The Boy's Gone Crazy

He seemed normal enough. An all-American rough and tumble kid, baseball in the summers, football in the fall. Yes, he was normal. Normal, that is until he got bitten by the bug....

The way I heard the story, it all started innocently enough. An easy phys-ed option for a homeschooler. It was his mom Jewel's idea, his dad was fine with it. Oh, if only his parents had realized the firestorm that would rain down on their lives, their time and particularly their finances from that point on, they would have run kicking and screaming from the idea.  If only...

They tell me I had something to do with the craziness that followed. I don't remember it that way at all. I am sure they sought me out. I didn't even really know them. I was just trying to be nice...it's not my fault...really... I am innocent...to some degree...

Here's the way I remember it: Jewels to The Boy: "Would you like to take riding lessons with some really cute blond girls?" The Boy: "Yes." (See? I had nothing to do with it.)

So off they went to the farm of The Darling Blond Girls for lessons on one of their show horses. It was great,  The Boy discovered that he really enjoyed being around the beautiful, fiery Arabs and The Darling Blond Sisters. He also found he had a lot of natural ability and soon became a very capable rider. (Bitten, and I was nowhere around.)

Once young people learn to ride, the next step is usually showing. I don't know why, I'm just telling you, that's what happens. Darling Girls to The Boy: "Would you like to show our horse, Financial Firestorm at the county fair? We'll be there, we can share him." The Boy: "Okay."

Showing sounds like a fine idea. Let's say you want to show western, you''ll need to get an outfit to show in. You need boots, leather chaps, a belt with a HUGE silver buckle, a hat, gloves. If you are a guy, a western shirt and black jeans. For girls you need more, so much more and so expensive that all horse show mom's are sworn to secrecy about it. And this is just the rider, the horse needs stuff too, a western saddle and bridle (usually loaded down with silver) and a fancy saddle pad.

Okay, fine you think, although showing Western is expensive, we can swing it... but wait, there's more. Most kids don't want to show just Western. They want to show English too, and maybe jumping, saddle seat, speed and action, dressage. It goes on and on, each discipline needing it's own outfit, boots, saddle and gear. If only they'd known.

So The Boy shows, and The Boy wins, and The Boy is hooked. It is now too late for Jewels to put a stop to this.  The stage is set, and the madness ensues.

The Darling Girl's horse is old, too old it is decided,  for The Darling Girl and The Boy to share it  anymore. This is a problem, a big one, because The Boy is hooked.  The Darling Girl's mom mentions to Jewels that she knows a person that has talented equids and maybe, just maybe, one might be available for The Boy to use. Here is where I entered the picture:

I've got ponies. Wonderful ponies. I also have beautiful horses. Too many really. I LOVE them, I NEED them! I CAN'T live without them!!! (I know, I'm working on this area of my life...) So Jewels called me up out of the blue and tells me The Blond Girl's mom has given her my number.. I repeat...I was just trying to be nice.

You know what? I didn't know what I was getting into either. You can't just say here's a pony, have fun. They didn't have any stuff. No saddle, no bridle, no barn, no fence, no trailer. So The Pony would have to stay on my farm and The Boy would have to come to her. But... He wanted to show.

Before I knew what hit me I was taking The Boy, The Pony and Jewels to 4-H meetings, riding lessons, horse shows and the county fair. I didn't mind. Jewels is an amazing cook and I'm not. She often paid me in food. She is kind of like a tightly wound Martha Stewart and her husband is the Energizer Bunny Man. Soon my flower beds looked amazing, and my parties and family gatherings were  planned, complete with food prepared and delivered. It was AWESOME! (I miss that.)

Another thing, it is impossible to stay a stranger with their family, before you know it you are on their Christmas list and invited to Easter dinner. I can't even BEGIN to explain them. It's like a modern day Walton Family vortex. I have never seen a family that has so much fun together or likes each other so much. I think they make up holidays just to be together more. And there are so many of them.  They pull you in with a tornadic force and tumble you out the other side well fed, laughed out and loved up. You find yourself thinking "Goodnight John Boy, goodnight Mary Sue, goodnight Jewels, goodnight Energizer Bunny Man, goodnight Boy.   Anyway..

