The Power of the Classics...

We had a nice night tonight.  Mondays are traditionally a family night around our house. I cook something nice and we either have a movie night or wind up playing board games.  Might be kinda hokey, but it works for us. 

We're a little bit late to the Netflix game, but we've picked it up pretty quickly and one look at the suggested films it offers us indicates that we're a pretty horsey family (or at least, the person with the controls is.)  Although many would assume the person with the controls would be me, anyone who's really in the know can yell you it's my daughter.  Sophie's got every horse game, horse movie, horse TV show ever made on her suggestion list.

Tonight's winner was Misty, the movie based on the book Misty of Chincoteague by Marguerite Henry.  It won mostly because I opened up my yap and said how I must've read that book about 20 times when I was Sophie's age, but heck if I could remember every little detail of it now.  Then I had to blather on (you know how old people go on and on and ONNNNNN about their ancient history?) about how during college my friend and I would take his father's boat over to Assateague and camp out over night, lighting campfires on the beach and cooking corn adn potatoes, and crabbing and oystering ( a dirty business, oystering.)  We'd wake up in the morning to see the ponies or island foxes, and just relax on the beach or explore the island.

So we watched Misty, and argued about how unfair it was that girls couldn't ride on Pony Penning Day, and how silly it was for Maureen to give up the ride in the race against the Black Comet to Paul even thought it was her turn to ride and she was llighter and had a better chance of winning. (The menfolk in our lives knew not to engage with us on this point as there were homemade brownie sundaes at stake, and crabby wimminfolk have been known to withold any manner of treats when provoked.

It was a great night watching a good old fashioned movie that caused us to examine some differences in how lives are led, animals are treated, people treat each other.  Guess that's the point of the classics -- to continue that kind of conversation, generation after generation.  I'm kinda hoping one of my kids asks me where my copy of Misty of Chincoteague is.  Sophie's already got her Misty Breyer model in her bed with her.

Horses and Football? Of course!

One advantage to being struck down with the plague and couch-bound is the time it affords one to cruise about the Internet.  Since my family has abandoned me to go to the barn (attendant strains of miniature violins) I am fending off boredom and a case of the sulks by watching World Cup show jumping on FEITV, checking out the Chronicle of the Horse Forums, and reading anything horse related the World Wide Web can serve up to me.
Horses are not my only interest (although at times it might not seem that way.)  I'm also a big football fan.  Mostly NFL, as that's how my Daddy raised me, but I'm catching on to college these days.  Super Bowl Sunday is considered, in my home, a holiday on par with Christmas.
So I absolutely LOVE that two of my passions come together on this sacred day.  Horses, in the form of the Budweiser Clydesdales, and football.  Kinda goes together like peanut butter and chocolate...
Anyways, my Internet surfing has unearthed the following preview of what the folks at Anheuser Busch have in store for us on Super Bowl Sunday.  I'm looking forward to it, and interested to hear which one you like the best.

Designated Driver?

Saw this on YouTube.  Sat there puzzled for a few minutes, unsure as to how I wanted to react.  Was I jealous that this cowboy purportedly lived in an area where this would be possible, jealous my horse would never consider doing this (unless I had a bagful of treats) or just puzzled as to whether or not this would still be considered drunk driving?  I mean, if I'm too inebriated to drive a car, I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be operating a horse, either... 

Obsession? Maybe. So what?

OK, so I'm willing to admit I get a little testy when someone calls this horsey thing of mine a "hobby." I've spent 3+ hours every day this week (Tuesday through Saturday) on my computer watching the George Morris Horsemastership Training Sessions. At night, before I fall asleep, I can be found reading horse related magazines, books, or, God help me, catalogs. (Ask me what page Eskadron boots can be found on in the last Dover catalog - I dare you.) This ain't a hobby, people, it's a full blown obsession. Nobody in their right mind spends this much time trying to learn about and get better at something if it's just a hobby.



What set me off on my current rant was watching the movie Julie & Julia, the 2009 movie chronicling both Julia Child's herculean efforts to write and publish her cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and writer Julie Powell's odyssey as she cooked her way through it. Each woman started out searching to fill a void in her life; Julia did not want to be defined as simply a diplomat's wife, filling her days with millinery and bridge lessons. Julie did not want to be a low level bureaucrat with an unfinished novel and a penchant for abandoning projects.



