Songs Of Peace

I'll Try Not To Sing Out Of Key

2012-01-17T23:06:00.000-05:00

So,another year has gone by without a new blog. I write. I write constantly. Notes to myself, scribbled phrases or thoughts on the back of envelopes or business cards. I have a lot of business cards. A whole box. They are what is left of what is rapidly becoming my past life.

I never thought in a million years my life would take such an amazing turn since my last blog. I think it is why I haven't written. I'm still afraid the bubble will burst and I will wake up and still be stuck in 2011.

The one thing I am proud of? That as much as I blog and blab online, I still retained my deepest thoughts to myself. I managed to pull off a long time hidden part of my life.

I honestly thought it would stay that way. Stuck in some sort of limbo that started a year after Prick began stalking me. I had actually met someone who went on to become one of my best friends. Because of the nature we met, I kept it a well hidden part from everyone,including myself. I brushed it off to being someone I liked a lot but kept at a distance from my real,everyday life.

I was often asked why I kept my Facebook status as "It's complicated"? Because,it was easier to brush off any man who might be interested beyond friendship. I always knew my heart was elsewhere but resigned to it never coming to any kind of reality.

I was so grateful for Xanax Man. He really helped me through that first big step in moving on.He proved to me that I could actually date someone very normal but most of all that we could separate amicably and stay friends. No court orders, no PFA's and no regrets. He was a my transition into taking back my life and putting myself first.

My therapist also helped me through. I won't lie. I fell a lot last year. I drank too much, I fought with family and I lost Mich and all my best friends that went with her. I was shocked when I was talking with my therapist. I never realized that I was continuing in the victim role. That I actually resented being told what others thought I should be doing. That people, who claimed to be my best friends, were telling me I wasn't able to move on without them. My life was making drastic changes on it's own. Like it or not, my heart told me it was time to go out on a limb and stop listening to what other people thought I should do. I was tired of fighting in court. I was tired of this whole Prick mess becoming who I was. I was tired of friends thinking I was fragile and needed to be taken care of.

I had never imagined life without my core group of friends. We knew each other so many years I thought that nothing could ever stop us from loving each other. We prepare ourselves for a possible ending of romance. We know that as we get older we will lose someone to death. No one prepares you for a childhood friend to tell you that they don't like what you are doing with your life. As a matter of fact, if you don't play the game of life the way they are, they will drop you.

I never wanted the white picket fence, 2 kids and a house in suburbia Hell. I always knew I viewed life a little differently. I just didn't know that it would become a rift when the rest of my friends got older and settled in to just that. When I split with Xanax Man, Mich made it clear she would not accept that I was choosing to take a risk with someone who didn't fit in to the white bread, husband role.

Understand, it is not all my friends. When I thought long and hard about it, most of my "other" friends were like me. No kids and nothing to tie us down when we wanted to take a plunge in to new waters.

It took me awhile, but I finally came to peace with it.

What could be so awful that your best friend and longest friendship, would come to a full blown fall-out? A man. The oldest one in the book of deal breakers.

Mich, never made it a secret she hated Prick from the very beginning. I get that. She liked Xanax Man a lot. That was the problem. On the outside, Xanax Man was the ideal safe man for me to date, after Prick. He was handsome, incredibly nice and very low-key next to my chaotic life. The problem? It just wasn't the one I had secretly loved for years but denied. Is it Skinny? LOL! No. Nice try,folks. Skinny is one of the few old friends who stuck by me. But, as Skinny sums us up;he is my "brutha from anutha mutha." I love that.

I won't say who it is I ended up with. It is why I didn't blog. It was just a weird set of circumstances that brought us together. He was there when I crashed with Xanax Man. He was still there when I crashed myself afterwards. My only thought is that my oldest friends didn't understand why I kept things so secret. Their white collar jobs and their suburban life could not wrap itself around my final crash last year. Why would I throw away convention and take up with someone who would not fit in with their idea of who I should date?

It's sad to lose your best friend. I still can't believe she hasn't been a part of my life, exactly one year, to the day.

Since my last blog? I married my secret love. I waited three years and a lot of soul searching for us to get where we are. We married with Desmond at our side. No family, no friends and no past friends. I finally quit my job of 26 years. I became closer to my husband's family and distanced myself from the dysfunction of my own.

My husband and I are in the process of creating a new beginning. We are packing up to move to a new house. While I am packing, I am sorting through old letters, photos and a lot of memories. I am glad that I can look through all of these old memories and still embrace the good parts. I miss Mich for who she once was. I miss the Me who was a big part of her life. The one thing I learned from years of court dates, therapy and Prozac....life goes on. I was lucky to have friendships last as long as they did. Not many people can say that.

Do I regret who I have become? I think back to the day that was the begining of my change. I sat in a courtroom listening to Prick's latest lame apology for continuing to stalk me. I looked over at the man I would go on to marry. I remember the feeling of numbness. I also remember that I vowed to myself that Prick would never get me back in court, again.

It took me some time to start feeling anything. I wrote some blogs but know that deep down, I was lost. It wasn't until I finally followed my heart and was willing to let go of people who weren't really supporting my decision to throw in the towel. I accept that sometimes in life, there is no conclusion.

I can honestly tell my readers that I am blogging happy.

Ho! Ho! Ho! Watch Santa Claus go!

2011-12-24T22:03:00.000-05:00

Ho! Ho! Ho! Watch Santa Claus go!

But my Sorrows, They Learned to Swim

2011-01-12T22:01:00.000-05:00

I have to admit. I write a lot of crap. But, for my private followers I either selectively email the results and the rest of you end up reading it here.
I know I could choose to have a more public following. Yet, somehow, even four years later, I feel someones personal boundaries and safety take precedence over any crap I write. That includes my rambling answers or blopping in someone Else's blog.
It has been a strange few weeks since I last really wrote anything. Losing Jan has left me completely numb and in shock. Of course, I knew she was dying. She and my uncle Steve were very open about it. They were clear that I was expected to stay and keep the horses along with Steve. I think the true reality of her being gone hit me when on Tuesday my cell phone rang at work. I knew from the voice on the other end that there was a sense of confusion and panic. It was my uncle at the feed store. He didn't know if we get orchard grass or timothy hay? For a moment, I panicked. I didn't know,either. Jan would phone order it in and we would just pick it up. I hung up the phone and had to go outside to cry. The full reality that these two horses are primarily in my care was overwhelming. And, for the first time, I really felt she was completely gone from the decision making, let alone the physical part.
The other factor is that although I think I knew since all the way back in November, my woman's intuition was telling me Xanax Man was slipping away. I could take the usual self blame road and say I am too independent for a man. I close them off or push them away before the real me shows up.Or, in this case ~the real me, who is an absolute mess, showed up too soon. The one that has shattered in to a million pieces and is still trying desperately put them back as they were before the broke. The broken version that shattered in to a million pieces after Prick took Guinevere away from me. Somehow, I knew deep down he was never really mine to begin with. His heart was elsewhere and I think we both desperately wanted to forget the ones in our past who broke us in the first place. Problem is, you can only become two hearts that beat as one, if the hearts are whole by themselves, to begin with. Neither one of us was quite there.
The hardest part for me was watching him try and do what was "right" when Jan died. The problem was he went through the motions but my sensitivity was at it's all time high. I can't explain psychic moments. They come unexpectedly and will not come on demand. I deep down knew he was trying to reach his ex at the very moment I needed him most. Whether it was just the holidays and pretending to be friends or he needed confirmation that his heart could move on, I will never know. I just know the intuition is strong enough to know he was no longer was connected to me.I may as well sat with a complete stranger.I knew by the end of the night we had Jan's memorial at the farm that I was felt more love from friends and strangers than a man I had supposedly fell in love with, yet couldn't be bothered to support my losing the most important people from my childhood, by just being there.
So, they say bad luck comes in threes. I lost both my bunners and Jan before the end of the year. Xanax Man and I split a few days in to the new year. Today I found out one of my very first neighbor friends, had died in an accident last night. I cry and feel no relief. It is just tears that flow because they are supposed to. Maybe, I cry knowing that right around the corner will be another number three.

U2

Until the End of the World

Haven't seen you in quite a while

I was down the hold just passing time

Last time we met was a low-lit room

We were as close together as a bride and groom

We ate the food, we drank the wine

Everybody having a good time

Except you

You were talking about the end of the world

I took the money

I spiked your drink

You miss too much these days if you stop to think

You lead me on with those innocent eyes

You know I love the element of surprise

In the garden I was playing the tart

I kissed your lips and broke your heart

You, you were acting like it was

The end of the world

Love love

In my dream I was drowning my sorrows

But my sorrows, they learned to swim

Surrounding me, going down on me

Spilling over the brim

Waves of regret and waves of joy

I reached out for the one I tried to destroy

You, you said you'd wait

'til the end of the world

She Needs to Fly

2011-01-04T14:33:00.000-05:00

Still one of my favorite videos, of all time. When she falls and breaks in to shards that turn to birds in flight~that is the vision I am holding on to. Rough couple weeks but I know that at least, I am not frozen where I was four years ago.

Love is a bird, she needs to fly
Let all the hurt inside of you die
You're frozen
When your heart's not open

Simon's Cat in 'Santa Claws'

2010-12-25T13:21:00.000-05:00

It never gets old in the giggle department

All the Pretty Little Horses

2010-12-25T09:17:00.000-05:00

This is actually a very old blog from my original TV.com days. I thought until recently it was bought out by CNet until a fellow editor told me I had neglected the other site so long that it was bought out by CBS. Sheesh. Where does time go?

So, a lot has happened since the last blog. I wrote a lot but crying too much to hit the post button.
My aunt Jan, finally passsed away. She was at home with my uncle Steve holding her hand.
In this past week I lost both of my pet bunnies. Inki to old age and Grissom from a broken heart. I kinda know how he feels. I will never use the expression, "dumb bunny" ever again.

I have purposely stayed at the farm and in isolation since Jan's death.
Now, more than ever, thiis old blog sums up what Jan meant to me.
BTW~ the "ex" in this blog is Shoe Man. He just texted me, asking if I was at the barn,yet? On my way...

Time to rerun another blog. It is one of my favorite Christmas memories and I hope it helps to remind everyone what the season is about.

Love and White Light~ Kimba

When You Wake, You'll Have Cake, And All The Pretty Little Horses.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you'll have cake,
And all the pretty little horses.

Black and bay, dapple and grey,
Coach and six little horses,
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby,
When you wake, you'll have cake,
And all the pretty little horses.
This was my favorite lullaby as a child.

Somehow in a family in a suburban Pennsylvania town, there was one child of three, who dreamed endlessly of horses. My parents were baffled by the intensity of my love. Where would we keep a horse? I was constantly told there was no money for horses. Yet every night I went to sleep with that lullaby in my head.
At Christmas I would visit with Santa at our church holiday gathering and tell him that all I wanted was a horse. No toys. Just a horse.
Every Christmas I would run out to the shed in our backyard and see a shed full of garden tools and no horse.
I never let on the disappointment to my parents, but inside I was always crushed that there was no horse in the back yard.
I never gave up the dream and at age 22, I bought my first horse and never looked back at my life without them.
Over these past few months I have written about my ex and sometimes I haven't liked him too much. There are times when one can remember that in spite of where we ended there was a time when one person seemed like a dream come true.
The common bond the boyfriend and I had was horses. He was a horse shoer and I am a sport massage therapist for horses. We met through friends who I knew from working at horse shows.
I will be honest that I thought he seemed nice enough, but my heart was healing from another lost love and I had no desire to try again. After much wooing and pursuing I relented to dating him because plain and simple, he was a nice guy who understood my love for horses came before anything else in my life. Here was a man who was willing to concede to that fact and we settled into a comfortable life together.
In the first year of our relationship I listened to my boyfriend's childhood which was filled with horses.
He grew up on a small farm and had cousins the same age who grew up a couple miles away on a farm. His childhood consisted of cowboying on his pony Curious George with his cousins and their ponies.
I loved these stories because they were so unlike my own suburban memories that were filled with bikes instead of horses.
I finally met his cousins on our first Thanksgiving together.
It was pouring rain that day and I was nervous meeting the extended family of this man. It turns out they were different than the boyfriend's immediate family in the fact that the cousins had a lot of money. It was obvious from the house and attitude of the family. I was quite shocked that these people were related to my down-to-earth boyfriend who barely had two dimes to rub together and didn't seem to care.
Dinner was nice and they were friendly and inviting in their conversation with me. I told them of the stories the boyfriend shared of their childhood adventures on horseback. They laughed and shared some more and I felt a pang of jealously that they had what I had wanted in my childhood. I asked if they still rode horses and all four emphatically said no. His oldest cousin told me that their oldest pony Misty died just two days before and their mother's horse Cody, was too mean to ride.
I inquired, "Is Cody still here?"
They all began to laugh about how that stupid Cody is still standing out in the field at the spot where Misty had died in the pasture. My boyfriend squeezed my hand hard under the table, sensing that the coldness of that statement would upset me.
After dinner, I asked the boyfriend to show me the barn that his grandfather had built. His aunt shouted out to me to watch for Cody because he bites.
We walked down the path discussing the fact that his cousins just don't feel love for horses like we did. To them they were toys like how my bike was to me. An object of fun and entertainment with no love involved.
As we approached the barn the rain started to turn to sleet and dusk was falling like a dark, wet blanket. I glanced out among the small pasture and there in the center was a black horse, standing alone in the rain with his head hanging down.
I knew that was Cody, paying vigil to his lost friend.
I clucked out to him and his head went up. For a moment the only sound was the pinging of sleet hitting the ground and then a small whicker of acknowledgement.
Cody began making his way over to me and as I watched him walk toward me my eyes took in the horror. This horse was obvious old and was a skeleton to boot. His mane and tail were matted, obviously not have been brushed in ages, possibly years. The old black horse reached me with my boyfriends voice behind me, warning me to watch because he bites.
As he said this, the old horse reached where I was standing and as he was softly whickering, placed his shaggy wet head on my chest and just stood there. I felt Cody's pain and stood with him, tears pouring down my cheeks with the rain and sleet.
"He can't stay here like this" was all I could choke out to my boyfriend.

For days after, I hounded my boyfriend that he needed to intervene and convince his family the most humane thing is to either put this poor horse down or find him a home. Finally, after several weeks of this my boyfriend came home and announced he found Cody a home.
"Are they nice?" I had to know.
He told me of the place where Cody was going he would be able to be retired as a companion horse for two other horses. They were nice horse folk who knew how to take care of an older horse.
I was so happy to know that Cody would be able to live out the rest of life in a safe sheltered place, cared for and with other horses.
My feelings for his cousins was forever altered by this. I never let on to their face but inside I despised them.
I still do.
Every Christmas as an adult the one thing I must do is visit my horse Christmas morning. I made this clear to my boyfriend before the holiday that after dreaming of a horse for Christmas as a child I had to acknowledge my own as an adult. He grumbled about how we would be late to his mothers for brunch and can't we skip it until later. I was seriously annoyed by this and snapped that just because he had horses growing up he couldn't understand my wishes on this day.
We pulled up to my aunts barn at 10AM and I was puzzled as to why my aunt hadn't turned my gelding Merlin and her pony Coral out yet.
I walked into the barn and was greeted by whinnies. Three whinnies as a matter of fact. There in the spare stall was Cody. He was all brushed out and de-matted and looked quite pleased to be there with his head out into the aisle looking to say hello.I turned to my boyfriend and he said," I thought your dream of a horse for Christmas should come true."

Cody in his new home

He had pulled off the greatest Christmas surprise.
Cody went on to fill out into a handsome, shiny black horse who was a sucker for black licorice. He never bit any of us and loved being brushed. He had little nubs left for teeth at his ripe old age of 31, but we managed with special senior feed and soft orchard grass hay to get him back into full weight. He became a pampered pet to my aunt and I, with a special soft spot for my uncle who loved Cody more than anything.

The irony of this story?
Cody died three years later on Christmas night in his stall. He must of had a heart attack because my uncle found him at 10PM that night laying in his stall with a tuft of hay still clenched in his mouth. My uncle called me sobbing that Cody was gone. My heart went out for my uncle who loved this horse so much in his last years, unlike the family who owned him for the twenty plus years they had him.
Don't be sad by the ending of this story. Cody got to live three years as a happy pet and died in a safe, warm place while eating from his unlimited hay supply and cared for by people who loved him unconditionally. For me, this was a second bestChristmas gift that God granted to me.
Merry Christmas to everyone, and I hope all your Christmas dreams come true.

Cody all fat and happy

OriginallyPosted by Kimba66, 12/24/2005 10:05am

Don't forget to track Santa's journey across the world!

Norad Santa Tracker

Peace All

Aint That What You Said?

2010-11-27T06:39:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me long enough, knows there are two things Evanesco hates more than anything. Liars and the shorter days. Oh, and holidays, which are always referred to as hellidays. If you knew my family or my childhood you would definitely get that.

As hard as I tried to not get in that helliday funk, I did. I really tried on Thanksgiving. I was with friends I love. I had a bonding with the friend who hosted it. I walked away that night knowing that once again, I seem to be the only person in the world who thinks that withholding information, is a lie. From my own personal experience, it's the worst of them all.
What I didn't expect was to come home to an empty house and the only person who contacted me was an ex who wanted to tell me he was thankful I was always honest with him. Good fer you,buddy. I came home to am empty house on a helliday but I am honest. Good fer me.

Is it me, or do I sense I am not getting the truth out of life?

Purpose

2010-11-22T14:01:00.000-05:00

Sometimes God, brings you an answer, in the most simple way. I can't say it enough, how grateful I am that I read this book. I was feeling so out of sorts with what has been happening. I can't say that this book is everyone's answer, but it definitely hit home,for me.
Now, go hug a dog or a special someone and remember everything in our life,good or bad, has a purpose.

I understood it now, why I had lived so many times. I had to learn a lot of important skills and lessons, so that when the time came I could rescue Ethan, not from the pond but from the sinking despair of his own life.

All come True

2010-11-09T06:55:00.000-05:00

Video from last blog for my emailers.

Got to Find the Brightness in the Soul

2010-11-08T18:22:00.005-05:00

I have never stopped.

Writing,that is.

I just can't seem to finish a blog for the life of me. I am not sure what that is about. I literally find myself shutting down before I can hit the post button. I should note that I am writing this as an introduction,only after I finished this past blog.

My aunt Jan, is rapidly getting sicker by the day. So often, after I leave from visiting with her I want to run back and tell her everything that someone should know what to say when you know they are dying. But, each time I go in to her room and sit for awhile, we make small talk. Usually, about horses and dogs. I try and bring her things that she can still eat. That has been narrowed down to mostly liquids and puddings. I noticed the box of fudge I brought back from my weekend in Rehoboth Beach, was empty on my uncle's bed. It broke my heart because the one thing Jannie loves most in this world is chocolate. If she can't get fudge down, I know it has gotten far worse than I have wanted to see.

"You seem to have a more positive attitude."

This statement came from my recent monthly visit with the psychiatrist that I finally broke down and started seeing this past spring. I had to concede with my friend Dr. Joe and my counselors at the Domestic Violence Center, that my regular physician was in no position to write out proper meds to get me through the testifying at the last court hearing. It is with her help, I am finally weaned off all tranquilizers and have drastically cut back to the lowest dose of Prozac. I decided to stay on that small dose because my migraines have seem to have all but stopped except for the occasional Monday hangovers from too much wine and junk food over the weekends.

A better outlook? It's funny to me, because I read back from years of writing and didn't realize how I had lost that for the past year. I talked it, but it now seems obvious to me,that I was just repeating the mantra that was my survival all these years.

"I am sleeping a lot more."

I was actually waiting for the psychiatrist to tell me I am severely depressed and must have more meds immediately. When she asked my why sleeping more concerned me? I just stared down at my feet for what seemed like an eternity. Probably, it was two minutes max.

"I sleep when he is with me," I finally whispered.

"He" is who I am currently dating. It seems like such a strange thing, but I swear the man is Xanax. I have begun to refer to him as "Xanax Man"

One minute we are cuddled on the sofa, and next thing I know, I am waking up two hours later, still wrapped around him, like a vine on a tree. I don't know what shocks me more? The fact that after four years of having severe insomnia that I am finally sleeping, or the fact that I am not only sleeping, but with a man? With a man who doesn't seem to mind that I am dead weight once I reach REM. Who doesn't take it personally, that I fall asleep on him.

Maybe, this is what people refer to, when they say they want meet the man of their dreams. My dream was to sleep and actually feel safe enough not to wake every twenty minutes in a panic attack. Actually, my dream was to feel safe enough in a waking state, to not have a panic attack, every twenty minutes. Meeting a man was never in that equation. The thought of dating would give me a panic attack.

For now, I have the luxury of walking my dog in my neighborhood, of driving my car without constantly checking the rear view mirror,of taking care of the horses and knowing they are safe, while Jan is slowly slipping away.

I had a brief set-back a couple weeks ago. Prick tried to get work release. I was reminded that what I am feeling may be temporary. Freedom. I only have it until the spring. I came close to writing a "Dear, Xanax Man" letter. I think the one difference this time around is knowing Prick will be forced to finish out the remaining four years in a State prison if he contacts me while on probation. I just pray he only makes contact from afar before he gets his ass back in jail. My feeling of safety is not being taken for granted.My sense of responsibility for someone else's saftey is taken even more seriously. I know the moment he gets out it will be a matter of when and how.There is not one bit of doubt he will not come looking for me.

It was while I was trying to write a break-up letter that I got a call from Xanax Man. The absolute meltdown I was having disappeared the moment I heard his voice. I hung up the phone and deleted the letter. I called Prick's probation officer and made sure he was not eligible for work release. I knew his excuse of back child-support would only give him access to me. He obviously never paid it while we were together. I looked at the bottle of Ativan beside the phone as I dialed adult probation. I tossed it in to my hand bag without taking any. I kept the mantra, "I can do this" going through my head. I think I meant more about not breaking off with someone, more than making what felt like a millionth phone call whose number I knew by heart. After the phone call, I went to Xanax Man's house for dinner and promptly fell asleep on him, afterwards. When I was driving home after leaving his house, I had to pull over to cry. I was so grateful that I didn't hit that send button.

I am a true believer that everything comes to us when our Higher Selves demands it.
The pessimistic person would say,"shit! You have an ex-boyfriend who assaulted you, stalked you for years and dragged you in to court,time after time. Your family is an absolute mess, with half of you barely speaking to each other, and someone you love and represents the horses that you love, is dying. How the Hell can this be good timing?"

Because, without all that bad stuff, I would never know how precious what I am now experiencing is. Prick being in jail has left me free to make the few weeks left with Jan,possible. The fact that I am stressed to the max in losing her, yet able to do so without drugs, is a gift I now appreciate.

The fact I can go on a date at all is something I thought was impossible. To date someone who "gets" what I went through, yet, is sensitive enough to never make me talk about it, makes me appreciate the quietness he surrounds me in.

I believe God set it up for me to finally appreciate Xanax Man. I have actually known him for years. The truth is, I never really took notice of him, other than that he was handsome and seemed nice enough. I couldn't say I ever spoke to him, in any of our past encounters, through our mutual friends. He was just there, in the background, of my self induced chaotic life.

It was after I wrote the blog about my encounter with my Wall that I finally took a chance to allow someone in. That someone happened to be him. I just had no idea at the time what was coming.

What I once took for disinterest or too quiet, I now appreciate that it is an attribute to embrace. Trust me. I will never be quiet. The endless bouncing and non-stop chatter is who I am. But, with Xanax Man I finally felt that part of me that was patient enough to lie in the grass for the light to hit a certain way for me to finally get a photo I wanted. The person who could sit and watch and quietly observe life around me without thoughts of what is watching me? That person who loves to just sit and watch the light refract different ways off the water is still in there. Four years of constant fear has finally lifted enough for me to start living the life I had, only better.

Ah another blog that I have no idea why or what I write until years later. I can look back and gauge how far I have come forward or back. All I can say is that for now, I am really sleepy again. I am so happy for the gift of sleep without taking an actual Xanax. Happiness can have side effects, but so far they have been good ones.

http://www.blogger.com/www.lyricstime.com/world-party-all-come-true-lyrics.html

Someone was 'round here asking questions
About someone who looks like you
I said I don't know where you are
Sounded like he was gonna to be back someday
So I told him where you are

She's making it all come true this time
She's making it all come true this time
She's making it all come true this time

This has not been the first time
This will not be the last
He only knew slow moves in the past
I hope you are not too fast to last

She's making it all come true this time
She's making it all come true this time
She's making it all come true this time

She's making it all come true this time
She's making it all come true this time
She's making it all come true this time

Got to find the brightness in the soul
Not look outside to find out where we are
Oh, you won't be satisfied
Until you make possessions of the stars

She's making it all come true this time
She's making it all come true this time
She's making it all come true this time

Someone was 'round here asking questions
About someone who looks like you
I said I don't know where you are
He said that he was going to be back
I told him where you are

She's making it all work out this time
She's making it all work out this time
She's making it all come true this time

© WELK MUSIC GROUP LIMITED

Outside the Wall

2010-10-08T00:07:00.001-04:00

It's about letting God's light shine through us. It's about a sparkle in people that money can't buy. It's an invisible energy with visible effects. To let go, to just love, is not to fade into the wallpaper. Quite the contrary, it's when we truly become bright. We're letting our own light shine.”
~Marianne Williamson

My dear friend Marie sent this my way. It was perfect timing.
There is one thing about owning a dog. It forces you to walk through your everyday world and stop to sniff the *insert~ roses, mailboxes, bushes, dead squirrel...*
You get the picture.
Not much to say since my last blog. I write a lot but it seems only I can understand what I write.
A friend had told me about a month ago that a shift was coming. He was right. As always it seems to scare the hell out of me when it is happening. It was one mess up after another. I felt the moment I left the courtroom after Prick's sentencing my heart was permanently broken. Between Jan being sick and the final opportunity to have to think about the past three years, I guess I had a full-blown meltdown. Once again it was Joe who had to explain what was really happening. Because Prick's sentencing was a felony charge the court was much more thorough in presenting past violations. What I didn't count on was that a lot of the original assault I had completely blocked out of my mind. I never even told my friends or counselors every detail of that night. When the District Attorney presented me with the police records, my statement from that night was in the folder. I waited a week before I steeled myself up for reading through the papers. I was shocked at exactly how graphic my original statement was. The officer had me write it that night. While reading it I was horrified that I obviously blocked details out by the very next day. I have spent three years concentrating on the stalking issue rather than what he did that night. It seemed to be permanently pushed out of my mind. To read my own words and my own handwriting, was surreal. What I didn't know was after the sentencing the nightmares would start again. I had them for months after the assault. I have blogged before about my struggles with avoiding meds as much as possible. I hated the thought of not being me, even if the me I was becoming was a mess.Eventually the nightmares faded but I know the death of Gwen has never gone completely from my mind. Now I am seeing why losing Gwen is so significant. He finished what he started that night he beat the crap out of me. I believed he stole every bit of love that I had left in my heart. I just haven't realized how much I have pushed people away because of it.
Once again, I ramble. I just don't know why the shift came when it did but I was forced to really look at what was surrounding me. I crawled home in shame and spent an entire weekend freaking out about my mess and watched Jan becoming sicker. I was up for 48 hours straight. Finally, I was awake at 3am and watched Bob Geldof in Pink Floyd's The Wall. Oh, dear God, I have become that mess. Watching that movie forced me to face the music and peek over my own wall that I have been busy building for three years. I can't articulate what is on the other side. I just know that it has always been a part of me. I just thought if I built a wall around it someone would not be able to steal from me the way I believed Prick, did. Now I know that wall just kept me from leaving the hell I created on my own.

Outside the Wall (Waters)

All alone, or in two's,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.

And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall.

"Isn't this where...."

Thank you to my friends who have managed to still be standing and for those who were willing to keep banging their heart against this mad bugger's wall. It's finally falling down

Songs Of Peace: Exhale and Inhale

2010-09-02T07:38:00.000-04:00

Oops. Bad blogger. I hit the send button before I finished the last blog.

Songs Of Peace: Exhale and Inhale

Exhale and Inhale

2010-08-24T13:54:00.006-04:00

It's never a good thing when the phone rings in the middle of the night. Since I receive crappy cell phone signals from inside my house, I have clung to keeping my land line. It was once used as my business line but with the recession, my equissage business has once again faded away. I have my few regulars who schedule a standing monthly appointment. Almost all of them have my cell number. The only time my land line rings anymore is if is my family. Since I am speaking to so few members of the family, it was even more of a shock when the phone rang at 3:30 am.
"Can you meet me at Brandywine Hospital?" It was my uncle who was posing the question. I told him I would be right there. My aunt had been diagnosed with cancer in early July. She waited until as long as she could, to tell me. Both my aunt Jan and uncle Steve are stoic people. She told me so matter-of-fact that at first I thought I misunderstood her. When I asked her where her cancer was she finally admitted to me it had spread everywhere and was moving in to her brain. She then stated that was why she thinks her sinuses have bothered so much. I stood there in the kitchen where she had told me,stunned.

Breathe in breathe out
Exhale and inhale

I know, anyone who already knows my aunt and uncle would not be shocked if either one of them had cancer. I have never seen either one of them without a cigarette. Shoe Man once had an almost meltdown when the three of us unloaded a large amount of hay bales in to the barn. As typical, my uncle had a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth as both his hands were grasping each bale down from where I was unloading from the back of the truck. He has the amazing ability to do work with both hands yet to continue to take steady drags and exhale cigarette smoke without breaking stride. I am so used to this that when Shoe started to anxiously whisper/shout at me that the barn was going to catch on fire, I had to stare Shoe down to keep his mouth shut. He hated cigarette smoke as it was. To break the cardinal rule that almost all farms have about not smoking in the barn...well, it was a lot on my part to keep Shoe from confronting my uncle. When we were riding back home after unloading the hay he asked how I could stand by and watch my uncle endangers my own horses? "Cocksucker is going to torch the whole shebang down." I had to giggle. Shebang. Only Shoe would say cocksucker and shebang in the same sentence.I pointed out that I was keeping my horses there for free, therefore, I have no right to impose rules in someone Else's barn. I figured that they have kept the barn and house (that is heated with wood burning stoves) for 30-something years without a fire. Who am I to say they shouldn't smoke in the barn? I'm pretty sure if I asked my uncle to put out his cigarette he would give me a thoughtful side glance and silently continue on smoking his cigarette, with whatever chore he was doing. My aunt would just tell him to go fuck himself. In fact, I am pretty sure she has said that to Shoe on the occasions when he would speak out about him mowing down their weeds. What Shoe didn't understand is the difference between weeds vs weed. He mowed down their stash and my aunt was pissed. I haven't smoked weed in decades but I am sure it was a hefty amount of cash that was weed whacked. After that catastrophe Shoe Man would only come out to shoe our horses and both my aunt and uncle steered clear of him. That was when I realised that they are both usually stoic because they are perpetually stoned. Hey, I'm cool with that. I keep my horses cheap and close to home. They let me basically squat there. God knows how much riding and harness equipment is stored on their property. I have five horses worth of crap that has accumulated. The most valuable I sold when I bought my house but the rest is in Rubbermaid tubs all over their house and barn.

Breathe in breathe out
Exhale and inhale
When the phone rang next to my bed, my heart was pounding as I struggled without my glasses to read the caller ID. I have no memory other than being confused because I had fallen asleep with my clothes still on and the TV was blaring. I didn't even ask my uncle why they were at the hospital. I have noticed Jan's decline in a matter of two weeks.
As the gliding doors to the ER swished open I glanced to my right and standing outside,smoking a cigarette, was my uncle. I stood there with the glass doors paused open and for a second, was confused. I couldn't fathom that they rushed my aunt to the hospital with a possible heart attack, and here was my uncle, out having a smoke.
He stubbed out his cigarette and walked in to the waiting lounge with me. Even though I have known my uncle Steve since the age of 13 I realised when we were sitting there we really don't know each other. I knew he was a Vietnam Vet. He came back from the war with a raging heroin addiction. Jan's wealthy parents sent him through expensive rehab and besides the weed, I never seen any alcohol or any other kind of drug in their house. When I met him, I knew Jan's parents didn't like him much but I have the feeling she was already the black sheep on her own. My uncle Steve just sealed the deal.

Breathe in breathe out
Exhale and inhale

We sat together in the waiting room with a blaring TV showing Fox News. The room was full of waiting people. For some reason people try and whisper shout at each other after three am. Just as I was feeling the urge to tell an angry woman, "just scream it, for God's sake!" a nurse came out to fetch us.

Breathe in breathe out
Exhale and inhale

By six am, they had Jan settled in a room. They would keep her there to run some tests. They believed her chest pains could of been a panic attack or a reaction to the pain meds she is on. It is basically what the doctor told us. They know her cancer is spreading rapidly. It's a matter of what pain is from what? When I went in to check on her Jan said, "I was hoping to have a heart attack and just get it over with."
I silently walked out of the hospital with those words ringing in my ears. I could still hear them circling around my brain, from ear to ear. I drove to their farm to feed Romeo and Sydney. It wasn't until I had them turned back out that it finally hit me. It was at this same time,same kind of summer morning in August, three years ago, I was watching my horse being put down. She had suffered for seven hours. I just got it over with.

