Saturday

She walked down the familiar barn aisle, peering into the box stalls as she passed. Friendly eyes met hers, a few heads even poked over stall guards to watch her as she walked away. Some days she brought carrots, and the horses knew that. In the tack room she smelled leather and sweat, and she ran her fingers over the smooth saddles and traced the buckles on bridles. A box of brushes sat next to the door, and she picked it up as she walked back through. In the cross ties, her partner for the day stood patiently, eyes half closed, one hoof resting on the toe, hip jutted out as the horse napped. She laughed softly, and he opened his eyes. 

“If someone came along and unclipped that rope, you would fall on your nose big guy!” 

She gently stroked his face as she spoke, and leaned into his mane, breathing his scent in. This was so much better than school, where her friends begged for attention from football players and those dumb guys who thought that skinny jeans looked good on their skinny bodies. Here, there was no make-up on young faces, hair was pulled back in ponytails and braids, all the girls wore old jeans or tan riding breeches, and black boots. Everyone here, no matter how different, had the same purpose.

She groomed her mount, massaging him with the curry comb, in counter clockwise circles. She was careful over his hip bones, and then on his neck, when he leaned into her hand to tell her it felt good, she spent an extra second there. Then the body brush and the soft brush for his face, and to give him an extra shine. She picked up each of his four feet, checking for loose shoes and trapped stones. Then she gently saddled him, talking to him as she tightened the girth. He flicked his ears back and lifted his head very slightly to let her know he wasn’t thrilled with that part, but after a gentle pat and a whispered “Sorry, boy” he forgave her.

Next was the bridle, and she held the bit in her hands for a few moments, blowing warm air on the metal, before she gently slid it into his mouth, careful not to bump any teeth. She adjusted and fastened the nose band, and throat latch, made sure there was no mane or forelock trapped under the leather. Even though horses have no nerve ending in their manes, she always made sure there was nothing that could be pulled and make the horse uncomfortable. She pulled her helmet onto her head, and fastened it beneath her chin, then pulled the reins over his head, and led him to the arena.

It was Saturday, and the ring was full, younger students bouncing around on patient ponies, older girls warming up their rides with circles, asking their horses to bend their necks, and give to their hands. Riding instructors stood in the center, calling out directions, asking riders to push forward, or collect back, to soften hands and steady legs. The instructors of the younger riders called out encouragement and praise for every little deed done right. Some of the horses knew the instructors voices so well, you wondered if it was their rider in control, or the voice in the center of the ring. The arena was damp where it had been watered to keep the dust down, and her boots crunched across the sand to the mounting block. Left foot in the stirrup, right leg over the saddle, and she gently lowered herself onto his back.

The rhythm of his walk soothed her, and she wondered, what in the world do girls without horses to ride on Saturdays? Without the smell of hay and dust. The sounds of hot breath and stomping feet, swishing tails and metal shoes on concrete. 

It felt like excitement and love, and home.

And she couldn’t imagine a better home.

Rambling Man

He is standing in the doorway, his suitcase in his hand. She looks at it, then back at him. With all her heart she wants to ask him- to beg him- to take her along. She’d trade Colorado, its mountains and snow, and starry nights, if he’d take her with him. 

He looks at her, her childlike face and innocent eyes. She’s never loved a man before, yet somehow she loves him. The thought scares him. He knows no twenty year old should be on the road, following him from town to town, searching for rodeos and state fairs so he can ride and win his living. He is lost without a horse beneath him, and Jack Daniels inside of him. The sound of the crowds and the smell of leather are his first, and only, true loves. He thinks how nice it would be to have her there, to kiss his wounds and bruises, to cheer him when he rode out into the arena. But he knows in his heart, no matter how he might long to, he can’t let her get lost with him.

She sees the hesitation, she feels the longing in his heart. She lets herself imagine, just for a moment, that maybe he’ll take her. She's imagined their life together, following the rodeo circuit, living the cowboy life. A song plays in the background, something about cowboys and angels, and she lets herself believe for a second that maybe she could tame this wild man. The song ends, he reaches out, touches her cheek, and when he smiles she knows he’s gone already. 

He says, with all the conviction in his lonely heart, “I want to see you again someday.”

“Take me with you. Please. I’ll never look back, just take me.”

He shakes his head, and says “I can’t. Not now. But I’ll be back...” His voice trails off, leaving the promise dangling in the air.

