palace of winds

I drag myself away from men’s gymnastics far, far too late, shuffling off to bed with my monstrously sore throat, knowing I should have gone an hour ago, two hours. In the morning I come back to it, breakfast in hand, and they are recapping the previous night’s gymnastics. I refuse to dwell on the wasted hours. (Or my aching limbs, swollen throat, the pain in my head, the thermometer reading 101. I do not, you may recall, ever get sick.)

I don’t know how I get so sucked in, sitting up late every night watching people swim laps, spin on balance beams, nail that next vault. I find myself entranced. It is exhausting; part of me wishes it could go on and on, but mostly I will be glad when it’s over and I can get to bed at my usual time again.

What I do not care for: men’s wrestling. It is so slow, two big sweaty men in spandex clasping hands, leaning into each other. They look like a couple near the end of a dance marathon, searching for a more comfortable position, trying to keep on, feet slowly shuffling, a head nestling onto a shoulder, cheeks pressing, a far-off exhausted look. I just don’t get it.

I thought I’d posted about this before, but apparently not…

On Sunday, I’m taking part in the MS Walk in Minneapolis with my dear friend Julie, who has MS. That’s really her story to tell, so suffice to say I’m walking with and in support of her.

If you’re able, please consider making a donation. As mentioned on my donation site, I’m happy to repay in Ev-hugs and/or baked goods at your request! (Not that I could stop you from having Ev-hugs if you came out to the stable. He is quite a cuddlebug — always up in everyone’s business. I’m afraid I’ve let him get into a bit of a habit of rummaging around people’s faces and hair with his cute squishy nose — it’s so cute! and squishy! And I realize that makes me one of those terrible cuddly-poo horse owners. And I don’t care.)

Thanks in advance!

“He looks like a damn warmblood,” says my instructor, setting a fond hand on his sweat-damp neck.

I grin. He does a bit, I think. Is bound to get only bigger, stronger. I’ve been eyeing some of those cut Quarter Horse hind ends around the barn, wondering if Ev will ever have booty like that. Maybe if I can get him back off that big old forehand. We’ve spent the lesson in canter work, though, and he’s done well. I’ve managed to stand his shoulders up both directions; earned, even, a decisive, “Good! I liked that correction!”

Earned, too, chastisement over my tendency to come up out of the saddle on downward transitions. “We’ll make a hunter out of you yet,” she says. “Get you out of that jump seat.” I can’t wait for that part, though; the jumping. We’ll be tearing it up cross-country in no time. He can be one lazy cuss, especially on the lunge, but I have a feeling he’s going to be a whole other horse once we hit the open.

I have a few things I’ve been meaning to write about, but today is Monday and about all I can muster is: My horse, he is pretty.

I actually had a handful of pictures to share with you — worked diligently last night to edit out the lunge line and resize them — and then, of course, forgot to put them on my little thumb drive. So they’ll have to wait.

In the last week or so, something about cantering under saddle has clicked with Ev. Maybe it was just time; I’ve been riding him for almost six months now (I just checked back, and the first day my butt was in the saddle was 10/26/07 — how I lasted the 15 days between when I got him and then I’m not sure), and it’s crazy thinking back to those first weeks especially, when it was a total triumph the day I got him to trot an entire lap around the arena. Or maybe this new cantering prowess is down to the groundpoles we started on two weeks ago. He loves them — it gives him something more to think about, and I think we’re both ready for a break from the indoor arena routine after a long winter. Or it could be the weather, which is finally looking spring-ish.

Whatever the cause, on Friday he gave me the most beautiful soft round canter, a whole circle of it with no crazy falling out the outside shoulder, right after giving me a few pretty stellar laps around the other direction. The whole thing felt like a million dollars; I was grinning so hard my face hurt. I made an enormous fuss over him and stopped right there, even though I’d only been riding maybe 15 minutes. He was gorgeous yesterday too; we got to ride outside, and it was lots of pretty prompt transitions and some great turning. I’m very proud of him.

Once I get them uploaded, I promise pictures (marginal at best, but pictures) of his new haircut. He’s looking so grown up — he’ll be five next week!

Sometimes, life aligns.

You get a big, fairytale year. You step off of a plane in Peru. Watch the first sunrays strike Machu Picchu. Speculate on the Milky Way. Eat tamales on a bus so crowded the front door won’t close.

Look up from the sea of Christmas gifts to discover a gentle white whirl of snow just beyond the window.

Pull open the stall door on Christmas Eve and step inside and hug your horse.

Honestly, I can’t even begin to think further about this year. I keep stalling out on the magic of a handful of moments. Overcome with thankfulness. The hope that everyone has their own place like the shoulder of a horse. Home for the heart.

If this new year is a tenth of the old, I’ll count myself blessed indeed.