Breathe in breathe out
Exhale and inhale

My relationship with my aunt and uncle is a tough one to explain. Technically, they are not my blood relatives. Jan's sister Judi, was my father's long-time girlfriend. They had never married and had kept separate residences.They had met through me. Judi was my first riding instructor. My divorced dad was immediately in love with her as I was. When she succumbed to cancer in 1994, it was her sister,who was holding her hand as she slipped quietly in to the other side. My father was weak. He still is. He left her in those final days not being able to handle it. I had never thought of it until Jan said those words. She already knew what she was facing. It took Judi four years to finally lose her battle with endless chemo and radiation. Every time she went in to remission we would all exclaim how blessed we were that she got through that round. In the end she was a shell of the person I knew and loved. Barely able to sit up and comatose in the end. Jan's words to me at the funeral were, "Judi would not want you crying. She held out for others and we were all selfish to ask her to do that."

Breathe in breathe out
Exhale and inhale

I sat and stared at the spot where Gwen is buried. I felt Judi was sitting next to me watching Desmond chase butterflies. She would of loved Des. He would of loved her. I willed myself not to cry. I know Judi didn't tolerate crying. If I fell off a horse I got right back on and learned quickly that if I indeed did cry, I would do so inside. She was the one who originally taught me to cowboy up. Like Major League...there is no crying in baseball! No crying in the game of life.

Breathe in breathe out
Exhale and inhale

Exhaustion was starting to creep in. I wandered up to the house that has become my second home. I stumbled in to the back bedroom and lay down in Jan's bed. She has three large picture windows that look out in to the pasture. It was peaceful lying there. I could see Syd and Romeo grazing nose to nose. The cicadas were buzzing and a neighbor began mowing their pasture. It was a good hay year. Birds were chirping, cats began to slink in to the room with the dogs on the bed with me. The last thing I remember was thinking that Judi died in August of 1994. The weather was the same. The summer was ending and the days were getting shorter. I finally felt myself let go and slip in to sleep.

Breathe in breathe out
Exhale and inhale

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzvk6JeVH2M

Simon's Cat in 'The Box'

2010-08-18T14:35:00.000-04:00

Peace Will Come, When all the hurt is Gone

2010-07-28T21:01:00.005-04:00

"Where you been?"
I have recently have become aware that I been asked that question a lot. My answer is always the same.
"Busy."
It's not a lie. I have been busy since my last posting. Busy keeping myself from descending in to that abyss of depression or worst yet~fear. I have only a couple more weeks until Prick's sentencing for stalking. That is such a weird word to write. Stalking, to me, should mean something that farm kids do. Like, deer spotting, corn husking, grass stalking. *sigh*
The entire Northeast is trapped in what seems like Hell. Heatwave, after heatwave. It makes the gnats swarm in to clouds. Even if I try and ride before daybreak, Veritas gets eaten alive by bugs. For being such a fat horse he has very thin skin. After trying to ride one especially muggy morning, he finally succeeded in cow-kicking (farm word) bugs off his belly and kicking my foot hard enough to bruise through my paddock boots in the stirrup. I declared a peace treaty with the gnats and have given up riding until I can bitch about the cold and mud.
The one thing that has taken up what was otherwise equine time, is Desmond. Australian Cattle Dogs do not like to be bored. Even he has been grumpy about the heat. I know what really makes him tick is to always keep him busy with new things. Whether it is a car ride, a new trail to walk or even hanging out at the lake and seeing new faces and other dogs. It has at least kept me physically moving in spite of the heat. We both come home at night and collapse in the comforts of central air. I keep thinking I should sign us both up for agility training or freestyle frisbee or something fun. I then walk outside and feel that hot blanket of humidity slap me and I put it off for a future goal. Meanwhile he has settled in to becoming the love of my life. It sort of crept up on me. I never expected to keep him but somehow he just stayed stuck to me. ACDs are often nicknamed "Velcro dogs" and after several months of owning Des I understand the full meaning of the term. He is quiet. He rarely barks. He never growls. Yet, wherever I go, he glides silently at my side. On the occasions he full out runs and plays with other dogs at La Mancha, he makes my heart beat faster with pure joy. He has become a normal, neurotic dog. He is still petrified of children and men, yet slept through a lightening storm that took out a tree in our development.
I have not once ventured to the New Jersey beaches. I took Dru and Tom up on their offer and went to Florida instead. I hate to admit that the one thing I love more than a horse has been tainted since Prick followed me all the way to Long Beach Island. We had a great time and it was actually cooler in the Florida Gulf than it was here in Pennsylvania.
I was happy to only encounter crystal clear waters and white sand. I saw schools of fish and dolphins leaping through the air while chasing after the tiny fish. Not one tar ball or sign of the oil disaster.
It was while I was at the beach and watching the sun set in a burning orange glow that I felt such peace. I realised that Florida was a perfect analogy of what my past couple years have felt like. That off in the distance the sky is burning with oil. A complete disaster yet here I was, enveloped with peace, wildlife, sea creatures and white sand. Peace is the direction you take to look. I know I need to eventually take back one of those places that Prick ripped out of my soul.
The sun finally sank down in to the ocean I promised myself to hold on to that thought. No matter how dismal things may seem, there are always dolphins to search for in the sea.

Hey, emailers! I have been made aware that not all song links show up through email. Since I am still a techno-dinosaur, click on the link to go to the actual blog at Blogger to reach the links that are on that page.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtU-9EMSYu0

Sometimes I think about Saturday's child
And all about the times when we were running wild
I've been out searching for the dolphins in the sea
Ah, but sometimes I wonder, do you ever think of me

This old world will never change the way it's been
And all the ways of war won't change it back again
I've been out searchin' for the dolphin in the sea
Ah, but sometimes I wonder, do you ever think of me

This old world will never change

Lord, I'm not the one to tell this old world how to get along
I only know that peace will come when all our hate is gone
I've been a-searchin' for the dolphins in the sea
Ah, but sometimes I wonder, do you ever think of me.

Dolphins~ Fred Neil lyrics

Flower in a Hail Storm

2010-06-23T22:13:00.003-04:00

I didn't expect to feel what I was feeling. It was just the shock of seeing it one way for so long and then no more.

I went out later than usual to the barn to check Romeo and Sydney. We have been having hot and humid weather early in the season. What makes it tricky for horse owners is to keep their horses from blowing up on the too-rich grass and ending up with colic or laminitis. Since the flies and gnats are so bad we bring them in during the day. Romeo is more than happy to stand all day in front of the huge livestock fan we keep over his stall. He reminds me of a dog with his head out the window, catching a breeze. As I filled their buckets from the hose I glanced up at the many barn swallows nests we have in our tiny barn. I had counted up to fourteen when I took notice of the pasture outside the back entrance to the barn. It was smooth.

My uncle had finally found and fixed the leaking pipe that leads from the creek in to our pond in the center of the pasture. It is almost three years now that he made that mistake. He hit the pipe when he was trying to bury Gwen. He ended up moving her to bury in another spot in the pasture but the gaping hole where he originally started has been there for three years. Every couple months I would see my uncle out there messing around with PVC pipe and assorted farm machinery. The pond level never went down so we weren't even sure if it was actually ever feeding fresh water in to the pond. It just became one of those things where my aunt would be exasperated that my uncle couldn't decide if it should be repaired or not. So a long snake of a ditch began to form over the next couple years. It was surrounded in yellow tape so the horses wouldn't fall in. I started to imagine my uncle was secretly enjoying the thought of a moat surrounding the pasture. Then we wouldn't be doing constant fence repairs.
There I was, looking out and not quite comprehending what I was seeing. Just a smooth and flat area where the walls around the moat had been growing for three years. Apparently a coworker came out and resolved my uncle's pond dilemma.
Even though it has been three years this coming August, I can't believe how much it still hurts when I think about Gwen's last hours. Seeing the surrounding area finally put back in to place made me imagine the sound of a slamming coffin lid. I jumped a little at the thought and ended up hosing my shoes for a second. Desmond immediately came to my side and looked up at me. The funny thing was he didn't have that usual startled look that he has all the time. He just quietly looked up at me with full eye contact. I knew at that moment he had heard it through me. What an awesome dog.

I was coiling back up the hose when my aunt came in to the barn. I told her the pasture looks nice. We stood at the door with Desmond between us and watched the swallows dive bomb from the barn to the trees outside. Three of us standing and staring at the spot now smooth and bare.
"I told him," my aunt stated in her simple quiet way,"that if that asshole gets out of jail next week and sees that gaping hole he'll know he won."

I just stood there in silence. I don't know if that is really why my aunt finally snapped at my uncle to get the pipe fixed. Maybe she wanted me to know she is thinking the same thing I am. That in a matter of days there is that possibility that Prick will be released and will come revisit the spot that he tore my very soul out of me. So many things in life are beyond our control. I can't undo what has been done. I accept it but I will never comprehend how dark someone can be.
"I think I should get some wildflower seeds and plant them," I told my aunt, as I walked back in to the barn. At least I can take comfort in knowing that every time a flower blooms, a part of Gwen blooms with it.

Lyrics | Eels lyrics - Flower lyrics

Give me Light

2010-05-02T18:37:00.006-04:00

It has been one of those weeks. You know the kind. Everything seems off kilter and I just went a little crazy. I finally had to talk to my friend Dr. Joe who suggested I up the meds. I was sobbing by the time we met last Friday.
It's not like I didn't know this was coming. Prick's release date is next week. The detective from my township and probation, waited as close to the end of his release for the probation violation, to file the criminal charges for stalking and harassment. They did this purposely to add on more possible jail time than take a chance of time already served. This will be a felony charge and if we proceed, it is mandatory I come to court and take the stand. The detective called me early Wednesday morning. I was already up from an all-night crying fest, when he called asking me if it was too early? That was when I cried silently and unable to speak. When I finally composed myself, I realized that my reaction was my brain screaming,"it is always too early for anything Prick related!" I have no idea where the past 10 months have gone. His sentenced seemed long at the time. Now, I was sitting in my car at the farm trying to not pass out because the wind was sucked right out of me.

I started after Christmas to wean myself off all meds. I was completely off the Prozac by last month and was feeling great. I have been riding more, socializing outside more with friends and finally felt that my life was starting to move forward.
It seems funny now, to read my Soccerball post. Up until last week he was my weekend dog. Two weekends ago the insanity of everything came crashing down and at the same time I decided to bring home a different dog.

It was madness to try and bring a dog to the point-to-point races at Plantation Farm, two months ago. One of the volunteers decided that we should take an Australian Cattle Dog to the races since horse people love this breed and it is a dog who needs to be constantly worked. Let's just say, it didn't go too well. The dog escaped her grasp because it freaks out by too many people and it is terrified of men. Every time the announcer called over the loud speaker, The Aussie cowered in fear. After the dog was safely recovered after it broke free, I spent a few minutes cleaning it up. He had wet himself in the van from fear. I did some TTouch and massage on him until he stopped shaking. I gave him a Xanax and he fell asleep in my lap until we got home. I knew Dru would have a tough time placing a dog like this. Aussie's tend to only bond with one or two people and are in constant need of exercise and work to not go crazy inside a kennel or house. My ex, Shoe-Man, owned an Australian Shepherd so I was already familiar through him with the quirks of these types of herding dogs.
An uncommon dog was recently brought to the rescue. A Presa Canario. The only reason I even knew of this breed was because of the dog mauling incident in San Fransisco. A woman named Diane Whipple was fatally mauled by a pair of these dogs at her own front door with the owner standing there and not calling for 911. It turned out that the couple who owned the dogs were working with the Aryan Brotherhood in raising and training this breed of dog to specifically kill, including the two that killed Whipple. The dog at the rescue is a young female. Probably only for breeding purposes, but Dru made the decision to not adopt her out. She will probably become a permanent La Mancha dog because she doesn't want the chance that the dog will end up with the wrong people.

It was morbid curiosity that sent me up to the kennel to see up close this peculiar breed. Other than on the news, I have never seen one in person. She is quite pretty. She looks like a cross between a Staffordshire and a Mastiff. She quietly came up to the front of her kennel and licked my hand. I watched her lie down in a submissive way and she wagged her tail. I sat back and watched her for a minute and then over the other 20-something dogs barking in the kennel I heard it. It was the distinct bark of an Australian Cattle Dog. They don't bark often but when they do, it is a very distinct high pitched yelp.

I walked over and there he was. It was the same dog from two months ago and ad mist the chaos of the two lab mixes that were bouncing around him he sat perfectly square in front of his cage door and was intently staring at me with his ears pricked up. I slowly opened the door and let him out while trying to keep the Labs that acted like they were on Red Bull, inside. I turned around and the little red Aussie was sitting behind me, waiting. I clipped a leash on him and took him out for a walk. Before I knew it, he was in my car and I was bringing him home thinking he would be a perfect dog for Shoe Man. He has a farm and still does calf roping. I would foster him until Monday when he was due to come to trim Romeo and Sydney's feet.

Well, that was over a week ago. Somehow this neurotic little guy adopted me.I ended up naming him Desmond after a character on my favorite TV show,Lost. We have spent a week of figuring out what does and doesn't work.It had been 16 years since I owned a dog of my own. A lot has changed since then, mainly the crate issue. My weekend dogs were older and more mellow dogs who knew my home as well as their own. Deep down I knew if I took a crate home it would be permanent. Amongst the tears and coming to Jesus meetings with Dr. Joe about meds and Dru about crates things started to shift. Desmond was calming down and I was as well. By Friday night my fog began to lift and I could stop shaking in terror. By yesterday, I knew it was working out. He stayed all day in his crate with no accidents while I was at work and then we went to a very loud raucous party at LaMancha to watch the Kentucky Derby. Men were there, but as long as I was next to him, Des stayed calm. I had taken him out to run a bit but he heels by my side even off his leash. If I stop, he sits down and waits. I wonder who spent so much time training this dog only to give him up? His fear of men makes me think someone beat a little of the training in to him. I am so glad for the years with Shoe Man's Australian Shepherd and the years of Dru's Karelian Bear Dogs. We understood each others needs and the job is done. Like the character on Lost, we are each other's constant.

It sounds like a small thing but watching Desmond last night being so brave in this huge party made me see myself in him. We both slept soundly last night. He has obviously taken over Soccerball's role of protecting me from scary things under the bed.

I now play the waiting game. The papers for criminal charges were served to Prick on Wednesday. It can be anytime in the next two weeks that I will be subpoenaed to court. The good news is he cannot be released until the hearing and if we go to trial. If found guilty he could serve up to three years. I am so sad about this. I was willing to walk away three years ago and continue on with life. He continues to try and prevent that. After three years of stalking I have to face my life will never go back to how it was. I just know if he gets out he will only be meaner and more determined.

As I type Desmond is sleeping in his crate next to me. I watch as his paws twitch in an dreamworld of chasing cattle instead of his daily life of inner demons from his past, chasing him.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W06RM7DhVIg

Maybe it is the Prozac. Maybe Dr. Joe really is right that sometimes we need a little extra help. Looking down at Desmond in his peaceful slumber gives me hope that I can get through the next couple weeks without totally losing my mind or inner peace. That we both can live in a safe place in our head where men don't beat the crap out of you.

Watch This Space

2010-04-27T07:32:00.000-04:00

So many times I hit the post button for a blog and then regret it. I hate being angry but I also remember for two years I felt numb. As much as I try and tell myself being numb was better, deep down, I know it is not.
For my private emailers I give out a shout. I was blessedly reminded not to take anything I have worked for the past three years for granted. Thank you, to stupid Oprah Winfrey, for making me stay home sick three years ago and watching her show. She had Gavin de Becker on and he was talking about his book "The Gift of Fear"
All of my life I knew I have had that sixth sense. My mom shares this. She will be sober 25 years this Wednesday. She once told me she started drinking because she knew too much of what she was thinking, was real. We all numb ourselves from truth. It sucks. But I know my gut is right and more often than not I prove too late it was.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJSYzBqA9RA

I can't get it out of my head. Crap.

Take me down, 6 underground,
The ground beneath your feet,
Laid out low, nothing to go
Nowhere a way to meet
I've got a head full of drought,
Down here, so faroff losing out
Round here,

Overground, watch this space,
I'm open to falling from grace

Calm me down, bring it round
Too way high off your street
I can see like nothing else
In me you're better than I wannabe
Don't think 'cos I understand,
I care, don't think 'cos I'm talking we're friends,

Overground, watch this space,
I'm open to falling from grace

Talk me down, safe and sound
Too strung up to sleep
Wear me out, scream and shout
Swear my time's never cheap
I fake my life like I've lived
Too much, I take whatever you're given
Not enough,

Overground, watch this space,
I'm open

I fake my life like I've lived
Too much, I take whatever you're given
Not enough,

Overground, watch this space,
I'm open to falling from grace

For all of my friends and readers who have been supportive over the years, thank you. I publicly will say just remember to trust that gut before you hit post. I am grateful God sent me someone who was nice enough to remind me to not give away what I worked for. Let's see how this one goes.Hopefully I will be around a long time to let you know if I have any regrets, later.

Happiness is a Warm Puppy

2010-04-14T16:33:00.004-04:00

One reason a dog can be such a comfort when you're feeling blue is that he doesn't try to find out why. ~Author Unknown

Most of my friends now know about my weekend love. He is a dog and his name is Soccerball. Because of my busy schedule and incredibly long work days it has been impossible for me to own a dog full time. Since Dru and Tom have nine permanent canine residents at their animal rescue it seemed the perfect solution was to allow me to bring one of their nine home with me, for weekends.
For a few years it was a Karelian Bear dog, named Czar, who came home with me on most weekends. He still lives at the rescue but has become almost completely deaf and overcome with arthritis. The last time I brought him home with me was in November. Czar tried to jump up on to my bed and ended up crashing to the floor. He was so humiliated (and yes, I swear he has that human trait) he refused to look at me for the rest of the weekend. After watching him sleep in my closet instead of the dog bed I bought for him, I made the difficult decision to no longer bring him home with me on the weekends.
My family is going through a rough patch at the moment. I love them all very much but I think my own personal demons of the past three years started creeping in to my relationships with my immediate family. I opted to walk away from trying to fix something that is too upsetting for me. Christmas was the hardest. I chose to not spend it with family. Dru's husband Tom called me Christmas Eve day and invited me for the night. I took them up on it. It actually was a really nice way to spend the night. We sat by the fireplace, ate a nice dinner and talked about fun things. Before I left I went down to the barn to say goodnight to Veritas and tell him he was the best part of Christmas.
I opened my car door and there in the passenger seat was Soccerball. He is one of the Pitbulls that Dru has made a permanent resident. Tom and Dru came out of the house and told me I should not be alone Christmas morning. Soccerball sat in the car, thumping his tail in pure joy with the thought of a car ride. I suddenly felt like the Grinch:My broken,small heart, grew three sizes that day. "And then - the true meaning of Christmas came through, and the Grinch found the strength of *ten* Grinches, plus two!"
So, the two of us went home together that night and the hole that was left where men have come and gone as well as my favorite dog Czar, was finally filled with canine joy.
One thing I have learned about having Soccerball on the weekends. Neighbors talk to you when you walk a dog. Since I live in a development, I am forced to walk a dog on a leash. Czar was a less approachable dog. Like most working farm dogs, Karelians make little eye contact and are stand-offish with strangers. Soccerball loves everyone. I cannot take a quick walk without neighbors stopping to chat him up while he wiggles his whole body in happiness. Through Soccerball, I have finally gotten to know neighbors that I never met before.
Today, a neighbor I had met on my doggie excursions, finally installed new windows and treatments for my home. I cannot believe how different my house looks with new windows! It is like a whole blast of light came in to my home. The best part was the big step in allowing a person in my home. One of the reasons I kept putting off renovations or repairs in my home is the fear I still carry from the past three years. It is much easier to have someone I know and trust come in to the house. Now, he and his fiance both volunteer at LaMancha.
So, once again, it is a fur friend who helped me make a big step. Who knew it would take a Pitbull to help me find trust? Take that, Michael Vick.

"Go on, Let it out!"

2010-03-22T21:28:00.003-04:00

This week's quote on Barking Dogs comes from Randy Grim's Don't Dump The Dog:

"In the end, a person really can't get too upset about barking.

There are so many people out there, from politicians to spouses, whom you'd love to squirt with lemon juice or place inside a shock collar, that a little barking from the dog shouldn't seem so annoying.

I think it is because we spend all day listening to the rants of others, and by the time we get home we feel we can finally scream SHUT UP and not worry about being arrested. In my house, I only reprimand for nuisance barking. If the doorbell rings, I tell my crew, "Go on, let it out," because I wish so much that I could."
.....

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http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ls7ov-iPsUw
Thanks to Heather aka Fastfilm, for recently reminding me I never tire of Oasis and Youtube.

I am flattered that I received enough private emails wondering why I wasn't blogging?
Hmmmmmm. Snow? Well, that's over with.
Spring? That helps. I am back to working six days a week.
Mostly, it is because I hate always blogging crappy stuff. It's not that anything really awful is happening, I just feel it needs to work itself out without me barking it out to the world.
But hey, I'm still around. I'm reading your blogs. I'm excited and sad that my friend Marie is finally coming home from Uganda. I will miss hearing about the amazing life she has carved out as a missionary. Amazing in this day and age that anyone is so selfless.
I have spent extra time at the farm. It is being outdoors that keeps me happiest. We have had unseasonably warm weather so I was so glad that my equine clients are floating back up to Pennsylvania.
The timing is perfect because my car needed extra work and I am finally doing the home improvements that I have postponing forever due to lack of money. I am booked up to six weeks in advance for both hair and horses. I certainly cannot complain in that department when it seems so many are still losing their jobs.
So, there is my minor nuisance barking.
BTW~Don't Dump the Dog is really a great book. It applies to a lot of things in life.

Please Remember Peace is How We Make it

2010-02-22T17:20:00.000-05:00

So, here I sit. Staring in to my monitor. I have every intention of writing a blog. What often happens is that I start and then think to myself, "even I don't want to read my crap."
I either hit the "draft saved" button or better yet,"delete."
If only life were that easy.

When there is not much to say, I sit quiet and listen for answers in songs. I found this gem a while back. George Harrrison is actually my favorite Beatle as far as lyrics go. I just thought this was a cool take on an all time favorite song.
So, I am coasting along in my quiet little world, trying to enjoy the peacefulness of being alone. No drama, no men, no court dates. Just me. Isn't that a nice little boring blog?
Peace, Love and Light, my friends.

Sledding down the Rocky Steps (Philadelphia Art Museum) 2/10/10

2010-02-10T20:08:00.001-05:00

*sniff* brings a tear to a Philly gal's eye.
BTW~ it is 8pm and still snowing like crazy.

Snow storm December 19th 2009

2010-01-13T17:18:00.001-05:00

Just a really pretty snow

Let's Hope it's a Good One

2009-12-17T08:41:00.004-05:00

I will join the march here at Blogger. Lamenting how this month has been overwhelming. I still write every day. Even if it is handwritten in a journal I constantly write things down. Lyrics to a song that resonate somehow or a funny commercial or blurb from a movie or TV show. The brain never stops. Just my motivation to form it in to something worth writing about.

December is a hard month. I know it is for so many. I watched an episode of M*A*S*H last night, where BJ tried in vain to save a soldier from dying before midnight, December 25th. He didn't want his family to always think of Christmas day as the day their daddy died. All I could think was, it didn't matter what day it was. Christmas is an entire season,dude. Kids will think of their dad the moment they walk in to WalMart and see Christmas trees in fucking September.

My now ex husband and I separated two weeks before Christmas. I finally threw him out when he showed up at a Christmas party that I was attending, sloppy drunk. Ironically, it was the first time we all met Dru's husband. It was her first "meet my friends" date. Tom still talks about that night. I can laugh now, but I know how horrible that final decision was. That first Christmas was even worse. I kept his wrapped presents that I had already bought before the separation, for over a year. One of them was custom made saddle bags for his motorcycle. His name was engraved in the leather. I couldn't return them and I didn't know any other men with bikes who spelled their name the same way my ex did.I finally did give them to him when a couple years later we tried to get back together. I broke it off for good when he joined a biker gang. A member of the gang who I knew who had served time in the past for armed robbery, knocked on my door looking for the husband. It didn't look like he wanted to have tea. I filed for divorce the next day. Hmmmmm, that was on Easter. Another holiday memory ruined. Never in a million years did I think walking down the aisle that the guy I married, who owned a Japanese motorcycle, would go on to buy a Harley and join a gang.

Christmas is a crazy time of year in the salon. It is our absolutely busiest time and there is no room for a catastrophe to happen. I came to work the day after I threw my husband out. I knew if I called out I would screw my over-scheduled book. I came to work the day after Prick assaulted me. I come to work every day. Period.

It was six days before Christmas that my friend Coleen committed suicide. Her sister called me at work to give me the news. I have no memory of what client was in my chair. I have no memory of how I finished my day. As always, I trudged through somehow. When I told my boss at the end of the day, he patted me on the back. In his warped way I knew he was thanking me for finishing out the day and not letting on what I was feeling inside.

It was a whirlwind week of funeral plans and combing through every single letter she had ever sent me, trying desperately to see if their was any clue that she would do what she did. Her last letter to me was on November 20th, 2007. She was planning to come visit in the new year. She asked if I would pick her up at the train station? I read that letter a thousand times. It is now well worn from being in my purse for so many years. I still cannot read one hint of what was to come in that letter. I have finally come to the realization that Coleen may not have known this was her last letter to me. That she may have possible woken that day with the intention of trudging on through like any other day. I will never know what finally snapped. But I know before her suicide she did what we all do every day without much thought. She woke up and walked the walk of life.

I guess that is the point of this blog. These are two examples how in the midst of what is supposed to be the happiest day of the year (according to an overly cheery Christmas song) is a world of people who know that life has a way of pulling out the rug from under us, no matter what day of the year. We wake up and do what we gotta do. No clue if disaster is waiting around the corner. We go on a first date with the hope that this is a nice person. We walk down the aisle with the intention of a life long commitment. We hug a loved one, thinking there will always be more to come down the road. I could probably write ten pages of past holiday disasters if I really wanted to. I don't. In spite of the stress and sadness I feel this time of year, I want to keep fighting the darkness.

So as always, I put up my tree. I decorate the house. I buy presents. I watch Christmas movies. I attend Christmas parties. I planned a Christmas party of my own. I invited a boatload of people to fill my tiny house with cheer. I sing John Lennon, and so this is Christmas for weak and for strong, knowing that the war is never really over no matter how badly we want it to be.

The D.E.N.N.I.S System

2009-12-07T15:56:00.001-05:00

Maybe We Will Dance Again

2009-12-07T14:07:00.003-05:00

One day maybe we will dance again
Under fiery skies
One day maybe you will love again
Love that never dies*

I had dabbled back in to that scary clown zone also known as the world of dating. I wish I could say it had gone well. I think the one aspect of being single is that it seems to bother other people more than myself. I waited two years before I even thought of the opposite sex. When I finally took the plunge I was pleasantly surprised that I didn't seem to care too much when he finally faded away. My friend who is a psychologists asked about the man (I will refer to him as Dennis*) I told him the truth. Dennis was just was a spring cleaning. I have gone out several more times with different men. Each one seems to carry more baggage than the next. I don't seem to be losing any sleep over them. Dr. Joe congratulated me on becoming a man. I chose lust over like and seemed to come out a winner. Not bad. Only took me 20 something years.

One day maybe you will see the land
Touch skin with sand
You've been swimming in the lonely sea
With no company

Oh, don't you want to find?
Can't you hear this beauty in life?
The roads, the highs, breaking up your life
Can't you hear this beauty in life?*

I have said it several times since hurling over Skinny's deck. Being alone is a heck of a lot less lonely than being with someone who doesn't want to be there. For the first time it is me who is the one not wanting to be there. I get half way through a date and I start checking my watch and wanting an emergency horse colic to call and relieve me. The man talks and my mind drifts elsewhere. I long to swim in that warm and still sea. No waves to crash around me. I think back to when I was in Captiva and that group of dolphins swam around me until one finally brushed up against me. If there were other people there I am certain that never would of happened. So, is my sea lonely? When I am alone I see things clearly. I like to stare down in to the quiet and see what life lives underneath the apparent solitude of the still surface.

BTW~ that dolphin did surface a few feet from me and chattered. I feel like that supposed lonely day in the sea, standing by myself, was rewarded. I have decided no more dating. The water is still too rough for me and I want that dolphin.

One day maybe you will cry again
Just like a child
You've gotta tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end

Oh, don't you want to find?
Can't you hear this beauty in life?
The times, the highs, breaking up your mind
Can't you hear this beauty in life?*

We have had an amazing autumn here in Pennsylvania. In between torrential rainstorms we have had abnormally mild and clear weather. Perfect for riding. Veritas is coming along. I have stopped training for awhile. The pneumonia set me back both physically and financially. It has been a nice break for both of us. We had one more incredible warm spell last Tuesday night. I had a late cancellation and left work at 5:00. The sky was clear and the moon was one day away from being full. As I drove home I made a decision. It was too beautiful to go home. I went to the farm and rode Tas in the moonlight. First in the ring with no lights. It was incredible to feel and hear his cadence without relying on full light. As I rode him in smaller volte patterns and shifted my heels and weight, we began to move as one. I felt him glide sideways across the ring in a perfect half pass. Where was Ryan to see this? I only had the moon to be my audience. It didn't matter. By the time we were done I felt like we won the Grand Prix. I put my hand up to adjust my helmet and was surprised by the wetness on my face. I was crying and didn't know it. It felt good to know I still have happy tears in me. I walked Veritas around the perimeter of the farm with only the silver light of the moon to show us the way. It was beautiful to see the world in the glimmer of moonlight. I have never loved a horse more than I did that night.

Oh, you're too afraid to touch
Too afraid you'll like it too much
The roads, the times, breaking up your mind
Can't you hear this beauty in life?

One day maybe I will dance again
One day maybe I will love again
One day maybe we will dance again
You know you've gotta
Tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end*

When Prick so brutally took Guinevere from me, I never wanted to ride again. Gwen was a Saddlebred. I had often thought it was her natural smooth gait that made riding her so effortless. After losing her and riding different horses I realized it was just the years of becoming one. We just meshed.

It took a lot of prodding on Dru's part to get me back in the saddle. As much as loved Veritas and his personality that night was the first time since riding Gwen I felt that connection again. If I thought it, he did it. I never felt stiff or unbalanced.

One day maybe you will love again
You've gotta tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end*

I have no idea if human love will find me again. I want it to. Even if Dennis didn't work out, I know I had some sort of feeling there. In spite of Dr. Joe's joke about being a man I know I'm not. I very well could of fallen for the guy if he let me. I was just smart enough this time to not waste my time when he wasn't willing. I guess he is like those in between horses I rode before Veritas. It took me almost two years to achieve that feeling I thought I buried with Gwen. If you tie yourself to the mast will it help you stay afloat? Somehow navigate those rough seas? I guess only time will tell.

*Dennis is actually a reference to a funny It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia episode. ie:DENNIS system: Demonstrate value, Engage physically, Nurture dependence, Neglect emotionally, Inspire hope, and Separate entirely.

It was while watching this episode, Dr. Joe called me and exclaimed "You were soooo D.E.N.N.I.S.ed!"
Luckily I have a good sense of humor in my lack of good men and had to agree full heartedly that yes, I was soooo Dennised.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4SMg6ndr6w

*Song Lyrics: One Day, The Verve

http://www.jango.com/music/The+Verve?l=0

Enjoy the Silence

2009-11-11T20:49:00.005-05:00

True silence is the rest of the mind, and is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment. ~William Penn

A funny thing about our Higher Selves. Sometimes, they need to physically give us a swift kick in our spiritual ass to see what is good for us. Somehow, I managed to end up with pneumonia. I was actually shocked when I was told this by my doctor. I went to her office solely to renew prescriptions. I did complain I was feeling more tense than usual but blamed it on too much work and not enough daylight. Stupid me, I thought she would just up my Prozac or write another prescription for Xanax. After listening to my lungs she ordered an x-ray and blood work. Both confirmed that my lungs were screaming.

Now that I have been forced in to bed rest, I have had enough time and solitude to see what I was doing for the past several months. I was working and staying out of the house in fear of being depressed. The funny thing is, now that I have been home alone for three days straight, it seems exactly the opposite happened. I regained my love of silence and solitude. I would only drag myself out of bed to feed the cats and move to the sofa where I would sit with a cup of tea and watch the birds and the falling autumn leaves fly outside my window.I never turned on my television and only occasionally checked my emails.The battery went dead on my crackberry and I am yet to charge it. Friends are actually calling my home line to check in. I would rasp out an "I'm OK" and immediately get off the phone. I just wanted quiet.

