Goodness, gracious

Great Balls of Fire! I have a follower. For now anyway, hope this post doesn't make you think, whoa, this girl iz crazee! I'm so honoured, you have no idea. I had to look twice to believe it. I always assume the worst, it's in my nature, and to think someone else is actually reading my carefully typed text is very cool. Your history sounds fascinating. Wow. Just, wow. You do me an honour. Did I say that already? Would you be offended if I said Helen Keller was one of my very first heroes? The book and then the movie of the "The Miracle Worker" gave me one of my first epiphanies about life? I learned I was born lucky, even if all my What If's did not come true.

Even if. I've been reading Mugwump's blog, reminds me to check back on it, and her story of Melinda and Mugs is hitting home for me. I'm just not ready to be that blunt. I hate even acknowledging my past experiences half the time, it gives power to something that deserved no power. I wonder "What if?" every so often. Here's a typical example.

My dearest Mom was a beautiful, born to wealth woman. My grandfather was to become a very successful business man. His marriage to my Mom's mom (my Gammy) would be notable in that they would produce two beautiful daughters, divorce each other acrimoniously, and go on to marry again, two more times each. This is a long time ago, when it was a huge hairy big deal. Anyway, Mom had many ardent suitors. One was my Dad, born poor, Loud, tall & handsome, the other a rich, Shy, tall & handsome Guy. Shy tall Guy asked Mom to marry him, but he mumbled (shyly) and she didn't hear him. Instead, of course, Mom heard my much louder Dad's proposal. Shy Guy went on to be a fabulously wealthy brilliant businessman in pharmaceuticals. We went and visited Shy Guy's HORSE!farm when I was a kid. Shy Guys' kids had horses. Lots of horses. I always wondered "What if Mom HAD heard Shy Guy? Would I have been born so Animal crazy?"

My Dad can be kindly described as a non-animal person. His idea of nature is a golf course. I have a good friendship with him now, but that took a long time. We are weirdly similar (I got his nose & his looks/build) and worlds apart. My parents divorced after a long, sad, tense marriage. Mom was never the same again. Happily, in her later years, Mom and Shy Guy (who continued to pine for her) had an affair, until Mom's death. Talk about weird times at Mom's funeral:) "Oh, HellO, Mr. & Mrs. Shy Guy!". ANYway. I know I wouldn't have grown up as me, but I still wonder. What if?

My Dad was in sales for a big company, and we moved a LOT in my early years. A "push-toy" horse was given to me on my first birthday. His name is "Butch" (hey, that word had a totally different meaning 52 years ago:), and he's still staring at me with his old brown glass eyes. Tattered and proud. Butch was my constant companion from that day forward. What if they'd given me a stuffed doll? I'm told by my older sister that I insisted on playing only with her animal toys, so I guess I started my animal obsession early anyway. When I was 11, we moved to yet another new suburbia, every other house the same. I was teetering on the verge of puberty. I was a very odd kid. I liked to play alone, I preferred to deal with kids younger than me. I was a loud-mouthed tomboy. I was annoyed at the different set of rules for my younger brother. Why was being a boy such cause for excitement? What if I'd been a boy? It seemed unfair to me, the automatic gender bias.

I started riding at a stable that I found within walking distance of my house (4 miles). If I'd just kept walking another mile, I would have found a completely different place. My experiences would have been far less traumatic, I'll bet. My parents had zero interest in my love of horses. They did everything they could think of to discourage me. My esteemed cousin was getting started in Riding Lessons in the USA, and doing well. Oh, I wanted to be her! What if I'd been born to my Mom's sister? I know, I wouldn't have been me.

My first barn was run by an alcoholic ex-RCMP officer. He'd been thrown out of the Force, but allowed to keep his horse, which had fretted for him after his dismissal. "Kayo" was my first Hero horse. Tall, black, jump anything, broke to death. There's more there to type, but it gives too much power to the memory. I walked to that barn every weekend, rain or shine, and hung around before and after my lesson, paid for very grudgingly by my parents. I hero worshiped anyone who could ride. I did any chore asked of me and if I didn't know how to do it, I was shown once.

My happiest moments of those years was walking to the farm, dreaming that I was a horse, shying at blowing leaves, snorting my delight. Just knowing I was going to see horses was enough for me. A hoof-pick, given me by the RCMP guy, was as treasured as any other priceless gem. That I was a tall, skinny, bright-carrot-red-headed big-nosed "fright" was unknown to me at that point. I didn't care about anything else on those week-end days. I was walking to see horses. Life was perfect. I fell off regularly, learned to work hard. I learned about death. A prized mare's foal was found dead in their stall. I heard mutterings that the stable-hand had killed it.

All of this was good. I was at the barn. I would save my riding clothes for a week. Mom was not allowed to wash them. I could fall asleep only to the smell of horses. The sweetest smell on earth. The barn was my idea of heaven on earth. The first year of riding lessons were the best years of my riding career, in terms of pure, unabashed happiness. I hope I'm coherent. I've had no sleep, since Flip started her tummy thing yesterday. My poor girl. I was just so darned excited to see a follower!

Thanks again, AG. Great Handle, BTW. Uh, oh, Flip needs some attention. I'll jump ahead next time, I'm been thinking on my first ride on GoLightly, and how to best describe it. GoLightly deserves an accurate accounting of his incredible talents. Just thought I should start a little closer to the beginning:) To Andalusian Horses:) (closing eyes, pushing publish)