I brought her home last year, and I think she’d approve of Leaf and Marius too. So, yeah, I’m sad and I wish I could spend midnight with Gram, but I won’t sulk all night about it. Instead, I’ll ring in the New Year with my new kids, who mean so much to me. The new generation of animals who are much more than just “pets” to me. Call me crazy, I’m not bothered. I know what the animals in my life have meant to me over the years, and I am perfectly happy to spend time with them on New Year’s Eve.

Quick Confession??? I Can’t Ride

It’s always funny to me when people expect that, because I do horse therapy, I am a great rider. Yeah…it’s not true. Oh, I’ve ridden for ages. I’ve ridden a wide variety of horses, and I’ve done a pretty good job staying on, even when the horse doesn’t necessarily want me to stay on. I’ve even done some shows, though, to be honest, my best class was the ‘ride-a-buck’, where you ride bareback at all gaits, trying to keep a dollar bill in place under your thigh as you ride. Form doesn’t matter, so long as you can keep your seat and control your horse.
This was good for me, because I have never learned to ride ‘properly’. Of course, part of this is because everyone I have ever taken lessons with over the years has had a slightly different view of what proper riding is. And I’ve never taken the time or money to work with one instructor in order to at least learn one proper style of riding.
Oh, I’ve thought about it. I’ve watched people riding at high levels, especially those doing dressage, or reining. Those types of riding look so much like dancing, and I would love to be able to do that.
But what are my priorities? It seems lazy to say that dressage takes too much effort to master, and I don’t want to put the time into it, but it’s true. It’s not just that it’s too much effort and I am lazy. It is that I am not sure that it is worth it to me. Because really, what good is it to anyone but me? Even if I could ride well enough to ride in the Olympics, what would that do in the long run?
But then I do therapy, and realize what I want to do with riding. I want to help people who can’t control their bodies experience what it is to control a horse. I want to help people get over their fears, and the things that are holding them back in life. I want to hear the giggles of a kid bouncing along at the trot, and see the look on the parents’ faces when their child first rides independently.
I love working with horses, but there’s something about working with them while at the same time making a difference in someone’s life. This is what I would prefer to spend my time doing. Oh, it would be nice in a way to be a spectacular rider. But as I have a limited amount of time in my life, I think I’d rather do therapy.

Why to Get an Education

I was wandering around Sydney on a Sunday afternoon, and there were street performers and such all around. One was starting his show off, cracking whips over lit torches to sort of get attention and draw people in.
Standing a few rows back was a little boy watching the performance with rapt attention. He was probably about three years old, a little blond cutie. His Grama (I think) came up behind him and leaned over to give him some advice.

What she said was something along these lines, "If you don't go to school and get an education and then go on to get a good job, this is what you'll end up doing." she sounded absolutely horrified, as though that would be the worst possible outcome for his life. She just kept going on and on about it.
I don't think the kid was even paying attention. He kept leaning away as though she was annoying him, and he just wanted to pay attention to the street performer. Judging by the attention the kid was paying his Grama, and the attention he was paying the performer, I feel like he would prefer the option of becoming a street performer to that of getting an education and a 'good job'.
Really though, what makes a job good? Is it the amount of money you make, or is it the amount of joy you make? From what I've seen of street performers, they are happier than the average person in their average jobs. They may not make much, they depend on the tips that come from the people who watch their performances. But the money doesn't matter to them so much.
If I had a kid/grandkid/some kid I was giving advice to, I would tell them to get an education. I'd tell them to learn what they need to know to do the thing that makes them happy. Learn the 3 Rs as you need to in order to get by in life, but you don't need to get a degree unless it will help you be happy in your life. I would prefer to have the people I care about happy than to have them make heaps of money. Of course, if you can make money while doing what you like, that's always a bonus...  

How Much Less to Dwell in Me?

Sea waves crashing, horses running across a field, clouds roiling through the sky, an old forest without the sound of a single other person in it, a meteor shower. All of these have the effect of bringing me out of myself and making me feel like there is so much more than what is in this body. I exist in a deeper way than what anyone can see. Most people may see a tallish, kind of awkward girl, but there is so much more inside. Unlimited potential if you will.

To the reverse, crowds of people make me feel smaller than I am. Not every crowd. Crowds of students at camp, and things of that nature where I feel that I am doing something worthwhile are fine. But walking through a huge crowd in the city, I feel like I am collapsing inward, like I am becoming only what people see in me.
There's a Third Day song that says,
"All the heavens cannot hold you, Lord
How much less to dwell in me?
I can only make my one desire
Holding on to Thee."
When I see the wonders that God has done, the miracles of his creation, it reminds me of just how big He is. And then to understand that He wants to work through me...I can't even imagine how I could be worthy of that love and how He could even care who I am. But he made me, and he cares for me more than he does for the wonderful things of creation that completely blow my mind. That knowledge makes me understand that I am more than anyone sees, and I can do more than anyone else thinks.

