my secret vacation (#12)

took a mini-vacation to the desert this week, for two and a half days.









just me and the desert and the sun. and the pool. I read books and slept the wrong way in the king bed and paid a guide to let me gallop a horse (mouse) through the sand. I hardly told anyone I was going, and the only talking I did during the trip was while ordering drinks and riding horses. traveling alone provides such unspeakable freedom. nobody's needs to fill but your own. only when I got home and walked into my dark apartment did I feel lonely. it's always better when somebody's happy you're home.

tomorrow: candide rehearsal. just one more opera, then we can breathe until the fall. thank the heavens. we might love what we do, but several months without last minute crises sounds pretty divine, thanks.

impaled

current number of large bruises on my body (unofficial tally): 11

on thursday, while doing my routine feeding, I had to retrieve a bale of alfalfa hay from the top of our haystack, six bales high. this happens sometimes. the way you do it is you find something tall to stand on, you grab the hay hooks, and you tip the stack over (sideways, NOT TOWARD YOU). all six bales fall to the ground. I've never found a better way. those bales weigh nearly a hundred pounds each; you can't just lift them and bring them down.

I have mentioned here before how dangerous hay can be. what happened on thursday: I went through the above manuever, choosing for my 'tall thing to stand on' the rear bed of the bobcat we use to haul hay, because it's significantly more sturdy than a ladder, and less likely to topple. I backed the bobcat just in front of the hay column and then braced myself to yank the bales down. after that, maybe because I was trying to slow their fall (and therefore not break the wood pallet on the ground below), my hand got stuck in the hay hook I was using, and the column of hay pulled me helplessly down with it, impaling me by the breastbone on the back corner of the bobcat's tailgate. I would have gone headfirst into the ground had the tailgate not caught on my shirt and bra, leaving me literally hanging upside down by my clothes two feet from the ground, my arm still attached to the hay.

I sat up in a daze, in that aftershock haze where you are just barely keeping yourself from screaming out loud or sobbing. I sat on my knees in the bed of the bobcat, my breath coming in shaky heaves, and took a tally of what hurt. I looked down at my shirt: no spewing blood. no obvious broken ribs. then I looked inside at what was burning: an 18-inch long gash running, like a seatbelt, from the top of my right boob to the middle of my abdomen. it was bleeding lightly into my sports bra and was already bruised in one place. my leg was also in a lot of pain, and had already lumped up, though I was not, at least, bleeding through my breeches.

I must have sat in the back of the bobcat for five minutes, just trying to pull myself together. I hurt like hell. my hands were visibly shaking. it was an accident I don't know that I could have prevented, because I never saw it coming. I suppose that's how accidents go.

I hadn't actually fed yet, so I had to go and throw hay into stalls, hoping not to plaster too much of it onto my open and vaguely bleeding chest wound. I took off my sports bra in the bathroom (OUCH) and then realized how much it hurt just to have my shirt touch my chest. putting my seat belt on was excruciating.

on friday I had to work from home because it was painful to wear anything but the baggiest shirt; there was no way on earth I could put on a bra. (I still haven't). today, the bruise on my thigh is larger than a grapefruit, still swollen, and a range of colors from yellow to nearly black. I actually haven't the faintest idea what I did to my leg -- I guess I hit the bobcat first with my thigh before impaling myself on the tailgate? the leg bruise is in many ways worse than the chest wound; it's much deeper and still painful to walk on. the chest wound has scabbed up and is, at least, less raw than it was on friday. the trade-off is that it's turned into the most unbelievable bruise, yellowish-green, covering half of my right boob. I wish I could show it off but for obvious reasons, I can't.

if I showed up to the beach in a bikini now, it'd look like I'd been mauled by a small bear.

moral of the story: you can never be too careful with hay bales. take my word for it, kids.

walking the wire

It's a strange time lately. I believed the end of the opera season would bring some much needed quiet and rest, but it's six weeks after the close of our last show and everything is as hectic as ever. There are a thousand reasons for this; here is a glimpse:

• softball
  
• horseback riding
  
  
  
  
• stall cleaning
  
• feeding horses
  
• apartment hunting
  
• packing
  
• or at least thinking about packing
  
• training for a marathon -- or at the very least, running
  
• work projects
  
• finally enjoying the nice weather
  
• tending daily to the garden
  

(I went to the garden this morning to plant a bunch of starts I bought last night. It was nice to begin my day there, in the early morning light; everything was quiet except for the rush of water through the hose. Now in the garden: radicchio, mesclun, radishes, basil, lavender, rosemary, fennel (2 types), catnip, sage, chives, cilantro, broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts, cabbage, kale, butter lettuce, chard, bell peppers, tomatoes, watermelon, canteloupe, lemon cucumber.)