She replies “You’re never coming back. If you leave me here now, I will never see you again.”

He reaches for her, but she pulls away. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t blame you.... You’re never going to change. You were born for leaving, so just leave.”

She can’t hold back the tears, feeling like a foolish child... feeling every bit as young as he thinks she is, so she holds her up and smiles through the tears. 

He shakes his head, smiles sadly, and says “Please don’t cry. Tomorrow you’ll see, it will be better this way. Some day you’ll see... I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She nods, knowing the call will never come. 

He closes the door behind him, keeping the winter outside the walls of her small apartment. 

She stands at the window, watching as he drives away. She stands like that for a long time, the tail lights fading into the darkness, until she knows for sure she has her answer.

****** 

The truck stop neon flashes, advertising twenty four hour cups of coffee and slices of apple pie. He pulls the truck and trailer into the parking lot, and climbs down from the cab. His breath makes clouds of smoke, and he shoves his hands further into his pockets. He wlaks to the back of the trailer, and looks through the small window. His horses breath smells like hay and ice. He checks the water buckets, adds another flake to the hay net, and heads into the restaurant. The door jingles as it opens, and he looks around, squinting in the florescent light. 

The waitress calls across the diner, telling him to seat himself. He chooses a booth that faces the door. He likes to see who’s coming and who’s going. No surprises that way. 

“Coffee?” The waitress is a blonde with a messy ponytail. She looks like she’s pulled a lot of late night shifts, but there’s something in her eyes. It reminds him of Colorado, and he feels something shift inside of him. 

“Sure. That’d be great.” He says, smiling up at her. 

In her eyes, he can see that fire. And he sees that she’s noticed him, too. 

She smiles. 

He smiles.

She blushes and looks out the window. 

"That your truck and trailer out there?"

"Yes ma'am it is. Headed down towards California. Hear the winters there ain't so cold. Hoping to find a rodeo circuit I can hook up with."

His cowboy drawl and sideways smile work their magic, and she blushes. He can't understand why women love cowboys, almost as much as he loves rodeos. 

A blessing and a curse.

"Can I get you some pie to go with that coffee? Best Apple Pie this side of the Rockies." 

He looks up at her name tag. Sarah. 

"Well, Sarah with the blue eyes. I would love a piece of apple pie." 

She giggles, and immediately regrets the girlish sound. She turns on her heel, and heads to the kitchen, her skin burning under the collar of her uniform.

He watches her go, and the elation he had felt seconds earlier dimmed, as he remembered the girl he had just left behind. He can't do this again. Every town a new girl, a new way to say good-bye, a new heart to break and a new crack in his own.

He stands up, tossing a few dollars on the table. 

The door jingles as he exits, walking out into the cold, black, night.

Hmmmm

Remembering

Do you ever get that hurt in your heart at the thought that your childhood, all the events and trips and holidays and friends that formed and define who you are today, are finished. It's a strange feeling, one that i only recently started having, but it comes on me like a mini panic attack. Maybe it's the fact that I am past the 30 mark, and into the 31 year mark, or maybe it's wondering if my children are going to have the same happy childhood memories I did. Some days when I think back on my youth, I forget the actual number  of years that have past. And when I remember, I get hit with waves of nostalgia.... and a little sadness...

I grew up outside Los Angeles, in a city that while big, felt small. With only 2 high schools and 3 middle schools, you were almost guaranteed to know pretty much everyone by the time you became a junior in high school. Not many of us moved away, and the ones that stayed are still friends. Some of them even got married to each other. I keep up with them on Facebook, and while I am blessed that I made the right choice in moving to Tennessee, some days I feel that hole even more. When I see my childhood friends, who have babies the same ages as mine, gather for birthdays and play dates, weddings and births, I feel that hole. I wonder if I should be there, finishing out my life with the same people I started it with. I only make it worse when I start thinking of all the things I will never do again...

I will never cram into the backseat of a car, and make the 5 hour trip to Lone Pine, California, for a western film festival with my parents. And I will never see the beach house in Ventura where weeks were spent without a TV, when the only entertainment was the beach, the pool, and wooden board games at night. I will never again walk down Orchard Drive to my friends house, and then sit out on the curb, goofing off until our parents call us in. Or walk with those friends to the weird smelling shop that housed a little lady who made creepy dolls, where we would walk to giggle at the porcelain faces and buy candies for a quarter. And the Pizza Pie outside pizza place, with the creepy guy in the grease stained shirt who sat in the back watching a small black and white TV, is gone, replace by an office building. And the train tracks we walked on to get to school have been made into a bike path. Time marches on.... I will never again leave school at lunch, climb into a friends car, and decide that driving to a friends house to go swimming is better than going to 6 and 7 periods. I will never walk the halls of the school I couldn't wait to graduate from. I never thought I would miss it.