When I wasn't sleeping, I sat in bed or on the sofa, listening. What I heard for the first time in months was peaceful murmurings in my head.I would sit and look around at my surroundings. I was reminded of what I like about my home. I have surrounded myself with items and photos of things that are special to me. I forgot how much stuff I have accumulated over the years. Little finds in thrift shops or in my travels with the horse shows. Actual bits and pieces of equipment or items that just have sentimental value only to me. The vibration in my little place has started to shift.I started to feel the good energy come back from those items and feel comfort in being home.

For the first time since Prick's latest arrest, I left my storm door open for the cats to sit and watch the squirrels. Even though the door has a lock I still had not felt safe enough to not have the heavy steel door with three locks bolted when I was home alone. It was nice to sit and feel the sunlight spill in to my living room through the glass storm door and watch the cats follow the sunbeam as it moved across the hallway throughout the day.Such a small victory to some but it was huge for me. That glass door represented a lot.It was as if my Light came back all around. Even after the sun set I left it open while I sat on the sofa reading a book. My neighbors pass by while walking their dogs and I can glance outside And see that they all have their heavy steel doors open. I had forgotten that openness of my neighbors. When the weather is nice we don't feel the need to shut each other out. I was so glad to be reminded of another reason why I have chosen to stay where I am.

It took a couple of days but I think I finally felt like something has started to heal. Along with my lungs, it was my heart. It was worth that swift kick from my Higher Self.

There's Got to be a Morning After (reposted)

2009-11-07T22:10:00.002-05:00

There's Got to be a Morning After
I had originally wrote this draft in August of 2008 but never posted it. So often things are too painful at the time for me to actually hit the post button. I am glad I write. It really helps a year and a half later for me to see how far I have come since writing this. Tonight is the interview with Rihanna about her assault from Chris Brown. The excerpts I have seen so far have brought up some of these memories. So, I am choosing to just post this without editing it. Sometimes it is better to see it the way it was the first time around.

Once again, it is more telling that there is a huge gap since my last entry. Usually, when I am on vacation, I'll write like a crazy woman. This is the first of anything besides an email or two. I haven't even written much in my journal. Most entries start with the word exhausted.

I had written before about the little house here in Ship Bottom that I am renting for the week. It is the same house that I had rented for Prick and I, a year ago. I ended up coming here alone after Prick's arrest for assaulting me. While he was in jail, I came to beach and found out my internal sentence had begun serving it's own jail time.

I know I have blabbed a lot about the legal aftermath between Prick and I. What I hadn't realized until I came and sat in this same tiny cottage by the Atlantic Ocean, is how very emotionally broken I had already become before the assault. I was so numb from the mind fuck, that I had no idea until his toxic energy was away from me, how much damage was already there.

So,I knew I had to come back to the same place again this year. The full circle of a shitty year. I should point out that as crappy as I have felt at times, this was an amazing year of healing. Thanks to the legal issues and the insurance hell in dealing with a lump in my breast, I grew a pair of balls along the way. When you are single and have little parental support, you either sink or swim. Like the ill-fated Poseidon, I went belly up and learned to crawl through the bottom to get to the top. (do you have that crappy Maureen McGovern theme song in your head now?)heehee. I love to do that. Get a crappy 70s song stuck in someone else's head.
So,irony that last year I picked the one borough in Long Beach Island that I never rented in before. Ship Bottom was aptly named after an overturned shipwreck washed up on it's beaches and a lone woman was rescued from the hull. I had no idea how the town got it's name until I came here alone, last year. I found a book about the island that explained all of it's history. Ship Bottom was a perfect place to come alone, overturned and wrecked.
Location,location,location. I am the third house from the beach and as I type I am watching a stormy sunrise outside.It stormed in the early hours and I know if my sister were here with me,she would be glued to the window watching the forks of lightening over the water and listening with electric glee at the wind howling and slamming against my house.
Mornings like this, I can see why so many boats have wrecked on LBI's shores. The water is white capped and wild. I can see that from here at my kitchen table. Location,location,location.
The weather this week has been outstanding. Last year it took me over four hours to drive what usually takes about two and a half. It was pouring rain outside and I was pouring tears the whole way. My boss called me just as I was driving over the causeway on to the island, to see how I was. All I could do was wail,"I should of worked today and came after hours...and there's LIGHTENING!!!!" I think he was so proud of himself that he finally got me to see his point of view of all work before any play. Personally, the crappy weather mirrored my internal storm.
It ended up raining two more of the days later in the week and I lost two days to court proceedings that I had to come home for. One of which was taking out the restraining order when I realized that changing my phone number would not be enough to keep Prick's poison away from me.
The first sunny day was so hot and the beach was full of green head flies. I sat in the air conditioned house,curled up in a fetal position after downing half a bottle of Vox to myself for lunch.
I had spent most of my relationship with Prick sober. Attending Al Anon meetings, while he was in an AA meeting. I felt that it was my right to finally get so stinking drunk after supporting someone who never could stay sober more than eight weeks.My drunken confessions came when my best friend called having no idea what had happened other than what I told her before leaving the shore. "I am going alone. I broke up with Prick," was all I had told her. She hated him almost immediately after I started dating him.I knew that even though she was making sympathetic noises she was glad I seemed to have finally broken it off for good. She knew there would be no way I would go away alone if I wasn't final in my decision.
Like most women in abusive relationships, I immediately took the defense and began withholding all info. Covering up for him was really my way of covering up for myself. It was when I was stinking drunk that I finally told my best friend what had really happened. I then said the worst thing a best friend can say.
"I guess you would be happy to say I told you so."
I could tell from the silence on the other end of the receiver that she had no such thoughts other than wanting her friend to stop letting someone hurt her anymore. I was immediately ashamed.
What an awful thing to say to the one person who has always been there for me. Prick was one of many bad relationships. Mich was the one person who could always help me find the humor in my bad choices after the fact. She was the one who had sat with me in the windowsill of our high school because my sophomoric teen crush of a senior boy had asked a junior to his prom. The said junior, was a track star. Even before Tanya Harding, it was Mich who offered the services of her dad's mafia family to break this girl's knee caps. The fact that Mich can't kill a fly made this incredibly funny. Our long term friendship was sealed.
I thought of how far we had come as she held my hand at Prick's arraignment. She accompanied me to the Domestic Violence Center and stayed with me in the halls of the court house for the four hours we had to wait for the temporary emergency restrain order. No wonder so many women don't take one out or follow through for the permanent one.
Most people who didn't know me very well were stunned when I went away by myself. My closest friendds and family knew it was what I needed. I had to have only my own voice screaming inside my head to figure out what the hell just happened to me. I needed to do it in the one place in the world I love more than a barn.
After the Vox and phone call I finally steeled myself up to examine the bruises that were on my back and thighs. Most were hidden in places that only myself and later Mich who was with my attorney when she photographed them the next day for evidence. The bruise on my hip and butt were the worst. Luckily, boy short, tankini bathing suits were in fashion last summer. There was enough material to cover the deep blood bruises. I sat on the beach nursing the pulled muscles in my neck and back. I could care less how awful I must of looked. I just knew how awful I felt. It would take two months for the deeper bruises to finally fade away. The day I saw that there was only a shadow left where they once were black and blue, gave me hope that my heart could also heal.
Posted by Evanesco at 5:48 AM August 2008

Take Another Trip Around the Sun

2009-11-06T19:47:00.005-05:00

I have to start out this blog by telling my emailers that I loved your responses to the sexting blog. I literally was laughing out loud at some of your own booty call stories...or lack of...lol. It is a strange world out there and it doesn't seem to fade any with age. I wonder if I will be one of those creaky old ladies in the nursing home who is still trying to figure out what some 45 year old man wants from me? I'm sure it still won't be for my money. I am also pretty certain that I will still be bitching about the same old games people play, only now with wheelchairs and oxygen.

The past month was a blur of parties, dinners, horse events and even a Flyers hockey game that included a day of tailgating with crazy Phillies fans beforehand. To say this month was a blast would be an understatement. In between great fun with my friends, who I adore, I found myself back in a funk. I am fine if I am out of my house but as soon as night falls and I am alone at home, the black cloud descends. I have found myself on weeknights staying out at the barn until the latest possible hour.

Today was the first day of my "stay-cation." Work at both of my jobs had been non-stop busy for the past two months. This week had finally slowed down enough for me to be brave enough to ask my boss at the salon for a couple days off. I was pleasantly surprised when he complied. Originally, I was going to go to Penn State to see friends. Skinny was even going with his own crew. I had a giggle at the thought of all of my gay boyfriends at PSU hanging out with his overly male-hetero group of football frenzied, friends. I decided last week it would be a wiser choice after this month of over-partying to have a weekend of some solitude and dry out my liver. Penn State is not exactly the sort of town to stay sober in.

I spent this first day just trying to get my closet sorted out. I have lost enough weight to know it is time to let go of the larger clothes. I took them over to The Domestic Violence Center, along with a box of newly bought toiletries and samples of hair products from our salon. It just helps me to feel like I give back to the one place that has helped me so much these past couple years. It is hard to believe I just typed that: a couple years. I know the only reason I have had to still rely on them is because Prick keeps dragging me back there with court hearings over the stalking issue. As hard as I try, I still find myself feeling at times, that I am unable to cope with my own demons from this issue. I still have the nightmares, the panic attacks and the depression. I know it is a hell of a lot better than it was two years ago but I get discouraged that it never seems to go completely away.

Anyhoo, I plan to spend the rest of my stay-cation close to home. I plan to clean out some scary clowns that have been lurking under my bed and in the dark corners of my closets. I think there might even be one in the closet, under my stairs. Bastard needs to go! I found the best way to clown removal is to find music of hope. They hate that shit. The rest will be catching up with some reading and writing, hanging out at the barn and dinner with friends. When I am here at home and feeling the black cloud descending or the scratching claws of scary things, I will sing the mantra; hang on world,'cause I'm not jumping off.

Artist: R.E.M.
Album: Around the Sun
Title: Around the Sun

I want the sun to shine on me
I want the truth to set me free
I wish the followers would lead
with a voice so strong it could knock me to my knees

Hold on world 'cause you don't know what's coming
Hold on world 'cause I'm not jumping off
Hold onto this boy a little longer
Take another trip around the sun

If I jumped into the ocean to believe
If I climbed a mountain would I have to reach?
Do I even dare to speak?--to dream?--believe?
Give me a voice so strong
I can question what I have seen

Hold on world 'cause you don't know what's coming
Hold on world 'cause I'm not jumping off
Hold onto this boy a little longer
Take another trip around the sun

Around the sun
Around the sun
Around the sun
Let my dreams set me free.
Believe. believe.
Now now now now now now

Operator, Can You Help Me Place This Call?

2009-10-29T09:03:00.004-04:00

Halloween is fast approaching. Another one of those hellidays from my childhood. I know it would be shocking to my readers that Evanesco was quite shy as a wee wizard. Back then, I was wishing the vanishing spell on myself. I obviously got over it. Truthfully, if I am in a social situation with strangers it takes a while for me to warm up. But, among friends or people I like, it can be non-stop chatter...almost entirely on my part.
So, this newest form of communication sometimes has me surprizingly baffled. Texting.
I am guilty as charged in this department. I found that it is a fun and easy way throughout my busy day to touch base with friends or loved ones to let them know I'm thinking of them. I don't have many that I text with. Just a select few who either "get" my texts or I cannot freely telephone and actually converse.

My fellow single, co-workers are younger than I. They mainly communicate via the texting. One, who is closer to my age,shares my view of texting: a quick and easy way to share fun but I would rather talk to you for real. It was when this friend asked what was new with one of my recent male "friends" that it hit me what was new. So, it was she who I knew I could confess my latest annoyance, "He is a sexter." My friend rolled her eyes with understanding. Sexting should be self explanatory. If you do not understand this term...move along and read another blog.
Recently, I encountered someone of the opposite sex who feels texting is the only way to communicate. I probably did not help this by communicating back to him this way. In my own defense I said right to his face once, "you could call me,you know." which he complied for a whopping two times. What has evolved since then is something incredibly annoying. I text what I feel is an open line to communicating on an actual friend level and he replies with sext. Ummm, I should be flattered that I even receive a sext at my age but I admit it baffles me when it never goes any further. I guess it's like porn to me. Why watch strangers doing what I would rather do with a real live man? If you are going to sext me, you better have something to back it up, buster. Back in the dinosaur age of telephones you used to get the 4am, drunk booty call. I guess if you had enough balls to actually pick up a phone and speak in to it, you already committed to wanting some booty. But sexting is the least personal of the booty calls.This is coming from a person who will admit that she herself has a problem with a real relationship. In my mind I am the perfect girlfriend for the commitment phobe. I love you and only you~ but do not be up my ass 24/7. But, on that note: If you can't make an effort to talk to me, then don't expect me to booty you, ok?
Rant of the day over.

There Can't be a Fire Unless There's a Flame

2009-10-13T09:13:00.006-04:00

"Maybe this is my answer of what I should do?" I had actually posed this more of a statement than a question. Shoe Man and I went to dinner after he trimmed Sydney and Romeo's feet. Once again, I have found myself in a quandry and unable to come to peace with the decision I would make.
Things have been coasting along. I can't say for certain what I am feeling. An undercurrent of unease would probably sum it up best. I can't quite put a finger on it but I sense there is some implosion waiting in the wings. I just sit back and wait to see how hard it comes crashing down.I never really feel at peace knowing that whatever Prick-free time I have is only temporary. In the meantime, I keep riding Veritas as much as possible and my equine massage business has exploded. I am actually turning horses away because I don't have enough time to get them all in. I have recently encountered working with a vet from New Bolton who has given me referals all over Chester County. My ego is happy but it has put me back to working seven days a week with little free time for my own horses or friends. The only friend who seems to roll with the crazy schedule is Skinny. He makes his own hours so it is nothing for him to come meet me ten o'clock at night for dinner or a movie. Once again, are we dating? I have no clue. I am left with the feeling we missed that romantic window. We have been friends too long. I am done questioning it and I just embrace the convenience of always having a hetero person to be my date. Just about every weekend until December I have social functions that require a date. I found that Skinny will go anywhere without question... besides,"Dude, what do I need to wear?" Luckily, he dresses well without a fight about it. Another advantage? He has known me since I was 17 years old. This also means he knew every single one of my exes. Skinny can do a dead on imersonation of my ex husband that always get me in to side splitting giggles. This advantage means I never have to explain why I am so messed up as a 43 year old woman in the romance department. Part of me thinks Skinny knows all too well why he should steer clear of my romantic side. He has seen it first hand for too many years. *sigh*
So, back to Shoe Man. We had dinner yesterday and we did our usual six week "let's catch up." Recently Brit had contacted me. He found a position in a barn in Lexington, Kentucky. He had called me to offer me a job as head groom for their driving operation. On the surface it would be a dream job. It is also an opportunity to permanently get away from Prick and Pennsylvania. It would also mean giving up my life that I have worked so hard for here in PA. I would be leaving the horses and my friends. For the millionth time in my life I would wonder why I couldn't just have an easy solution to life? Fifteen years ago, I would of been moved before I could hang up the phone. My favorite saying of "it's a dollar short, a day late" tumbled out of my mouth. Shoe went on to assure me that working for Brit would be a disaster.I am too free-spirited next to his rigid British ways. Working shows for a week at a time was one thing. Full time would probably be my noose. I am grateful to hear his assurance that I made the right decision in saying no. We both agreed that Prick can stalk me anywhere. The most hateful things he has done was on the Internet. Moving to Kentucky won't protect me from that.
I came home after dinner in to my empty house. I wandered around, straightening up and dusting things off. I started to feel that black cloud descend. Just as I was contemplating going to bed the phone rang and heard the familiar voice on the other end, "Duuuude! Phillies are playing tonight. You wanna pretend you care and watch the game here, in my crib? You still have to tell me about your weekend with your brother."
I stood there with the phone at my ear. I picked up a framed picture of Brit and I riding on a coach at the Devon Horse Show 15 years ago. A lot has changed since then. Not all that bad.I still have my own horses. I still find comfort that I make a living massaging them. Maybe there is no fame or glory in it but the vets call on me to work. That is a huge step. Prick is away for at least a few more months.I can embrace 15 years ago with someone who was there to see it the first time around. "I'll be over," and I hung up the phone. Life goes on.
DON'T CRY Lyrics - SEAL

Shared via AddThis

Don't Cry
Don't be so hard on yourself.
Those tears are for someone else.
I hear your voice on the phone.
I hear you feel so alone.
My baby.
Ohh my baby.
Please my baby,
My baby,
When we were young,
And truth was paramount.
We were older then,
And we lived our life without any doubt.
Those memories,
They seem so long ago.
What's become of them? When you feel like me I want you to know.
Don't cry.
You're not alone.
Don't cry,
Tonight, my baby.
Don't cry,
You'll always be loved.
Don't cry,
Tonight.
My baby.
Today I dreamed,
Of friends I had before.
And I wonder why.
The ones who care don't call anymore.
My feelings hurt.
But you know I overcome the pain.
And I'm stronger now,
There can't be a fire unless there's a flame.
Don't cry.
You're not alone.
Don't cry,
Tonight, my baby.
Don't cry.
You'll always be loved.
Don't cry oh...
Limousines and sycophants,
Don't leave me now,
Cause I'm afraid what you've done to me.
Is now the wolf.
In my bed,
In my head.
In my head.
In my head.
The challenges, we took were hard enough.
They get harder now.
Even when we think that we've had enough.
Don't feel alone,
Cause it's I, you understand.
I'm your sedative,
Take a piece of me whenever you can.
Don't cry.... you're not alone.
...don't be so hard on yourself...
Don't cry.... tonight my baby
...Those tears are for.....someone else...
Don't cry.... you'll always be loved
...I hear your voice on the phone...
Don't cry.... tonight sweet baby
...I hear you feel... so alone.
Don't cry... don't cry... don't cry... don't you cry...
Cry... Don't cry...
Cause you still be loved
Don't cry
Don't cry tonight
Ohh..
My baby my baby my baby my baby my baby my baby my baby
my baby my baby my my baby my baby my baby my baby mymy baby my baby my baby
My baby....
Don't cry tonight
You'll still be loved

~ Seal

I Want to Fly and Never Come Down

2009-09-24T08:05:00.006-04:00

Some of us are lucky to have tough love friends. I actually have a two and they also happen to be married to each other.

When Dru's husband called a month ago telling me that they bought my airline ticket and I had to go to Florida with them I am sure my outside friends would think I have incredibly nice friends. While it is true they are incredibly nice and they are very good friends, the ulterior motive was to get me away from what they knew was brewing in to a bad situation.

I have spent the past two years of my life numb. I have had my moments of crying and laughing and a steady hum of some form of contentment but when it came to the romance side of life~nothing.

Recently, I have found myself spiraling right back in to that pattern. The sad part is that when this happens, I am too numb to see it. Most of my friends buy my crap lines of inner peace and I am happy. Dru, and her husband, are not those friends.

"You know this will only come back to bite you down the line." This statement was from Dru's husband. I was teetering on the edge of being involved with the wrong person. I knew he was right. If a man is telling you that another man is bad news, you know they are right. When it comes to getting some, most men will stick together. Dru's husband is by no means sappy or sentimental but he is honest. I had that moment of "he is just not that in to you" from a dude. *sigh*
So, the real reason for my trip was to get me out of Dodge. Just like years ago when I would hit the road with the horses, the Tough Love Team knew that the best way to see what a relationship is~ or isn't~ is to remove me physically from the scene of the crime. That is good friendship.
It is strange when you have been alone for so long. You eventually become so used to it you no longer know what a real relationship feels like.
It seems it happens every time. I go for long periods of solitude to being overwhelmed by too much romantic male company. The thing is, it has never has worked for me. For the life of me, I cannot juggle. I am the circus freak who can only juggle one ball. I don't know if it's because I work so much, have too many friends I already socialize with, or maybe my psyche hates sharing, but I could never master dating several men at once.

Dru called me early on the morning of the 13th. The retirement farm for horses, where I worked for several years back in the 90s, had a barn burn down to the ground. "Quick, put on channel 6, Tommy* is being interviewed."

There he was. It had been at least six years since I last saw him. Shoe Man had continued to work as a farrier at the farm even after I left. One of the many strange twists of my life that would leave friends baffled as to how and why I live life the way I do. Tommy and I had kept in sporadic touch after I left the farm. Like a lot of old relationships, it eventually faded away without any fanfare.
Occasionally, Shoe would tell me that Tommy asked for me and said hello.

It was one of the highest points in my life when I took that job. I was the first female barn manager in the one hundred and twenty year history of the farm. I was proud that I came in to a male dominated facility and could keep up with the men in the physical aspect of running a farm with 108 horses. What I didn't count on was being the only female would put me in that position of male attention. Most of it came from a very married Tommy.

It started out innocent enough. We all drank a lot at the farm. After long hours of farm work, we would end the day by sitting in lawn chairs overlooking the pastures, drinking beers and making each other laugh. There were four of us. Three men and myself. It was Tommy who I hit it off with the most. I guess I shouldn't of been surprised when he finally in a drunken stupor proclaimed love. I knew he was a man who would never leave his kids. I chose to walk away from starting a relationship with a married man. We both ignored his drunk confession and continued to stay friends and coworkers.

During this time I was just beginning to date Shoe Man. He was a friend of a friend. I can't say I was head over heels with him, but he was a nice guy who was always there for me. Even Tommy admitted that he would be a good guy for me. So, what did I do? I found myself sucked in to a wild affair with another guy at the farm. This man was also Tommy's best friend since high school. He was supposedly separated from his wife and followed me around like a lovesick puppy. I have no idea what the hell I was thinking getting involved with this guy. Hindsight, I think it was my way of saying to Tommy, "this is what could happen if you left your wife."

The only thing I achieved was breaking up their friendship and having this guy's teenage daughter call me on the phone demanding to know if I was sleeping with her father? Apparently, he was not separated and his wife after all. Tommy was livid. He had known his friend was playing me. He struggled with who his loyalty was to. It turned out to be to me. This turned in to weeks of drunken phone calls and further proclamations of love. He would leave his wife, he would be there for me...blahblahblah. In no time, all of the hard work and respect I achieved at the farm, went down the drain. I handed in my resignation, told Tommy and the other man I wanted nothing romantic from either of them and had Shoe Man move in with me. We were together for seven years. Not once in those seven years, did we ever discuss the triangle that occurred at the farm that he, himself, was still working at.
"Tommy says hello," Shoe would say.
"That's nice, tell him hello back for me," I would respond. Shoe was a good guy that way.

I was quite shocked when three years ago, while I was with Prick, that Tommy called me 11:00 at night in a drunken stupor. "I left her and I have never, ever, stopped loving you." Crap. Why do men do this??? It had been ten years by that point! Needless to say, Prick, did not take this phone call too well. I had to endure the last few months of our relationship with him tormenting me with a barrage of questions of who Tommy was?

As I watched the news, I picked up the phone and dialed Tommy's office. Ten years later I knew the number off the top of my head. His machine came on and I left a message.
"You have to burn down a barn to get me to call you? Whassup wi' dat?"

He called me back an hour later.

"Did you get my letters?" he asked. Oh shit. I immediately felt my stomach drop. I actually felt my heart start to pound in anxiety. "When did you send them?" I asked although I knew already when he sent them. "Right after I called you. Ness, I am so sorry I hurt you all these years. I wrote to apologise for calling you drunk. You didn't deserve that. I figured that you hated me when I never heard from you after I sent you the birthday card."
I never got that card along with any letters. It was as if Prick had kicked me again. I knew immediately what had happened. Right after Tommy's first drunk call my mailbox key disappeared. I had a spare one so I used that until after a month that one disappeared. It took me over a week to get a new lock and key for my mailbox. By then Prick was drinking heavily and we were spiraling closer to our demise. It never occurred to me that he was tampering with my mail. Two years later I should not be shocked, right? Yet, here I was, dealing with the fact Prick once again crossed a boundary and fucked with my life and my own decisions.

"I am leaving for Florida on Wednesday," I told Tommy. He had asked if he could see me? He has been single now for three years. "I've been alone since that night I called you. Are you seeing anyone?I still think about you."

It was then I realized that I recognised something in Tommy's voice. It was 11am and he was drunk.

Dru and her husband had been talking to me about a situation I had recently got myself in to with another man.Whatever it was,I know it was not dating. This situation made me actually think about Skinny. Are we dating? He texts and calls me every day. Am I that clueless in dating? Ummmm, yes. I have no clue what the hell I am doing. I have no clue what the hell these men are doing. I knew Dru was correct. I needed to get the hell out of Dodge and get my ass to Florida, far away from all three of them.

"No," I told Tommy, "for now, it is the best thing. I am still very confused from what I have been through and know I am not ready to be dating anyone. I don't think it's a good idea to see you. I just wanted to say hello and see how the horses were doing."

It is better to be lonely, than to be with someone and still feel alone. Being alone is tangible~I can explain that. Being with someone who always makes me feel confused is the worst kind of loneliness.

I spent the next five days in Florida with my Tough Love Team. I was able to see exactly what I was doing. I had somehow recreated the same scenario in my present, with three men from my past. One has a girlfriend, one has a drinking issue and one is a hell of a nice guy that I have zero romantic interest in. But, this time around, I have something I didn't have back then. I have that insight of what bad decisions will do for my future well being.

So, like a baby bird who was kicked out of the nest by it's loving parents, Dru and her husband made me take my first flight and away from those who were clipping my wings. I never want to come down.

*name changed to protect privacy

We Never Change

I want to live life, and never be cruel
I wanna live life, and be good to you

And i wanna fly
I'll never come down
And live my life
And have friends around

We never change do we no, no
We never learn do we
So i wanna live, in a wooden house
I wanna live life, and always be true
I wanna live life, and be good to you

And i wanna fly
But never come down
And live my life
And have friends around

We never change do we
We never learn do we
So i wanna live in a wooden house
And making more friends would be easy

Oh, and i don't have a soul to save
Yes and i sin every single day
We never change do we
We never learn do we

So i want to live in a wooden house
Where making more friends would be easy
I wanna live where the sun comes out
~Coldplay

किम्बा थे व्हाइट लिओन इस थे ओने

2009-09-03T08:12:00.005-04:00

I have been blogging since 2005. It is funny to see how prolifically I wrote at TV.com. Non-stop, almost daily, blog chatter about television and what is going on in the world. I still maintain a couple other blogs elsewhere, but they are strictly equine oriented or less "heavy" like the blogs I write here. I have kept my one guide at TV.com but finally walked away from blogging at CNET entirely when Prick's girlfriend started stalking online for him, while he was in jail. It was the proverbial last fucking straw.

I didn't come here to write heavy blogs. I came here to hide from Prick. He had invaded every other blog site that I posted under my original screen name, Kimba. It actually took me a long time to start writing under the name Evanesco. I chose a new name that was a vanishing spell from the Harry Potter series. It seemed to fit what I was feeling when I finally had to leave Kimba behind. Anyway, I did not come here planning to become some champion of domestic violence. Somehow that seems to have happened. My light banter of other blog sites is something that just doesn't carry over here. Judging from my private email following, there are a lot of us out there who have had some heavy shit put upon us. I wish so much I could go back and write as Kimba. Not in the name but in that person.

Recently, I started editing and transferring some of the CNET blogs. The one thing that always stands out so clear is how open to interpretation blogging is. I read comments from my readers and have a giggle. I am glad that I reach them in some way but I am often puzzled that they read in to a blog a completely different emotion than what I feel when I am writing it. Normally, I respond to my readers comments the same way the comments come to me;private email. I have spent the last couple years hiding my online identity so thoroughly that I forget that not everyone sees the hidden responses to my blogs as I see them. So, I feel it is time to address some responses here in a public blog form. There would be too many emails and too many emotions to cover in the past few blogs.
Part of the issue is that I only convey to a reader what is typed. The last two blogs have proven that a slight omitting of details changes what a reader thinks I am feeling or doing.
Example:I Write the Songs
In this blog I speak of Prick's letter. From the numerous responses I received, it became apparent that I somehow led people to believe that this letter was addressed to me,personally. It wasn't. Prick's latest literary ramblings were solely addressed to his probation officer. The reason his probation officer made me aware of the letter writing (there have been more since then) was because they may be used for future court proceedings.He didn't want me to be shocked that there were even letters to be addressed to the court. I appreciated that Prick's PO has chosen to take my feelings in to consideration. More than anyone else, he has shared what is to come in color with the black and white facts that follow legalities. Hence; Kodachrome. Prick's PO gave me something in color. It is where in my Kimba world I would rather be. The shredding and then disposing the black and white printing on a letter was my way of embracing the colors of feeling again. Not sure if that makes sense to a blog reader but I felt I should at least point out that I am not "hung up" on Prick's ramblings or hurt by the PO showing me the letter. My reading and then disposing the letter was actually a way I chose to mourn for Guinevere. The point I was trying to convey was that it was what Prick chooses not to write that angers me. It is no secret what transpired the night he assaulted me. What bothers me is what he doesn't focus on is his actions since the assault. He seems to think he is being persecuted for one night. Reading that letter was proof to me that he will never admit to the extremes he continues to take to get to me. That includes him taking the life of my horse. So,the disposal of the letter was a healing for me. Kodachrome, gives us those nice bright colors.

Second was my recent blog:That's the Way it Oughtta Be

I had a really good laugh when I kept getting emails congratulating me on my new romance. Boy, did that one get misconstrued! Kudos, to my Kiwi friend Julie, who "got" what my puking off of Skinny's deck was probably about. I also give a special shout out to her for actually getting what my inclusion of songs and lyrics are about and how they are tied in to what I am feeling.
Soooo, no romance with Skinny. What I had omitted was the fact that I had recently put a toe in the dating water and found the water was still too cold. Skinny has a girlfriend in another state. He is now at a crossroads of sorts and was bonding with me on the out-of-state dilemma. I thought my own recent dip in the dating pool was no big deal. The fact that this discussion with Skinny made me vomit...well let's have a field day with interpreting that Ness-O-Matic is still struggling in the romance department.
Anyway, my own interpretation of what I wrote is this: Often when we date or marry we lose our connections to ourselves aka friends. I don't know how or why it happens, but often it does. When we lose or pull away from old friends it seems we lose a vital part of what we really are. What ends up happening is an empty or shallow relationship with the partner who makes you lose that connection. It is my theory on why couples like Mich and her husband have made it this far. Mich has stayed true to herself and has retained that part of herself that was before her husband but has included him in with us. Skinny and I have both made that mistake. We tried to be different people for someone and it back-fired. My puking off his deck was a our life coming back around full circle. His fancy house, my fabulous hair that he grumbled about, one thing was the same... he held back my hair and let me puke just like we did in our friendship years ago. So, am in love with Skinny? Of course. Just as I was when we were 15. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends who has helped me reconnect with our original selves. Romance? If hanging out and drinking beer until I puke is romance...no wonder I suck at dating. So, as much as I love Skinny, I am not in love with Skinny. Nice try though, folks. It would be a much neater ending than the one I seem to be working on that made me puke.

Finally, Romeo has continued to recover. We have had some further set backs but plain and simple...he is old. It is something we are going to have to face and this year seems to be making that fact seem closer. Thank you so much for all of the prayers and White Light you have sent my way. It does mean a lot.

Well, I think that is it for blog response. Being a Gemini, I will probably reinterpret everything differently tomorrow. Maybe you, my readers, see what I can't. Dunno. Maybe, I just wander with words the same way I do after midnight when the Sandman abandons me. I am just grateful for your emails and support over the years. Even if it comes across in a different way than what I intended, if it helps someone else embrace the Light, I can sleep at night knowing that.

That's the Way it Oughtta Be

2009-09-01T09:42:00.001-04:00

"So, dude. Whassup w' da hair?"

This question was posed to me on Sunday afternoon from my long time friend,Skinny.He was trying to hold back my hair and made the mistake of doing so from the scalp.

"They are extensions..." I mumbled, as I proceeded to hurl again over his deck.

"I don't like them," was all he muttered back and he patiently held the fake hair out of vomits way.

I know how to really make an impression with my friends. Somehow six years had gone by and Skinny's McMansion was ignored by his friends. It's not that we didn't like his wife. She always seemed friendly to us...at least to our face. It just seemed as their ten year marriage went on, his wife became a less frequent visitor to our events and Skinny was usually stag. Their lives became so seperate that he took to asking me to go to events with him such as friends weddings or Christmas parties. The sad part? I was also in the same kind of relationship.

Now that he has been divorced for a year, Skinny was finally refurnishing his huge empty house. It is one of those cookie-cutter, mini mansions that seem to be the rage in this part of PA. Cathedral ceilings and rooms galore. I pictured myself in my midnight wanderings in my two bedroom townhouse with no basement. I could wander here for days.