So here is my problem: I am totally overwhelmed by the amount of things I have to do on a daily basis, although nearly everything is exciting and good. It's a real conundrum. I would not want to give any of these things up, and in fact, would find it difficult -- each of them is a commitment I've made. I keep having the feeling that if only I could catch up, everything would settle back and I would be okay. I'm happy now -- sometimes radiantly so -- but also struggling.

Oh, blog. There is one more thing for that list. I've been coyly keeping it a secret from you, but I can't keep it forever.

• boyfriend

float

Today I took the morning off work so I could be there when Cookie got her teeth floated. Horses, like many animals, have teeth that grow continuously through most of their lives, and are ground down slowly over time as they eat. In a perfect mouth, they grind evenly, but more often than not, they wear down more in some spots than others, eventually making the taller bits into sharp hooks that catch on the tongue and insides of the cheeks.

Dr. Clabaugh (seriously, click that link and scroll down, she has the freaking bad-assest bio in history; I wish I had had more time to talk with her) was super sweet and fawned over Cookie -- always a bonus in my book, like somebody complimenting your kid. ("I'm a sucker for buckskins. You know, I'd like to think I'm beyond color, but she is just so cute. Look at those ears! I've never seen ear markings like that.") She had to give Cookie two doses of sedative, because after the first one she still pretty much looked like this:



.. and therefore not nearly sleepy/drunky enough. The second dose worked much better, though. It was simultaneously hilarious and sad to see my horse dosed up like that. Kind of like seeing someone you love really, obliteratingly drunk. Thank god horses can't read blogs because I'm about to show the internet how sad she looked.

Getting the speculum on:


having a hard time holding her head up (she hadn't been propped up yet); tongue lolling:


Once she was all set up, we took a look. I got to see the ulcers she had on both sides of her cheeks from where she had rubbed/bitten them; her hooks weren't too bad but she had a "ramp" on her back molar -- it was worn down in the front but not the back -- that Dr. Clabaugh told me would be making it more painful for her to bend at the poll: in other words, making it unpleasant for her to keep her head in the appropriate place while I'm riding. She also still had her wolf teeth, small pre-molars not unlike human baby teeth, which bang on the bit and can be uncomfortable. We decided that in addition to the float, Dr. Clabaugh would also extract those two teeth. Ouch!

world's scariest dental drill:


Fortunately for my wallet, one of the wolf teeth popped loose as she was filing the others. The $25 I would have spent on that tooth would have put the vet bill over $300. Thanks, tooth!

my camera sucks, but I wanted to get an action shot of the drill. (Or maybe just a sound clip). I should mention at this point that I did sheepishly apologize to the dentist for being a crazy horse mom. "Are you kidding? We get this all the time."



The whole process took about forty-five minutes. Not so bad. Cookie was so sedated she needed help walking to her stall. It's hard enough when your 150-pound friend needs help; imagine your 900-pound horse?



She was staggering. It was hilarious.

She got a round of vaccines (unrelated to the float) and we tucked her in. She supposedly would be more awake and alert in about 30 minutes. (I had to go to work, so I couldn't hang around & find out). I gave her some pats I'm sure she couldn't feel. Sleepy mare!



I mean, look at this face. This is the face of your friend at 3 AM just before she passes out fully clothed in the bathtub. She had to lean her head against the wall. She couldn't even move. So cute/sad.



It'll be a few days before I can ride again, since her mouth will be healing from the extractions. I REALLY can't wait to see if the work changes how she carries her head. One of her chronic problems is head tossing/fussiness, so I'm really hoping the dental work makes her head carriage more consistent. And I'm glad, of course, that she won't be rubbing the insides of her cheeks off every time she eats anything.

derby day

We take the Kentucky Derby very seriously in my family. Observe:

Our choices: Mom - Mission Impazible
Travis - Awesome Act
Ashley - Sidney's Candy

I got my mint today. I'm placing bets online tomorrow. Saturday, I'm putting together some kind of beautiful hat to wear. Coverage starts at 4:00. I'll call you around 5:30 and we can
talk about Bob and anybody else that's noteworthy.