And it really hurts that I will never lay in the bed, in the room that I lived in for my whole childhood, and stare at the crack of light coming under the door, letting me know my daddy was still sitting in his spot on the couch, under the brass standing lamp, reading his book, giving me comfort. I will never again lie in that bed, listening to old radio show programs on cassette tapes, of the Thin Man and The Shadow, complete with commercials for products from the 1950s and 60s.

I will never again hear the voice of my friend Jim, or the voice of Shirley, who taught me how to love horses. Two beautiful souls gone too soon.

I will never be 5, or 10, or 16, or 21 again.

But I will be 32, and 40 and 50, and older (God willing of course). I will torture my children with road trips of our own,  and ground them when they cut school. I will go to birthdays and graduations and weddings and the birth of my grandchildren. I will have all of these, and along the way, my children will make the memories that one day, will give them pangs of remembering.

Real Men Drive Mini Vans

Yesterday I was on my way to a street festival in a neighboring town. I was in the car with my Mother In Law, Sister in Law, 2 nieces, and my two kids. We pulled into a gas station off the interstate, and while my Mother in Law pumped gas, I watched a man dealing with his children. 

Had I passed this guy in the parking lot, or the grocery store, or in Target, I would have assumed he had a motorcycle, or a sweet truck... something that matched the tattoos and cut off tank top. But there I sat, watching him at his Mini-Van, filled with unruly kids. I sympathized, I have often been the one dealing with the car load of unruly children, where my means of survival includes visualizing an island somewhere, where I lay on a beach, with a cold drink in hand. 

So I watched his scene unfold. What I saw was not what I expected.

One boy in particular was having a meltdown. Not the kind of meltdown my kids have, but the kind where he flaps his hands, making panicked noises and hitting himself in the face. The kind where nothing the Dad did, or said, seemed to matter because this boy couldn't get past whatever it was that was upsetting him. Through it all, this man, with the tattoos and earring and rock n roll T-Shirt stayed calm. He never let his face show if he was frustrated, or upset himself. He never faltered in his low voice and calm words. He didn't touch the boy, who I can only assume must have been his son, but he got down to eye level, and tuned out the noise from the van behind him, tuned out the stares of strangers (like me) watching his life story unfold. He tuned that all out and focused on this boy. On reassuring and comforting this boy. I couldn't hear his words, but I saw when the boy heard him. I saw the relief in the boys shoulders when he realized that things were going to be okay, at least for a little while. And I saw the man smile, and gently guide to boy back to the van, where he carefully buckled his seatbelt without touching him. Then he leaned in the backseat, said a few words to the other occupants, got in his van and drove away.

I am often times amazed by the way people are not always what we expect them to be. 

So today, Fathers Day, I want to say Thank You.

To the dads who stepped out of their box and traded motorcycles for minivans- even if it's just for a few hours a day. 

To the dads that love their children even when it would be easier to hit the road. 

To the dads that don't let their girls wear short shorts, or let their boys cuss, and expect their children to say yes maam and no sir.

To the dads, like my husband, who are Dad to the kids who came with their wife, and never treat them any differently, until one day you forget that they are not the birth parent, because it has become so ordinary.

To the dads, like mine, that still do whatever it takes to make sure we have all that we need, and most of what we want.

To the moms, who play the role of dad.

To the grandfathers, who always stop by our table at Cracker Barrel to say hello and comment on what beautiful babies we have, sometimes sharing stories of their grand-babies, with so much pride it seems that they will burst.

To the men who are overseas, fighting so that our children will be raised in the land of the free.

To all the men that are dads, even though they didn't have to be.

To the dads that go out and work long hours to provide, and the dads that stay home and work long hours to nurture.

Any man can father a child, but it takes a Man to be a Father.

Thank you, and Happy Fathers Day. 

How I know I am doing SOMETHING right...

Future leader of America?

I think so....

Just Keep Swimming

This year we have had 33 foot, above ground, pool from hell. We failed to winterize it last year, and paid a dear price.