This was actually one of the places I hid out when Prick was still running around free. Skinny and I would sit in his basement. He would watch old Flyers videos and I sat staring in to space, numb from what was happening in my real world. We would reminisce about our youth. We have known each other since we were 15 years old. Somehow the question of; how the hell did we get here? never came up. At least, until Sunday.

"Ness-O-matic, you are a mess-O-matic." Spoken like a true Philly dude. We all have nicknames for each other. Skinny was skinny once. Now it is like calling a bald guy Curly. Skinny takes the true Rocky Balboa Philly-speak to it's highest art form. It is incredibly rare to have any kind of "serious" talk about anything with Skinny. When I stayed in his McMansion, hiding from Prick, I stood at the landing of his stairwell. It looked in to his family room that had cathedral ceilings. I sang the opening line of Evita, "don't cry for me Argentina..." and he snarfed his beer through his nose. For 28 years we have made each other laugh.

It's not the first time I hurled in front of Skinny. Hell, it's not the first time I hurled on the poor guy or vice versa. He went to the same college as my best friend. We went through clubbing and beach houses together for years. Drinking was a huge part of our friendship. I rarely drink anymore. Skinny is not skinny mainly due to a good beer gut on him. I should of known better when Mich, her husband and I went to visit him in his big empty house on that Sunday. He wanted to show off the new dining room set he bought.

It started like any other visit. I don't know why the beer tasted better than usual. Skinny has a bar with a tap. Maybe it was the frosted mug. Maybe I really deep down wanted to get plastered on three beers. Maybe the laughter was too much. Who knows? All I remember was one minute being fine and then the next moment I was outside with Skinny standing over me, holding back my fake hair puking off his beautifully stained deck on his perfectly manicured lawn.

"How the hell did we get here?" I asked him. We grew up outside of Philly. We went to school, we worked, we got married, we moved all over the place and here we were. He was alone in his big house and I was puking off his deck. For once there was no jokes coming from either one of us. After he asked me how my extensions came out he carefully helped me pluck each weft from my head and threw them on his picnic table.

"Ness-O. We keep being too nice to the wrong people." I leaned over and threw up a third time and started to cry.It was a lot easier for him to hold my real hair back.

"I just thought it would be different by now," was what I said as he crushed me in a hug.

"It is different," he replied. "We both know that it is better to be alone than to be alone with someone who makes us feel lonely even when they are sitting right there."

No matter how sick or drunk I was, I knew Skinny just made a profound statement that nailed it right on the head.

I spent most of the day yesterday, green at the gills. I did ride Veritas in the morning. He was kind enough to not bounce me around too bad.

At 5:00pm Skinny sent me a text:

"Nessi,U need to wrk on building more beer muscle. Training begins @ Camp SkinMan. K/p lttng UR real hair dwn."

I had a good giggle and ran my fingers through my real hair. My head still hurt too much for fake hair.

Song of the day:
That's the Way~Led Zeppelin

I don't know how I'm gonna tell you, I can't play with you no more,
I don't know how I'm gonna do what mama told me, My friend, the boy next door.
I can't believe what people saying, You're gonna let your hair hang down,
I'm satisfied to sit here working all day long, You're in the darker side of town.

And when I'm out I see you walking, Why don't your eyes see me,
Could it be you've found another game to play, What did mama say to me.

*That's The Way, Oh, That's The Way it ought to be,
Yeah, yeah, mama say That's The Way it ought to stay.

And yesterday I saw you standing by the river,
And weren't those tears that filled your eyes,
And all the fish that lay in dirty water dying,
Had they got you hypnotized?

And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers,
But all that lives is born to die.
And so I say to you that nothing really matters,
And all you do is stand and cry.

I don't know what to say about it,
When all you ears have turned away,
But now's the time to look and look again at what you see,
Is that the way it ought to stay?

That's the way... That's the way it oughtta be
Oh don't you know now, Mama said.. that's the way it's gonna stay, yeah.

I Write the Songs

2009-08-18T07:38:00.004-04:00

There is a constant of songs in my head. It's why my blog is what it is. When life is handing me it's daily adventure I begin to hear the hum of a tune in my head to accompany the story. Sometimes a song gets stuck. Like the old vinyl days when the record skips in a groove. You hear the same line over and over.

I had a brief reprieve of numbness after the hearing. A glimmer that life is still on a smooth groove. Unfortunately the scratches are there in between this LP of life. Little pops and clicks with the occasional full scratch that catches the tune in an endless repetition of a line in a song.

What kind of world is this we're living in if you can never win? *

That was two blogs ago, that David Gray song. Usually, if I write out whatever song is stuck in my head, it will move itself along. This one got stuck in the groove on that line. Here I am, several blogs later, stuck in a groove.

I'm sure it is just the timing of everything that has thrown me full tilt back in to my state of numbness. I have had enough counseling to know why I put the wall up. It still sucks to know that internally I feel the need to put it up at all.

I'm sure he thought he was doing me a favor. It is what he does for a living. One would become immune to exactly what emotions are really behind what is on the pieces of paper in the file in front of them. Not everyone lives in my Kodachrome world where everything looks worse in black and white.

Prick has taken to writing letters while he is in jail. His parents, his ex wife, his daughter, his fellow AA acquaintances. I have known about this for years. My answer was always the same when someone would contact me, asking if I wanted to hear it? I would always say no.

One of the things they don't explain to you when you finally get the balls to take out a restraining order is that zero contact goes both ways. I knew the moment I signed that original copy of the PFA that I was also giving up my right to ever defend myself verbally to Prick's ramblings. Unlike Shoe-Man, I can never just pick up the phone and say, "what the fuck were you thinking?" The worst was when Prick began invading my blog sites writing such blatant lies or even worse~ taking things that I have said or done out of context and twisting them in to such a hateful way.

Shoe and I have come a long way in our ten years together. We can call each other on our bad behavior and can explain ourselves in a reasonable manner. Afterwards, we still can come out of it respecting each other. I never knew how rare of a gift that is, to move on and not have hate thrown back at you.

Two years later I still had to verbally go over the whole nightmare while sitting in a room full of men. I had to meet with the DAs office before the hearing. Post Traumatic Stress made me block out a lot of my relationship with Prick. If it wasn't for my diarrhea of the fingers that compels me to write, I'm sure most would be forgotten by now. Not always a bad thing, right? Even the assault itself I will never write or say what exactly transpired that night. Face it, we have all have had our share of knock down, over dramatized, unbelievably stupid fights with our partners. Usually you can laugh it off years later. I wish I could file that last night away in that file. Just an ugly but necessary break up. But the one thing you can never explain is how I would rather he have punched me than the the replay of the sound in my head, when Prick ripped my very soul right out of my body. The ugly scar it has left behind is something I can never explain to a room full of strangers. Shit, or even to my best friend. What makes that sound even worse is that it took him 17 days to finally complete the job of what he started that night on August 1st.

So, it is his job. I never asked if this is something that other inmates do. For some reason Prick has taken to writing his probation officer. For some reason I accepted the copy of the letter he wrote. Everything looks worse in black and white.

Kodachrome. Give us those nice bright colors.*

My girlfriend read it and said what I already knew. "you don't want to read this crap." I took the letter from her and stuck it in the folder with the other Prick ramblings and legal stuff.

There is a reason for everything. Even the sound of my soul getting sucked out of me, is in there for a reason. The good and the bad. I embrace that it makes me what I am. Somehow I have to believe it is for the better.

It was not the smartest of my moves. I chose to finally read the letter on the weekend anniversary of when I lost Gwen. There was nothing new in there. The usual~ place the blame on everything but what it really is. I can accept that. What I could not accept is what he didn't write. That he is so bent on being right, that I was such an awful person, that it is OK to take the life of my horse. There. I said it. The fucker killed my horse because I was fucked up enough to date him in the first place.

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough
*

I never slept that night. My world will never be the same. I know that. I accept that. It doesn't stop me from wandering around my home, sleepless, clutching the strand of Gwen's tail that Dru had cut for me after the vet finally relieved her of her suffering and before my uncle buried her.

By 4am, I gave up. I read the letter one more time. I put it through the shredder and put the paper in a bag. I grabbed a few more supplies and I drove the two hours in the dark, to Long Beach Island. I watched the sun peek through the dark and over the ocean. I took numerous photos. I felt my inner peace break down a couple bricks that have been building back up. I finally took out the bag of shredded paper. It is someones job to have to read this stuff. I said a prayer of thanks that it is not mine. I thanked the Higher Powers that I do not have the last word to someone who will never deserve one. I walked out to the end of the jetty and watched the surf pound and swirl around the rocks. I emptied the contents of the letter in to the swirling of the ocean.

Kodachrome. Gives us those nice bright colors.*

* Lyrics from:
Simon & Garfunkel, Kodachrome
David Gray, My Oh My

Could You Please Knock Me Off My Feet For a While?

2009-08-15T04:34:00.003-04:00

At least The Sandman came at all. After yesterday's court hearing my best friend and I had lunch. We had a drink on top of the ativan my boss had given me the night before. I came home and finally slept for four hours straight. I think that was the first solid sleep in awhile. Prick made it easy for me and plead guilty. He usually does which makes me think in the back of my mind he really does want to stay in jail. I can't stand more than one rainy day inside the house, so jail is beyond my comprehension. Of course the one thing I have come to learn through the years that no matter what the outside location, it is in your own mind where freedom matters the most.
Romeo has taken a turn for the worst. The poor old guy has had a rough time with all of the rain. His weakened hoof walls had began to crumble with all of the torrential rains and mud. He developed another abcess a couple weeks ago. Shoe-Man came and drained it and packed the crevice with sugardine. I walked him back to his rig and I knew by his face.

"He's old, Ness."

*sigh*

I buried my face into his chest when he pulled me in for a hug. I breathed in that familiar scent of horses and leather. I felt nothing. When you have come this far there is not much else to feel.I told Shoe the same thing I always say when this time gets close at hand.

"I don't know what to do."

How many horses have I lost in the past decade? For the millionth time I wonder why I couldn't take up a hobby like tennis or golf?
My aunt Jan never calls me unless it is bad. I was trying to soak up the last rays of light at the lake when her panic call came in. Seems Romeo got down in his stall and couldn't get back up. As I drove to the farm I called the vet to have the private talk without my aunt Jan's presence. Tony was already there at the farm and was trying to decide if we should try and hoist him up with ropes. I drove through the winding roads and felt that familiar safety net wrapping it's way around me. I am numb. I glanced in to my rear view mirror and was certain the grim reaper was hunched down in the back seat, hiding under the cover of darkness of the waning daylight.I could feel his grin start to burn a hole in the back of my neck.
I parked my car behind the vet's rig. The lights were on in the barn and Blackie began winding herself around my feet the moment I stepped out of the car.
I stepped in to the barn and saw Romeo looking at me over his stall wall. He let out a huge nicker. Jan said the moment he heard my car he got up. Tony stood there with a handful of ropes that we obviously didn't need.
The vet spent the next hour digging out another abcess. This one is closer to the coffin bone. Jan stood by Romeos head with tears streaming down while I silently watched Tony work.
Afterwards I walked the vet back to his truck. I asked him if it's time? We both stood there and could see inside the lit barn, Romeo standing up with his ears forward and eating hay. Just the strange rocking back stance of his body to relieve his front laminitic feet being the only clue of the pain he was in.
Tony said it was more of a question of what we were willing to do to keep him going? The hard part is Romeo is owned by Jan. Technically it is her decision in the end. We decided to wait it out and see how this abcess drains. As always, somehow you do know when it is finally time and right now Romeo is still there and fighting.
I finally left Jan's when Sydney and Romeo seemed settled for the night. My heart was heavy at the thought of going home in such a state of numbness. I found myself driving down to see Veritas. The horses are turned out at night in the summer. As I hiked up the hill of his pasture I had no clue where I was walking to. It was dark enough that I couldn't make out any shapes of the horses. When I finally got to the top of the hill I saw a dark shape walking towards me. I didn't need my eyes to tell me it was Veritas. For the first time in this stressful day the tears started falling. I buried my face in his mane and glanced up and saw a shooting star.

The stars light a sky
On a galaxy of emptiness tonight
Though I'm happiest
When there's no reason for me to be

With no one's expectation to weigh heavy on my heart
And so much hope it sometimes tears me all apart
Won't you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?
Could you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?

'Cause there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole galaxy of emptiness tonight
A galaxy of emptiness tonight

The stars light a sky
On a gutter full of broken dreams tonight
Though I'm not content, that's the way it seems to be
Still, I've been fighting all week
Though I don't know what for
Hoping someone else, somewhere near knows the score
Won't you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?
Could you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?

And there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
There's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole galaxy of emptiness tonight

Monkey see, monkey do
I spent my whole life surrounded by people like you
With all that expectation to weigh heavy on your heart
But no ideas to later tear it all apart
Won't you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?
Could you please
Knock me off my feet for a while?

'Cause there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole wide galaxy of emptiness tonight
Beware the galaxy of emptiness tonight
'Cause there's a galaxy of emptiness tonight
A whole wide galaxy of emptiness tonight
Yeah, there's a galaxy of emptiness
A whole wide galaxy of emptiness tonight
Beware the galaxy of emptiness tonight
(A galaxy of emptiness)
(A whole galaxy of stars)
~Galaxy Of Emptiness, Beth Orton

If a picture Paints a Thousand Words

2009-08-09T10:48:00.005-04:00

My week long vacation is winding it's way down. Normally this is the week I always rent a beach house in Long Beach Island. For the first time in years I didn't rent a place. I don't know how the summer flew past me so quickly. Now that I have had time to sit back and actually begin to breathe again I can see I stopped breathing the moment Prick got out of jail. I think in the back of my mind I knew that it would be the same this summer as it was the past two. Police reports and court dates. Now that the week is coming to a close I can reflect that this was probably the best thing to do. I spent the week cleaning out my closets, riding Veritas, writing and I even read three books in a row. I also started to transfer old blogs that I have written in other sites over to here. I saw friends just about every day. My fear of continually spiraling in to a depression if I am not working 7 days a week have proven to be wrong. I can honestly say I have not thought much about the past two years or the upcoming court date next week. I found some semblence of my old self coming back and it's been a really long time since I felt that for more than a few fleeting moments. The fact that I could extend it to almost an entire week seems like a fucking miracle.

One of the days was too humid and hot to ride. My boss was at the Jersey shore already and called to tell me that there was only a land breeze and a million green head flies. I decided instead of heading to the shore for the day, I would head up to the mountains. I forgot my camera's battery. The whole reason to head up there was to take photos. I hiked up to a peak and just sat. Before I knew it, two hours had passed before a voice startled me back in to the present. A group of photographers were setting up their cameras for the late afternoon and early dusk. One of the photographers had approached me to tell me he took a photo of me sitting there. He thought I looked peaceful. I had an internal giggle on that. God, if he only knew how long it has been since that look has been on my face. He asked if he could send me a copy? and I told him no thanks. I don't need to see it. I feel it with my heart.

My Oh My

2009-08-01T23:30:00.005-04:00

What on earth is going on in my heart?
Has it turned as cold as stone?
Seems these days I don't feel anything
Less it cuts me right down to the bone
What on earth is going on in my heart?*

Anniversaries. Those days that landmark something or another. For myself, August 1st is going in to it's 3rd year of anniversary hell. It should actually be a faded memory of the final assault Prick inflicted that night. No need to go back there, right? Apparently, Prick continues in his quest to try.
Just as it did two years ago, July seems to be the month his rage begins to eat away inside him. The stalking began and my world froze again.

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough
It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love my friend
To keep your heart from freezing
To push on till the end
My oh my*

I wish it didn't happen again, but there it is. Another implosion within my family. When my father sat crying in his Lazy Boy chair, crying that his greatest fear was that he would have nothing but grief to leave to his children, I think I did all the right things. I assured him I would try and help him the best I could. I gave him cash to help pay for whatever mess his finances were becoming because of other family members. I spent an hour cleaning up dog shit all over the house. I took the dog for a walk and assured her that I would never abandon her. I held my dad's hand while he sat helplessly in his chair with tears running down his face. While he was crying I sat and stared down at my shoes. It wasn't until that moment I saw how swollen my ankles were from a busy week at the salon. Crap. I wondered if my feet would fit in to my barn boots and if I would have time to ride tonight?
I finally got in to my car and drove home. It was a half hour later and half way there, that I realized I didn't even have the radio on.
Aaaaah, here it comes again. I am truly numb. No tears. No panic. Nothing.

What on earth is going on in my head
You know I used to be so sure
You know I used to be so definite
Thought I knew what love was for
I look around these days and I'm not so sure*

The next day I packed everything I could think of. Clothes, makeup, shoes...gotta have my shoes. I was wearing towering platform Beverly Feldman shoes as I walked back and forth between my car and the parking lot of my development. It's a far walk, especially in 5" heels. It never occurred to me that this was a possibly dangerous thing to try and do. It was on my last trip back to my house that my neighbor stopped me with, "how the hell do you walk in those things?"
I looked down at my feet and saw blood coming from my pinkie toe. A beyond-blister mishap. It wasn't until that moment I felt it.
"I'm OK." I know that what I am really saying is~ I am OK because it is better to look good on the outside than to feel what is going on the inside.

It was two years ago this strange odyssey of my life began. My friends have stood by me through thick and thin. Even when I am shutting down they know when to bring me back to reality. After the initial assault I was numb. I was moving but had no idea how. It lasted for months. I hate that I have spiraled back down in to that well, drowning in cold numbness to whatever it is that is drowning me.

I finished packing my car and drove to my friends to hide from Prick who was once again on the prowl and ready to try and knock me off my fabulous shoes. My neighbors would care for the cats and rabbits. I told them I was taking a weekend vacation.

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough
It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love my friend
To keep your heart from freezing
To push on till the end*

When I went to court to have the PFA drawn, Prick had hired himself a lawyer. The man had obviously no idea of what legalities were entailed at a PFA hearing. My lawyer was patient in talking him through it. My best friend sat and held my hand as I tried to make as little eye contact where Prick sat down the hall, waiting. As his lawyer walked away my attorney and my friend began laughing. I sat there baffled until they both sputtered out, "where did he find that guy? What is up with those shoes?" I leaned forward and watched the man as he walked away. He was wearing two completely different shoes. I laughed for the first time in weeks. It was a genuine one,too.

My oh my you know I just can't win
I burn it down it comes right back again
What kinda world is this we're living in
where you never win
It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love these days
To keep your heart from freezing
To keep your spirit free*

I have never valued my time with Veritas more. It is the one time in my life that being numb doesn't work. If I don't pay attention or start to tune out, he just stops. My Light is his gas. For the millionth time in my life I ponder why that doesn't work for humans? By the time we leave the farm and cross over to the fields, the internal fog seems to lift. From his back I can see the wind wash over the grass, making it move like a green ocean. I see hawks glide silently across the sky and giant thunderheads form in the distance. Like those clouds, I want to feel that there is a powerful storm brewing in myself. It is just far away and waiting to come pouring down. For now, they just float silently, within sight, but not quite ready to release.

My oh my you know it just don't stop
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off
But it's not enough*

"Are you OK?"

I realized the death grip I had on my best friend's hand. She had come with me to court yesterday, just as she had two years ago.
I looked down at her hand in mine and saw that is so tiny in comparison to mine. I'm sure I was accidentally crushing it as the elevator in the courthouse opened on to our floor.
Without me even asking, she peeked down the hall and assured me Prick was not waiting outside the courtroom. I asked her who was? As she described them to me I knew that it was the detective and Prick's probation officer.

"They look like two nice guys sitting there... and Nessie,good news... their shoes match."

We both collapsed back against the wall in giggles. It took me a minute but we managed to compose ourselves and walked down the hall.

"Are you OK?"

This time the question was from Prick's probation officer. I looked down and saw my hands were shaking. I stole another glance down to his shoes. A perfect matching pair. I said a silent prayer of thanks and couldn't help but smile.

I knew I would be just fine.

It takes a lotta love
It takes a lotta love my friend
To keep your heart from freezing
To push on till the end
My oh my it just don't stop

* Lyrics~
My Oh My, David Gray

Give Peace a Chance

2009-06-09T08:41:00.003-04:00

I was informed that I am woefully behind in my blogging. I have had a case of the spring fever. It keeps me outside for most of the day when I am not working and I collapse in to bed at night with a head full of pollen.
I actually have written a lot. I am either writing in a journal by hand or I have several unfinished drafts that I never bothered to complete. My Gemini self has reared it's head. I tend to start things and not finish. *sigh* Let's see how far I get today...

The one good thing is work at the salon has been the busiest ever. There may be a recession but for us we have been raking in more cash than ever. My theory is this: people are stressed about their jobs, therefore, want to look good. It's the American way. It's not how you feel but how you look that is important. 24 years of cutting hair made me come to that conclusion. The other factor is that the over-priced salons in Center City and The Main Line. Clients won't stop getting their hair done but they will stop paying exuberant amounts of money for a service they can get elsewhere, for less. That's us. We are just off the Main Line so our prices reflect that. Suddenly I have found myself booked 6 weeks in advance! That is a huge boost to my wallet and my ego. I have managed to book record high totals and I am turning clients away to the other girls. For the first time I am coming out a bit ahead at the end of the month. My bills are being paid on time, I am able to maintain my car and I still have a bit to play with for the horses.
The downside of this is the long hours have taken their toll. Long hours of standing with raised arms has left me both physically and mentally drained. After a long thought out processing of what would be best, I gave up my massage business almost entirely. I have a couple of long-standing clients that I chose to keep but have let everyone else go. The plus side of this is that my neighbor and good friend finally took the Equissage course at my urging. She is a Native American Shaman so it fits in perfect for the type of service I provided. I did so much with Reiki and Therapeutic Touch along with Perelandra Flower Essences. She was the perfect person to pass the torch to. My clients took the transition pretty well which made me feel better. The ones who are more clinical and not wanting the energy work I refer to a girl who is...well... clinical.

It was a really hard decision because I love my work with the horses but after 16 years I have to concede that it is better to keep a few and do better work than to spread myself thin. The end result was not fair to the horse if I am too exhausted to put out the energy needed.

I took a little time off at the salon to work The Devon Horse Show. Although I enjoyed the week of horses I have to admit I finally reached a point in my life where I accepted my pay and thought, "that wasn't worth it."

I also had to admit that I needed some down time for myself. This is the hardest for me. I found that these past years that if I have time on my hands I tend to spiral in to depression. It's hard to admit that. I did find myself lost those first few Sundays off. After taking care of Romeo and Syd I found I would have an entire day open. It was too cold and rainy to head for the beach or to ride. I found myself actually shopping in stores instead of online two o'clock in the morning. I have finally gotten comfortable going out in to crowded stores again. That was one of the residual effects of my PTSD. Shopping had become a nightmare of panic attacks. They have finally started to fade. Most of the time I head to Dru's and play with the rescue puppies and hang out with the volunteers. I have also found comfort in the huge two story Barnes and Noble by my house. There is something about being in a bookstore on a cold rainy day that brings peace to my over thinking brain.

It has rained just about every week in May and is raining again,today. I haven't been riding nearly as much as I would like to. The one great thing is the daylight is longer this time of year. I love that more than anything.Rain or no rain. Light is good.

No signs of Prick since his release. We did have an incident last Friday with his brother at my salon. He tried to come in and talk to me about his brother. My boss blocked him and told him to leave. John put up an fight and the police ended up coming.
I am not sure what John could possibly want to talk to me about. The two of them were estranged as far as I know. Prick's brother was never my favorite person even before the break up. I just can't take that chance of Prick using him as a third party contact. I filed a report with the police to let them know of a possible parole and PFA violation. It was upsetting and embarrassing to have the police come to my work. The only thing I can say is that it passed quickly and life moves on. I am finally getting comfortable with the fact that I always have one ear and eye cocked behind me. I have to say I was relieved to see how proactive my boss was. He finally had the locks at the salon changed so that we can now lock the door from the inside. That was my pet peeve working at night. Not just because of Prick. Our shampoo girl is in there by herself early in the morning. No one should be in there by themselves without a locked door.

So, that's about it for May. Life is coasting along. I appreciate all of the beautiful thoughts and prayers after my last blog. They really helped in my moving forward. It's been a long road since that August. I have had to rethink my stance on forgiveness. I can go on and live life and try to regain my inner peace. It doesn't mean I am less of an enlightened person if I find someone's cruelty unforgivable.I can still find peace elsewhere in my head. There is obviously a lot of room in there for different compartments. I can't say I am 100% happy but who really is? Part of life and the learning process is coming to peace with that. I am finally finding peace with the fact that things are what they are. I can go on and live life in spite of them. I still have more rooms in my head to discover. I just hope they are not filled with scary balloon-carrying, clowns.

Let Your White Birds Smile Up

2009-04-27T19:47:00.008-04:00

Big gaps of nothing. I'm not sure why I lose the blog mojo from time to time. Probably it is because blogs are my bitching place. That safe haven to spew to virtual strangers and fellow blogsters. It prevents me from picking up the phone and crying my eyes out to family and friends.
The past month I really had nothing to bitch about. Spring has sprung, the horses are shedding out the last of their winter fuzz and my social life took a turn for the better. Better weather means better riding weather. My equine clients have returned from the southern show circuit and I am back to riding a lot. Veritas is starting to lean out and gain muscle. Life is good.
The winding down of Prick's sentence is looming over me. I received a call from the adult probation that his release date is May 10th. My first initial reaction was fear that is the same weekend as Winterthur's Point to Point race. It isn't. I'm not sure why it would matter. Like my best friend said,"there will never be a good time for the asshole to get out."
May is the beginning of weekly races and horse shows. I am trying to make every weekend filled with friends and fun. I was surprised when my cell phone rang Saturday night. I had just ended a call with a friend and thought he was calling back to bitch some more about the Flyers losing the playoffs. Instead it was the detective who handled Prick's arrest for the PFA and probation violation. He had contacted me earlier in the week after he was also contacted by probation concerning the upcoming release. For the first time I have had interactions with really pro active law enforcement. Not one of my fears of Prick's release has been brushed off. I was encouraged when both agencies confirmed that after reviewing the case file,they felt I had grounds for an extension of the PFA. The probation officer had expressed it perfectly. My county was not letting him get away with any further violence. Prick's past record has proven that he will most likely continue his pattern of stalking and even more likely escalate with more violence. The detective assured me they were treating past suspicions and police reports seriously. It was what the detective said next that left me speechless. He wanted me to know that he had spoken to the officer in the town where my aunt lives and who had taken the original report I filed after I lost Gwen. He said out loud what I deep down have always known but could never prove. They did believe that Prick had something to do with Gwen's demise but there was nothing to go on except a vet's suspicion, a cop's instinct, and a woman's intuition. He wanted me to know that they would be keeping a close eye on my development and to know that they were there for my protection. My protection would also include both properties where my horses are. All I could muster up was continual whispered thank yous. After I ended the call, I sat in silence, staring in to space, for what seemed hours. My brain just flat lined at that point.
I think the confirmation that I am not crazy or paranoid just made these past two years seem somehow better. I just wish it was never there to be confirmed in the first place. Knowing that they were willing to protect my horses was such a huge relief.
We have had record high temps for April. It feels like summer and I love it. All of the trees have burst into bloom and petals of their flowers have been drifting down in the soft breeze that has come with the heat. I rode Veritas early on Sunday. He really is such a great trail horse. He has no separation anxiety when I take him out alone. I have to confess, I dislike riding with other people or horses. Tas is like me. He enjoys the sights and sounds of nature. Maybe, it is my negative energy he picks up on, but when we ride with others, he gets cranky and distracted.
After I rode Tas, I drove to my aunt's. I brushed more winter hair out of Sydney and Romeo. It has been a little easier with the heat. I think they are literally sweating their hair out. After I was done, I walked over to Gwen's grave. I see it every time I come to the farm. Even after two years, I feel pain when I see the sunken area where my uncle buried her. We have five horses buried in that field. God, knows how many cats, rabbits and dogs are buried throughout the property. I had always felt comforted that they are all in a place so beautiful and close to me. I feel their spirit grows in to the surrounding trees, the carpet of wildflowers and grass. Except, for Gwen's spot. It is the only grave that still instills so much pain in me. It came to represent what evil can do to a soul. The fact that someone extinguished her Light with their hate was unforgivable to me. For the life of me, I had not been able to find peace with what happened to her. The fact that some well meaning friends tried to brush my suspicion off as my own self imposed guilt made it even worse. I felt guilty for feeling guilty. No win. I have learned to never speak of it and I think even I began to believe that it was a tragic coincidence.
I saw purple violets have finally begun growing across Gwen's grave. It was comforting to see something so pretty in this spot that elicits so much pain. I know that the detective's call really helped. For the first time I could feel Light coming from this spot. I am grateful that God keeps sending me people to remind me of the Light. There will never be justice for what happened to her but that call of acknowledgment was enough to remind me to keep fighting to keep the dark away. For the first time I have come to find some sort of peace with Gwen.
I think she deserves that.

Alive and Kickin'

2009-03-17T09:14:00.004-04:00

I am dreadfully behind in everything. I have a stack of half read books next to my bed and a slew of half written blogs that I have never bothered to complete. I guess that is where my brain is right now. Half full.
Today is St. Patrick's Day. Normal people just think it is no big deal. That is, unless you live in the surrounding suburbs of a North East city of the USA. Since last Saturday a school bus pulls up daily to the pubs across the street from my shop. A sea of green attired drunks pour out and take part of a bar crawl known as the Erin Express. Today will be no exception. It amazes me how many people I know from my home town will take vacation days today and tomorrow to partake in this event. I don't have a speck o' Irish in me so I guess that's why this Canadian just doesn't get it.
I am even behind in my training with Veritas. The weather has been erratic and rainy. I feel the next onslaught of depression looming over me. I need sun and warmth to get it's ass over here before I fall back in to a funk.
The one really positive thing going on is that I finally found a miracle drug for my allergies. Singulair. I had no idea how shitty I was feeling until I started this medication a few days ago. I now suspect that is why my head is always so fuzzy. It was filled half way with histamine. It is also why I have been getting cold after cold this winter. My poor lungs just can't take it without some help. It goes against my grain to rely on the meds but I have to concede to the fact that my profession is filled with toxic fumes. My lungs are in sad shape from years of hair dressing.
No real point to my ramblings today. Just wanted my e-mailers to know that yes, I am alive and I am doing fine. The horses are fine, the cats are fine, the rabbits are always fine. (hmmmm, why do I suffer from allergies???) I am finally breathing~for real. Life is good.

Silent Snow

2009-03-02T19:02:00.004-05:00

I decided it was the perfect opportunity for a covert operation. Snow. A lot of snow.
We got dumped with a nor'easter. By 7 am we were in a lull. I was supposed to have an appointment with my neurologist this morning but the cancellation came while I was clearing the 4 inches of snow off my car. This was a dry, powdery snow. The forecast was predicting the second half of the storm to hit my area by 9am.I had at least two hours to out on the road before the predicted white-out conditions would hit.
It's been coming for awhile. I usually am forced to wait until the weather breaks in the spring to perform this dreaded task. Washing the horses blanket liners. After months of being encased in their waterproofed coverings, the inside liners get incredibly stinky and full of hair. The spring shedding out of hair actually starts in mid February. Every time I remove Syd and Romeo's liner a small foal-sized clump of hair seems to come with the liner.
I checked my watch and looked up at the sky. The sun was peeking through the clouds and the decision was made. I drove through empty roads to the barn. Being a Monday in March it seems every school had a snow day. It was obvious many were not going to work today. I love snow. Especially the kind that coats the trees. Driving the empty winding road to the barn made me feel exhilarated. It was as if the world stood still and only the birds and myself were out and about.
I ran in to the barn and stripped Sydney and Romeo of the offending liners. I put on their lighter sheets knowing that they would be in for the day due to the high winds that were predicted later that morning.I loaded the liners in to the back of my car and began my trek to the laundromat. Half way there I had to roll down my window because the heat of the car made the smell of wet horse that much more pungent. I pulled up to the laundromat and made sure the coast was clear. Thanking the snow gods for making the roads a state of emergency which seemed to keep the place empty. I loaded each liner in to it's own washer. I set the washer to heavy duty wash, said a prayer and sat back to watch for any disasters. It's been awhile since I have killed an industrial washer but one never knows. It's not so much the weight of the blankets it's the hair in them that can kill a machine. I confess there are at least two laundromats in Pottstown that I am banned from. I think they even have a poster at the door with my face on it. "Wanted: Serial Washer Killer!"
I forgot my book. I sat and watched the snow start back up again. It was falling in huge flakes that were drifting down so slow it reminded me of the fake snow in the Nutcracker at The Academy of Music. As I watched for any shaking or smoke coming from either machine, my mind started to wander. I thought back to snows of the past. Why it always seems so peaceful on the inside but causes so much chaos in our outside daily lives. I thought of the Conrad Aiken story Silent Snow,Secret Snow. Watching the snow start to swirl outside the window reminded me of so many other times I sat looking out a window, wondering how to find peace with the reality I have chosen. I feel I am happy but I sometimes wonder if the outside person looks in and thinks how sad my choices in life have been. Am I the young Paul? Descending in to madness with no clue as to what the real world is?
The liners made it through both the washer and dryer without too much shaking. I ran the washers through a clean cycle to wash out any hair that might be left. I drove back out to the barn and the wind had begun to kick up in full force. By the time I got to my aunt's the snow was falling sideways. As I put the newly washed liners on each horse I was overwhelmed by the peacefulness in the barn. The wind was slamming against the sides of the barn yet here we were, safe and enveloped in warmth. Syd reached around as I strapped her liner on. She took a long whiff of the clean cloth. It was still warm from the dryer. She let out a heavy sigh and nudged me before she went back to eating her hay.
I decided right at that moment that I like the secret snow in my head. It sure beats the reality that has been trying to blind me these past couple years.
I trudged up to my aunt's house and she ushered me in with a cup of hot chocolate. Apple wiggled her doggy greeting to me and we curled up next to the wood stove and snuggled. I watched the white snow swirl around the window and allowed myself one more thought of madness. I really love the snow.