Love,
Mom

(Bob, by the way, is the trainer Bob Baffert, who my mother and I have fun loathing for various reasons.)

I spent most of the rest of my day dyeing my hair.

round one: bleach







round two: dye







round three: dye (again)



I picked blonde because it was the color I would be least likely to dye my hair if I actually were going to do it on a permanent basis. I thought it would look wretched but it's actually kind of fun, in an artificial, Barbie sort of way.

Tomorrow is the shave. The reality of what 'shaving your head' means is beginning to sink in.

show day

Our first show of the season was yesterday, a schooling show that's held by the Thoroughbred Exhibitors' Association every year down at the local fairgrounds. It was not a very nice day for it -- chilly and windy and threatening to rain -- but last year, when it stormed and hailed and snowed, was much, much worse.

I got up at 4:30 and put on my breeches and boots and three sweatshirts, heated up the oatmeal I'd pre-made the night before, and hauled my bag of show stuff to my car. I was at the barn by 5:45, but ended up waiting around for awhile, because, as it turns out, one of the trucks meant to haul our 4-horse trailer had broken down. We ended up leaving the barn at 6:45 instead of 6:15 but still squeaked in to the fairgrounds in time to (barely) make the first class, which I happened to be competing in. (There were a harrowing few minutes where I was hurriedly stuffing Cookie's face into a halter while a friend was helping brush her mane and my trainer had her hand up my jacket, pinning on my number.)

Halter classes at horse shows are the equine equivalent to the dog shows you see on TV: a handler on the ground walks a horse into the arena, "sets" them (squares their feet, as is done with dogs, in different positions depending on the breed), and then trots away from the judge so the judge can see if they have good leg conformation. Then you line up next to the other competitors and (hopefully) make your horse stand still and look pretty and alert for the remainder of the class. Cookie does very well in halter classes, and would do better if we ever practiced setting up, which we don't. We compete with her as though she were an Arabian (she's a half-Arab), which means she should stand like this:



but occasionally we end up like this instead:


We entered three halter classes and took third, third, and fourth respectively, earning three ribbons but not passing through high enough to move on to the championship round. She was very, very well behaved, stood quietly, did not shuffle her back feet, and wanted to love on me a little but didn't try to be in my pocket (which, incidentally, was her problem in the photo of us above).

After halter was through we tacked up for our English classes -- we weren't even bothering with Western -- and I walked her back and forth across the grounds about four times so we could both settle down. She was a little tense and anxious in the warm-up ring, and I was thankful that the footing was very deep, so she had to work harder to trot and canter. Eventually she settled down, only to go through the same scary thing again in the show arena warm up. Our first two classes were messy but not bad; she still has problems riding in a straight line and I am still constantly asking for her head carriage, but she didn't run off or spook, which is a tremendous improvement from just a few weeks ago.

We rode in three classes and then had a long break, so we walked up and down the gravel path outside the arena, then stood at the door. I was really wanting to place in at least one riding class, so that I felt like Cookie wasn't the only one winning the ribbons, but I was simultaneously really proud of her for being significantly better behaved than at our last show, when she literally could not stand still the entire day. Outside the gate before our third class, I leaned forward and gave her a long scratch on the neck and face; everybody chuckled at us as Cookie craned her neck back so I could reach her face better from the saddle. I told her I was proud of her, that she was being such a good girl.

Our fourth class was an 18 & over class, typically the hardest for me because I'm riding with all adult competitors who have been riding as long or longer than I have and who are typically WAY more skilled at showing (and often at riding). All the riding classes of the day had been very long, with extended trots and canters, so we were already tired. But we were just on. Cookie had settled into an equilibrium where she was still pretty pumped up but relaxed enough to settle in and listen, and she'd become familiar enough with the arena that I could convince her to ride closer to the rail (which she'd been afraid of in the beginning). My riding felt tight, Cookie was holding her head well, and I'd found a sort of .. I don't know, lightness? in my seat that finally allowed me to ride her into the corners without having her head ganked in one position while her body was in another.

