My last morning here in the valley started out before I did. It was early and I thought I was snoozing and then the pain came and I won't say what else happened. I rolled and wretched,took a shower and packed, and then thought about the two and a half hour drive to Nashville, the final fun stop on my journey here. Oh boy! Sights and sounds! Music and beer and then a plane ride! And then a three hour layover and then another plane ride!
Oh my dear God.
A couple of phone calls and $59 dollars later I was opening my suitcase and pulling out a pair of shorts to nap the afternoon away on the porch. I don't like changing plans, and I want to go home, but why don't you just admit that sometimes things change, and that is ok. Got it, Draze?
After a snooze, I took a walk around the pastures with two old dogs and three lovely horses, all of whom are now friends of mine and I am their friend, too. I have learned a lot about old dogs and horses these last few days, and while the brown eyes of those tall babies melt my heart, they do get bothered by flies, and so that is why today they are wearing masks. They didn't seem to mind when my girlfriend put them on them (god she knows her stuff about horses!), and they were instantly calmer, even though they look a little like bank robbers.
I rode one of them yesterday, he is my favorite. He is a Tennessee Walker and a worrier like me, and so we get along very well. He loves to snuggle and gave me neck nuzzles after our ride. And so I will excuse the lite bruise on my left cheek where he gave me a little nip as I walked away....
You have to groom a horse before you can ride him. We don't want any crusty dirt on their coat where any of the straps or girth will be - that will irritate their skin. Grooming involves a hard curry brush first to loosen the mud, a soft brush next to brush off the dust, combing out the mane and tail, and finally, digging the mud out from their hooves. I did not do that part, but I did all the rest. It is important to let them know what you are doing all the time, where you are, what your intentions are, and what comes next, and then they happily oblige, and will follow you, and trust you, and maybe even love on you.
I have learned a lot from these boys, and as in every new learning, look for the lesson that is hiding behind the moment.
Maybe my stomache flu is a flu, and maybe there is a bit more to it than that. And that is all I will say about that for right now.
Home home home, I am on my way to you. I thought I had left all anxiety behind when I started out last Tuesday, but today I find I am wrong, but perhaps a good grooming will dust you away when I get there.
I miss you!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Waking Up
I can't remember the last time I saw a surise but I did this morning and I can't stop thinking about it. It was a cool morning, dark and peaceful in the Valley, the best time of day for sleeping. I was waking up thinking about several delightful adventures I had just had, and relieved that my head had been full of dreams again,instead of dust and misery as it seems to have been lately when I slept. Country air clears the cobwebs, I guess.
There are two old dogs that live here, and by old, I mean OLD as in 16 or so years each. One is a cartoon character and other is a giant panting bear, and he is the one who I heard in the hallway. He pants a lot. Like Darth Vader. I opened the door and there he was wagging his butt and asking me to open the french doors to the upstairs porch for him, but when I opened them I realized he was asking me to open them for me, not for him.
Good dog.
Pink and blue and gold and orange and salmon and grey, all of these colors squirted and splattered over the mountains. Fuzzy clouds of silver mist floating over the pastures, and horses horses. Two of them across the way were lying down, snuggled like cats, and when they sensed my presence (although at least a hundred yards away and way up high), their heads shot up like two kids who just got caught making out. Everyone around here has horses, you can't look and not see them, and they are strange and peaceful beasts who sleep standing up with one hoof cocked and both eyes open.
So much for this being the best part of the day for sleeping. On the other hand, now that I have seen this painted sight, perhaps it's time again for bed, and dreams.
There are two old dogs that live here, and by old, I mean OLD as in 16 or so years each. One is a cartoon character and other is a giant panting bear, and he is the one who I heard in the hallway. He pants a lot. Like Darth Vader. I opened the door and there he was wagging his butt and asking me to open the french doors to the upstairs porch for him, but when I opened them I realized he was asking me to open them for me, not for him.
Good dog.
Pink and blue and gold and orange and salmon and grey, all of these colors squirted and splattered over the mountains. Fuzzy clouds of silver mist floating over the pastures, and horses horses. Two of them across the way were lying down, snuggled like cats, and when they sensed my presence (although at least a hundred yards away and way up high), their heads shot up like two kids who just got caught making out. Everyone around here has horses, you can't look and not see them, and they are strange and peaceful beasts who sleep standing up with one hoof cocked and both eyes open.
So much for this being the best part of the day for sleeping. On the other hand, now that I have seen this painted sight, perhaps it's time again for bed, and dreams.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Big Truck, Great Friend, and a Lemon Tree
I wasn't sure exactly what I was getting myself into, only that a lovely friend needed someone to ride shotgun as she drove a truck towards nashville, and I was selected as good company and someone who needed to get out of town. Cheap vacation to a place I had never seen, and that is about all I knew.
After a late start, due to a missing and necessary prescription that needed filling, my partner assured me we would be there shortly after midnight. Ahhh, the romance of a road trip -- great tunes, light traffic, and a heavy engine to roll us through the Wyeth painted Iowa cornfields. Beautiful! So many cornfields! Wow, look at all those cornfields. Really, there are so many cornfields...