What I Hate About You

2009-02-10T08:05:00.003-05:00

It's funny how the perception of time shifts day to day. Sometimes I feel like my life is in slow moving turtle speed and then other times I can look at a calendar and think, "how did I get three months behind?"

It began when Shoe-Man called and asked if we could meet for lunch. Shoe-Man is the nicer of my ex boyfriends. We have worked hard to stay nice in our split. His current wife doesn't seem to appreciate this so I was rather shocked he wanted to meet.

"We need to talk."

Oh crap. I hate that statement. It never bodes well when someone says they need to talk. I asked him why we couldn't just talk while he was trimming Syd and Romeo's feet?

"What the fuck Nessie? Can't a man just buy you lunch without you finding a reason to run for the hills?"

I was stunned. First because Shoe-Man is one of the more patient men in my life and second...well, he is right.I hate that. It is my self preservation that screams, "run for the hills! The man wants to *gasp* talk!" He called me on it.

Yesterday, he came down to trim the horses feet and then we went to lunch. It hit me funny that he chose the place that was our first date. I don't think that crossed his mind. Like most men he doesn't process that fact beyond than it's a place he likes to go.

After we ordered our food he made a bunch of small talk. Being a hairdresser for 23 years I think I am fairly good in this department. I confess though, it often makes me insane. I get mad at myself for repeating what clients say all day. "Crazy weather,eh?" to the more irritating, "how 'bout them Eagles?" I finally had enough.

"Shoe, just spit it out what you want from me."

I instantly regretted that statement. The look on his face said it all. I always go for the jugular and assume the worst. *sigh* No wonder I am single.

He then went in to a long explanation about his current wife's younger son and how violent he was becoming. His step son finally punched the mother in the face and he suspects he killed his mother's cat. They had to go to court and now he lives with his dad, blah,blah, blah.

"Kathy is really having a hard time. I thought you could talk to her."

I sat silent.For the first time in years I wished I had a cigarette.

This woman was still married to someone else when Shoe met her. I knew her as one of our mutual clients. Shoe was her farrier for her four horses and I massaged a couple of them. I would be lying if I told you I wasn't horrified that he chose to move on with a married woman who I knew as a client. The worst part was most of our mutual clients knew before I did. I was even more horrified that this woman chose to tell people some private things about me in her justification as to why Shoe and I broke up after 7 years. To put it bluntly, I wanted to kick her cheating ass. But that was then.

After she divorced her husband and they bought a farm together, Shoe and I came to a sort of peace. His wife on the other hand chose to embrace hating me. I was very baffled at this. I mean, we socialized before she started sleeping with my ex. She would chat my ear off while I massaged her horses. Funny how once she became an adulteress I was the enemy. Freud would have a field day. It came to the point that Shoe-Man still shoes my horses but the wife doesn't know. Even his mother,who I have stayed in touch with, admitted she keeps me a secret. Whatever. I have more important things to sweat over. I figured his new marriage was already based on a lie. Let him face the consequences and bad karma of that lie.

I was sad that this man who I once loved very much had talked himself in to believing that I am the only person his wife could talk to. I was also sad that this is how people now define me. Some champion of domestic violence who dispenses hope to others. The truth is I rarely go to the shelter anymore. I made a decision that now is the time to remove myself from that label of victim or survivor. After Prick's last hearing I realized the only way to move on is to accept that this is as good as it gets when dealing with someone Else's bad behavior. Shoe-Man's request just made me look hard at the time-line of my life. I feel like my situation was eons ago. I guess that's a good thing.

I asked him if Kathy knew he was still in touch with me? He stammered out a no.
"Shoe, that's your answer. How can you possibly explain why I am suddenly there to help her when she doesn't even allow you to trim my horses feet? I have to say, no."
I tried to fill him in on Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome which she seemed to be experiencing. I gave him some thoughts on how he as her spouse could help her. Long story short I tried to be the better person and help this man who has no clue that he still depends on me to bail him out of situations he can't handle.

After our lunch he thanked me for his help. I didn't feel like I did but,OK. As I walked to my car I was struck by how funny life is. This woman hates me so much and has no clue how alike we really are. Or, maybe she does and that's why she hates me.
Dunno. Just another pointless blog about ironies of life.

Sitting by the Window

2009-02-04T18:42:00.008-05:00

Snowy Sydney

What Hell is this?

snow fence

Creek behind the farm

"Moby? Please tell me you are not that depressed!"
It was a statement from the recent phone conversation I had with Ryan.
"Noooo, Moby Grape," I replied. Of course, the very young Ryan doesn't know who Moby Grape is. I recently added a couple tracks on my Sansa player to listen while riding Veritas. Ryan is always interested in what I am listening to. I personally know that what I listen to is a barometer for what my mood is. I don't know why it comes as a shock that someone else might figure that barometer out. Note to self: if you are denying depression~never mention Moby.

Seriously, I am not listening to Moby or feel the least bit depressed. My fog has finally started to lift. I think the fact that I am once again swamped with equine clients on my weekends has my brain circulating again. When I am working with the horses I don't have time to be anything but happy. I run in to trouble when I am not working. Hmmmm. I may be on to a revelation,here.

Last week we had a sleet and ice storm. That put a small funk in my week. I hate freezing rain. Snow~I love. Ice and having to drive in ice~frozen ground that I can't ride a horse~ice? I am ready to run off to a warmer climate.

We had another heavy snow yesterday.I finally stayed home from work with a wicked cold. This morning was perfectly clear and sunny. I still felt crappy enough to actually call out a second day. The only good thing is most of my clients at the salon had cancelled due to the weather. It made me feel less guilty staying home in bed watching the snow whirl outside my window. My sinuses hurt so bad I couldn't even focus on the book I was reading. I am now wondering how much aspirin it takes to eat a hole in your stomach?

Anyhoo, no ice, no Moby and my stomach hasn't disintegrated. Life is good. :)

Know That the Light Don't Sleep

2009-01-20T22:33:00.009-05:00

I am suddenly back in love with my home state. We had a glorious snow yesterday. Forecasters were calling for flurries and we ended up with over three inches. It was that fluffy,coat everything, kind of snow. Streets and sidewalks were easily cleared but the brown and grey mud was covered. This morning I watched the sun rise through the trees and turn everything in to diamonds. That is when I love the snow best. The snow actually sparkles in the sun and looks like the world is encased in glitter. I decided that Veritas just might feel the same way about snow as I do. I was right. I saddled him up this morning and took him out for a trail ride. He seemed just as enthralled as I was. There is absolutely nothing better than hacking out in unbroken snow with a horse. Against the white backdrop, you see birds fluttering in the bushes, deer dashing out from the trees, foxes scurrying ahead of you as if to race you to the next bend. The world takes on the muffled song that comes from Veritas clomping on to the blanket of powdered snow. It seems as if nature itself starts dancing to it's beat. The whole time he had his head up and he snorted puffs of steam out in to the frigid air. I could tell he didn't want to miss a single thing and kept looking around. I am just so grateful that through his eyes he has made me once again take notice of my surroundings. Riding 'Tas makes me feel like I am seeing things clearly after waking from a long sleep. After we returned to the barn I looked out across the snow covered fields and heard a song in my head. It seems to describe exactly what today was. It was the day I discovered that no matter how dark it may seem at times, my Light don't sleep.

David Gray is one of those musicians who sounds even better live than in a studio. This is one of my all time favorite songs. Lyrics are amazing.

PEACE!

An Instrument of Your Peace

2009-01-15T10:29:00.001-05:00

Snow. We have snow. Along with frozen pipes in the barn.The Snow Miser decided to pay my area of PA a visit. Winter is tough if you have a small, backyard horse set-up. No matter how much insulation we wrap around the pipes, they freeze when we hit the teen digits.
Since Romeo is prone to colic, it is essential that he have plenty of water. This means several trips from the house to the barn lugging water buckets. I keep thinking there must be some solution. Every time I watch a football game and I see that big Gatorade container by the players bench, I think that would be easy enough to stick in a wheel barrow. Better than my aunt and I, juggling water buckets, trying not to slip on the ice and snow.
Romeo seems happy enough. No residual effects of his couple month ordeal of abscesses and stitches. I caught him rolling in the mud with his heavy-weight, winter rug on. Not an easy feat for even a young horse.
Sydney is back to giving me the cold shoulder. I just can't figure the girl out. I try not to let it bother me. I rationalize that a lot of off-the-track Thoroughbreds are like her. When Romeo was raced, he was owned by one person. Syd was owned by a corporation, consisting of numerous owners. Since most low earning, corporate race horses have little to no handling as a pet, these horses tend to not bond with people. Syd was actually a winning horse so that meant she spent 7 years on the track before her racing career ended. What her life on the track was like is something I can't even imagine. I just try and remind myself to not take her snubbing my affection, personally.
I just feel sad that I was able to get Gwen to come back around after her life as an isolated show horse, where Syd, she could care less. Even if I have a pocket full of treats, she doesn't even look up when I approach them in the pasture. It is only when Romeo starts walking towards me, reaching out for a cookie, that she will finally acknowledge me. She makes no eye contact and acts as if it's a bother in her busy grazing to accept a treat. I hate myself for muttering, "bitch" every time she does that. All the more reason I am grateful I have Romeo and Veritas to reassure me that I am lovable.
What it really boils down to is that after a year and a half I have come to the realization that I still have a hole in my heart where Gwen once was. Now that I am coming off such high doses of the anti anxiety meds, I am once again feeling things more clearly. One of them is that emotion of real loss of such a huge part of my existence. It's hard to explain this to people around me. I know my aunt gets it. I think that is one of the reasons she will email me in the mornings to go back to bed, she will take care of the horses. Gwen would miss me if I didn't get out there at least a few times a week. Syd could care less who feeds her and turns her out.
The powder of snow that fell last night is on top of ice. I chose to lead the horses through the barn door rather than just opening their stall doors and letting them race each other out and possibly wiping out on the slippery ice. Romeo is a bit of a bastard when I lead him. He is pushy and obstinate until I remind him who has cookies in her pocket. Syd is actually a nice horse to lead. The one advantage of horses that don't bond~they don't have a bone to pick with you. She would deem it unworthy of her time to have an argument with me.
I was able to just lead her with a rope draped around her neck. She gracefully lowered her head so that I could slip the rope off. She ignored my outstretched hand that was offering a cookie and walked out to begin searching for a spot to roll. Romeo waltzed up and grabbed the cookie. Snooze, ya lose. He hung out with me for a couple minutes and then turned to join Syd for a good roll in the snow. I stood at the barn door and started adjusting my scarf.I dropped the rope while I was shifting my multiple layers. As I bent down to retrieve the rope I saw a shine of brass in the dirt. I had to take my glove off to scrape it out of the frozen ground. I finally pried it loose and was left staring in wonder at what I found. It was a Saint Francis medal that I used to have on Gwen's halter.
Years ago, Dru and I co-op ed a barn together. We had each horse have St. Francis metals attached to their halters, blankets, bridles,etc.. One side had the Patron Saint of Animals, and the other side had the horses name engraved. This way, we could keep track of what item belonged to what horse and keep blessings around them at every angle.Even after Dru and I went to separate barns, the tags went with our horses and their belongings. Gwen's halter medal had fallen off years ago. I had forgotten about it until this moment. Why I would find it now in the one spot I stand in almost every day, I have no idea.
I held it for a few moments and felt the warmth of tears welling up. I am so grateful now for them. Now matter what has happened, my time with Gwen was something I will always hold close to my heart. Even though she is gone, her spirit is right there with me. Finding that medal was just Gwen reminding me to keep the faith.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I took the medal back out of my pocket and reminded myself, for it is in giving that we receive.
I walked out to where Syd was now pawing through the hay pile. I fed her a cookie and found a spot under her chin that she likes having scritched. She stretched out her neck and lowered her head for me so I could reach her spot better. After I had stopped, she head-butted me in the arm. For Syd, this is the closest she can bring herself to saying thanks for the love.
I'm cool with that.

Off to the Races

2009-01-09T20:27:00.007-05:00

OK~ I was tagged by SweetPeaSurrey. I agree with her that this is a nice distraction from the usual heavy crap I blog about.

So ... here are the instructions:

1.go to your documents

2. go to your 6th file. (I had to skip a file because it was an IM file which is empty. It's empty because I don't IM anyone,ever)

3.go to your 6th picture.

4. blog about it.

5. tag 6 friends to do the same.

and the Photo:

This is Dru and I, at the Radnor Spring Races, May 2006. I had captioned it "Champagne Blondes Drink Champagne."
This is an example of one of my many haircolor changes.
I had actually blogged about this at TV.com. Here is a rerun of what the Spring Races are about:

Yesterday, I had off from work and attended the Radnor Hunt Spring Races. It is a steeplechase event that is held in an area 15 minutes from where I live. I used to live 2 minutes away at a farm back in the 90s. My friend Dru,who has the large animal rescue farm, has a parking spot that we tailgate from every year. This has been a tradition for my fellow horse owning friends for the past 17 years.

Horses over the fence

Here in Pennsylvania, May can be a tricky month. It is often cold,wet and rainy.Sometimes Mother Nature will throw you a loop by making it 80 degrees and broiling sunshine.Yesterday, we had both. We had a couple sprinkles and cloud cover early in the day and by the afternoon we were basking in sunshine with no jackets. I saw a lot of friends,ate a lot of food and got a chance to sit back and enjoy what I love about the area of Pennsylvania I live in.

Tailgating at horse shows is much different from tailgating at other sports events.First of all,they are judged in different categories. Since this sport attracts the wealthy sect, the tailgate often reflects that.Some people park antique cars or some kind of rare British import car and these are judged on the vehicle and the presentation around it.

The next category is a designated theme that is presented every year. This year was TV series. We saw an American Bandstand tailgate where everyone dressed in poodle skirts and they had Motown playing.Their plates for food looked like record albums.It was really cute! Another was The Flying Nun which was my favorite.Imagine even the fat,old guys were dressed as a nuns. Poor Sally Field was blessed by God to recover her career from that series. There was a Gilligan's Island theme which you can spot in this picture:

The third category is just on the elegance and uniqueness of your tailgate.In this category you will see expensively catered food with fine china,crystal stemware,ice sculptures,flowers galore and linens. The people will be dressed very formally with the women in hats and the men in suit coats.

The last category is the one where the people just park a vehicle and set up food and drinks with no care in how it looks. Believe it or not, this gets judged in the end for "Worst Tailgate" and you are awarded black balloons.Well,guess who won that category? It was us!!! I told my friend Dru's husband, I think we won because when the judges came by I was holding a bag of Wheat Thins. No dish or plate,just a bag out in the open.It is all in good fun and we cheered our heads off because we were the trash of the tailgating sect!

Evidence of Wheat Thins and Black Balloons

I enjoy spending a day with friends and seeing how the other folk live. I even went over and had a drink with the people I once worked for when I was with my ex,on their coach . They were so gracious and it reminded me that I can still have contact and socialize with these people and not have to work for them.

This is their Roof Seat Brake carriage. The carriages line up and tailgate for a couple hours. The grooms standing on the ground is what I used to get paid to do. The coach is being pulled by a formation called "Unicorn" because it is two horses at the wheel of the coach and one in the front. It is one of the most difficult forms of driving.

On a side note,after the Radnor Races we all went to the clubhouse to watch the Preakness. It was sad and sickening to watch Pennsylvania's golden horse shatter his ankle. White Light to Michael Matz and Barbero.

So, there you have what that picture meant. I had just started dating Prick. I didn't take him because I knew I would be drinking. I love this picture of Dru and I. We look so happy. I know I was. I love these events. The people, the horses, the whole atmosphere is just fun. It was so sad to be in the clubhouse afterwards and watch Barbaro run that fateful race.
It all seems so long ago. I still attend the Radnor Races with Dru each year. I know rain or shine,hot or cold, we will be there.

Hey, I don't have a lot of public friends here. I'm just going for it. Tag! You are it!

SparkleFarkle
Christina
MatterEaterLad
Namdev
Betsy
Doctawho

No Time is Better Than Now

2009-01-06T21:08:00.003-05:00

Felonius my old friend
Step on in and let me shake your hand
So glad that you're here again
For one more time
Let your madness run with mine
Streets still unseen we'll find somehow
No time is better than now *

I shot straight up when the shrill of my phone blasted me awake. I rarely get calls on my home line anymore and at that early hour I was jolted with confusion. I checked the caller ID as I fumbled for the talk button and all it said was Australia.

"Did I wake you?"

I fumbled for the clock in my stupor and squinted.

"No," I lied.
It was Ryan calling from Australia. He had gone home for the holidays and I didn't see him before he left. He asked me what time it was here in the States.

"4am,"I mumbled, throwing my arm across my eyes.

"Bloody Hell, it's 9pm here. Sorry,love," but he didn't sound sorry. In fact he was his usual chipper self.The fact that it was also a day ahead didn't seem like an issue either.

I have to say that there is something about an Aussie accent that does a girl in. If a South Philly guy woke me with a,"Yo! Yous sleepin'?" I would have been crankier.

Ryan,was calling to tell me his boss was taking their horses to South Carolina, for the winter horse show season. He was flying directly there from Australia so he wouldn't be back in PA until late April.

Crap. I was losing my trainer. I stopped my lessons when my work hours in mid December, became insane. My little black cloud of depression had kept me from Veritas, but at least Ryan, was still riding him for me. He would call me once a week or email to let me know how my Fat Boy was progressing.
"Who am I going to find that will let me ride freestyle to INXS or Depeche Mode," I whined to him. Traditional dressage, Freestyle Kur, usually demands cheesy pop music that is played on a synthesizer or classical music. Ryan seemed to enjoy my weird collection of music and could choreograph tests that worked with more fun songs.
He assured me that I could use the tests that he designed for us and use them to just about any music. We talked for a couple minutes about Veritas. Before we hung up Ryan mentioned to me that I should find work with the horses down in South Carolina, for the winter.

"Bring the Boy. It would be good for you both."

I let out a heavy sigh. How many times have I been offered that? My answer is always the same.
"I have too much,here."

Ryan is 26 years old. He came here, from his native Australia, to work with a member of the USA Olympic Equestrian Team. He has his life and career in front of him. The fact that he is still in a position to chose what he wants is exhilarating. I felt a pang of jealousy. For my youth and for the days of not having responsibilities of a mortgage,a full-time job, pets, elderly parents. You know. Life.
When I woke this morning, I thought some more about my conversation with Ryan the night before. It occurred to me that Ryan never speaks to me like I am some old lady who he trains. He talks to me as someone he trains and also works with professionally. He has referred a lot of horses to me to massage. When he offered to get me employment in Aiken, I believe he really thought it was something I should or could do.
Every year I go through these same feelings. Most equestrians that show their horses in upper levels go south for the winter. Over the years, I have spent long weekends in the Carolinas, massaging and grooming horses for clients. They pay for my expenses and my fee and it would just about work out even. I never made a profit doing that. In fact, last time I ended up losing money and a car that needed major repairs upon returning. I vowed it was my last trip south for the winter. I think that was when I also decided I hated the Carolinas.
I often think back on my horse show days and the fun I had. There were parties and dalliances with the rich folk. The sad truth is, that unless you have money to start with, you don't make money working with horses. I have lived along the fringe, looking for the opportunity to slip in to a place where life seemed to be easier. Somehow, I never got my foot all the way in through the door. Looking back, I realize I missed a lot of opportunities staying back in the barns with the horses instead of working the social scene. My friend Brit, would often tell me that if I had worked more with my pussy than my hands, I would have gotten farther in life. Now that I am getting older, I am beginning to wonder if that cynical statement was correct. Lost opportunity? Regrets? How many times were things offered and I didn't know to take them? The funny thing is,I think I may actually not regret my choice of putting horses first. It may have saved me from even more heartache. Who knows?
I rarely talk to any of my old equestrian friends from my traveling days but I do think of them from time to time.

Tell me where are you driving
Midnight cruiser
Where is your bounty
Of fortune and fame
I am another
Gentlemen loser
Drive me to Harlem
Or somewhere the same *

Brit, now works full time as a carpenter. Horses are a side business. We speak maybe once or twice a year if he is in the area working with someones horses. Seems his life has landed him to a place that was always like mine. I had my responsible career that paid the bills and kept me from moving to some far off land, playing with horses all day. I think I mainly traveled for the pure energy and madness. Always in pursuit of finding a path anywhere but the one I traveled at home.
When we were younger, we both had those dreams of having equestrian careers, traveling the world with the rich and famous. Maybe we would even find fame and fortune on our own. He had almost gotten there a few times but Brit was unlucky with love and horses. Each time he was crushed both emotionally and financially. Of course, being British he would never let on that he was crushed but I could see each setback had left him a little more dead behind his eyes. Eventually, I settled down with a man and bought my home. Life on the road just didn't work anymore.

The world that we used to know
People tell me it don't turn no more
The places we used to go
Familiar faces that ain't smilin' like before
The time of our time has come and gone
I fear we been waiting too long *

Now that my life doesn't feel so secure, will the world that I used to know, ever turn again? Will those streets still unseen, I'll find somehow?
I called Ryan's cell phone while I was driving to work. I wished him luck with the winter show season and hoped to come see him compete in Kentucky this April. His reply was, "Maybe, you'll land yourself a wealthy Lexington guy, while you are there."
Spoken like a true 26 year old that is holding life by the balls. But, who knows? I may still find that unseen street, yet.

* lyrics from Midnight Cruiser, Steely Dan

It's That Sinking Feeling, You Know What it's Bringing On

2009-01-04T21:22:00.004-05:00

I am not writing anything that anyone would be shocked at reading. I have been depressed. Not just that simple, I have the blues, depressed. I mean, I'm drowning in a well and can't get out of it, depressed.
I know many people experience depression at some point in their life. For some, it may be a constant. For me, this is a new frontier. I spent most of December in a fog. If I wasn't working, I was sleeping. I would take care of Romeo and Sydney while Veritas was virtually ignored. Part of it was the crazy weather we had, the other part was my co-worker of 23 years was out on maternity leave. I worked a lot of extra hours to accommodate her clients. I kept blaming stress or the extra work hours. Before I knew it, I found myself in that well, not even bothering to look up and see if I could get out. If you haven't figured it out from past blogs I am wound a little tight. I tend to have anxiety and over-emotional responses. Apathy and numbness is not something I am used to. When I falter I sink myself in to work or the horses. I get myself back in to the saddle both literally and figuratively. Part of being a hairdresser is faking it till you make it. I still managed to pull that off at work but as soon as I walked out that door the blackness enveloped me. It had gotten so bad that I didn't even care that I wasn't riding. On my days off, I would choose staying in my pajamas with an ignored book in my lap and staring out in to space. Dishes piled up, clothes sat next to the washer. I would wake each morning with a list of errands and things to do. Before I would know what happened, I would be back in bed or on the couch, fast asleep.
What really sealed it for me was when my coworker came back part time. After my boss discovered she was still doing some clients at home, on the side, he told her she either stopped or she would have to leave. She chose to leave. I was beyond stunned. We haven't always seen eye-to-eye these past 23 years, but we were a team. We looked out for each other professionally. She and I, both understood what it is like to be an aging hairdresser in a field that values looks and youth. I know she didn't leave me, but it felt that way. I cried for three days straight. I barely got out of bed last week except to go to work. It was the first time I didn't have people over for new year's eve. I drank myself stupid and cried at Dick Clark slurring in the new year. At least he has the excuse of recovering from a stroke. I just slurred happy new year to a bunch of fur. Oh, and I texted a friend in California. At 12am, I felt compelled to warn him of the impending doom that would land on his doorstep in a couple hours.
I don't know what clicked but I had finally decided enough was enough. This morning I awoke and decided no matter how tired I was, I had to get out. I dug out my winter britches and went to ride Veritas. I was in a haze while I brushed the dust off him. You could tell I hadn't been out in awhile. His tail had matted and he had scurf under his long,winter coat. It was while I was working on his forelock that it happened. Veritas was leaning his head flat up against my chest. I started to scratch the inside of his ears and he let out a huge sigh. I burst in to tears. I was just appalled at my month of self pity. How could I ignore the one thing that gives me so much joy, so unconditionally? Augh. Humans. We are just so stupid when it comes to our brains.
As I swung my foot up in to the stirrup I felt my heart starting to lighten. By the time I got out in to the open field I felt my head was clearer. Starlings were swarming along the tree line. I don't know if these birds are in other parts of the USA. Someone once told me they are not a natural species of the Americas but were brought here from Europe. What makes them fascinating is how, what seems like thousands of them, fly in strange formations.There is no way not feel cheered while watching these birds fly.

It hit me while I was staring up in to the sky while sitting on the back of a horse. I believe I could see the Light while I was looking from the bottom of the well.

Look at this, it's me, walking away.
Look at you drowning, on display.
every time I've dropped by, I've tried to say
the water is rising.
you don't want to stay.

It's that sinking feeling. you know what it's bringing on.
you might as well say it,
I see it, I feel it.
this town is going wrong.
it's turning away.

YOU WANTED ME TO BE SOMEONE THAT I COULD NEVER BE
MY NEW FRIENDS ARE OFFERING THINGS I'VE NEVER DREAMED
IT'S BEAUTIFUL,
I'D LIKE FOR THEM TO TAKE ME ON...

the track mall gang went off
on the Tennessee goth. a lunar moth,
you chrysalis and flail.
the water is rising. you try to rappel.
a rousing cheer for the boy in the well.

it's that sinking feeling. you know what it's bringing on.
you might as well say it,
I see it, I feel it.
this town is going wrong.
it's turning away.

YOU WANTED ME TO BE SOMEONE THAT I COULD NEVER BE
MY NEW FRIENDS ARE OFFERING THINGS I'VE NEVER DREAMED
IT'S BEAUTIFUL,
I'D LIKE FOR THEM TO TAKE ME ON...

here is where I look back.
here is where you fell.
this is where I got up,
shaking off my tail
this is where your rope trick
started to look stale.
a greyhound pass for the boy in the well.

it's that sinking feeling
you know what it's bringing on
I might as well say it.
I see it, I feel it
this town is going wrong.
it's turning away.

YOU WANTED ME TO BE SOMEONE THAT I COULD NEVER BE
MY NEW FRIENDS ARE OFFERING THINGS I'VE NEVER DREAMED
IT'S BEAUTIFUL,
I'D LIKE FOR THEM TO TAKE ME ON

YOU WANTED ME TO BE SOMETHING THAT I COULD NEVER BE
MY NEW FRIENDS ARE OFFERING THINGS I'VE NEVER DREAMED
IT'S BEAUTIFUL,
I'D LIKE FOR THEM TO TAKE ME ON

As Oscar Would Say, "I Love Trash."

2008-12-29T19:11:00.003-05:00

"Only you could top me, on the craziest ex-boyfriend scale."
This statement came from my friend, Gail.
After my latest mental breakdown she was the one friend I knew I could call and she would get it. She is never shocked by anything I tell her (and can often match me on this) and can find humor in the blackest of hours.
Many of us joke about having a freak magnet. I am afraid that all joking aside, Prick, has proved that I really had one on full force, when I met him.
One of the terrors I had experienced after he assaulted me, was clearing out his belongings that he started squirreling away in my home. It was one of the reasons I had confronted him that fateful night. I made it clear to him in the weeks before that I would not allow him to live with me as long as he was drinking and not working full time. He was failing miserably in both of those departments. I honestly was relieved because I wanted out even before this moment. I felt he was giving me more reasons to leave what was becoming a disaster of a relationship. So,it was a shock in the week before the breakup that he had seemed to have more belongings in my home. He stated that he was looking for an apartment but would just keep things safe at my house until he signed a lease. My gut told me this was crap but I didn't know how to call him on it. The day I finally asked him to leave was the day he disregarded every one of my boundaries. He was drinking, he wasn't working, he was not looking for an apartment, he had imposed himself on my family that morning and the last straw...he had his mail forwarded to my address.
Well, we know how my confrontation went.
While Prick was in jail, I began packing up what I thought was a few of his belongings. What actually transpired was me unearthing boxes and bags of clothes, books, photos, letters, papers, his keyboard. You name it. He had shit packed everywhere. I was sickened to see how blatantly he blew his way into my home. I was sickened that I had been emotionally so beaten down that I couldn't see it happening. The last straw was when we exchanged personal belongings through our legal counsel. It was when he sent me a handwritten list that I realized how far this man went. He had, unbeknown to me, used my attic crawl space as a storage unit. Every single item that this man owned was shoved in my attic. I don't even store shit up there! My best friend's husband took the liberty of clearing the stuff out. It took us two cars and a truck to haul his crap to the police station, where a third party would retrieve the items. I was completely creeped out by the whole ordeal. Needless to say, I had every lock changed and spent the next few weeks cleaning and rearranging my furniture, trying to shake off that invaded feel.
It has been over a year and a half now. I still occasionally stumble across something that the asshole left behind. It may be something as simple as a phone number scribbled on the back of a seldom used notepad or something as tangible as a photo of his younger daughter stuck in between the pages of one of my Al Anon books. Each time I stumble across an item like this, it brings back that metallic taste in my mouth that is actually my stomach up heaving a little.
I have cleaned out my house completely enough that I was finally feeling that every bit of Prick has been removed. All I can say is that my house is my sanctuary. It has been very important to me to retrieve that feeling of peace inside my home.
Recently, I had some minor water damage to some ceiling tiles in my kitchen. It occurred when I had some water seep through the bathroom floor and in to the kitchen ceiling below it. I realized that the tub and shower needed to be re caulked and that was where the water was coming from. Since I have had a few days off this past week, I decided it was a good time to re caulk my tub and shower. It proved to be the solution and the water problem stopped. Since the caulking, I had noticed there were some water stains left on the ceiling tiles in the kitchen. I plan to eventually replace the lighting and ceiling in the entire kitchen at a future date. I decided to just touch up the tiles with white paint instead of replacing them while I am waiting to renovate.
I got up on a step stool to carefully lift each stained tile out of it's grate. After bringing them down, I would touch up the small spots with paint and replace the tile. I saved the largest tile for last. It was the one over my refrigerator. I gently pushed up the tile to slide it out of the grate and it felt heavy. I began thinking it was saturated with water and I would have to replace it, after all. As I slid it towards me, a rush of plastic came spilling out, crashing to the floor. DVDs. I stood on the stool with my arm still upholding the tile and stared in shock. Porn. Lots of porn.
"Shit," was all I could muster.
I stepped down and examined the stash. Sure enough the asshole even put his initials on each DVD.
That was when I reached for the phone and called Gail. I told her the Christmas Porn Fairy paid me a visit and left me a stash in my kitchen ceiling. Which of course led to the question, "who the hell keeps porn in a kitchen ceiling???"
All I could ask her back is, "what the hell else is stashed in my house?"
I felt like that http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0071186/ Bad Ronald movie, had come to life in my own home. I can't tell you how creeped out I felt~ again. Almost a year and a half later, even with the dude in jail, here I am, feeling like he was still hovering over me in the very same kitchen where the assault began. How ironic that I was standing in the same spot where his first blow hit me.
I hung up with Gail after she made me laugh a bit. We joked that it must be the Porn Fairy invading my crib for Kwanzaa. I at least felt a little better as I began to completely remove each and every tile. When I had only open space above me, I grabbed a flashlight and examined every square inch, whispering, "Poooorn Faaairy. Come out,come out ,wherever you are." It turned up empty except for some dust. I swept out the dust and replaced the newly painted tiles.
So, what to do with the porn? Well Prozac has flat lined me enough to know I would have zero enjoyment of ever viewing that crap. My nephew is too young... maybe eBay? Can I mail his porn to him in jail? How about to his new girlfriend? Oooooh, his parents! His priest! Seriously, I was just trying to find humor where I really wanted to throw up. I took each disc out and put it through my shredder. Then I ripped off the paper labels and did the same with them. I threw it all in a bag with kitty litter and called it a day. As I stood at the dumpster, my neighbor walked up and yelled to let him help me, with that. I watched with smug satisfaction as the lid of the dumpster slammed down.
Throwing out the trash just took on a whole new meaning.