When we passed my barnmates at the lower end of the arena they were so encouraging! They are always encouraging but they're also there to murmur "wrong lead" or "drop your hands!" or whatever else you need to fix. Every time I passed they just said, "Beautiful, Jess!" "You look great!" "Go Cookie!" I was also happy to notice that the dad of one of our lesson kids was there, a former Arab trainer himself who almost always sees me in lessons where Cookie is bucking or steering badly or generally being an ass.

The class took forever, and after walking, trotting, and cantering beautifully in one direction we had to reverse and do the same in our bad direction. At the canter, we'd been going and going FOR A THOUSAND YEARS when Cookie broke into a clippy, bouncy trot; I frantically asked her to pick up the canter again, but again she broke into a trot. I knew she was not being "bad" -- she was just plain exhausted. But we were nearing where the judge was standing, and we had been going SO WELL for the entire class, and I knew if she caught us trotting it would dash any dim hope we had of ribboning in that huge class. "Come on, sweet stuff," I said, "Please? Do it for me, please do it for me." I cued and she picked it up one last time; we turned into the corner and around past the judge, and then they called for us to walk and line up.

It had been a great class, and I felt it was our best chance to place; I also felt that it should be our last class, because Cookie and I were both exhausted and I really wanted to reward her for her awesome work. In the line-up, waiting for the results, I try so hard never to get my hopes up, because in a large group we rarely ever ribbon -- we just have too many issues right now. So I was truly thrilled and surprised when they announced my number for third place! I think I even did a victory fist pump.

We ended up entering the class directly after that one, despite my initial misgivings, because it was a colored horse class and there were only 6 horses in it. And we finished sixth :) Getting Cookie to keep trotting in that class was like an act of god. I had to pull my outside foot (the one out of sight of the judge) completely out of the stirrup and lay it into her side to even keep her moving. But I didn't care at all. At the end of the class, I walked Cookie over and thanked the judge, who had clearly liked my horse in halter classes. "You're welcome," she said. "You need to put a headset on that horse." Don't I know it.

When I came out of the ring, my trainer handed me our yellow ribbon. "BEAUTIFUL JOB, you two," she said. "This is a blue ribbon in my book." What can I say about this? I teared up a little. There's this great scene towards the end of National Velvet when Velvet and the Pie have won the Grand National; they come back home, and Velvet is so exhausted and emotional she's in a swoon. She explains that towards the end of the race she knew that the Pie was totally done and had nothing left, but that she asked him for just a little more and he put his whole heart into it for her. She is full of wonder and gratitude. It sounds completely cheesy but that's how it felt yesterday: like Cookie was absolutely exhausted but gave it one more burst for me because I asked her for it. I truly could not love that third place ribbon more.

I stayed for the rest of the day, although I was done riding, to watch all my friends and barn-mates compete in the Western classes, which they rocked. All 7 of us walked off with ribbons. After we were through we all pitched in, cleaning stalls, blanketing horses, emptying water buckets, and then loaded up the horses and drove back to the barn. I love the post-show flurry of returning everything to tack rooms and stalls; everybody's tired and glad to be done. There's a great sense of community. Usually a group goes out for dinner at the cafe down the street, but not tonight! We all trudged to our cars, cranked up the heat, and went home. I can hardly keep my eyes open.

preparation

it turns out that a day of riding, bathing coats, clipping muzzles, braiding tails, stuffing hay bags, loading trailers, and finding hunt clothes will really take it out of you, especially if you didn't bring a lunch. and you've had a headache all day, and the medicine for it makes you starving and sleepy. and it is (thankfully, gloriously) sunny and 60 outside, and your face gets lightly sunburned.

especially when you have to think about leaving the house at 5 tomorrow. 5. in the morning. so that you can go buy a few snacks for yourself for the long day ahead. because you're too tired to go right now, and you're in your pajamas, and you might go to sleep at 9.

you can only hope your horse will stay sane at the horse show, and maybe win a ribbon or two.

the hoof of an unbroken filly

one year ago today, I drove to the barn and dropped off a check for $350, which served as deposit and first payment for my first horse.



I didn't anticipate it, wasn't planning on it, and never expected to buy a horse at my age. I thought of horse ownership as something I would do in my thirties or forties, once I had settled down. It was a faraway goal, one that required a great deal of planning, and money, and time. I was 27; I was working four and sometimes five jobs just to stay afloat. "Buying a horse is literally the stupidest financial move I can think of," I told my mother over and over again.