So the Boy's father caved in and built some fences and shelters. The pony went to their place. Eventually they bought a horse trailer and they were on their own. The Boy grew. He moved up from The Pony to one of my horses.

In the course of time The Boy's  parents bought him his own horse. Not too long after that, his dad even built him a beautiful riding arena, and The Boy proceeded to transform his young, untrained horse into a muscular athlete, competing with him and winning at show after show.

Now though, The Boy is a boy no more..he is a young man, tall and handsome, an amazingly gifted rider. Today he sold his horse for many times what his parents paid for it, a testament to his talent and his training abilities, as well as a nice nest-egg for college. And guess what. He needs another horse.

Hmmm, I wonder what Jewels is making for dinner..

Where is love?

Love is patient.

Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

Love is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love covers offenses.

Perfect love casts out fear.

True love cannot be quenched.

Love always builds up.

Love is God is...LOVE.

Truth. Fo sho.

Facebook Floozy

Last month I was fine, happy, innocent if you will. Practically an internet newlywed. I didn't mean for it to happen...but goofing around on the web when I should have been busy doing something productive (like arranging my Tupperware according to color and size), I met someone online. Actually, I met 75 someones...I discovered Facebook.

I didn't mean to fall in love, I couldn't help it. They make me laugh, encourage me when I'm down, remember my birthday. We've just become so close, my 105 friends and I. There is no way I could give them up, don't ask me to. I'm hooked, practically addicted. I went from innocent to Facebook party girl in two short weeks. These days I'm forever wondering when and where I'm going to get my next Facebook hit. I think about it even when I'm nowhere near a computer. Usually I can't wait to get home to check and see if anyone new has "friended" me. Last time my friend Tori visited from Chicago we sat our laptops side by side at the counter, me checking my Facebook, she writing her blog.

I bet this is how any addict feels. The anticipation, the thrill, the score, the satisfaction and then of course the remorse and guilt when realizing how much of myself I've wrapped up in this endeavor. I'll sit down in the morning to just take a quick peek at the new posts before starting my chores and when I next look up from the computer three hours have passed..

Check this out. F.A.D. There really is a Facebook Addiction Disorder, I KNEW IT! Great, another acronym to add to my collection: A.D.D, P.M.S, and now F.A.D. I hope there's a 12 step program for this or I'm going to end up in marriage counseling as the dishes and dirty clothes pile up around me. So...

Hello, my name is Pam and I have F.A.D...

Whats the matter with me?

Today I mailed a high school graduation card to a darling girl, whose family I have become close to over the years. Sweet right? Yes, well...the only problem is this particular girl graduated from high school last year. What's up with that? Did I know she was graduating last year? Yes. Was I invited to the graduation party? Yes. Odd? Yes. I had her card, I just never mailed it.

You are probably thinking, oh that kind of thing can happen to the best of us on occasion. But therein lies the problem...this isn't occasional, it is constant and on going. My regular mode of operation. I once bought my sister a birthday card saying how she looks good for someone old enough that she wore bell bottoms. Then I waited so long to give it to her that bell bottoms came back into style and the joke became pointless.

Usually though, once it had been too long after the event, I will just bag it and try to pretend it never happened. I would be embarrassed for a gift to show up six months after the couple is married, the kid is born, etc.

Wait, it gets worse..the lack of gift doesn't usually stop me from going to their wedding, toasting the bride, doing the chicken dance with their family and bellying up to the bar...crass aren't I? Horrible.

Paralyzed to change maybe. Not that I haven't tried. I'm sure Dr. Phil would have a field day taking this quirk apart. What goes wrong? I buy cards by the lot. I have darling birthday, graduation, bridal shower, wedding, baby shower, baptism, first communion, anniversary (including a 50th), retirement, get well soon and this is horrible, sympathy cards. A person's whole life could be congratulated and comforted from my card stock alone...

Is there any hope for me? I'm not sure, but I'm going to keep trying...

So anyway..

Happy Graduation Shelby. The card is the mail... well not in the mail, but in my purse ready for the post. Okay that's a lie. It's still in the drawer, but I'm getting it out now..really...

Love you Kid.