At Christmastime, We Let in Light

2008-12-25T08:53:00.004-05:00

It had been no secret here in Blogville that I had lost the Christmas mojo this year. It is not a grumpy or depressed thing. Just a big, gaping void of nothing. I worked until 8 almost every night for the past few weeks. Part of it is exhaustion and the rest is the continual numbness I have felt about everything around me.

Yesterday morning I woke to a world encased in ice. The wild winter weather continues here in PA. Temperatures go from the single digits to the 50's in a matter of hours. I clicked on my email and the codeword was there. Dr. Zhivago. It is what my aunt and I share if the weather is too dangerous for me to try and make the drive to her farm. I ventured a slippered foot out of my front door and tested the walk way. Yep. Pure ice.

Luckily, my boss gave us off for the next three days. I took advantage of the free morning and caught up in some housework and snuggling with the cats and rabbits.

I finally ventured out to the farm when the temps started to rise and the roads were salted. Romeo is healing well and seems to be back to his old self. I should emphasize old self. I noticed he is slowing down considerably this year. For a Thoroughbred it is only expected that they are ancient by 26 but it's hard to think of him as old.

Normally I am like a little kid at Christmas. I hang stockings for the horses and the barn cats. My uncle hangs lights everywhere and even goes as far as to outline the tractor with lights. He parks it in the pasture by the road and has chaser lights around the wheels. The neighbors love it. For some reason the Christmas mojo was lost all around. We forgot to hang the stockings and my uncle only put lights around the house. My aunt summed it up. It just hasn't felt like anything, let alone Christmas. I was relieved to hear it wasn't just me being the year without a Santa Claus.

I made the difficult decision earlier this year to leave my old church. It was one more thing Prick had invaded. When my favorite pastor retired and my father stopped singing in the choir it seemed to all point in the direction that it was time to move on. Like Bono once sang, I still haven't found what I am looking for. I know with Prick behind bars I could attend Christmas Eve service safely but my heart just wasn't in it. For the first time in 20-something years I would be home. My New Year resolution is to find a new church.

So, I knew I could take my time at the barn. I pulled the blankets off the horses and groomed them head to toe. Rain was falling on the tin roof and the horses munched hay while I worked on them. After I was done with Syd and Romeo I sat and pet Blackie for a half hour. She was purring so loud I could feel the vibration through my down coat. At one point our barn raccoon wandered in and helped itself to the cat dish. Blackie and I sat at a safe distance and watched in wonder as the critter took each nugget of dry food and examined it before delicately crunching it. We feed our barn cats Science Diet. I am glad to know that we are feeding the raccoon population with over-priced, premium cat food. LOL.

As the afternoon started to wear on I began to feel my internal fog lift. I felt more aware of my surroundings and that feeling of peace that has been missing for so long was slowly settling in.

I finally put everything away and got in to my car to venture home. There on my front seat was a bag of presents. My aunt always gives me presents from the horses and the cats. I opened little packages of candy, cookies and brownies from each critter giggling at the thought of them wrapping gifts without sampling. Finally I got to the bottom of the bag. My aunt had labeled it as the last forgotten gift from Gwen. I immediately felt an ache in my heart. As much as I love Veritas, the void left from losing Gwen is still yet to be filled. I slowly unwrapped the gift and sat in wonder staring at it. It was a framed picture of her sister Judi as a child with a pony. Judi was the one who had taught me to ride as a child. She had passed away almost 14 years ago from cancer. I still miss her immensely. Like Judi, all I had ever wanted as a child was a pony. Every Christmas was the same for both of us. No pony. It wasn't until we were adults that our dream of owning a horse would be realized. Seeing the picture of Judi as a child, cradling a pony, just brought back my Christmas Spirit. Dreams do come true and miracles can happen. Little girls can finally get their ponies.

Her sister nailed the perfect time to give me such a gift. I absolutely lost it. I think I cried so hard half my body fluid level was expelled.

So there you have it. Thanks to Gwen and Judi, the greatest gift I got this year was tears.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Oh, Good Grief.

2008-12-16T09:24:00.004-05:00

One of my favorite Charlie Brown isms. Good grief. Charles Schulz was the king of good grief. What was actually his own personal feelings of hopelessness, presented in a cartoon form, made him millions. Pure genius.

I am currently convinced I have Black Lung disease after scraping what seems like the entire state of Pennsylvania's worth of mud off of the horses.The weather has turned unseasonable warm again and we have had more torrential rain. The reason I hate Pennsylvania's winters has resurfaced. Mud. Lots and lots of mud.
Romeo has the typical old-horse, winter coat. It is long and slightly curled. A perfect catch-all for mud, small branches and bramble. He comes in every night looking like a bad B movie monster. He smells like one,too. The only way to describe what a dirty horse smells like is this: 1200 pounds of wet dog. Blech.
Veritas, on the other hand, finds it beneath him to dirty his handsome self. When he goes out, he finds a less muddy spot and does a small, wussy roll that just slightly soils his sides. Romeo picks the muddiest spot and scrapes both sides head-to-toe. When he is done even his face and forelock are covered. For the life of me I cannot comprehend how this makes him feel better in the winter. I get the whole summer/fly thing, but winter...?
So, enough bitching about mud. I am still coasting along in my state of numbness. I guess I am OK with it. I'm too numb to care one way or the other. I did have another talk with the doctor. I am going to persevere through this and stay on the lesser dose of the Prozac. I figure at some point my brain fog will lift and I will either be my old self or back to the deer in headlights. Either way, I want to give it the old college try. I can always up the dose if it seems like it gets to be too much. I just want to try and deal with my head while Prick is safely behind bars. This has been the first time I have not had the legal issues and his physical presence to muddy up my emotions. *snort* I obviously have mud on the brain. Thanks, Romie.
So, I function, I laugh with friends. It's all good. Good grief, Charlie Brown.
Even in writing all of this, I know this is text book grief. It'll pass. I just wish I could speed up time and have all of the answers. Where is that Lucy with her five cent psychiatric booth? Then life would be so much easier, wouldn't it? Or, at least, a little funnier.

It Looks Like Christmas

2008-12-07T21:32:00.005-05:00

Romeo and Sydney are finally out and enjoying their hay.
It's been a long haul this time with Romeo. We had a couple more setbacks that included IV fluids and prayers. He (knock on wood) seems to be coming out of the woods.
As for me...
It had to happen eventually. Depression.
Oh, I've had it from time to time. Those days you feel cranky or sad, wishing you could stay in bed, but you don't. This time is different. It is that big gaping hole of nothing that bothers me the most. I'm not mad or sad. Just nothing. I get up and do what I have to do, feeling nothing.
I knew I was in trouble last week when I went to my mom's best friend's viewing. After crying the entire weekend after she had passed away, I finally flat lined again. Not one tear. Numb.
Argh.
We had more snow this Saturday. It was a dry powdery snow that lightly dusts glitter over everything. I took the opportunity of having a Saturday night free and went shopping. My family and friends have all agreed to not exchange gifts this year. Although I am relieved that the stress of gift giving has been alleviated, it has left me with that feeling of no purpose for the holiday.
I decided that I needed to decorate to the max to force the Christmas spirit in to me. I bought new lights and new ornaments for my tree. Even though it is a tiny three foot artificial tree, I put five strings of colored lights on the sucker. You could land an airplane by it's light. I put extra lights around my windows. It makes a warm glow that I always used to love.
I stood outside in the falling snow, inspecting the lights in the window. I never heard my neighbor and his dog approach until he spoke, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas." I patted his German Shepard, brushing the glittered snow off his coat and thanked him. It still didn't feel like it to me. I mean, it's snowing for the third time,for God's sake! How much more Christmas do you want?
I had one more trick up my sleeve. I popped in a DVD of The Snowman. The part where he is flying to the song, Walking in the Air makes me cry every time. It is my no-fail Christmas fuzzy.
Nothing.
I am so desperate for any kind of fuzziness that I even watched a special on Andy Williams Christmas shows on PBS. Who doesn't cry to Andy Williams singing, Oh,Holy Night??? Apparently me.
I am praying it's just a stage. I went to the DVC this morning to drop off some supplies for the women. They need everything and are so grateful for whatever you bring. One young mother had her 6 week old daughter with her. I held her little baby who was wrapped up like a little Glow Worm, while her mom went through the bag of toiletries I had brought. This alone usually sets me off in tears. A baby so young and a mother so desperate to escape her abuser that she lives in a dingy old house, hidden away from everyone. Grateful, that someone thought to bring her deodorant and Tampax.
I handed back her baby and gave them a hug. I got in to my car and saw it was snowing again. I drove through West Chester that is decorated for the holiday and knew that I was still feeling dead inside. What the hell happened?
What if I am becoming like Ebeneezer Scrooge? Bitter and alone? Christmas is just another day that you wake up and go through the motions?
So, there you have it. The question is this: What is better? Crying your eyes out or feeling nothing at all?
Time to up the Prozac.

Are You Gellin' ?

2008-11-26T07:21:00.005-05:00

The helliday is barreling down fast. For once I actually don't feel too stressed about it. Work is insanely busy but the extra money has made it worthwhile. I managed to pay off all of my credit cards and the rest went to the vet for Romeo's bill and extra hay that we needed while they were stall bound.
Romeo really had a tough time last week. Although the stitches were healing well he developed laminitis in his front feet. This probably happened because he was rocking his weight forward and on to his front feet. On top of that, the massive doses of antibiotics started screwing with his whole system. He developed an abscess in his right front hoof. What makes it trickier is that it is located right beside his coffin bone. Horse people know that the adage, "no hoof, no horse" comes along the aptly named coffin bone. If this bone is compromised in any way it becomes a death sentence. Every morning I take his therapeutic wrap off and carefully clean and examine where the pinhole on the bottom of his hoof is located. I have been saying a lot of prayers as I re-wrap the hoof that could still prove to be his downfall. I did find a gel-type hoof boot that gives extra cushion. It was cute to watch him walk with his front feet encased in gel. That Dr. Scholls comercial comes to mind. Romeo~ he's gellin'.
Because of the massive doses of antibiotics we had to have an IV of fluids last week. Everything goes right through the poor boy's stomach. I found a horse equivalent of Pepto Bismol with pro-biotics and he finally started to have some solid poop. On the brighter note: the stitches came out and the wound looks great. I keep focusing on how well he healed from that. Romeo is like the cat with nine lives. He just keeps coming back.
I know I have said it before but I love our vet. He has been awesome through this and I am so grateful we found him.
Because of my insane schedule I haven't ridden 'Tas much. There are lights in the ring but I am too exhausted after standing for ten hours at work to try and ride after. I miss the younger me who never dreamed of it being too hot,too cold or worse~ too tired to ride.
I had a lesson on Sunday morning and then told Ryan I will have to wait until the new year to schedule any more lessons. Every weekend in December, something is up. He will continue to ride Veritas for me so at least he will stay in shape and in a good mind set.
So, the family comes to my crib for the helliday. Yay! I am happy. I haven't entertained in my home for awhile and this is the first holiday at my house for a couple years.
Well, I am running late so I am off to get ready for work. I hope everyone stays safe and enjoys the turkey day. Please send some White Light to Romeo.

Face It

2008-11-11T09:33:00.006-05:00

The sun has finally returned. After almost two weeks of clouds and rain I was beginning to feel mildewed as well as depressed.
Romeo had a massive injury on Sunday. He came in for evening feed with a gaping wound and blood everywhere. He cut the back part of his upper pastern of his right hind leg. It took the vet an hour just to stitch him up. At one point the blood was spurting out like a bad cartoon. Luckily it was only skin and blood vessels. No tendons or ligaments. So, they are both stall bound for ten days and we are keeping our fingers crossed that there is no infection or tearing of the stitches.
I spent all day yesterday driving around looking for pelleted horse bedding. Seems Canada is the main supplier and a lot of supply houses cut back when the gas prices were so high. Now there is a shortage. I really don't want to switch to shavings because they would stick to Romeo's bandage. I absolutely hate straw but I may have to break down and purchase some. It is so ridiculously high and Syd likes to eat straw. Personally, I love peat moss as a bedding but my aunt refuses. She just can't stand the smell.
Damned Canadians. I want my pellets back!
Saturday night my best friend had a party for her husband's 40th birthday. All of our closest friends were there. Two of my friends are going through their own bad break ups. I was sad to see my one oldest and dearest friend look so empty.
"Prozac" she told me.
Ahhhh, I know it well. That first initial flat-lining. I assured her it eventually goes away but truthfully,I am not so sure.
I think I am back to my "normal" self ~and yes, I purposely own those quotes~ but I know I am not really my same old self. For one thing,I don't freak out over everything like I used to. I rarely cry anymore and I just have absolutely zero love interest besides horses. Is that Prozac or self preservation?
My aunt kept telling me she was glad that I could stay so calm during Romeo's ordeal. I was trying to think back to all of this past year's crisis, my panic attacks out of nowhere, and my meltdowns. Does Prozac really help? I was calm with Romeo because I had to be. When it comes down to it I know what is the right thing to do and when. Prozac or not, I would of done the same thing. If I could get through euthanizing both Gwen and Merlin, what was a few stitches?
I called my doctor yesterday and asked if we could start weaning me off the Prozac? She pointed out that I was still having panic attacks. I argued that was the exact point. If I am having them anyway, why flat line everything else? Truthfully, they have lessened since Prick was sentenced. I know there is no scientific basis for this, but I really think my panic attacks are a build up of whatever got flat lined in the first place. I want to start sweating the small stuff again. Isn't it the small stuff that matters? If I don't feel the need to deal with small stuff where does it go? I mean, it's still there, whether you deal with it or not. Isn't it better to just get it over with as it happens rather than wake up one day with an explosion and a complete break down?
I know, there is no answer. I just keep thinking of my friend's expression. I am just so afraid that is what other people see on my own face.

Are You Happy Now?

2008-10-31T08:06:00.000-04:00

This is actually a blog I wrote in 2006 from another blog site. I'm just lazy. Have a happy Halloween!
Are You Happy,Now?
How can it be Halloween already? These past couple of months have really been flying. My past blogs where often more stories that usually centered around my ex and my new found single life. I often wonder if I lost my blog mojo by being a little less bitter. I am trying to think back to remember any sad Halloween incidents that would make good reading but alas,I have none.
I was painfully shy as a kid so I do remember not wanting to trick or treat in neighborhoods where I didn't know who was answering the door. This kept my loot on the smaller scale compared to my more daring, older siblings. I also was the kind of kid who couldn't understand why I had to walk in the dark and cold night begging for candy when we had a huge bowl right here in our very own house.
I have fond memories of all the prep at school which included pumpkin carving and making decorations. My one sort of sad memory was a boy that I knew through all twelve years of school and who was one of my best buds. He also happened to be a Jehovah's Witness. He would sit aside from the class during holiday festivities,not being allowed to partake by his religion. I know many schools now observe a harvest holiday as opposed to the traditional Halloween I knew as a child which had included dressing up in costume and eating way too much candy.
This boy and I walked to school together every day and I always saved candy for him after the holiday.The next several days he, his sister and I would eat candy corn,chocolate bars and other assorted Halloween junk on our way to school. It's a wonder any of us have teeth left from that generation!
In those twelve years of walking to school together, we never discussed his family's religious beliefs or how he felt sitting out of Halloween and Christmas activities at school. Now as an adult, I realize how cool children are when they don't know how to be prejudiced or judgemental.
So, I hope everyone has a fun holiday in whatever way you observe it. I for one, am handing out goodies to the kids in the neighborhood and plan to eat way too much myself.
The song of the day is one I was whining that I didn't know how to post this time last year.Please indulge me by clicking on the link to hear the song.
It is a Halloween song that also happens to be one of the funniest break up songs I have heard. You have to love a song that includes the line, "I was amazed to think that you could take the candy with you too." I LMAO every time I hear it. I warn you it is a catchy tune that will stick in your head all day!

Song of the Day: Click here to watch "Are-You-Happy-Now-78"

Lyrics: Are You Happy Now?
You took the toaster when you went
You never paid your half the rent
You took the spices from the rack
But you don't have to put them back
Cause in your haste on Halloween
You left your camera on the bed
Where we played roles in black and white
You left a roll of black and white
I set the timer and thought of you
And put the lens up to my head
I took a photograph for you
What comes out gray is really red
Are you happy now?
I smashed your pumpkin on the floor
The candle flickered at my feet
As goblins flew across the room
The children peered into the room
A cowboy shivered on the porch
As Cinderella checked her watch
A hobo waited in the street
An angel whispered, trick-or-treat
But what was I supposed to do
But to sit there in the dark?
I was amazed to think that you
Could take the candy with you too
Are you happy now?
I've sat all night and now it's dawn
And I cannot believe my eyes
There's garbage strewn across the lawn
Where we once stared up at the sky
And streams of paper fill the tree
That hovered over you and me
Shaving cream covers the car
That we picked up in Baltimore
Though I know it's hard to tell
I hope that what's-his-name treats you well
I still maintain that he's a bum
But it's your money - have some fun
And are you happy now?
You always asked why I had not Written you a verse or two
Since that's the one thing I regret
I dedicate this one for you
Are you happy now?
~ Richard Shindell

Peace All

Sign o' the Times

2008-10-28T06:14:00.001-04:00

Life is coasting along. My only recent complaint has been the feeling that life is somehow stalled and going nowhere. The past year I have often found myself staring off in to space, wishing God would send me a sign that life is moving in some kind of positive direction. It's not that I am feeling bad per se. Just stuck in a bottomless sea, in an endless paddle and not getting anywhere. The endless feeling of numbness has taken over me again. I hate that feeling more than feeling pain or sorrow. It is just so empty.
We have had heavy rains and high winds on Saturday. The good thing is it dropped the ragweed and other dust down. For the first time in weeks I made it through the day without wanting to rip my eyeballs out from the itching. The bad part was the rain washed out part of the flooring in the aisle at the barn. I walked in to check Sydney and Romeo after work on Saturday. The water was rushing down the aisle, in between the two stalls. Syd had her head over the stall door, snorting in protest. The topper? Two huge frogs were hopping around in their new found stream. I spent most of Sunday morning trying to dry out the mess. My uncle laid down more stone dust where the water left tiny fissures. I sopped up the water with wood pellets and took what seemed like a ton of wet bedding out of the stalls.
In spite of the protest my back and shoulders were already showing, I rode Veritas on Sunday for a couple hours. We spend an hour in the ring and then an hour out around the fields. I finally got the nerve to canter him in the ring. His stride is absolutely huge! I am used to years of riding gaited horses who have a more upright shoulder. This produces a rocking horse canter that is a slower, more up and down motion. Veritas has the typical long, downward and forward gait of the sloping shoulder found in warmbloods. I have no problem with a canter like his on the trail where it is open and I don't feel like I have to rein him in. When you ride a huge stride like his in the ring it feels much faster than what it really is and the corners of the ring feel too tight. Part of it is lack of collection. I am still working his back and hindquarters to help him gain strength. It takes a long time to really ask for collection. I think this is where most young horses and their trainers start to end up with discipline problems. Training too hard and too fast before they are physically able to move to a next level. European trainers seem to understand how long the dressage process takes. Almost every American dressage barn I have dealt with has the typical hard, artificial gaits demanded too soon. It is why I am in business. These horses are usually sore as hell and grumpy to boot. I massage a lot in eventer barns.
So, long story short. We cantered and we both survived. But I had answered my own question. Are we ready to do this? The answer is: no. He is still too weak in his overall collection for cantering in the confines of the ring. I am patient and willing to wait.

Patience. Something that I have often lacked in every other aspect of my life. The good thing about Veritas is all I have is time. I have no goals other than to enjoy riding him. For the first time I found this has extended elsewhere in my life. I felt that the whole situation with Prick had put my life on hold. I worked seven days a week, I took care of horses and was running around everywhere. The one thing that seemed certain was that I have had no clue as to what the hell I was doing. I felt like there was no way to make plans or have goals. Even my vacations were centered around court dates and hearings. Every conversation with friends the inevitable question of, "what's going on with the Ex?" would put me right back in the uncertainty of what was my life.
Sunday night I met my two best girlfriends in West Chester. It is a college town and the business establishments reflect that. It is also where all of my recent court proceedings have been.
We chose a pub that was one block from the courthouse. There is limited parking so we walked up the two blocks to the pub. The Phillies were playing that night so the bar area was fairly busy for a Sunday night. We got a booth and spent the next few hours eating and making each other laugh. We even sat at the bar for a bit and had a drink. I had forgotten how nice just sitting in a quiet pub with friends could be.
When we left the pub still chattering away, it occurred to me that we made it through a whole night without the Prick question. Because quite simply, there is nothing else to discuss. I felt a warmth inside that has been missing for what seems like an eternity. As we giggled and talked while we made the walk back to the parking lot, we passed the courthouse.
West Chester is really a beautiful town. They filmed parts of the movie Marley and Me right where we were strolling along.I am actually there quite frequently since the Domestic Violence Center is located in the borough. I have friends who live in the historical row homes located on the tree lined,brick paved, side streets that surround the university. Even though I am in this town so frequently, I think it was the first time I really noticed how pretty it was or how lucky I am to live so close to it.
When we got to the front of the courthouse my one friend stopped to adjust her shoe. While we waited, I looked up through the trees that lined along the bricked pavement and gazed up at the courthouse in the spotlights. It was the first time I had noticed it. Funny, every meeting with the District Attorney or hearing I attended, I had walked right past it, in broad daylight. I suppose in my numbed state, I never took notice. A statue of the Roman goddess, Veritas.
I'm not certain if this was the sign I was praying for or what it exactly means. I am just grateful that my fog is finally lifting enough to question it and to finally start seeing things again.
As we continued to walk, I was certain I felt an internal humming of my motor finally starting.

Let's Just Go Out and Ride,Talk About the Things We Try

2008-10-19T22:34:00.007-04:00

I am actually sleepy in a good way. I have finally kicked the crappy lung thing. I just spent the day sneezing from ragweed and crystal clear weather. When it is dry,clear and breezy outside, the ragweed seems to affect me the worst. I just took some Benedryl and I am feeling a good sleep coming.
I know I need to knock off the last blog. I never want to be one of those deleters, but I do regret spewing so much anger. I'll leave it as a reminder that I am human and get pissed. Good friends,pets and equine loving got me back on track.
Veritas has been getting stronger and more supple every day. I can really feel him rounding up and his back is much softer. What I love about him is his light mouth. I never have to keep a death grip on him and can trail ride him on the buckle. Love that!
Best of all, is he now recognizes my car. He is usually by the gate waiting for me by the time I get a halter to lead him to the barn. At the risk of sounding like a dorky Sally Fields~ he likes me. He really likes me. I suspect that it is actually his love of animal crackers that I keep in my pockets and the fact that I know his favorite scritchy spots. It is incredibly therapeutic to ride a horse that always seems happy. I love that he is lazy. We both enjoy my habit of getting out of the saddle and just hanging out. I sit while Tas grazes and we watch hawks soar over the cornfields, listen to the wind rustle the drying stalks, and the falling leaves.

Fuzzy Ear!

Being lazy and watching the world go by

How can I possibly stay mad at the world when it is so damned beautiful?

Here is another song Ryan makes me ride to. Today, it fit Veritas and I perfectly. That Ryan, he is pretty damned smart in his song choices.

Click here to watch "Beautiful-12-29"

Just because I like the word. Piss-Ant.

2008-10-16T23:07:00.003-04:00

Well, not what I was expecting. After a delay yesterday because a file was misplaced, Prick was finally sentenced today. Six months consecutive of the four months he is serving now.
Not only did no one from the DA's office call me this morning, we found out from a friend who works at the courthouse. She called my best friend to have her break the news to me. I was in the middle of a haircut when she called. I have no memory of finishing the cut.
Later I called my friend back. She was trying to force me to see the positive.
"His sentencing includes him being on Parole and he will have to report to a Domestic Violence PO Caseworker.It also specifies that it include a 16 week program for Domestic Violence and attending AA meetings every day for 90 days.So, it's all good. AA, everyday." I could hear that perky tone that makes me insane. We all know that tone. It's when someone knows something sucks but doesn't want you to know it.
I hate to admit this. I freaked on her. Who are we kidding,here? This asshole has been in AA for at least 22 years. He went to a fucking meeting the afternoon he beat the crap out of me. I am so disgusted with him hiding behind AA. If I said it once, I will say it again... Alcoholics don't beat up women. Assholes do. Is there an Assholes Anonymous??? How about the court mandates that? I was his fifth arrest for Domestic Violence. Every arrest mandated DV counseling. Excuse me, IT ISN'T WORKING!
OK, so the court is mandating he check in with a DV Probation Officer. What man goes in for a meeting with his PO and says, "hey, I slugged my partner today, she pissed me off. Then I stalked all of my ex girlfriends here in PA and in Nebraska. Why? Meh. I had time on my hands at my piss-ant, minimum wage job that I have hours of unsupervised telephone and computer access.They deserve it."
Hmmmm,I don't think that is quite what he would say.
After five separate arrests and three Protection From Abuse Orders and three parole violations, can someone please tell me why I should be happy with six months?
I have known my best friend since age 15. It was the first time I think I really wigged on her and I feel awful. I called her later and apologised for shooting the messenger but I am still hurt that she just doesn't get it.She doesn't understand that I'm not pissed off for me. I'm pissed off for every woman who has been beaten down by first her partner and then the judicial system. Once again, I am left with the knowledge that most women already know at the Domestic Violence Center. People will tell you that going to court is the right thing to do. What we all know is that it doesn't make much of a difference. They walk off free in a matter of months and we feel our freedom of Inner Peace is taken away again. It is not until that man finally kills someone and then everyone will shake their fists demanding to know why his past record didn't keep him in jail.
*sigh*
Rant over. Life goes on.

You´re Like a Rocket Through Me

2008-10-13T09:35:00.004-04:00

I am finally starting to feel physically better after my bout of what felt like walking pneumonia. I have forced myself to sleep in this past couple weeks. I think my usual lack of sleep is what gets me in trouble both physically and mentally. Even though I have still been waking at my ridiculously early time, I get up and feed the cats and come back to bed to sleep another couple hours instead of racing to each barn to ride or clean stalls.

I did ride Veritas for two hours yesterday. Since I had the whole day off I had plenty of time to be relaxed about it.One hour in the ring and an hour just ambling along the fields. The weather has turned warm again. 75 degrees and not a single cloud to be found in the sky. We had a brief cold snap that turned the leaves but it was brief enough that a lot of wildflowers are still holding on.

With the help of the trainer I have been working Veritas with, we finally found a solution to my breathing (or lack of) problems while riding. It seems I don't breathe deep enough, making my upper body stiff and causing the fatigue. While I was cooling off 'Tas, Ryan went in to my car and started flipping through my tapes to see what music I listen to. Unbeknown to me he bought a tiny MP3 player (my first!) and loaded some music to help me keep focused on rhythm and momentum. 'Tas tends to be incredibly lazy, which is good for me mentally. I never worry he will run off with me but it is a lot of work to keep him moving forward. When I am thinking too much I forget to breathe so, viola`, music is the answer. Ryan pointed out that I have strange taste in music and laughed at my primitive cassette tapes and tape/Cd hookup in my car, but he found a good mix of what he feels has good rhythm for us both. It's funny because he makes me sing to keep breathing. I'll be damned, it works. No more racing heart or passing out while riding. Veritas immediately rounded out and moves forward much better.

So the song we have used to keep 'Tas moving forward is Mew's "Special".Thanks to my online friend Spyrick at CNet, it was on one of my Cd's that Ryan found in my car.

I am trying to keep as busy as possible doing fun things this week. Prick's final sentencing is this wednesday morning. I have been numb. I'm not sure what to feel at this point. I just want closure and to be able to move on. I have just started getting back out again and just pray he won't be released while I am still just starting to spread my wings again.

Till the whippoorwill of freedom zapped me right between the eyes

2008-10-07T09:02:00.005-04:00

I did an amazing thing this morning. I actually slept in late.
Unfortunately, I am one of those people who wakes up ridiculously early, whether they have to or not. It is one of the reasons I have so many sunrise photos while I am on vacation. Normally I am wide awake at 5:30 AM. This morning I slept in until 8:30.
Since my encounter with the treadmill, I have been battling a case of bronchitis that just won't go away. I am certain I picked up germs while I sat in the waiting room where I went for blood work. People were hacking and wheezing all over the place. Note to self: in order to stay healthy, never visit a doctors office.
I am so mad because the weather has been perfect for riding. I have been so tired that I come home every night from work and fall asleep almost immediately.
I did have off work on Saturday. The town where my salon is located does a community day every year on the first Saturday of October. They close off the whole boulevard where we are located. My boss finally gave up trying to make us work around the chaos of the day.
It was the perfect opportunity for one of my oldest (in the longest sense) barn friends and I to head up to Zerns Farmers Market in Gilbertsville. Since I always work on Friday and Saturdays I rarely get up there to enjoy what a true rural Pennsylvania Farmers Market is all about. The main reason I make the trek is for the baked goods. Apple fritters, sticky buns, elephant ears, along with pot pies, pasties, chow chow...oh yum! I bought apple butter, fudge and other assorted jarred fruits. Hot apple cider. Yumyumyum. Lots of fruit and veggies. I am currently addicted to brussel sprouts, so I stocked up.
While making the rounds along the inside part of the market,My friend and I were making each other laugh at our personal commentary of the strangeness of the rural folk. I know we stand out up there. For one thing we both have all of our teeth. The other is that I am freakishly tall compared to most rural women. The fact that I was wearing boots made this even more apparent. At one point, while I was in a leather booth (now, that sounded rather kinky) I had a rather short, rotund man exclaim, "wow, yeeer taaall." My friend kept repeating that whenever someone would give us a strange look. So, when I encountered a tiny Vietnamese man who was standing outside of his booth, I was prepared to think the worst when the man pointed to my chest and said something I could not understand. I turned to my friend and said, "Jesus, did he just make a comment about my breasts?"
My friend was livid. "What did you just say?" she just oozed venom.
"She sick. In her chest. Need tea and pack for chest." I looked behind him and saw he had a tea and healing herbs booth. Apparently I am freakishly tall and scream "I'm sick!" I actually thought I looked OK, but I guess he either took a chance of faking it for a sale or he just had that gift of knowing sick girls when he saw 'em.
He took me by the arm and led me in. I ended up dropping 50 dollars in teas and herbs, including a chest poultice of eucalyptus and something else that smells like dead skunk. I have to say it has helped me finally start coughing up whatever Philly plague I seemed to have breathed in and it helped me sleep a full ten hours,cough free. I am determined to stay off antibiotics. The last time I was on them was 7 years ago when I broke my foot and got a bone infection. I threw up the entire ten days I was on them. I prefer to smell like skunk than to vomit.
As the man's wife rang up my purchases she said in plainer English, "you will find freedom soon."
Huh?
"Things are turning for you. It is why you are so sick this year. It clears everything out, spiritually and physically. My husband. He knows these things.You will find freedom,soon. You gave it away and now it comes back."
Now, my friend who was with me is not a believer in anything remotely spiritual. Her comment to me as we left was about the freak magnet we swear was implanted in me at birth. For once, I was silently glad I had it. The funny thing is, we were at an Amish/Mennonite market. Yet, I meet up with the lone Vietnamese couple in a sea of holy protestant-ness who hit home as to what I am longing for but don't know how to achieve.
We continued our day with the flea market outside and I bought some Halloween decorations and some pumpkins. I bought one more cup of hot cider and we headed home with my car filled with goodies,reeking of Amish baked goods and fresh fruit.
So, I am sitting here drinking a tea mixture that is slowly opening up my airways and hopefully my heart.
Freedom. I'd leave to find the answer on the road.

Breathless

2008-09-23T09:42:00.004-04:00

I know I write this often. I don't want to go to work,today. I had a hands-on hair cutting class both Sunday and Monday. It was actually very good. The stylist who taught the class was from the Redken team and was a lot of fun.He looked just like Elvis Costello and was incredibly enthusiastic in a soft spoken way. I actually felt relaxed around him and longed to work in a salon enviroment with stylists like him. It did help make me feel revitalized as a hair stylist so it was worth losing a weekend for. But~ I am still grumpy that my weekend was shot as far as any riding in this picture perfect weather.
I also had to have a stress test done yesterday.I had to laugh when my doctor told me I needed to get one after I was complaining of being short of breath and experiencing chest pain.I was blaming allergies. I need a test to tell me that I am stressed? C'mon now. I can tell you the answer to that.
Anyhoo, in spite of my many jokes this past year,apparently my heart is not broken after all. I just have what is commonly known as Mitral Valve Prolapse. It makes an irregular heartbeat. Since I have that, compounded by panic attacks...ummmm...my chest hurts. My own solution was to buy a more comfortable bra on my way home from the doctor.
Now my doctor will move me on to pulmonary tests. I wouldn't be shocked that I may have some form of asthma at this point in life. 23 years of breathing in chemicals and hairspray,plus living outside of Philly, could not have helped my lungs. Of eight levels on the treadmill I barely made it to the third. I was humiliated. I can lift a 50 pound bale of hay with one arm,ride a 1200 pound horse, but can barely make it up two flights of steps. The overly enthusiastic nurse was yelling, "C'mon! Even old ladies can get to level four!"
If I wasn't so out of breath I would of slugged her a good one. Instead I wished her a painful bunion on her feet that were encased in fuchsia colored Croc shoes. That was about all I could see while I was hyperventilating were those horrid Croc shoes.
I guess my trip to climb Mount Everest will have to wait...