I have loved a lot of horses in the 13 years I've been riding. Thea, the 3-year-old chestnut Thoroughbred who sailed over jumps and once threw me off four times in a single lesson; Mario, a little gelding who would do anything you asked; PJ, the Appaloosa who was a total jerk but athletic and honest over fences. There was Dalton, a wonderful horse at the dressage barn where I rode in college, and Roxy, the bay mare I once saw throw an 8-year-old and then go tearing around the ring like something had bitten her. Angel and Merlin, Luke and Leia. So many horses but only once -- with Mario -- did the thought even occur to me that they might ever be mine.

Years of lessons on other peoples' horses; a few years of leasing my own:


(along with the bruise he once left on my foot after he pounced on it while spooking at a tarp)

And then Cookie.




When I handed the check to Heather, she gave me a big hug. "Aren't you excited?!" she asked me, grinning. But I shook my head, sheepish. "No," I replied. "I'm terrified!" As I surmised that day, it took me weeks to feel even a glimmer of excitement; I didn't believe I had actually bought a horse. Nothing changed physically: Cookie lived where she'd always lived; there was no trailering or settling in. The transfer of her papers didn't occur until April, after I had paid her last payment. So in those first few weeks it was just an idea. Oh, and also this little blue line:



But now, of course, she is my horse. One year later, she nickers when I walk to her stall, and has developed an endearing habit of nuzzling me when I'm standing on the mounting block. She does occasionally have her bad days, like this past weekend when she was so upset about another horse leaving the arena that she went careening off in a wild bucking spree; it was the closest I've come in a year to being tossed off her back. But in a year we have worked on fundamental steering and collection; we've been on trail rides and to a horse show, and even on TV.

Despite the fact that buying her was a crazy, ill-advised decision, in one year I have never, ever regretted it.

furlough, days 1-3

day one:



sleeping in. cleaning stalls in the rain, raking the poo pile (above), letting the mare cavort around the indoor arena. chai latte at home, cat-shaped lap warmers, balancing the checkbook. TV in bed.

day two:



coffee and oatmeal. working through a hissy fit from my horse; afterwards, watching her float over ground poles at the trot. working on our manners, our ground tying. an involved video game.



a date.

day three:



discovering the cat has figured out how to jump on the kitchen counter. spraying the cat three times in rapid succession after he jumps on the kitchen counter. lining the kitchen counter with double-stick tape. and pots and pans from the cupboard. a solitary mid-morning ride. a bareback walk back to the barn. vacuuming the car. making the grocery list, the christmas list, the to-do list. fishing the cat toys from beneath the furniture. and again. and again.

great vacation so far. I've already forgotten what day of the week it is.

to piggyback on my last, here is one of the most amazing displays of bareback riding ever. Stacy Westfall makes this entire run look remarkably easy -- but it is SO SO hard. getting your horse to perform these maneuvers in full tack is hard enough, and riding them is hard; doing them without saddle or bridle is basically a work of art.

musing on horseback

this weekend I taught myself to swing onto Cookie's bare back without help of a step. the maneuver is harder than I ever thought, a lesson I learned several months ago after declaring with bravado that it can't be that hard and then leaping pathetically three or four times, making a herculean but futile effort at swinging my lower half onto (somebody else's) horse. the problem is, horses are slippery, tall, and alive. the trick requires that you have enough spring to propel most of your body to horse-back height, and then enough arm strength to get yourself on the rest of the way. more importantly it requires either that someone hold your horse, or, in my case, that your horse is good-natured enough to stand still while you heave yourself on.

we've been riding bareback a lot more this past week or two. it's good practice for a secure seat -- and it's remarkably difficult, even for someone who's been riding for 12 or 13 years. kids are good at riding bareback. do you know that it's our higher consciousness that keeps us from naturally being able to swim? that's why babies can do it. our thinking gets in our way. it's the same with bareback riding, I think. kids are good at it. they take to the constant balance shift naturally, and they aren't afraid of falling off. they aren't constantly obsessing about where their legs are supposed to go. on the other hand, I can never decide if I'm in the right spot on Cookie's back, or if my legs should dangle, or should they grip? I feel bad that my seatbones are digging into her back. I overthink.