 

The Worth of a Coke

Met a guy the other night. His name is Sam. He and his dog Ty are among the many homeless living in Sydney. I've seen them before, asleep outside the store where I go to buy supper sometimes. They were snuggled together the first time I saw them, the way Cosette and I usually sleep when we're together. Ty was snuggled up to Sam, and Sam had his arms around Ty. Both were fast asleep as though they were not at all bothered where they were sleeping, as long as they were together.
The second time I saw them, it was a cold, rainy night. Ty was eating his supper as I walked out of the store, and I noticed that Sam had several cans of food for Ty, but I didn't see anything for him. Though I suppose he could have been planning to eat dog food as well. I left the store, debating in my mind what I should do. I don't like giving money to beggars. I've had it too pounded into my head while in India that giving money to beggars is a bad thing to do.
I got almost to the top of the stairs and turned around. I needed to do something, I just wasn't sure what.
I went back and said hi to Sam and offered to get him something to eat. He looked up in surprise, like he couldn't believe that someone was actually talking to him. I offered that I could get him some food or something, and he told me he was ok, but would take a drink. He wasn't terribly picky, said a Coke or whatever would be fine.
I questioned then why I turned back. He obviously wasn't in desperate need of food if all he wanted was a Coke. A Coke cost more than I had spent on food all day. They're not exactly cheap here... but that was what he wanted. And I know how good a cold Coke can taste when you get a hankering for one. So, despite the fact that I typically count Coke (at least in Australia) a waste of money, I went back into the store and bought him a Coke.
It took me a while to get through the line. Had a nice little chat with the cashier about the hat I was wearing, and how great handmade items are. Brought a smile to her face, and brightened my day as well. I started to think that maybe Cokes weren't such a waste of money.  
I think that Sam figured I had snuck out of the store without buying him a drink. He looked pretty shocked when I walked up. He thanked me for the drink, and took a sip without meeting my eyes. He seemed shy, not rude, so I asked him his dog's name, thinking that may be an unthreatening topic. Sam's eyes lit up as he told me Ty's name and grew even brighter when I told him what a gorgeous dog he has. Just a small thing to say, but something that will brighten the day of anyone who loves their dog.
We didn't really talk beyond that. Sam was focused on his Coke, and didn't seem inclined to talk. I didn't want to push it, treating him as though he owed me something because I bought him a bottle of pop.
As I walked away though, Sam still had a smile on his face and seemed a little less burdened than he had when I first saw him. And that put a smile on my face as well.
So what was the cost of a bottle of Coke? Something like $3.80. What did it buy? A lovely conversation with a harried cashier, a chance for a few uplifting words to a homeless man, and smiles for all three of us. I'd say it was definitely worth it.
Just a thought... buy someone a drink (my Mom suggested this to me recently, I can't take all the credit), talk to someone about something simple in life. Just do something to bring a smile to someone's face. You never know what you'll affect.

Taking Myself for a Walk on the Beach

 So, I love to walk on the beach. The sound of the waves, the smell of the salt, the feel of the sand and water on my bare toes... really, it's something I've loved as long as I can remember.
But sometimes these walks don't go quite so smoothly as one might expect. See, I walk out onto the beach, and I say to myself, "Ok, I did some beachcombing yesterday. How about if I just go for a walk? Don't pick up shells, don't poke squishy things with sticks, just walk."
And I nod, seeming to agree, when really, I'm already looking for a stick I can use to poke that squishy thing by my foot.
In the spirit of being normal, I wander off to take pictures of the surf and clouds. It takes a lot of effort to walk away from that squishy thing, but I do it.
5 seconds and 3 pictures later, I'm kneeling next to something that could be a plant, or an animal, or part of an animal, debating how likely it is to be poisonous, and wondering if it's safe to poke with my finger since I can't find a stick. I gently remind myself that today, we are not on an expedition, we're on a walk.
Reluctantly, I get up and continue the walk.

This time, I manage about 20 seconds before a brightly coloured shell catches my eye. I scoop it up and put it in my bag.
"Leave it." I tell myself, "You already have one like that."
"No I don't," I mutter with a scowl, "I have 27 like this. I need this one."
I'm off again before I can sort out the logic (or lack thereof) in this reply, gleefully picking up shells and poking squishy things, all attempts at not beachcombing forgotten.
I sigh and shake my head, wondering what it must be like to walk on the beach like a normal person. There's a good chance I'll never know. But hey, I enjoy it, and really, that's the main reason for walking on the beach, right?

One of those squishy things that are all over the beach. 

P.S. I was typing this on my phone while walking on the beach, and finally had to stand still while toying, because it was taking forever. I kept distracting myself by running over to pick up a shell or poke something. It was a problem... and the worst of it is, there's no one to blame but myself.


I was in a bit of a goofy mood today...I feel like this is one of those social media posts that one does not want a potential employer to read...