As each woman became more and more enmeshed in her passion she encountered roadblocks; dismissive responses from publishers and idols, lack of support from friends, and occasional marital discord. What resonated with me was that each woman faced these obstacles down and continued to live as her passion dictated, ultimately becoming a better person for it.



I had a great conversation with my son about it. He had absolutely no intention of liking this movie, but he did. Why? Because "each woman had a dream and went for it, kinda like you with Sug, Mom." That almost brought me to tears. Now, I am relatively sure I'm never going to be as good as I want to be at this horse thing. I'm pretty sure no Olympic team will be asking me to ride for them. However, if this passion of mine has shown my kids that it is possible to have a dream and bust your chops to realize even a small part of it, well, then, I've done my job.

On Compromise...

I was schooled by a 14 year old Belgian boy.  Now, I've dated several Belgians and should have remembered that the ones I've encountered (don't want to generalize too much here) have been intelligent and opinionated.  Might be something in the water...seems to me that Belgian horses are like Belgian humans.

I was told he made my mare look motivated (Sug is known to be quite lazy until you put a fence in front of her.)  OK, I thought to myself, lazy ain't new to me.  I strolled out to his field and he ambled right up to me and let me get his halter on.  Off to a good start, I'm thinking to myself.  HAH! The second I get him through the gate and turn to close it, he stuck his head down to graze. Let me tell you, he had no intention of letting me pull his head up and walk him to the barn, and odds are we'd still be out there if I hadn't resorted to bribing him with the peppermints I had in my pocket.

We had quite the discussion on the way into the barn, with me trying to announce my presence with authority as the Alpha and him telling me how wrong I was.  We discussed the issue the whole time I was grooming him, with him turning his head to supervise and let me know which parts I was to concentrate on and which were off limits.  He tested me a bit when I tried to get his bridle on, but gave in gracefully when I finally convinced him I was gonna push the issue, and off we went into the indoor ring.

Now, as he's known to be lazy, I was told to equip myself with spurs and a crop, which I did, planning to use them only if necessary.  Didn't think I would need to use them as he moved off as soon as I mounted and had no problems moving into a trot after we'd warmed up a bit.  All went well until I decided warm up was over and added leg and a touch of hand to ask him for a little more frame.  Instead of moving forward into contact, we went backwards.  The more leg I applied, the more backwards we went.  At one point, he stopped dead and did his best statue imitation.  Crop and spurs did nothing.  Now what?

I'd be damned if I was gonna let him take root in the middle of the arena, so I got him to turn and start walking by pulling his head around.  Decided to try asking very quietly for a trot, and surprisingly, he moved off at a nice pace.  However, the second I tried adding leg or hand again, he slowed down.  Thought to myself, "Self, this horse is a hunter, and he knows his job, maybe I should back off the hand/leg thing." Damned if the old boy didn't pick up his pace and round up nicely the second I did.

Well, I'm not known as a bit of a control queen for nothing, so we repeated our little experiment several times in each direction and at each gait, with me asking him to do things my way and him telling me which way his particular parade was going.  Some issues were deal breakers for me.  I absolutely could not allow the stopping and pretending to be a statue routine, so we argued over this until he eventually agreed to humor me.  He finally got me to agree that micromanaging him was not going to work, and I did my best to sit up there as quietly as I could, "thinking" what I wanted him to do before asking oh-so-nicely for it, and staying out of the way while letting him do his job. 

I had a blast on him, and hope I get to ride him again, as I know I'm gonna need a lot of repetition for this life lesson to sink in.  It's an appropriate one for horses as well as people -- sometimes you gotta let go of your own agenda and try someone else's, or at the very least, see if a compromise between the two will create a better way of doing things.

High maintenance...

When I think of someone who is high maintenance, I think of someone who who gets their hair done as often as others change their underwear. I think of someone who gets their nails manicured,whose wardrobe is chosen with more thought than many of us gave to choosing our college majors. Another thing that comes to mind is a religious care of one's self - massage, chiropractic, acupuncture - all that kind of stuff.

I have occasionally been called high maintenance, which cracks me up because I'm most often found wearing jeans or sweats, get my hair done ply when I need to travel for business or can't see where I'm going, and keep my nails cut short because otherwise I poke my eyeballs out when I put my contacts in.