when I prod her to trot and I'm riding bareback, she resists. yesterday I kicked and kicked and she did nothing more than raise her head. I think she was telling me, "listen, I know you want me to go, but girl, you are not balanced enough right now and I don't want to pitch you off." I tried to calmly explain that if I slipped off I wouldn't blame her. stubborn mare! she didn't listen; she just kept walking. eventually she did trot, but despite feeling relatively secure I could not convince her to keep up the pace for more than half a lap around the arena. I conceded.

tuesday I'm headed out with a friend on a trail ride. it'll be only our second trail ride together, Cookie and I, and I'm choosing to ride in my english saddle rather than opting for the more secure, but also more alien, western saddle. last time we went out on the trail, I rode western at the barn owner's suggestion, because the saddle is larger and harder to be bucked out of. but I don't ride western and so it felt very uncomfortable. now Cookie and I have been riding together for a year, and I hope I know her well enough to be able to ride through whatever she throws at me. we will see.

in related news, I've found myself at least five times this week caked in dirt and horse hair and having to run an errand. the other night I was at the mall, buying a gift for my mother's birthday. I was wearing a tank top and black shorts. I had been bathing Cookie, and had ridden her bareback. I was COVERED in mud and hair. I threw on the 4-H sweatshirt the barn gave me last year, which was in my back seat. I thought, surely it's better than the soaked, filthy tank top! I gave myself a once-over in the parking lot and thought, not so bad. then I stepped into the fluorescent light of Barnes and Noble and, well, oops. there was no hiding it. it didn't help that the sweatshirt I was using as a mask had itself been used for a ride two days before.

on set with Julie Goodnight

my time with Julie Goodnight was awesome. On Wednesday, after a frantic morning bathing Cookie, prepping myself, and packing the trailer, my friend Allison and I arrived at Tanz-Pferde, the beautiful Oregon City dressage barn that served as our shoot location. What a place! A huge, beautiful indoor dressage arena, immaculately clean stalls and walkways, a REAL bathroom, amazing paddocks -- I could go on and on. While we love our boarding barn, Allison and I couldn't help being beside ourselves with envy. I mean, AIR CONDITIONING!!

When I arrived I was greeted by a grip, June, who brought me up to the arena viewing room (complete, may I add, with leather couches and a KITCHEN), where I signed one billion waivers and received the first of several free gifts -- a shiny new Troxel Reliance helmet! I have been desperately in need of a new helmet -- mine actually has SKID MARKS on it -- so I am totally thrilled.

There was a ton of time between our arrival and the start of our episode shoot, so we walked out to the upper outdoor arena, where they were in the process of taping episode 4 (I was episode 6), about a 15-year-old girl whose horse was, basically, a giant asshole: bucking, rearing, crow-hopping, and doing everything he could to avoid actual work. To her credit, Claire rode the crap out of that horse, but it was clear she needed help. Her problems also eclipsed any problems I had brought with Cookie. (Allison turned to me, wide-eyed, and said, "I feel so much better about my horse now.") It was fascinating, and great fun, to watch the process of taping the episode -- the number of takes they had to do, the way they would call out to the rider what they wanted to see ("okay, pick up the canter at that corner, please"), and how Julie was busy making her verbal assessment at the fence line, murmuring into her body mic.

Later, we watched as Julie worked with Claire's horse in the round pen, doing some fundamental ground work exercises to get him to submit to her authority. To our surprise, very early on in the process the horse, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid work, turned and jumped the fence, stopping immediately on the other side as if he had startled even himself. (The action had momentarily stunned all of us into silence). He was easily caught and maneuvered back into the pen, and we watched as, for the next ten minutes, Julie put him through his paces, making him change direction and gait frequently to mimic the way a dominant horse will control the movement of the submissive horse in a herd. Finally, the horse's head dropped in contrition, and from there on out he was a much better worker.

The rest of the afternoon was mainly spent waiting around and observing others. When it finally came time for me, I slipped quickly into my clean, staff-approved riding clothes and headed up to the arena with Cookie. I had been very nervous that she would be a perfect angel, making it difficult to justify even being there -- she's shown drastic and sudden improvement in the last week -- but fortunately it was decided, in the end, that we would work on her head carriage and on my equitation, both things I had wanted most to address. We shot the first day's footage quickly, because it was late in the evening and the shadows were lengthening so fast in the arena that multiple takes were just not possible. My interview was done in one take, and we were released.

