palace of winds

That thing, you know, where it’s four or five days before May, and where it snows almost all weekend? I don’t like that thing.

All Saturday my deck was covered in it and the whole yard was white. White white white. All the yards and trees, and the wind just howling down more. We spent the afternoon at the Horse Expo, shivering and circling through all the booths, muttering about the cold and the price of cheese curds and arguing about Appaloosas. (Well, not arguing really; just discussing differences of opinion. I find it hard to blanket dislike any breed, and I like the look of Appaloosas, all those crazy spots, and most especially I have a soft spot for them after all those years having my hands ripped apart by Apache, he of the appallingly hard mouth. S- says she has only ever known bad ones, psycho ones, ‘junk.’) That night we went to a sportsbar and had a shockingly good time.

Yesterday afternoon Everett and I argued and argued about maintaining right flexion on the left arena wall. He is crankier some days than others about rein contact and I kick myself constantly for listening to the vet’s advice and not having his wolf tooth out; it will have to wait for fall now. Though, honestly, it could as likely be his stubborn, lazy streak (much like mine). Or me. I worry about that last constantly; I wonder what fool thing my body might be doing, me all unaware of some leg-flailing or hand-twitching or weight imbalance.

We’ve had two more difficult rides in a row now, so we’re due for a good one. I am determined that it will be today, because today is Everett’s birthday. I’m bringing him a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, and apples, and molasses — though that last I’ll have to test before mixing up with all of his grain, because he’s picky. Results of yesterday’s taste-test: Sour skittles get the happy noddy face; bananas get spit out and become a globby mess in the aisle. (I really wanted him to like bananas too; I love them so much that I want nothing more than to share their deliciousness with everyone and everything in the world. I suppose this means I have no choice but to horde them all jealously for myself.)

Today is Administrative Professional’s Day, and I got a ridiculous amount of flowers and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey (mmm, so many of my favorite things in one cup). My bosses, they love me.

Today is also beautiful. Full of sunshine and birdsong. I’m a little sad that I won’t be heading out to ride after work — but I am meeting up with J and we are going to gush about our horses while having dinner outside at one of my favorite restaurants, and then I am going to get my hair cut for the first time since Peru. Oh the heaven that is a Moxie hair-washing.

“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!

Here’s little Peyton Michelle, a few hours old, being held by my mom, Michelle Coleen. Driving to the hospital, my mom mentioned off-hand that she hadn’t thought to ask Peyton’s middle name. I was all nonchalance and gave a very credible Huh, me either!, though I’d known the plan for ages. I hope I never forget the moment my mom saw the little bassinet tag.

I know no one’s all that objective about their own babies, but since Peyton isn’t actually mine I feel I’m qualified to declare that she’s unutterably beautiful. Alex was a very pretty baby too, not all squashy the way babies can be, and Peyton looks very much like him. Holding the perfect little breathing weight of her, I felt like I could almost one day want one of my own. (Coleen’s a nice name. Or Violet; I love Violet.)