Derailed

2008-09-18T09:07:00.004-04:00

Another gap in the blogging. Life is coasting along. Some good,some bad. I just keep trying to focus on what I can control and release whatever I can't. Some days that is easier said than done.
The weather has finally changed to feel more like fall. Temps in the mid 70s during the day and cooler at night. I actually put a blanket on my bed and woke this morning with my cat Kenni under the covers. She is such a ham. Nothing beats waking up with a giggle and Kenni managed to make me do just that.
I decided to not ride this morning. I have no clean clothes for the rest of the week and my house has suffered from neglect with all of the nice weather keeping me at the barn. Of course I shouldn't be here at the computer, but...
I received several emails from Prick's sister. I always loved her and she has been amazingly supportive towards me since the whole ordeal with her brother began. She shared with me that her father wrote a letter to the judge asking for a thorough mental health evaluation along with Prick's original full sentence of two years. He disclosed some details that should help in my request for a stiffer sentence. I know how hard it is for them as family to see what has become of Prick. Recently I have encountered things in my own family that make me feel so helpless. No one wants to see their loved ones hurt. But, I finally realized that what is even worse is seeing their loved ones doing the hurting to others. I am just glad that his parents are finally at that point to say it is no longer acceptable to enable someone who is hurting other people and that protecting him is actually worse for him in the long run.
There still is no date set for the next hearing. I feel like so much of my life is just spent waiting. Waiting for court dates,waiting for test results, waiting for phone calls. Waiting for my life to get back on track. I have a feeling this train is never going to smoothly ride the rails ever again. The only time I feel a slightly smooth ride is when I am in the presence of the horses. *please God, don't let me jinx this*

Labor of Love

2008-09-01T21:59:00.002-04:00

Labor Day. The day that symbolizes the end of the season. In spite of the depression I had been feeling recently I finally managed to take one of my biggest steps forward in healing this year. It took me a couple weeks past the year mark of losing Gwen. The hardest part of this past year was the onset of panic attacks that come from nowhere. Even though I understood why I developed them after the assault, it didn't make it any easier that I had no way of predicting what would set them off. I could be in my car, standing in Target or the supermarket seemingly stress free and out of no where I felt like I would die in an instant. The worst for me were the ones I suffered in the barn or when I tried to ride again. I rode several clients or friends horses since I lost Gwen but I could not for the life of me get back out on the trail where there were open fields. I hyperventilated even thinking about it. I took to exercising their horses in the safety of the ring. I made excuses of time constraints and being too out of sorts to do much more.
This past weekend here in Pennsylvania is the exact reason why I love where I live. Crystal clear, blue skies, soft warm breezes and low humidity. The countryside is covered with tall cornfields, lush hay fields and wildflowers galore. Picture perfect in so many ways. I can't imagine a life where there are no change of seasons. As sad as I am that the days are shorter, the perfect oncoming fall weather makes my heart sing whenever I come upon another gorgeous view as I drive along the wooded hillsides and rolling open fields.
Then today a funny thing happened. Dru came up to the ring and opened the gate and told me I should take Veritas out on the trail. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't pre-planned the worst case scenario in my mind before hand. Maybe it was the fact that the day felt so perfect or that in the ring, Veritas was so soft in my hands as we rode in perfect cadence.
Dru is the kind of friend who is my tough love. She knows when it is time to kick the bird out of the nest. Her timing was perfect. The other boarders must of all been out early in the day. There wasn't a soul around. It just felt right.
I let Veritas pick the pace and where he wanted to go which was a nice amble through the 150 acre field next door. The grass was tall and softly bending with the late afternoon breeze. Every time the breeze rolled up over a hill the smell was warm and sweet.It is the smell that makes you tingle because it makes you so happy. Tas would lift his nose up like a dog,sniffing it in and then releasing a big sigh. Every so often he would reach out and nibble a branch off a tree or squeak a stalk of grass up in to his mouth, never breaking stride in his slow, even walk. After a half hour of walking along the edge of the field it hit me why I love this horse so much. He is the equine version of me. He honest to God, loves the earth as much as I do.
After we got back to the barn and I turned him back out in to his pasture, Veritas hung at the gate with me for several minutes. He lowered his head so I could scratch his ears and nibbled my boot laces. The sun was starting to set so he was washed in that warm glow of the late sunshine that makes a horse's coat glisten. It wasn't until he walked away that I realised I was crying. For the first time in forever it didn't hurt. They just were tears.
For once I wasn't lamenting the end of summer. I know I just had a change of seasons and I am so grateful for the love of a great equine to help get me there.

No, Really. I am Happy.

2008-08-26T09:05:00.003-04:00

Aaaack. Summer is truly winding down quick. It was still dark when I woke up this morning and it was cool enough to need a sweat shirt.
Both Romeo and Sydney have scratches on their legs. It comes from constant exposure to the dew on the grass. I have been trying to make a more concerted effort to brush them every day and to medicate their legs before I turn them out. After owning Syd for a year, I can finally admit that she is one bitchy mare. Every time I try and gently remove the scurf from her legs, she aims to give me a nose job with a well placed kick. I finally gave up this morning and I am ashamed to admit I threatened the glue factory if she kept up her attitude. The worst part? I think I really meant it.
This is the time of year that I feel the weight of depression setting in. I guess I am a sun whore. I just can't get enough daylight. The waning days of summer give me a sense of dread that I can't shake off. I don't mind the cooler weather or the change of seasons. I just wish it would still stay light out until 9pm.
My long time coworker finally broke the news to my boss that she and her husband are adopting a baby in October. She plans to take a three month maternity leave and cut her hours down to three days a week. Although I am happy for her that she will finally have a baby, I was crushed that my request to go back to a four day week schedule is once again delayed, indefinitely. I will probably be working even more hours to accommodate her clients while she is on her leave. I keep trying to focus on the positives. I will be making much more money. Working more, means I have less time to think. It forces me out of bed every day. Ummmm, think how much more sociable you are when you work. It makes Joe happy. Where did that come from??? Hell with him. I'm not happy working. Period. Work sucks.
Once again, I am wondering where my real parents are. You know, the ones with a trust fund waiting for me. *sigh* I just want to stay in bed with the covers over my head. I will only come out to ride Veritas or to sit on the beach, staring at the sun over the ebbing sea.
I guess I better go get ready for work. Happyhappyhappy. Really. I am.

Folk Fest and Other Revivals

2008-08-19T10:02:00.006-04:00

Yesterday was the one year mark since I lost Gwen. I have owned several horses over the years but losing Gwen and her brother Merlin four years before her have been the hardest. Maybe because they both were relatively young. Both were 15 and died from colic. No doubt there was some genetic weakness there,though the vet claimed it was just a horrible coincidence. Often I feel that everything in my life seems like a horrible coincidence.

Gene Shay, co-founder and host of the Philadelphia Folk Festival, defined folk music in an April 2003 interview by saying: "In the strictest sense, it's music that is rarely written for profit. It's music that has endured and been passed down by oral tradition. [...] Also, what distinguishes folk music is that it is participatory—you don't have to be a great musician to be a folk singer. [...] And finally, it brings a sense of community. It's the people's music."

I went to the Philadelphia Folk Festival this weekend. The weather was perfect and we had a lot of fun. I met some new people and reconnected with old friends. The cool thing about the Philly Folk Fest is the age range. Whole families come and unlike the type of fests that are more Grateful Dead type-oriented, the crowd is more pleasant and smells a lot better. I am thoroughly convinced that Dead Heads drop acid and smother themselves in that horrid patchouli to cover up the fact that their music is awful and the crowd smells like BO.
Sorry folks, but I could never even remotely like The Grateful Dead.
So, back to the Folk Fest.The weather was perfect! Not too hot and no rain. The fields were firm and you could sit on a blanket without your butt getting soggy. They had a great venue this year and I loved every artist that performed. Folk music is meant to be listened to with a crowd. The energy and Light that comes from the performers is meant to be spread around. This year was a true success in that message.By the end of the weekend I felt like my spirit was renewed and that I reconnected with my former self. I forgot what that felt like.
After the last performance I drove home from Schwenksville, under the light of a waning full moon that was a brilliant orange. I was overwhelmed by how beautiful it was. It seemed like a perfect way to close what had ended up being a great weekend in spite of the anniversary it marked for me. I am so glad I went.
I am finally starting to breathe a little easier. I am surprised at how long it has taken me to really believe Prick is behind bars. I am finally starting to shake that stalked feeling that I didn't even know was there until it finally dissipated.
I took the next two days off work. I have to have some tests and blood work done and figured I could take the time before the back to school crush. If I am motivated enough tomorrow I may take a ride to the beach for the day. One last hurrah of the season.
Not much else is new. I am still riding Veritas and he is wonderful.He really is the kindest horse I have ridden. As out of shape and unbalanced as I am, he just saves me. Any other horse, I would have been tossed off or they would of stopped cold in their tracks and said,"lady,get OFF!" Veritas just trudges on and when we mesh it is perfection. I had him in a perfect cadence trot and when I brought him down to a half halt he let out this huge sigh. I could feel how proud he was that I got it right. How could I not love riding a horse like that?
I think I have found a trainer who is willing to deal with all of my neurosis and understands my anxiety issues.He is a Three Day Eventer himself but seems to understand the goals I want,which do not include cross country cowboying over jumps of death. I strictly want to study dressage and stay on the ground. I decided to wait until September to begin training. One, because the money issue and two,the weather will be cooler. As I get older, I seem intolerant of humidity~and of being broke.
So,I am off to get some blood drawn. What a fun way to spend a morning. I'll cheer it up by seeing my equine man and giving him a bath. He has been rather stinky with this hot weather.LOL.
Peace!

sigh

2008-08-07T18:56:00.002-04:00

Complete writers block.
I am on vacation with nothing to say. Not sure if that's good or bad.
Every time I start to relax and have some fun something pulls the rug out from me. When will I learn to take all the F-ing rugs out of my head and embrace bare floors??? Maybe I need new shoes.
When all else fails....
go watch a sunset.

There's Got to be a Morning After

2008-08-06T05:48:00.006-04:00

I had originally wrote this draft in August of 2008 but never posted it. So often things are too painful at the time for me to actually hit the post button. I am glad I write. It really helps a year and a half later for me to see how far I have come since writing this. Tonight is the interview with Rihanna about her assault from Chris Brown. The excerpts I have seen so far have brought up some of these memories. So, I am choosing to just post this without editing it. Sometimes it is better to see it the way it was the first time around.

Once again, it is more telling that there is a huge gap since my last entry. Usually, when I am on vacation, I'll write like a crazy woman. This is the first of anything besides an email or two. I haven't even written much in my journal. Most entries start with the word exhausted.

I had written before about the little house here in Ship Bottom that I am renting for the week. It is the same house that I had rented for Prick and I, a year ago. I ended up coming here alone after Prick's arrest for assaulting me. While he was in jail, I came to beach and found out my internal sentence had begun serving it's own jail time.

I know I have blabbed a lot about the legal aftermath between Prick and I. What I hadn't realized until I came and sat in this same tiny cottage by the Atlantic Ocean, is how very emotionally broken I had already become before the assault. I was so numb from the mind fuck, that I had no idea until his toxic energy was away from me, how much damage was already there.

So,I knew I had to come back to the same place again this year. The full circle of a shitty year. I should point out that as crappy as I have felt at times, this was an amazing year of healing. Thanks to the legal issues and the insurance hell in dealing with a lump in my breast, I grew a pair of balls along the way. When you are single and have little parental support, you either sink or swim. Like the ill-fated Poseidon, I went belly up and learned to crawl through the bottom to get to the top. (do you have that crappy Maureen McGovern theme song in your head now?)heehee. I love to do that. Get a crappy 70s song stuck in someone else's head.
So,irony that last year I picked the one borough in Long Beach Island that I never rented in before. Ship Bottom was aptly named after an overturned shipwreck washed up on it's beaches and a lone woman was rescued from the hull. I had no idea how the town got it's name until I came here alone, last year. I found a book about the island that explained all of it's history. Ship Bottom was a perfect place to come alone, overturned and wrecked.
Location,location,location. I am the third house from the beach and as I type I am watching a stormy sunrise outside.It stormed in the early hours and I know if my sister were here with me,she would be glued to the window watching the forks of lightening over the water and listening with electric glee at the wind howling and slamming against my house.
Mornings like this, I can see why so many boats have wrecked on LBI's shores. The water is white capped and wild. I can see that from here at my kitchen table. Location,location,location.
The weather this week has been outstanding. Last year it took me over four hours to drive what usually takes about two and a half. It was pouring rain outside and I was pouring tears the whole way. My boss called me just as I was driving over the causeway on to the island, to see how I was. All I could do was wail,"I should of worked today and came after hours...and there's LIGHTENING!!!!" I think he was so proud of himself that he finally got me to see his point of view of all work before any play. Personally, the crappy weather mirrored my internal storm.
It ended up raining two more of the days later in the week and I lost two days to court proceedings that I had to come home for. One of which was taking out the restraining order when I realized that changing my phone number would not be enough to keep Prick's poison away from me.
The first sunny day was so hot and the beach was full of green head flies. I sat in the air conditioned house,curled up in a fetal position after downing half a bottle of Vox to myself for lunch.
I had spent most of my relationship with Prick sober. Attending Al Anon meetings, while he was in an AA meeting. I felt that it was my right to finally get so stinking drunk after supporting someone who never could stay sober more than eight weeks.My drunken confessions came when my best friend called having no idea what had happened other than what I told her before leaving the shore. "I am going alone. I broke up with Prick," was all I had told her. She hated him almost immediately after I started dating him.I knew that even though she was making sympathetic noises she was glad I seemed to have finally broken it off for good. She knew there would be no way I would go away alone if I wasn't final in my decision.
Like most women in abusive relationships, I immediately took the defense and began withholding all info. Covering up for him was really my way of covering up for myself. It was when I was stinking drunk that I finally told my best friend what had really happened. I then said the worst thing a best friend can say.
"I guess you would be happy to say I told you so."
I could tell from the silence on the other end of the receiver that she had no such thoughts other than wanting her friend to stop letting someone hurt her anymore. I was immediately ashamed.
What an awful thing to say to the one person who has always been there for me. Prick was one of many bad relationships. Mich was the one person who could always help me find the humor in my bad choices after the fact. She was the one who had sat with me in the windowsill of our high school because my sophomoric teen crush of a senior boy had asked a junior to his prom. The said junior, was a track star. Even before Tanya Harding, it was Mich who offered the services of her dad's mafia family to break this girl's knee caps. The fact that Mich can't kill a fly made this incredibly funny. Our long term friendship was sealed.
I thought of how far we had come as she held my hand at Prick's arraignment. She accompanied me to the Domestic Violence Center and stayed with me in the halls of the court house for the four hours we had to wait for the temporary emergency restrain order. No wonder so many women don't take one out or follow through for the permanent one.
Most people who didn't know me very well were stunned when I went away by myself. My closest friendds and family knew it was what I needed. I had to have only my own voice screaming inside my head to figure out what the hell just happened to me. I needed to do it in the one place in the world I love more than a barn.
After the Vox and phone call I finally steeled myself up to examine the bruises that were on my back and thighs. Most were hidden in places that only myself and later Mich who was with my attorney when she photographed them the next day for evidence. The bruise on my hip and butt were the worst. Luckily, boy short, tankini bathing suits were in fashion last summer. There was enough material to cover the deep blood bruises. I sat on the beach nursing the pulled muscles in my neck and back. I could care less how awful I must of looked. I just knew how awful I felt. It would take two months for the deeper bruises to finally fade away. The day I saw that there was only a shadow left where they once were black and blue, gave me hope that my heart could also heal.

Centered

2008-07-13T09:06:00.004-04:00

It has been awhile. Sometimes it is more telling to see big gaps in my journals or blogs than it is to see what I have written. I think I am afraid that if I write it it is there permanently and I can then never have the luxury of forgetting it.
Prick finally got himself busted for contacting me in spite of the restraining order. I am so grateful for the officer who took charge of the stalking issue. He really went all out to make sure I was informed and safe. The judge set bail ridiculously high, knowing full well there would be no way for him to post it. As of this posting he is still sitting in jail waiting for the hearing which is set for August first. Irony: that is the date he assaulted me last year.
I would like to say I am breathing easier since Prick's arrest but honestly a new set of anxiety has stepped in. Thoughts of, "what if he is even more pissed?" to thoughts of how he will be even more careful not to get caught next time. I don't believe for one second this will ever be over as long as he is out of jail. His past record proves that.
I am still waiting to hear from the District Attorney. Another anxiety is having to appear in court and possibly having to testify. It's bad enough he ignored the protection order but now I have to physically see him. I want to throw up every time I think about it.
I started blogging at CNet again. It feels weird. It is like I came back in the middle of a school year. I totally lost my groove,though friends I have made there are very supportive. I enjoy the banter there and can always get some giggles. Right now I need all the humour I can get.
We were hit with a scorching heat wave this past week. I haven't ridden in a week. I never thought I would say it was too hot to ride, but I have. Here it is a week later and I can't even fathom saddling the poor guy. I did end up finding a decent used County dressage saddle. It set me back a bit but I am thrilled to have a saddle that doesn't kill me. Veritas seems happy to have the freedom in his shoulders and even did a side pass! It was totally accidental on my part, but there it was,a perfect cross over of his front end. It reinforces that I need to find a trainer for us both. He is smart as hell and more advanced than I am. I think I could learn a lot with him.
Not much going on this blog. I just feel out of sorts. In the past writing had always help me feel centered.Riding had always helped me feel centered. Right now I am side lined watching the days count down until the hearing and not feeling very centered.

Morning Has Broken

2008-06-23T04:55:00.004-04:00

Morning has broken. As typical, the Sandman only spent two hours with me last night. I finally gave up at 4:15 when the birds started their morning chorus. Right now I can see the sky slowly starting to lighten and the moon is still bright.
I have always been a morning person. No matter how late I fall asleep I automatically get up at the crack of dawn. The best time at the beach is watching the sun come up over the ocean or being at the farm and watching the sun come up over and through the trees.
I am debating whether I want to try and ride early or go back to bed and ride tomorrow morning. It is incredibly humid out. I should ride before it gets too hot but I did drink last night. I probably will feel like crap if I start sweating it out on two hours sleep. For Veritas sake, I should go back to bed. Another reason? It is official. I do not bend as well as I used to. Veritas is ,how should I say this? Fat. Between his massive size breed-wise, added to the fact that he has had little to no work since last year,has made his girth a whopping 48". I am borrowing Dru's Albion saddle since I sold my County last year when I was tight for cash. I regret selling it. It was an extra wide British size and they don't make them any more here in the States. I just assumed Gwen was my last large horse. Never in a million years would I think I would be riding a Dutch Warmblood who has the back the size of Rhode Island, like my Gwen.
I have ridden a few times since losing Gwen. One horse was a Tennessee Walker. Even though he was wide, he was smooth as silk. No posting and I rode with a cut back endurance saddle. There was not one bit of muscle strain riding him, reinforcing my love of gaited horses. That was how riding Gwen was. You could easily sit to her trot and not bounce. The other horses have been off the track Thoroughbreds who are skinny,narrow, string beans when they come off the track. Most were rather short,ranging in the 15 hands size. Veritas is 16.3 hands and still growing.
I had actually not ridden in months when I rode Veritas for the first time. I joked with friends afterwards that when I went to get on him, my opening thighs made a creaking noise like the stairs on The Munsters and a bunch of cobwebs gave way to some moths and bats. Not much thigh action goes on in any aspect of my life, so riding this huge horse did something to my thighs for the first time in all my years of riding. I am bruised and I pulled an adductor muscle on the inside of my thigh. I am a massage therapist so I know what I need to do. It needs to rest. Not easy when you are riding a Mack Truck with a trot that is as huge as his size and heart and using a saddle that doesn't fit either one of us. I just got my tax stimulus check. It should go in to my sadly depleted savings account.
Yesterday I found myself at the saddlery shop for the first time since losing Gwen. Since both Sydney and Romeo are retired and need minimal supplies I never go to the tack shop anymore. Most things I buy at the feed store. When I saw the tack shop's circular,wormers and fly spray were on sale for half price so I knew it was worth going there to stock up.
As soon as I opened the door the smell of leather gave me a warm fuzzy. It is one of the best smells on earth. I thought it might be emotionally hard to go back after losing Gwen but it wasn't at all. It was like coming home. I found myself wandering the saddle room looking and scoping out prices. The saddlery specialist came over to chat me up. I used to massage his horses so we are on a familiar basis. He seemed genuinely shocked that I had sold my County saddle. We both agreed the older ones were better made. He told me he was traveling to Britain in the fall and he would be on the lookout for any used,older Countys. I thought of the check in my savings and my bruised thighs. I told him to call me if any thing in an extra wide #4 ,17" Eventer saddle,turns up.
Meanwhile,I think I need to go back to bed and rest my thighs. Now there's a statement that doesn't sound right...

She Was the First Song I Ever Sang

2008-06-17T08:12:00.003-04:00

Tuesdays are my Mondays. Being a hairdresser means Saturday is a mandatory work day,therefore my weekend is Sunday and Monday. Now that I have that explanation presented I will now bitch that it is Tuesday. Even though I go in at 1:00 on Tuesdays, I hate the beginning of a work week.
I am a little extra cranky this morning from lack of sleep. The Sandman has been running around on me and has been coming in to my bed late every night. Being the overly forgiving kind, I always embrace him in to my bed whenever he stumbles in sighing in gratitude that he showed up at all.
Last night was one of those nights. I finally managed to drift off to sleep around 1AM when a banging at my door jolted me upright in a panic. As I stumbled down the stairs I heard a familiar sound from the other side of my steel door. It was the sound of a policeman's two-way radio. I opened the door to find two policeman and my neighbor standing there. I let them in and they began grilling me if I was alone,was I OK and if I had any kind of disturbance? They responded to my neighbors call that they heard a woman screaming.
"Mike, are you sure it's not the Boinkers?" I asked my neighbor. The Boinkers are the pet name several of us have given to the new couple that moved in a few doors down. They tend to have incredibly loud sex with their windows wide open. Living in a townhouse with a courtyard, let's just say their throes of passion their ecstasy becomes even more amplified while acoustically bouncing off the surrounding units.
It was funny the first night,mildly amusing the second night,by the third night in a row I was thinking,"are you fucking kidding me? What are they goats?" and proceeded to bitch to my lesbian couple neighbors about why I get little sleep.The only good thing about these prolific love makers was the fact that it never lasted past eight minutes or was initiated past one AM. After another night of porn sounds floating over to my open window and turning up the volume of an episode of Will and Grace, I questioned quantity over quality. I am yet to meet these neighbors face-to-face but I know they have a quickie every night. The thing is with the Boinkers, I am not sure if they don't realize how everyone can hear them or if they get off on everyone hearing them. My neighbors and I questioned each other if one of us should leave an anonymous note explaining the situation. Fact is, if they ever wanted to be invited to join our communal courtyard barbecues, they better shut their windows. How could we possibly be friends with someone when we are asking do you want cheese on that burger?~ and wow, you actually lasted longer than five minutes last night!*high five*
The problem was solved when we got record breaking temperatures in June and all of us where forced to put on our central air. With double paned windows and running compressors you don't hear much of anything.I had a quieter wait for the elusive Sandman.
We had wicked thunderstorms yesterday. The soaring temperatures plummeted down and last night we were left with temperatures that were in the low 70s and noticeably less humid. We could finally have our windows open again at night.
"Mike, are you sure it wasn't the Boinkers?" I asked.
"No,it was just a woman with short screams," he replied. My blood ran cold that the first person he thought of was me. I appreciate my neighbors look out for me. Yet, it is sickening to think I am one of those neighbors that everyone feels they have to look out for.
As the officer started writing out a report I went outside with Mike and the second policeman.Other neighbors were standing outside. This would be the third time officers were at my house in a week's time.I could just imagine what they were thinking about me and my choice of ex boyfriends.
I then heard it. It was a short burst of what sounded like a cry for help. I knew immediately what the sound was.
"It's a Canadian goose. It's probably crying because it's mate is injured or killed."
The officer was young. He looked like one of those guys who grew up in a middle class suburb that has a soccer league, a fenced in yard and a dog named Haley or Cody. (which always makes me feel sorry for human Codys. Whenever I say, "hey Cody,what's up?" I feel I should be tossing them a squeaky toy and exclaiming what a good boy they are.) This young suburban cop had probably no clue that Canadian geese mate for life. When their mate is injured or killed they will cry out like that for hours,if not for days. It is heart breaking to see and hear. The few times I have encountered this horror I am always amazed at the human-ess of their cry. They cry like humans but their mating for life doesn't always get replicated by humans in return.
The officer got on his two-way and reported that the woman in distress was coming from behind my development and to send back-up.
After 20 minutes the first officer came back and told me I was right. Apparently a fox or dog got a female while she was nesting. They found her torn up body across the road. I heard one of the Boinker's say,"you mean it's just a stupid goose? Can't someone go shoot it"
I knew then and there, there will never be an invite from me to join a barbecue. It was at the top of my throat to scream that at least geese stand by their mate,even in death. That's more than most humans seem capable of doing anymore. I never hated a neighbor more. I heard Mike mutter under his breath, " maybe someone should shoot them next time we have to hear them scream all night." I hugged him for that.
The show was over and everyone started wandering back in to their homes. I crawled back in to bed and curled up with my cat Kenni. She seems to have risen up in the pecking order since Sweet Pea's passing. She is incredibly sensitive and will make merring noises at me if I am distressed. I held her close while I heard the mournful cry of the goose. I knew sleep wouldn't come until his song was over.

Artist: The Who
Album: Who's Next
Title: The Song Is Over

The song is over
It's all behind me
I should have known it
She tried to find me

Our love is over
They're all ahead now
I've got to learn it
I've got to sing out

[chorus:]
I'll sing my song to the wide open spaces
I'll sing my heart out to the infinite sea
I'll sing my visions to the sky high mountains
I'll sing my song to the free, to the free
I'll sing my song to the wide open spaces
I'll sing my heart out to the infinite sea
I'll sing my visions to the sky high mountains
I'll sing my song to the free, to the free

When I walked in through the door
Thought it was me I was looking for
She was the first song I ever sang
But it stopped as soon as it began

Our love is over
It's all behind me
They're all ahead now
Can't hope to find me

[chorus]

This song is over
I'm left with only tears
I must remember
Even if it takes a million years

The song is over
The song is over

Searchin' for a note, pure and easy
Playing so free, like a breath rippling by

Joltin' Joe

2008-06-15T07:36:00.002-04:00

As much as some things in life change there are so many others that remain a constant. Like my french coffee press. Every morning my routine is the same. I shuffle down the stairs, wading through cats and rabbits, heading right for the electric tea kettle to boil the water for the coffee press.
While waiting I am still half dozing,shelling out disgusting canned meat by products to the cats. Once I have the coffee brewed and in my mug, I sit by the window and watch the squirrels eat the peanuts I tossed out for them while the cats sit around me, licking the leftover disgusting meat by products, off their whiskers.
It hit me today that my french coffee press has been the center of my every day morning routine for 15 years. I love my press so much that it even goes with me on vacation. I cannot abide electric machine brewed coffee while I am in a residence. I don't know why it tastes OK to me if we are out in a restaurant or coffee house but at home~it has to be pressed. Part of the issue of brewed coffee is the strength. If I drink coffee it has to be strong and taste like coffee. Most people brew it too weak for me to enjoy.
I was introduced to the french press from a woman who owned the farmhouse I rented an apartment in. My apartment was my first independent residence after I had left my husband. It was the perfect place to begin a new life. I had my three horses boarded there and my apartment was the small servant quarters that was over the kitchen of the north wing of the house. My back windows looked out over the courtyard and barn and the side windows over the rolling pastures. From my front room I could watch the sun rise and from my bedroom I could watch the sun set. My whole apartment consisted of two tiny rooms and a bathroom. I shared the humongous kitchen with the family. What actually sold me on the apartment was the gorgeous hard wood floors,deep window sills and the bathroom. It had a huge, cast iron, claw foot tub. Perfection. I knew immediately I was home.
Part of my rent and board for the horses was reduced for doing barn work. The owner and I would wake at the crack of dawn. She would feed the horses,her husband turned them out and I would clean the stalls. We worked well as a team. At first I would sit in my room waiting for my Mister Coffee machine to brew my coffee. It took forever. After a week Nikki asked if I would prefer to use her bodum? She was a tea drinker in the morning but said she used the press for guests when she had dinner parties. Since I had never seen one before I was clueless on how it worked.As she showed me I saw that it was too simple. No filters to deal with. All you have to do is put the measured coffee grinds in to the glass carafe, pour boiled water over the grounds, wait three minutes and the plunge the screened handle down. What it produced was the best cup of coffee I had ever had. Why would anyone bother with messy filters,grimy hotplates and clumsy carafes? So the love affair began.
When I eventually moved on and rented a house on another farm, my first purchase for my new home was my own electric tea kettle and coffee press.
So,there you have it. Not much point to this blog other than I am reflecting on the fact that I have moved five different times,men have come and gone, and I now only own one crippled and unrideable horse, but my bodum and I still have each other.
Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio? Easy, he is on my kitchen counter doing it the French way.

Life is a Beach

2008-06-12T07:59:00.004-04:00

I think it is fair to say that another birthday sucked. You would think that by age 29...oh,you caught that? OK, 39? *sigh* Whatever. You would think by my mature (?) age I would be over the birthday thing.
Like most children of broken, alcoholic families my life has been filled with disappointments on any holiday. I can remember a Christmas day sitting alone watching cartoons until my father finally called and said I could open my presents. I called my best friend to come over so I could at least make fake squeaky noises of glee each time I opened a gift. I think I was 13 years old.
My sister can attest the birthday deal. If we wanted a party we had to be the initiators. Neither parent seemed to remember what day our birthday was even though my sister's was a few days before my mothers and I was two days after my dad. I just thought that was how everyone spent holidays or birthdays. If you want to have fun you have to be the one to initiate it. Parents were rarely, if ever, a part of it.
When I was in first grade I would attend a friend's birthday party.It is my first memory of the fact that my family was different. This girl was dressed in your typical 1975 outfit of a groovy, bright pink, mini dress with white,patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Even at age six I had shoe-envy. What stood out in my memory was how Brady Bunch the party was. Streamers and balloons, birthday napkins and plates,playing pin-the-tail (I asked for the cardboard donkey afterwards, which the mom complied) and best of all, a big store-bought cake covered with pink roses and her named spelled out. I was fascinated by that cake. The perfect lettering,the swirls of icing on the side. I didn't want them to cut it. To me, that was a present in itself and should be put back in the box and only to be admired.

Years later, my sister had her friends over for her teenage birthday (sorry Petey~ the year escapes me...I'm old now) Much to her horror our black Labrador had eaten half of her cake that our babysitter had made for the occasion. My dad thought nothing of cutting the half-eaten part off and serving what was left with candles on it. My thought now as an adult is, I'm surprised my father was even home to humiliate his daughters. Kudos that pop was actually home for a change. He must of been trying to hook up with the babysitter.

Ahhhh, Memory Lane. Let's all sing Morrissey's "Late Night, Maudlin Street" because the truth is, these memories are actually humorous to my sister and I. My brother barely speaks to the family so I'm not sure he shares the same coping skills that Petey and I do. I now always refer to any impending holidays as "the Hellidays" and birthdays as "that Sixteen Candles Day" in reference to the funny John Hughes view of teen birthday angst. If it can go wrong,it does. Now we just find humour in how bad they can suck. It would be a disappointment if they didn't.