Indianna finally crept up, and with it, more cornfields along with a casual remark from my partner that maybe we should have take the Wisconsin route after all, as were now about 253 miles away from half-way there. We oughta make it my 3, she said.
THREE?! IN THE MORNING AS IN TOMORROW MORNING? Hmmm. Approach with caution. I am the guest here, after all. Mustn't bite the hand that feeds you, or in this case, the hand of the gracious hostess who got me into this in the first place. A few choice words were politely exchanged, including a some that intimated that if our "departure time had not been delayed due to a medication situation" that we could have gotten there by at least TWO not THREE.
By that time we were laughing so hard we could barely breathe, and 253 miles flew past us into the dark, and by midnight we were singing along with Peter, Paul and Mary as we admired the sparkling night lights of Louisville, Kentucky.
Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon, is impossible to eat.
Four more hours to go.
In the early morning hours the semi trucks - hundreds of them, kept us company for miles of kentucky and into tennessee. I had never seen so many! Huge beasts of steel and lights and shiny panels, loud and determined and very polite as they made their way to whereever they were going, and just as many cozied up next to each other in oddly poignant scenes by the side of road, dozens of big loads who decided to catch a snooze before sun up. It was a slumber party for PeterBuilt, tires tucked under massive rigs like sleepy paws pressed into tired bellies and dimmed headlights like sleepy eyelids.
Finally at 10 to 3, eastern time, we rolled into the valley (as they call it) to the sweet smell of hay and the welcoming tunes of crickets and frogs. There were horses out there somewhere, we will see those tomorrow, but for now, a glass of wine and then to bed.
In the morning I found myself a guest in a gracious southern home, with one refigerator filled with wine and the other , food, and a note about chores and "please make yourself at home". My darling traveling partner is happy tending to outdoor chores, and I am happy to sit and read and write and nap and find something useful to do with some fresh tomatoes, fettucini, and plenty of garlic for our dinner.
In my 50's I am finding that so many things that never used to feel like me are defining everything I truly am in a way I could not have imagined. Where are we going? South. When will we get there? In "several hours". Where are we staying? Someplace nice. How am I possibly going after an adventure like this with so little information? This is SO not like me!
Surprise on me! Yes it is.
And it turns out that the fruit of the poor lemon may indeed be impossible to eat, but squeezed on a little fresh pasta and argula, it is quite tasty, especially with a Biltmore Pinot Grigio.
Cheers.
After a late start, due to a missing and necessary prescription that needed filling, my partner assured me we would be there shortly after midnight. Ahhh, the romance of a road trip -- great tunes, light traffic, and a heavy engine to roll us through the Wyeth painted Iowa cornfields. Beautiful! So many cornfields! Wow, look at all those cornfields. Really, there are so many cornfields...
Indianna finally crept up, and with it, more cornfields along with a casual remark from my partner that maybe we should have take the Wisconsin route after all, as were now about 253 miles away from half-way there. We oughta make it my 3, she said.
THREE?! IN THE MORNING AS IN TOMORROW MORNING? Hmmm. Approach with caution. I am the guest here, after all. Mustn't bite the hand that feeds you, or in this case, the hand of the gracious hostess who got me into this in the first place. A few choice words were politely exchanged, including a some that intimated that if our "departure time had not been delayed due to a medication situation" that we could have gotten there by at least TWO not THREE.
By that time we were laughing so hard we could barely breathe, and 253 miles flew past us into the dark, and by midnight we were singing along with Peter, Paul and Mary as we admired the sparkling night lights of Louisville, Kentucky.
Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon, is impossible to eat.
Four more hours to go.
In the early morning hours the semi trucks - hundreds of them, kept us company for miles of kentucky and into tennessee. I had never seen so many! Huge beasts of steel and lights and shiny panels, loud and determined and very polite as they made their way to whereever they were going, and just as many cozied up next to each other in oddly poignant scenes by the side of road, dozens of big loads who decided to catch a snooze before sun up. It was a slumber party for PeterBuilt, tires tucked under massive rigs like sleepy paws pressed into tired bellies and dimmed headlights like sleepy eyelids.
Finally at 10 to 3, eastern time, we rolled into the valley (as they call it) to the sweet smell of hay and the welcoming tunes of crickets and frogs. There were horses out there somewhere, we will see those tomorrow, but for now, a glass of wine and then to bed.
In the morning I found myself a guest in a gracious southern home, with one refigerator filled with wine and the other , food, and a note about chores and "please make yourself at home". My darling traveling partner is happy tending to outdoor chores, and I am happy to sit and read and write and nap and find something useful to do with some fresh tomatoes, fettucini, and plenty of garlic for our dinner.
In my 50's I am finding that so many things that never used to feel like me are defining everything I truly am in a way I could not have imagined. Where are we going? South. When will we get there? In "several hours". Where are we staying? Someplace nice. How am I possibly going after an adventure like this with so little information? This is SO not like me!
Surprise on me! Yes it is.
And it turns out that the fruit of the poor lemon may indeed be impossible to eat, but squeezed on a little fresh pasta and argula, it is quite tasty, especially with a Biltmore Pinot Grigio.
Cheers.
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