At one point early this spring there were frogs living in it. I don't mean one or two green friends, I mean families of them. Every night it was a symphony of croaks, and if you walked out with a flashlight you would see them gathered along the rim of the pool, discussing what I can only imagine must have been the fate of the frog world.

In the beginning of May, we started the process of re-opening the Pond pool. We went through all the steps, and nothing. I had planned an end of year party for Ana and some of her classmates, and we ended up having a pool party with no pool. My friend and her hubby came to visit, and we sat around looking at the pool, listening to the frogs enjoy what should have been our special swim time as we drank wine.

I turned 25 (plus 6) this past week, and since May I have been planning a huge shin-dig to celebrate my eternal youth. Yet the pool, for all the work and money we sunk into it, has stubbornly hung on to its emerald green hue.

Timeline of events:

Summer 2011: Spend 2 days cleaning and treating pool, enjoy 3 months of crystal clear pool fun.

October 2011: Dan and I leave for 10 days of vacation, return to a green pool. We decide "screw it" and lower the water level, but do no further winterizing.

Spring 2012: Frog families take up residence and begin breeding/ plotting world take over

Early May 2012: Plan pool party for Ana's friends. Begin treatment of pool, dumping 100s of dollars into the chemicals and water, with no results. The frogs moved out... well, the ones who survived. If those frogs are truly plotting world take over, we are toast. Have Ana's party with a slip n slide and water balloons instead of pool.

Mid May 2012: Friend comes to visit, we drink wine and look at the pool. Decide it looks too toxic to swim, but trooper that she is, she gets in and helps me skim and vacuum. True friend.

End of May 2012: Take water sample to pool store #1, are sold 60 dollars worth of chemicals, use said chemicals, pool turns slightly bluer.

Memorial Day: Saturday we swim, Sunday we leave town for a night to go to a (real) lake, return to an even greener pool. Monday we swim anyway. Well, those who decide to swim, swim, I choose to drink wine.

From there the time started ticking, and my huge 31 25+6 year birthday party was approaching fast. Nothing was working.

June 4- Go to pool store number 2, find someone who actually seems to listen, she gives us a strict schedule of chemicals- we shock, we chlorinate, we stabilize.... I wake up at 4 am and realize we are out of shock, so I drive to WalMart at 5am. I am impressed with the number of shoppers at 5am. Really, how is WalMart as a place to start your day... they are either genius or crazy. Still undecided.

June 5 (my birthday) we go back to the pool store, the lady is still stumped. Chemicals are fine. There is NO REASON the pool is still green. And by green, I mean emerald. A lovely shade, actually. But not appealing. I drink wine by the green pool, and pray. I have 25 people, and a ton of kids coming to a freaking pool party in 4 days and the pool looks like something the creature from the black lagoon would inhabit. Minus the frogs. Not sure if we are minus the creature since we can't see the bottom.

June 6 Still Green. I do not go to the pool store, however, I do visit the wine store.

June 7 (party is in 2 days) we make one. last. trip. to the pool store. Pool lady gives us one. last. thing. to try. We are given strict instructions, and sent on our way.

June 8 (1 day till party) :

8 am, Friday morning, the pool is blue. As the day goes on, the blue gets bluer, and I am thanking God for answering my silly prayer.

Friday evening, 4:00, we head to the grocery store, last minute supplies, etc... we come home...

5:15 WATER. Beautiful blue water. POURING out the bottom outer seam of the pool.

How does this happen??

 5:30 We get on our bathing suits, jump in, and begin the process of finding the leak. We decide it is under the stairs. We remove said stairs, and release into our newly blue pool all the algae that was trapped behind and under the stairs, immediately tuning the pool back to a cloudy green.

5:45 Meltdown commence.

6:00 Husband is able to locate the (huge) hole that was apparently caused by a rock caught between the stairs and the floor of the pool. Patch said hole.

6:10 We begin vacuuming the green out, I  begin continue praying.

6:40 We get out of pool, pour one last dose of chemicals into the water, I crack open a beer... still praying.

Saturday (Party day)

7:00 am, We have a bluer pool.

10:00 Even bluer. AND we are holding water.

2:00 Guests arrive, fun is had by all

Sunday-Tuesday (Aftermath)

Rains for 2 days straight.

Pool is slightly green.

Oh well.

Pond it is.

At least it gives me an excuse to drink.