I'm a big fan of massage, chiropractic, and acupuncture. As a woman of a certain age who has experienced a couple serious car accidents (none of which I caused) and more than a few falls off a horse, I need a lot of "work" to keep me going. However, much of the time I neglect to take care of myself this way because, frankly, who has the time? Most of the time I just wash a few muscle relaxants down with a glass of wine.

Now, my horse, she's high maintenance. I can't remember to take my vitamin, yet she's on enough supplements to fill a GNC franchise. When I make time to work out, I have only enough time for some cardio, forget stretching. Sugar gets stretched before and after our workouts. If I have the time or the cash for a massage once a season, it's a big deal. Sugar gets a massage every other week. Don't even ask me about the chiropractic and acupuncture...

Yes, she's high maintenance. Why? Number one, she's a woman of a certain age and she functions a lot better when she's well taken care of. This is important as she's the only equine athlete I can afford, and more importantly, she deserves it all as she gives so much more back to me. Number two, I figure she's an athlete, and as such, should be treated as one. I just wish I treated myself as well as I treat her.

It's WEG Time, Baby!

The Alltech World Equestrian Games started this past Saturday and I for one am outta my mind with excitement about it.  I mean, yeah, if you're a horse geek this is kinda like the Olympics crossed with Christmas and the advent of a weight loss pill with no side effects.  Seriously, it's THAT big a deal. 

What makes it an even bigger deal is that I'M GOIN', BABY!!!!!!!!!!!  Yup, no lie, I'm heading to Lexington.   Got me my plane tickets, event tickets, a hotel and a rental car.  That'll be me, the old bag standing on the rail with the 12 year olds as the riders do their course walks. 

I'm going with a barn buddy of mine.  Bless her heart, she's probably going to feel somewhat like the person who holds the balloon during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.  I will try my best to tone myself down, but no doubt she will be subjected to incessant babble about the rider, the horses, their histories, yadda yadda yadda. 

My husband dealt with a very similar situation when we went to the World Cup last year.  Poor dude got a bit schnookered with that one.  Presented the trip idea as "How would you like to go to Vegas for your birthday present, and oh by the way, do you mind if we go the week of the World Cup?"  Horses are not his favorite thing (not even close, really) but he was away from home and the office, there were adult beverages and slot machines, so he figured he could put up with some horsey stuff. 

He was actually kinda funny.  Fairly quickly after the start of the competition he began picking out favorites, and some combinations he was not such a fan of.  I'm not sure at which point he began a running ESPN commentary, but he actually had some accurate calls.  "Nope, they're not going to make the oxer, he doesn't have enough speed to get over the back rail" was one of his successful predictions.  "She's so worried about looking pretty she's stiffing her horse in the mouth and doesn't have room to jump. That's gonna catch up to her," was another. 

His favorite horse and rider combo was Irish rider Darragh Kenney on the diminutive Night Train.  Joe's from a blue collar Philly background, and scrappy underdogs of any kind get his vote.  He loved the way that little horse with the intimidating name tried his guts out every round.

The best part was when I asked him if he'd mind getting me something to eat.  I was starving, but didn't want to go because some of my favorite riders were close to their trips.  He looked at me incredulously and tells me, "Do you realize Darragh and Rich (Fellers) are up soon and Beezie (Madden) is about six out??  Can you wait until they're done?  I don't want to miss their rounds."  Whoops, created a bit of a monster, didn't I?

I'm looking forward to seeing some more amazing show jumping in Kentucky.  Am also excited about spending time touring some of the bourbon production facilities -- just as a Quality Assurance thing, really, to make sure they're as good as everyone says they are.  I'm also planning to meet up with an industry colleague from Kentucky who is involved in Thoroughbred racing.  He's going to attend the opening of the Keeneland fall race meet and suggested I come along to see some of the behind the scenes stuff tourists normally don't have access to.

I'm fairly confident this trip will result in a big old dent in the credit card.  I've got some of my favorite vendors' booth nmbers marked down in my calendar.  There are a few hospitality receptions being held where I'm sure my purchasing power will be of vital importance.  I'll have to drink a lot of free booze to offset what I spend, don't you think??  Maybe I should call and warn them to set a little extra aside, just in case...