Wild Fire

I guess she thought she was retired. That would explain her stubborn aversion to anything that even resembles work. She probably assumes that after raising all those babies she deserves to meander around at a relaxed pace, enjoy her leisure time and eat continuously. Hmm, this sounds kinda like me..

I am however, talking about my faithful steed Maravilla Del Rey, "The Wonder of the King". This is the Andalusian mare our farm is named after, and in her prime, she WAS a wonder to behold. At one time, athletic, high-spirited and full of life, the years and the babies have now changed her shape forever. She sways and swings in places she never used to. Gosh, this sounds like me. Anyway...

A dutiful mother, Mara has birthed and weaned her last sweet baby, and so is retired.. from parenting. Now she needs something to do (my opinion, not hers). Something to fill the time, something so she doesn't just stand around getting fat and creaky (again this could apply to me). A "job" if you will..

Therefore, today I decided to ride her.

I went out to the pasture with a halter and lead rope hidden in a bucket with a tiny bit of grain in it. (Brilliant right? This trick has been working since people started riding.) Well, she didn't fall for it. Just as she was within my reach, she sensed the danger I posed to her very existence and bolted. With all the other horses standing and staring, I chased her around and around until we were both wheezing and gasping for breath. She eventually realized that I wasn't giving up and let me catch her. After haltering her, I basically had to drag her up the hill to the barn.

Even though she seemed practically lifeless, Mara hadn't been ridden in a few years, so I thought I'd better work her in the round pen prior to riding. Finding a girth big enough to go around her giant hay belly was challenging but again I persevered. After grooming and saddling, I lead (read: dragged) her out to the round pen, where I tried to get her to move in a circle around me at anything beyond a lumbering walk. She looked like a small elephant, a very old one, wearing a monkey saddle. She was without energy. It must have drained from her body during our earlier "chase scene".

Well okay, I guessed she was ready to ride. I lead (again read: dragged) her over to the mounting block, which in her view had morphed into a crouching bear intent on eating her, and eventually hopped straight out and miraculously landed on her. Tada! After much encouragement, we walk, trot and finally even canter a few strides around the pen. This quickly becomes BORING.

I decided to "cool her out" by taking (forcing) her on a trail ride. Every step away from the barn is like walking through deep mud. We were barely moving forward. She shuffled and schlepped her way along. It took forever to get down to the end of our drive. Finally, we made it. I gave her a pat on the neck, told her she was a good girl and slowly turned her back toward the barn.

That's when it happened. My 20 year old, over weight, sway-backed mare suddenly turned into Seattle Slew at the Derby gate waiting for the bell. She chomped the bit, danced sideways, she even hopped up and down a little.

Alrighty then. I have a few tricks up my sleeve too. Let's do circles, a sure way to bring an agitated horse back under control. Circling, circling, circling. I'm starting to get a tiny dizzy. I turned her away from the barn and head down into the woods. With her veins popping out, she is a sweaty, prancing, bundle of nervous energy. Nostrils flaring, ears flicking, she is GORGEOUS!

The trail twists and turns. I can tell she's no longer sure of the way back to the barn. I let her trot, she becomes lofty and animated. A fallen tree is across the path ahead and I start scanning for a way around it. No need, she's over it with a foot to spare. Who knew she could jump? A turkey darts out from the brush, scaring the heck out of me, but Mara doesn't even flinch. What happened to the carnivorous beasts laying in wait behind every bush?

Who is this brave and fiery equid? I feel like I'm in a scene from "Lord of the Rings" or "Blaze and the Forest Fire".  Finally, with the barn again in sight, I slow my beautiful mare down. Even her walk is huge and ground covering. What a ride. What a horse! My mind is spinning with plans, the fun we are going to have. Oh, the places we'll go! Now though, Mara is a hot sweaty mess and really does need to be cooled out.

As I turn her away from the barn however, she transforms into an ancient heavy-footed behemoth from the times before time, slowly inching her way toward the tar pits.

Moving once again, like molasses...in January.

Ah well.

A Hard Look in the Mirror..

This entry was difficult to write, so I know it will be uncomfortable to read. It may make you squirm a little. But man or woman, parent or spouse, I pray if you see yourself here, even a little bit, these words of mine will encourage you to change and to grow.