The next morning we arrived on the set at 7 AM; I tossed some hay to Cookie and walked over to the barn, where they asked permission to use her for a few commercials they were shooting in the afternoon. (These are very brief segments shown in the middle of the program, as well as, I think, on the internet). Obviously, I complied! As before, there was a great deal of waiting around, but Allison and I were glad to watch the conclusion of Claire's episode. Because they worked so much on groundwork, they didn't address her problems under saddle at all in the "after" footage, but once they were done with her, Claire threw on her saddle and tested her horse. What a difference! I had been skeptical that just two days of groundwork would do anything for her under saddle, but he gave just one little buck and then acted like a dream. It was a really emotional moment. She was cantering around the ring, doing flying lead changes every other lap. Her mother turned to us and said, "She hasn't been able to do that in a year and a half." It made me feel so good about the whole process. I felt a little teary-eyed. I'm sure Claire was home today, riding her heart out!

The alternate trainer -- there to help while Julie is busy filming -- came over later in the morning and worked with me on the stuff Julie had suggested. We worked primarily on getting Cookie to hold her head in the correct position -- tucked in rather than with her nose poking out -- and also on my equitation, which has clearly gotten sloppy over the years. She left us to practice as they began to film the last segments of episode 5. After a LONG wait -- more than two hours -- we came up to the arena to film the last part of our episode. Cookie was a dream for the pre-film practice session; I beamed inwardly as Julie walked past and said, "She looks beautiful! Much better." We had to film several takes, and after the first one Julie turned to me and said, "Hey, hop down, let me school her a little. She was so good for you in practice but she kind of lost it in that take." So I watched as Julie rode my horse around in a picture-perfect head carriage and frame. Ah, if only my camera battery hadn't died! It had occurred to me only the day before that never once had I seen another rider on Cookie; literally no one else has ridden her since the first day I rode her last August. It was so gratifying to see how beautiful she is and how wonderful she can look. Clearly the problems I'm having are rider-related and not horse-related!

We shot several more clips, going back to redo certain sections, and took a couple of still shots, and then my portion of the episode was finished. We untacked, and as I let Cookie crop grass I listened as they shot Julie's intro of our episode, "about a lovely part-Arab mare who just needs a few extra tweaks," and then they fitted Cookie with a gaited Western saddle for one of several segments they shot with her and Julie for commercials. As we stood there the wardrobe gal asked me where I had bought Cookie. "I just love her," Cheryl said. "I would buy a horse that looked just like her. I love that refined face! I have a dun but she's darker. Your horse is just beautiful." It never gets old to hear!

And then we were finished. As we were walking back, Heidi, the show's producer, asked me to come see her after I had everything all put away. "We have a little something extra for you," she said. At the barn, she came out with the saddle pad they'd had me use for day two, a nice black Toklat pad, and handed it to me. "We don't usually give all this stuff away," she said, "but you've been so patient, and such a trooper in this heat" (it was 95 degrees on both days) "that we wanted to send you home with a little something extra." She paused. "So please take this ... but you might want to take it home and put it right in the wash. There's nothing wrong with it, it just ... might be a little stinky."
I smiled. "Did the cat spray it?" (A barn cat had been spraying everything in sight.)
She smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Maybe?"
Then she handed me one of Julie's DVDs, on collection and refinement -- what we'd been working on. She explained that Julie had asked them to pass it on to me, as an extra thank-you for letting them use Cookie for the commercial shots. "We didn't have another horse to use," Heidi explained. "None of the horses at this barn would have looked right in a Western saddle."

And that was a wrap. What a crazy two days! It was hot; I got sunburned; we waited around forever; I wasn't even sure I should be there. In the end it was just what I needed and it really helped. Amazing how much you could accomplish in just two days. Today I went back to the barn to clean stalls, and ended up joining a pre-existing lesson. I was wearing shorts and a tank top, and sneakers. Not dressed for riding at all! Everybody was impressed with how much improvement we had already made. At the canter, Sarah, one of the 4-H girls, cried out in anguish, "Ahhh, she looks so beautiful! I'm so jealous!" I can't wait to keep working on it, and to try our hand again at another show.