So,yesterday was no exception. Last year, I had what I thought was a final break-up with Prick a week before my birthday. He had started drinking again and sent an email from my address to my friend who is Native American. It was a copy and pasted article about how other forms of supposed spirituality are gateways for Satan. When my friend confronted me I was shocked and horrified at this. Not only did I not endorse or believe one bit of the article,it made me sick to think of anyone having such intolerance. To know it was the man who was continually trying to change my spiritual beliefs and now imposing it on a friend who I respected so much...well, it was the last straw. So I thought.
As typical in abusive relationships,Prick was great at playing the sorry game. Having his sponsor from AA call me to talk about alcoholic psychosis to seeing a counselor to verbally apologizing to my friend and playing up to her abusive past that was so like his own. He knew exactly how to manipulate. By this point I was spiritually beaten down. His non stop phone calls,coming to my work, barrage of letters and flowers where all too much. I told myself that I would not cave in and enough was enough. But somehow I did cave.
On the day of my birthday he insisted on coming to my sister's house to celebrate my birthday. I really did not want him there. The only time I enjoy my birthday is when I am with my sister, so having him there was another invasion of the only functioning relationship I have in my dysfunctional family. But once again he called me a hundred times that day pleading. He kept telling me he needed to make up to me for all the days he ruined by his drinking. I finally conceded because deep down I knew that even if I said no he would show up anyway.

Growing up in a strict Methodist environment one learns that we don't let on anything is wrong,even to our family. Things are not talked about and God forbid! Do not even think of spoiling a happy occasion such as being unhappy on your birthday. My father would deny this but for some reason I was the one in the family who got this message growing up and even now struggle to not act it out. I envy my sister that she somehow escaped this self imposed guilt thing. She can easily tell people that they suck and ruined her birthday and please pass the cake. If she is scarred she can tell people she is and let's move on.
For years I denied even to myself that days like this send me in to an internal hell. It seems each year becomes another notch on the dysfunctional family tree. Prick proved that this was something he quite enjoyed. He not only showed up at my sister's but then proceeded to propose to me in front of my entire family. The diamond was huge. My first instinct was to scream no. But the decorum in me graciously accepted it and did all the Hollywood things like gush and say yes. I pretended it was my best birthday ever and somehow became engaged to a man who deep down hated me almost as much as I hated myself at that point.

One of the worst parts of being in that relationship was the feeling of losing myself and what I always felt was a strong sense of spirituality. My friends always told me I had the gift of intuition. I was one of the lucky people who could see things through feeling energy around me. I think everyone has it but whatever your external experiences are, dictate how you use it as an adult. I am still struggling to regain what I feel someone stole from me. No matter how other relationships in my past ended they were all left with a feeling of my Higher Self intact. This time I was shattered in to a million bits. Thank God I have great friends with really good glue. We are getting there.

The past few weeks were unsettling. I kept blaming the horse shows and missing Gwen (which is still true) but there was something else I couldn't articulate. It was just that gut feeling. I kept looking for signs but they weren't there. When I expressed this to my counselor at the Domestic Violence Center she was happy that I was at least feeling again. I spent the past year so traumatized I was virtually numb when it came to the feeling energy part. The only time I seem to have it is with animals but people put my wall right up. The last thing I could possibly want is feeling someone who I am terrified of. But there it was. I felt him. I knew something was amiss and he was either drinking or having some psychosis that I was picking up on.
It was one of the reasons I decided to do the beach trip. I thought removing myself from where I was and going to a place I always felt healing would jump my internal energy back on track. That was exactly how it felt. I drove home and knew I needed that.

The funny thing about our Higher Selves is that the put us on a healing path that we normally wouldn't take if we let our earthly selves have a say. Obviously I wouldn't have chosen the parents I have or the spouses or boyfriends I have had and the list could go on. Who doesn't want the easy path? Often I think to myself that I wish I was numb and dumb. Who needs to live a spiritual life? There are plenty of numb and dumb people who seem quite happy to me.
But when the a-ha moment comes and that feeling of whatever God is surrounds me for that moment, all the pain is worthwhile. It is what I keep trudging on and keep trying to achieve. That Inner peace.

This week found my mailbox full of affirmations that my birthday should be a happy day. Emails were sent,phone calls, all the nice things people do to tell you they love you. Deep down that little voice kept screaming,"BOUNDARIES!"

When I saw my counselor on Monday we scientifically chalked it up to my memory and finally processing Prick's violation last year that was giving me that feeling this birthday. It is uncomfortable, but processing it and finally feeling it are healing.
Ummm, OK. You say so. But deep down, I knew my Higher Self knew something my earth self was denying.
Confirmation came the night before my birthday. We have had a record breaking heatwave this June. All week the heat index hovered in the 100 degree mark. Tuesday night the break finally came in the form of a violent thunderstorm. I watched the sky get blacker and lightening fork across the sky as I drove home from work. The winds started gusting when I pulled in to my development. I contemplated not getting my mail since it looked like it would pour any second. My gut told me to get it tonight because I knew I wouldn't remember to get it before work the next morning.

I just made it in to my door when the storm hit. It was one of those storms where it sounds like the world is being hit with bombs. The power kept flickering. I sat on my sofa and watched the world tear around in heated fury,fighting the cooler air that was trying to take over. I started to sift through my mail. A card from Bev (thanks Bev!) a card from my exes mom (awww, she is so sweet) a card from my godson (he makes me smile) and then my blood ran cold. I knew the writing. Lord knows I had enough "I'm sorry" letters from Prick to have his writing burned in to my brain forever. I opened it and then called my best friend. All I could keep saying was "I knew it but denied it."
It's not just the fact that this is a direct violation of the zero contact ordered by the judge in Prick's sentencing or the obvious disregard of the protection Order I had served to him, it was what he wrote inside that made me have to hang up the phone with Mich to vomit.

"I saw you in LBI and your car parked at *** Street. I was so sad I couldn't sit my chair next to you. It hurts me down to my very marrow to know I can't hold you again."
My past blog of finding my Inner peace at the beach suddenly seems like a shallow lie. Once again, the man has invaded my very soul, stealing anything that has any spiritual value to me.

I called my lawyer and left a message. I never slept that night. I watched the clock turn to midnight and hugged my cat Kenni. It seemed like the best way to welcome another Sixteen Candles day. (BTW~ Thanks to Cindy for the 12:00 birthday greeting that did make me smile. YOU ROCK!)
My lawyer called me at 6AM. She told me to call the police. They came and took the card and envelope as evidence. All day at work I tried to juggle clients,birthday greetings and cake with my co-workers along with phone calls from the police,the District Attorney's office and a friend at the probation office. I was finally told at 5:00PM that a possible bench warrant would be issued some time the next day (meaning today)for Prick violating the terms of his probation.
Throughout the night I talked with family and friends making nice birthday talk. When another friend who knows my hatred of my birthday called me last night to wish me a happy day I finally told her what happened. She just kept whispering, "shit." My sentiments,exactly. I had to laugh when she exclaimed that we needed to start preparing now for next years infliction of hell.
Even my ex husband text ed a birthday greeting. Dog. Hrumph.
I finally lost it when Shoe-Man called. It was the first time I cried all day. I realized that with Prick I will never have the luxury of a pleasant birthday greeting from an ex. With him I will always feel like a piece of my soul got ripped out.
Before we hung up, Shoe-Man asked if I got any good birthday presents?
"I think I have a nice bench ordered," I told him.
"What kind of wood?" Shoe-Man asked.
I had to laugh. It is one of the many reasons why we are no longer a couple. Sweet guy, who just didn't get my jokes.

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

2008-06-10T08:28:00.003-04:00

Now that I slept off another migraine I need to get back to happier things. Like the beach. This past weekend the temperatures here in eastern Pennsylvania crept up to 99 degrees. Factor in the humidity and it was stifling. I decided that no matter how high the gas prices are rising the rising temps out ruled my eco-logic and I needed a day at the beach.
I set off early at 7am. It was already feeling like a hot wet blanket with thick fog as I drove over the bridge in to New Jersey. By the time I hit Atlantic City the sun started to burn through the clouds. When I got off on the Long Beach Island exit the sun came out and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. As I drove over the causeway I started to feel lighter. It is amazing how this is the one place that guarantees lifting me up no matter how dark my mood.
First I went to a small coffee shop and got a cup of tea. I sat outside for a half hour with my laptop but found myself staring out at the end of the lane towards the beach. The seagulls were swooping and chasing each other in what was obviously fun play. It is still pre-season at the Jersey Shore so there is little garbage and stray food to distract the seagulls. I always enjoy watching them in a more natural element before their love of Pringles and ice cream wrappers overcome them, turning them in to insane beach rats with wings.
I then drove over to the realtor who is handling my house rental for August. I wanted to put down the rest of my rental in cash.That was another justification of driving to the beach for one day. My realtor seemed shocked and ecstatic to have my full rent in cash. As I drove down towards the center of the island where there are changing rooms I could understand her elation. It seemed every other house had rental signs. A lot were by owners,meaning they were willing to rent for less and fore-go the realtor's cut. That is not a good sign for people who depend on rentals to keep their mortgage.
After getting changed in to my bathing suit I decided to go to the beach where I would be renting from in August. It is a much smaller block so there are less people even during the peak season. As expected it was practically empty except for a few small families.
I set my chair right up to the surf because the temperature was soaring. The sand was so hot I had to keep my flip flops on to just get down to the surf. I then began to read a book that someone had given me for Christmas. I had tried to start it a couple times but for some reason my brain couldn't handle reading much this past winter. For the first time in my life I struggled with the one thing that always gave me comfort which was escaping in to a good book.
Maybe it was the comforting sound of the surf driving the non stop anxiety chatter out of my head. Maybe it was the soothing feel of soft white sand that enveloped me while I lay on my blanket, maybe it was the breeze that drifted off the ocean,cooling my body as well as my over analyzing brain. Whatever it was, it clicked. I forgot everything that I left over the bridge and got lost in the book. Chosen by a Horse by Susan Richards. The subtitle was; How a broken horse fixed a broken heart. It is the true story of a woman's journey of leaving an abusive marriage and finding love and healing through one particular horse.
Thank God, it was off season and no one was around me. I read the book straight through from front to back with tears streaming down the entire time. I felt Susan Richards was telling my story. Her words were mine. There is someone else out there who knows what I am about and how much pain and sorrow in life we have to face. That my love of horses are the reason I keep muddling through. No matter how many human disappointments I have encountered, my dreams of healing with horses has always shined through. Excuse the pun but it has been the only stabilizing thing I have ever had. It was so healing to read this book and finally understand why I am me.
I read the last sentence around 3 pm. I put the book down and just let the tears fall while staring at the ocean as it ebbed. For the first time in months I felt like I had an understanding of what I am supposed to do.
At 4:00 I packed my things up and headed for my car. While putting my chair in to the back of my car I saw something shiny from underneath the hatchback cover. I pulled it up and saw that it was Gwen's nameplate from her stall. I had taken it off the stall door when we put Sydney in to her stall. I must have tossed it in to the back of my car not even thinking in my grief. I held it for a moment watching the sun shine a ray of light on the reflection of the brass. Even here at the beach,hundreds of miles away, Gwen will always be with me. Not in the nameplate but as a part of my very soul.I know the love I had with her will always be healing me.
I got in to the car and headed home. I knew that I would get home in plenty of time to say goodnight to Sydney and Romeo. What better way to end the day? I still have a lot of love waiting to help me heal.
My car rolled over the causeway and I felt an envelope of peace surround me. That was worth the trip.

So I'll do flips, and get paid in chips from a diamond as big as the Ritz~then I'm calling it quits

2008-06-08T20:57:00.008-04:00

Sally: He just met her... She's supposed to be his transitional person, she's not supposed to be the ONE. All this time I thought he didn't want to get married. But, the truth is, he didn't want to marry me. He didn't love me.
Harry: If you could take him back now, would you?
Sally: No. But why didn't he want to marry me? What's the matter with me?
Harry: Nothing.
Sally: I'm difficult.
Harry: You're challenging.
Sally: I'm too structured, I'm completely closed off.
Harry: But in a good way.
Sally: No, no, no, I drove him away. AND, I'm gonna be forty.
Harry: When?
Sally: Someday.
Harry: In eight years.
Sally: But it's there. It's just sitting there, like some big dead end. And it's not the same for men. Charlie Chaplin had kids when he was 73.
Harry: Yeah, but he was too old to pick them up.
Quotes from: When Harry Met Sally

This was supposed to be a healing day. Actually as crappy as I am feeling right now, it probably still was one. As typical of myself, I hate change and I hate the rug being pulled out from under me. If there is healing, I am fighting it and feeling miserable while it is processing.

These past few weeks have been rough. Between Prick's petty vandalism to my home and car, to his bizarre postings online and the approaching date of my birthday and our supposed engagement anniversary, I have felt on edge.

Spring is a time of constant equine functions,whether I am attending horse shows, riding or stepping up my massage business. This is the first year I have noticed a decline in work and in attendance at the horse shows. This,along with the fact that I miss Gwen so much has left me crying at the drop of a hat. Losing Sweet Pea while I was already in a state of despair was the icing on the cake. So I thought.

I was just starting to get back in the saddle emotionally. I was spending a lot of time with Sydney and Romeo. I would spread a blanket on the hill next to the pond that is in the middle of the pasture. I would then lie back and meditate, letting my brain go loose with whatever it needed to do. After a week of depression and anxiety I finally started to feel like "me" again. I was more in tune with my surroundings and began to feel the healing energy of everything around me. I took comfort in seeing both Gwen and Sweet Pea's graves having a fresh carpet of green grass growing over them. I knew their energy was growing in to the trees and flowers that surrounded the area. Now when I look up in to the trees it is if they are embracing life around them. Watching Syd and Romeo graze underneath the branches on the sweet grass that grew from the energy of my lost ones gave me hope that life is continuing on spiritually even if physically they are no longer here to keep me company.
I was just starting to feel like I was moving forward when once again, my rug was pulled. My ex husband stopped by my work Saturday morning. My client was under the dryer so I sat outside on the step of the salon and chatted with my ex for about 15 minutes. It was a pleasant talk. I was worried that I hadn't heard from him from for a while. He assured me he had just been busy. Before he left he gave me a kiss and said we were, "always good." I took that to mean we were friends and always would be. Considering how much hell we both put each other through with constant break ups and make ups over the years, I was happy that we have found a comfortable place to be friendly with each other.I finally came to that understanding when my ex told me it wasn't that he didn't love me,it was that he could never be married. It just wasn't for him. Unfortunately,I always did want that commitment. We finally parted romantically knowing that marriage was not for him. Ever.
After my marriage ended I dated several men seriously. All were long term relationships. Most were nice. None were men I wanted to marry. I wanted to be married but somehow knew these weren't the ones.
Then I met Shoe-Man. He was a farrier, owned horses seemed to share the same spiritual beliefs I did. In the beginning he seemed to really be a partner who I would share the rest of my life with. We were together for over 7 years. Slowly I began to realize that when the beginnings of love wore off, he didn't really share my visions. Finally one day it hit me. No matter how much he proclaims to love me he will never marry me. He didn't come right out and say it but after 7 years you get it. There were a lot more dynamics that were going on but it was definitely one of the reasons I knew we were over. I figured he never wanted to get married. To anyone. Nothing personal, just his bag.At that point I believed I carried the same bag.

Sally: When Joe and I started seeing each other, we wanted exactly the same thing. We wanted to live together, but we didn't want to get married because every time anyone we knew got married, it ruined their relationship. They practically never had sex again. It's true, it's one of the secrets that no one ever tells you. I would sit around with my girlfriends who have kids - and, actually, my one girlfriend who has kids, Alice - and she would complain about how she and Gary never did it anymore. She didn't even complain about it, now that I think about it. She just said it matter-of-factly. She said they were up all night, they were both exhausted all the time, the kids just took every sexual impulse they had out of them. And Joe and I used to talk about it, and we'd say we were so lucky we have this wonderful relationship, we can have sex on the kitchen floor and not worry about the kids walking in. We can fly off to Rome on a moment's notice. And then one day I was taking Alice's little girl for the afternoon because I'd promised to take her to the circus, and we were in the cab playing "I Spy" - I spy a mailbox, I spy a lamp-post - and she looked out the window and she saw this man and this woman with these two little kids. And the man had one of the little kids on his shoulders, and she said, "I spy a family." And I started to cry. You know, I just started crying. And I went home, and I said, "The thing is, Joe, we never do fly off to Rome on a moment's notice."
Harry: And the kitchen floor?
Sally: [sadly] Not once. It's this very cold, hard Mexican ceramic tile.

Within a month of our breakup he was involved with a married woman. She divorced her husband and the two of them along with her three children got married the next year. No grass growing under his feet.
After Shoe-Man I met Prick. Although he proclaimed to have the same visions of life it became obvious fairly quickly that it was bullshit. The problem was this man was the complete opposite. He not only wanted to marry me but wouldn't take no for an answer.He wouldn't take no for an answer in anything. I was left powerless to cope with this type of abuse. After having no commitment in my past relationships I thought that maybe this is what commitment was supposed to be like. He went as far as proposing to me in front of my entire family,knowing I wouldn't refuse him and embarrass myself. I felt bullied in to wearing a huge diamond that I thought all those years I wanted.I felt like love abandoned me and left me with a cubic zirconia version representing what I thought I wanted. I blogged enough about him. We all know how that mistake ended and I was never so happy to stop wearing a diamond.
Charlotte : You're engaged!
Carrie : I threw up. I saw the ring and I threw up. That can't be normal.
Samantha : That's my reaction to marriage.
~Sex and the City
I confess,it made my day to have the ex husband stop by and say hello. One of the topics we briefly discussed was Prick's stalking me online. It was my ex husband who gave me advice on how to stay private,especially on MySpace. I was surprised. He never struck me as someone who would be on a computer,let alone MySpace. "Who isn't?" was his reply when I questioned him. It then occurred to me that this man is the president of a motorcycle rights group and most likely uses the web to get info out there and to network new members.
When I got home from work on Saturday I punched in his email on the MySpace search expecting to find a page about his motorcycle group and their charity work or functions. What turned up left me speechless. It was a page dedicated to he and his obviously young bride. It was one of those squishy romantic pages that usually 20-somethings post. The worst part was, it was his email that turned the page up and it seemed from the postings it was his words that filled it.
Not once, in that fifteen minutes, did he mention 'we' or 'us' let alone,"hey I am married."
I wanted to throw up.
Once again, I had that "When Harry Met Sally" moment. Or, the "Sex and the City" moment when Carrie realizes Big married his girlfriend after his break up with Carrie.
I could know that lamenting of the fact that it is not that these men never wanted to be married. They just didn't want to be married to me.
The truth is,I am not sure if I ever want to be married.I often think Shoe Man just started to live life without me because that is what I thought I was supposed to do. The feelings I had for my husband are so long gone. Prick managed to erase any hope or trust that love like that is possible. This latest indiscretion just proved that honesty is just not something men in my life value. What the hell does that say about me?
Crap. I have no idea where this blog is going and I have no idea what the Higher Powers are trying to tell me. Besides the fact that I am apparently not the marrying kind who is in agony over losing her horse and cat.

Thank You Dear Friends

2008-06-03T15:09:00.002-04:00

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
~Henri Nouwen

Oh, Sweet Pea, Won't You Dance With Me?

2008-06-01T17:55:00.002-04:00

Gemini
May 21 - June 20
Remember that you should always leave a loved one with loving words, dear Gemini. Each time you exit a room, think of that action as if you are never going to enter that room again. Perhaps you will never see those people again. Make sure you take care of the people you like. People may need an extra amount of attention today in order to feel appreciated and important to you. Cuddle up closely to the people who mean the most to you.

This was my horoscope this morning.
After a fast decline and in a matter of a few hours, my twenty year old fur-baby Sweet Pea, passed over the Rainbow Bridge. She was in my lap with me holding her when she passed.
Thank you angels for answering that prayer. All I asked was that it be swift and that she be here at home with me. Once again, in spite of my internal agonizing pain, I know that the Higher Powers are always looking out for me.
I just wish it didn't hurt so bad when you finally lose them.
Shine on Little Pea.

Baby Sweet Pea with Kimba in 1988

And Everything Looks Worse in Black and White

2008-05-29T07:26:00.004-04:00

Just another morning. I actually feel hungover. Mind you,I didn't drink last night and I even got through an entire week without Xanax.
I had finally talked with my best friend last night. The minute I picked up to answer the phone she knew from the sound in my voice. No matter how many jokes or protests that everything was fine, she knew I wasn't.
Once I had started, I couldn't stop. Crying,that is. It was one of those hardcore,punched in the guts,type of cries. You know the kind. Where you find yourself hunching over in agony and you can't even speak because it hurts so bad.
"I miss Gwen," I finally managed to sputter out.
I know that there are some people who would think that such grief over losing a horse is strange. You don't marry them,have children with them and most don't depend on their income. Losing them certainly isn't comparable to losing a human,right? Yet,here I was. Almost a year later, sobbing because I have missed her so much.
I never knew the Devon Horse Show would trigger so many memories for me. At the end of the day I get in to my car, reeking of horses and Devon dust and feel the knife in my heart as I pull away.
If you have ever watched the television series Cold Case you would understand the phenomenon I have been experiencing this week. In the episodes they show cold cases from years ago that are finally resolved. As the detectives interview witnesses or suspects they flash the screen to show the person or area they are describing, back to the original look of the year of the crime. I started watching this show mainly because it is supposed to be about Philadelphia detectives. I get a kick out of references to surrounding suburbs or landmarks of my hometown. As time went on and I watched the screen flash over to recreate the past event it was potraying, I realized that the television screen had nailed exactly what my own brain does. Current events trigger a flash that takes me back to what the original event looked like.
I don't know why I am such a sentimental sap for the past. Sometimes my flashes are not so squishy happy. A song,a smell or just seeing a space of everyday life will flash me right back to whatever memory was lying there,waiting to be shown on the screen inside my head.
This week at Devon was no different. Most of my flashes were happy,funny or plain nostalgic. When I got off the phone with Brit last Sunday night I felt comforted that my flashes still see the fun we had and that I could appreciate the sensation of missing friends and the adventures we shared.
I have worked at Devon for over two decades. Of course I can flash back to the young 20-something girl who was full of dreams and had no clue where life with horses would take her. I get a kick out of seeing her in my head. I exclaim to myself how young she was and how clueless. If that poor girl only knew how much better life would get.
What I didn't count on this week was the Saddlebreds that show at Devon. I have worked many a time in these barns. My Merlin and Gwen were both full blooded Saddlebreds. Before I had owned her,Gwen was shown in the division of Fine Harness. As I stood along the rails last night watching the Fine Harness class, my former trainer and also the person who I got both my Saddlebreds from, came over to say hello. He is getting old now. My brain flashed back to 1990 when I first met him and how he looked then. We made small talk as we both kept our eyes on the ring.
Then I saw her. A pretty chestnut mare with a star and a snip on her face. She had two white socks on her back feet. My brain flashed Gwen. When the flash ended I saw a horse that just resembled her but the feeling it evoked lingered. I stood at the rails and watched a couple more classes and caught up with the man who changed my life so much when he had introduced me to the Saddlebred breed. I had a few more minor, happy flashes as I left the grounds for the night.
It wasn't until the next morning that I realized the flash of my Gwen as a show horse wouldn't stop shutter-bugging in my head. The flashes then became a montage of pictures.
Gwen as a young filly,then a yearling in training, myself climbing on to her back and becoming the first person to ride her,watching the farrier put on her first pair of weighted keg shoes to make her gait, me getting in to my car and crying in grief because she was doomed to the life of a show horse, Gwen in the show ring, Gwen in her stall at Devon looking empty and blank, Dru and I bringing her home, the dollar bill that made my owning her legal,my ex taking her prisoner shoes off, our first trail ride on Marlborough Road,training with Chris in dressage at Dru's,Gwen's surgery in the middle of the paddock with Dr. Donaldson removing her bone fracture fragment, moving Gwen to my Aunt Jan's farm, cold winter nights lifting up her long mane and squishing my face into her neck to stop any tears that may have been falling, pictures of Gwen with my pony Coral surrounded by buttercups, Gwen by herself in the snow when Coral died, Gwen greeting Romeo for the first time, Gwen with her head up watching me intently as I approached her in the pasture, Gwen whinnying a greeting when I walked in to the barn, Me draped across her broad back with my arms hanging down as she grazed in the pasture, looking through her ears as we rode alongside the corn fields.
Finally to that last day. The panic phone call from my aunt,the vet coming out with his wife in the middle of the night,the phone call to New Bolton,my phone call to my ex to try and get a trailer, watching Gwen go down in the paddock as my uncle and I tried to beat her into getting back up,Dru coming up behind me and holding me while I told the vet it was time,hearing Gwen's last snort as he gave her the final injection,watching her legs crumble as she gently went down, cradling her head in my arms as her eyes went to glass,burying my face underneath her mane to squash my tears one last time, carefully cutting locks of her mane and tail,Dru and Jan leading me away, to finally visiting her fresh grave after my Uncle Steve had buried her.The pictures go on forever.
After Gwen's death I made a montage of pictures of her and uploaded it on to the computer. Although I am grateful for the actual physical photos, I am more grateful for the flashes in my head. Even the bad ones, I know that they make up who I am today. I'm not always feeling confident that this is where life should be going. I keep seeing the flash of myself in my car after Gwen had those first keg shoes put on. Praying to the Higher powers to somehow make it possible that I would save her from the horrible life of a show-gaited Saddlebred.
It took three more years, but God did finally answer that prayer. I have that image of bringing her home burned in to my very being, inside my soul, to remind me that life is one complete beautiful picture story.

Kodachrome,they give us those nice bright colors. Oh dear God,please don't take my Kodachrome away.

For the times they are a-changin'

2008-05-26T22:59:00.005-04:00

Everything about the weather is right. It is the perfect time of year. It gets light early in the morning and the daylight lasts until 9pm. The temperature has climbed into the 80s with no humidity and a soft breeze to make the day comfortable.All of the flowers and trees are in full bloom making the world look like heaven. It is my favorite time of year.
Not only is the weather perfect it is also my favorite horse show month. It begins the first weekend in May with the Winterthur Steeple Chase Races and ends with my all around favorite,the Devon Horse Show.
The Devon Horse Show is the one show that I have attended and worked in for the past couple decades. It is 15 minutes from where I reside which gives me the home advantage. What I really love about Devon is the variety of disciplines that compete throughout the week. Everything from Saddlebreds, driving competitions, hunter jumpers to sidesaddle. You name it, it's there. It is one of the rare equestrian events that draws horse owners from all over the world. I often work in the barns with South Africans, New Zealanders and British grooms. I always come away feeling like a new world opened up to me for a week.
Sunday was the official opening day. I rode in the traditional carriage parade with my friend Maire and her pony,Bruno. This is my tenth year of riding in this event with someone. Twice with Maire.

The event leaves from a local church and the parade of various horse drawn vehicles drive through the winding,tree lined roads, in to the fair grounds at Devon. People set up along the route with lawn chairs and picnics,waving the exhibitors on. Bruno likes to pretend he is an unbroken mustang when we encounter things along the road. Last year we took out a homeowners mailbox and a lawn chair. Driving with Maire is a load of giggles on how out of control we are. Somehow, in the past ten years of driving with Maire we have never gotten hurt. Just upturned shrubs,knocked down fence posts or cones and an occasional close call of mowing down small children.
Sunday was no exception on the fun factor. It was just sad to see a smaller than usual crowd of vehicles and horses meeting at the church grounds. Usually there are over 50 types of horse drawn vehicles in every shape and size. The lawn was noticeably empty of horse vans. Maire and I are local so it was a quick jaunt with a truck and trailer. For many it means huge tractor trailers that come cross country. The price of fuel had obviously kept many closer to home.
There wasn't a cloud in the sky. The temperature climbed in to a comfortable high 70s with a soft breeze. A perfect day to drive to the fairgrounds.
As we got Bruno ready and put him to his cart, I kept glancing around to see any familiar faces. As we were called up to our position I realized that this was the extent of the parade. Maybe a third of what usually participates. The larger coaches had dwindled down from the usual eighteen to only four. Only one was owned and driven by people that I have worked for and he was local. I found out from their grooms that they didn't even bother to rent stalls for the week. They were only showing three out of the seven nights and decided it would cost too much.
Bruno was on his best behavior. I think the fact that there were less participants made the parade move a little faster. Bruno is getting close to 25 years old. I think the pace tuckered him out enough to prevent his usual goal of taking out small children who lined along the road.
After the parade I went back to the show grounds to see if I could drum up some work for the week.Being a massage therapist for horses has proven to be a lucrative side business for me. It is how I pay for the upkeep of my own horses. The week of Devon finds me not only massaging various horses but also grooming for different barns. It is a hectic week of starting at 5am and often working past midnight. Usually, I am turning horses or barns away because I have so much work. It is the one week of the year I know will make me enough money to pad me through the summer with extra money to play with. It looks like I am not playing too much this summer.
I found some Saddlebred folks who I have worked for in the past. I massaged two horses and groomed for one that night. I don't enjoy working in these barns because the horses are kept stall bound 24/7 due to their high platform shoes that animate their gait. It makes me so sad to see these horses so empty of outside stimulation. I needed the cash so I did what I came there to do.
Afterwards, I walked back to the section of barns that Brit and the other Coaching exhibitors usually kept their horses. Only three Coaching barns were occupied.I knew Brit wasn't coming up for the show. It was the first time in twelve years I wouldn't see him. The rest of the barns were rented out to Hunter Jumpers or Saddlebreds. I walked down the pavement in between and was sad to see it bare. When I worked with the Coaching barns we would only exhibit at night. This left us with a couple hours to kill in the late afternoon. We would sit outside the barns with lawn chairs and have a couple beers. Every day a guy from Weaver Enterprises (yes, the KFC chicken people)would draw a grid in chalk on the paved walkway in between barns. Each square would have our individual name. We would then each put up five dollars. We would then sit back and watch as exhibitors and their horses walked past and over the chalk grid. The first horse to land a poop in a box would declare that person a winner of the kitty. The noise level could become quite high if there was a near miss or if a horse lifted a tail with the possibility of a score. It got to point that our grid became three barn lengths and even the wealthy owners participating.
Not only was there no chalk grid,there was no one sitting outside the barns,chatting away while waiting for the night rush. The jumpers compete during the day and there is little prep work for the grooms to do. Once they are done for the day, they leave. It is a much larger competitive field and the jumper barns are not friendly with each other. It was strange to see this section so quiet of human interaction.
I left the show grounds at dusk and called Brit from my cell. "I miss everyone," I whined to him. He conceded that it felt weird knowing he wasn't there along with most of the old crew. I asked him if he missed me? "Miss you?" he exclaimed,"why would I miss my hippie groom who weaves flowers in to my Hackneys manes?"
Brit was referring to an incident the first year I worked for him in 1996. There was a fun Scurry driving class on the second night of the show. The horses appearance would not affect the judging, only speed and time through an obstacle course. Since I was bored and there was a pot of flowers along each side of the doorway I had the brilliant idea of adding flowers to the horses braids.
Brit had worked for Prince Philip when he had lived in Britain. He also worked with Gloria Austen,the Olympic driving champion. His work ethic reflects that. What was I thinking,having some fun? I can still see his face when he had realized too late that his horses had flowers in their manes when they were entering the ring.
Brit took first place in this class. When the judge pinned the ribbon on to the near side horse he grinned and told Brit he liked the flowers. I think Brit was properly horrified at such a soft touch. He gave me a stern lecture afterwards, ripped the flowers from their manes and told me this was not how he runs things.
The next day there was a great shot of the Hackneys going through the last set of cones was on the front page of The Horse of Delaware Valley. The caption read," Hackneys that knew they were ribbon winners already!" The article then went on to gush what a sensational driver Brit was and how he was a fore runner of revitalizing the sport here in the USA. It was a great boost for his career to make the cover of a primarily Hunter Jumper publication. That cover made his name known in the American driving circle.
Brit tossed the paper at me while I was sitting by the grid. "Well, there you go," was all he said to me. I read the caption and looked up at him. I detected a slight upward turn on one side of his mouth. It is the closest one gets to Brit conceding that a break in protocol had a happy ending. He then placed a five dollar bet on an empty square and sat with us for the rest of the afternoon. It was the beginning of our long time friendship.
I sat in the car and we talked for awhile, reminiscing on some of our adventures in the barns. We agreed that things in the equestrian circle are changing. The turn of the economy and the rising fuel costs are affecting the show season. He had no plans to travel north this summer. I had no barns lined up that were traveling south. We concluded that we hoped to see each other some time next year.

"Eva," Brit said at the end of the phone call, "you should be up in the stands trying to land yourself a wealthy husband. You won't find him working inside a barn."

I knew he meant well. He,himself, has tried many a time to land a wealthy wife. Neither one of us has gotten there in the finance part of romance. Actually,neither one of us has seemed too sucessful in the romance aspect,either.

As I drove home, my friend Dru,called. She has box seats for the entire week at Devon. She asked if I would like to use them? "I thought you might enjoy being a spectator for a change," is what she said to me.

Even if I am not back in the barns I know I can still appreciate that this is the oldest, long running, horse show in the country. It epitomizes what the Philadelphia Main Line is all about. Sit in a box with the wealthy sect all week? Maybe it's time for a change.
"I would love to!" I told her.
Yes,time for a change.