I know of what I speak. This is a lesson learned in the hardest possible way, by wielding my words as a weapon and seeing the injured fall under the weight of them. It is an offense I detest in myself. Oh, to unsay a lifetime of thoughtless words that have pierced my loved ones. But no. Once airborne they cannot be drawn back, and they echo into eternity.

Like a blade, harsh words lay the victim wide. Yet we throw them about with no regard to the pain they cause. Apologize as we might, the damage is done. The wounded, though they forgive us, will nonetheless bear a scar.

If I can enlighten one person to the devastation of this, then these words are not in vain. So dear friends, this is my love letter to you:


I heard you today. You and your little family enjoying a mall lunch at the food court, your children playing in the fountain. So entertaining to watch, such a perfect little family. Then it happened.

I saw the daggers fly from your lips. Straight toward your wife's heart, they hit their target full on. Her shoulders sagged. Your words knocked the wind out of her, visibly crumbling her self-worth. I don't believe you realize the power of your words.

Like a snake, your criticism wrapped around her, crushing her spirit. Your assessment of her inadequacies was like a knife. You were probably trying to motivate her, but you shamed her instead. Though only a onlooker, your words stung me too. I'm sure you love her, I can see that you love her, but you wield your words like a club. I fear you will beat her to death with them.

Still, behind the hurt in her eyes, I could see that she adores you. She thinks you hung the moon. Young man, prove it's true. Be the person she thinks you are. Walk in grace and integrity, curb your tongue.

You are called to be her protector, her safe place, not her judge, not her jury. Not one more voice in a world of voices that tramples her down. A gift to you, she was created from God's own heart, made beautiful inside and out. He knows and loves her as she is right now, just as he does you.

I'm sure it would shock you, if someone told you how you sound. But, be it adult or child, if there is little feeling of acceptance, understanding and respect between two people, if one is hurting, is belittled or mocked by the other; "can't you do anything right?", "you're so lazy", "are you an idiot?" that person is verbally battered.

Some would justify, "Being nice doesn't work. They've got to learn to take it. I'm doing it for their own good, to help them become a better person." But another might ask, does verbal abuse ever make someone a better, healthier person? Does it ever enrich the relationship? Does it ever show love?

For some unfathomable reason, we seem to be the hardest on the ones we love the most. To our family we often speak with severity, using words we would never utter to a friend, an acquaintance, or a even a stranger. Why do we have this need to be judge over another? Why the desire to "fix" our loved ones, to point out their shortcomings, when we should be working our own?

How confusing, the heart. How devious the tongue. (you can read more on this: James 3:2-12)

But of course, thankfully, there is a wonderfully redeeming flip-side. The tongue can speak joy and peace as healing as any balm. Soothing, they bless both the hearer and the speaker. Sweet words make our hearts sing. Words of affirmation and acceptance build us up. They help us stand taller and make us feel loved and appreciated, safe and warm. They beget kind words in return. They teach our children the power of kindness.

Something harshness can never do, words of encouragement easily accomplish, for they cause us to bloom. Like spring rain, they create in us a desire to grow, to reach for the sky. To be our best. And it's in this process that we all become richer, fuller and more complete.

What a contrast. Words can cut or they can heal. Bring pain or comfort, sadness or joy. Death and life it seems, are in the power of the tongue.

Choose life.

'Nuff said.

Chubby Club

Future members of the "Too Chubby To Ride Club" (TCTRC), met at 1 pm today at Zeb's. Our President, insisting that we refer to her by her Native American name "Many Horses Come This Way", brought the meeting to order.

The meeting was opened for discussion and oinky animals noises while perusing the menu. The first order of business was fried fat balls for all members, followed by deep fried lard rings and batter encased sea urchins. Treasurer, "P Dub", made a motion for salad and diet coke, which was strongly voted down. However, a vote for giant oily sandwiches, wine and the monstrous chili dog, passed unanimously.

The ceremonial pouring and re-pouring of wine from one glass to another was observed, with all members participating.

The meeting was officially adjourned when members, grease dribbling from their chins, had reached Jaba the Hut like proportions. Zeb's staff assisted by rolling members to their cars and stuffing them in.

Next month's TCTRC meeting is scheduled to be held at the nearest All-You-Can-Eat Buffet. Date and time to be announced.

"G"
Secretary