The show, I believe, airs in August. I can't wait to see it!

up with joy

nearly every single thing over the last 24 hours has been like an early birthday present:

+ last night at the softball game -- a game in which we were totally massacred by the opposing team -- I stopped a fast ground ball to second with my left kneecap. the resulting, instantaneous bruise is dotted with the lines left by the laces of the ball. it's a fabulous bruise, a real badge of honor. I had my rally cap on (hat turned inside out) & my signature rainbow socks-turned-leg-warmers; earlier I had been trash talking the opposing team. the ball that nailed my knee rolled straight to our pitcher, who threw it to first to score the hitter out.
+ the one time I got up to bat I hit a lame pop fly right to the pitcher, who somehow missed catching it, but it had so much backspin that the chumps, who were already at least 20 points ahead, let it roll all the way back to the plate for a foul call. I walked huffily back to the plate (I had long since made it to first) and nailed one into the outfield, running easily back to first base.
+ the injury, in tandem with a couple snagged balls in the infield and an RBI, scored me the game ball for this week. the game ball is a tradition on the team: it starts at the opening of the season as an unassuming softball, modified slightly by the person each week who is, basically, voted MVP of the game. last year the end result involved a mexican wrestling mask, sparklers, and cartoon jesus band-aids. two years ago it included a barbie suitcase and theme music. this year it already has a talking napoleon dynamite figurine and a candy dispenser. the bar is set pretty high.
+ I was picked to be on Horse Master with Julie Goodnight, a TV show about horseback riding/training ! they're coming to shoot in Portland at the end of June. by some miraculous stroke of luck, they begin shooting the day I return from hawaii. I requested to work on that little problem we're having where Cookie doesn't turn well to the right.
+ last night lauren gave another friend (whose birthday was saturday) and me belated/early birthday presents & strawberry shortcake; today my boss brought me a carrot cake cupcake w/cream cheese frosting & coconut as an early birthday treat. seriously, this has been the rockingest birthday week. I feel so lucky!
+ today on my midday run a pair of guys I passed called out, 'hello beautiful!' and rather than assume they were kidding/meanly teasing and ignoring them (which is what I usually do), I assumed they were serious and yelled 'hey!' and waved. it was the kind of day where I could believe everyone meant the best.
+ DISNEYLAND YAAAAAY

and even the cons are tinged in things uplifting:
- tomorrow I have to crowbar myself out of bed at 3:30 to get to the airport, but this is only because my friends hannah & joe are also going to the airport and have sweetly agreed to take me so that I don't have to leave my car. my flight leaves for long beach at 7.
- it's supposed to be 86 degrees in portland while I'm gone -- my favorite kind of weather! and 66 in santa barbara. but DISNEYLAND and hanging with Cristina and the beach and barbecues and home cooking and my sister's little family and my toddler nephew and my friend josh and guitar hero and MICKEY MOUSE and seriously, you guys, this is the best week.

sunday, mid-april

it's a Sunday morning, full of abundant sunshine. I've been keeping the blinds open in my bedroom; it means waking to panels of light on the bedspread at 7:30 in the morning. This morning, tea in hand, I sat on the rocking chair on my balcony, wrapped in a blanket, and wrote a letter. Today it will be in the mid-70s; I am in rehearsal for most of the afternoon. As a concubine I ride two different baritones (Rigoletto, Marullo) like horses.

Speaking of horses: yesterday I helped Heather, the barn owner, strip and reinstall the mats in 9 of her stalls, which took us the better part of the morning. Afterwards she took me to lunch at the Redland Cafe, the little hole-in-the-wall down the street where 80% of the customers are fresh from a day working the land and know every waitress. And she handed me Cookie's registration papers, along with listed bloodlines of her sire and dam, and baby pictures. As of yesterday, I own 100% of my horse. Yesterday after lunch I went for a ride; she spooked at some mystery thing out of my sight and as she bolted my saddle listed about fifty degrees to the right. This is what you get for deciding your girth is 'not really tight, but tight enough.' Thankfully she has a long, thick mane, so I just held on. She only bolted ten feet or so; when she stopped she stood there calmly, as if nothing had happened. My saddle had slipped so far I had to dismount to fix it. Later, as I was cleaning one of her hind feet, she pooped, missing my head by roughly two inches. Ah, horses.