palace of winds

So, I’m posting this rather late, but plan to distract you from that by UTTER CUTENESS:

Reliant passed his vet check (and became officially mine) on December 28. He’s at this completely gangly big-headed no-necked phase, and though he’s already 16.2 (5′6″ at the withers [place above the shoulder, where the neck and back join] for you non-horse-people) the first thing everyone says about him is “He’s big!”, followed by “You know he’s going to get bigger…” Which, yeah, he will. He’s only 3, and has the ADD to go with it. And I LOFF him. He is wonderful.

I’m not one for big New Years Resolutions. Let’s face it: I’m going to do what I want, regardless of having (or not having) a defined goal. Even I can’t make myself do something I really don’t want to (so, those of you who know me, rest assured: it’s not just you).

Anyhow, I feel like I can have a few modest goals for the year. Not Resolutions; just goals.

• Post more than last year. This one should be pretty easy; apparently I only had 16 posts in 2009. Shame on me.
• Read more; keep track of it. Can’t compare this one to 2009 since I have NO idea how much reading I did. So, this year, let’s say: 24 books. Two a month. That seems do-able. I won’t even cheat and count the one I finished at the very end of 2009. (Though it was really really good! The Year of the Flood, by Margaret Atwood. You should all run out and get it and Oryx & Crake and read them — Oryx & Crake first.)
• Take more pictures. I have a nice camera and like using it. So I guess this is more a reminder than a real goal.
• Travel. This is a little bit of a cheat, I guess, because I already know I’m going to be traveling this year. But I like checking things off lists (hi future self!), so I’m putting it here anyway. I really need to get started figuring out where I’m going to go — doing masses of research to prepare is a big part of the fun for me.
• Start cooking again. I’ve totally fallen off the cooking-at-home bandwagon in the last year or so, and that’s sad. I love to cook, and it’s tastier and cheaper than eating out. I just need to balance it with riding, and I know exactly how to do that: PLAN. I need to start making weekly menu plans again.

So, there we go. That seems like enough to be going on for now. Well — that and this, which is the list of stuff-I’d-like-to-do-but-probably-won’t:

• Website facelift. I like coding, I do, but the thought of updating WordPress and re-learning their whole system (and anything new) just makes me want to go lie down for a nice little nap.
• Write about Peru. I have this sort of fantasy (tied in with the WordPress upgrade above) about making a travel subdomain, or just one for Peru, separate from this main part of the site. And I would lift stuff from the journal I kept, and spiff up some of my pictures, and finally have a nice online recap for your viewing pleasure.
• Write fiction. DO NOT GET EXCITED. There’s a reason this is in this category and not the one above. Or, rather, many reasons; lack of time and discipline chief among them.

Okay, there we go for real this time. Happy 2010, y’all. My real hope for my own is that it’ll be better than the last third of 2009; shouldn’t be hard.

God I miss having a horse. I dream of nothing else now. Last night I was aboard a smallish liver chestnut (a sign, perhaps?), in the middle of a vast field: rows and rows of gleaming green cornstalks, with narrow mowed grass corridors threading through. I leaned forward, eased my hands up his neck, and we flew.

I had one out on trial last week. He was perfect - perfect! Everett, reimagined as a Thoroughbred. And he failed the vet check, miserably. I’m so disheartened by this whole shopping process. It’s silly how bad I feel, particularly after coming through a really rotten summer and fall still cheerful, feeling blessed by life, sickeningly overjoyed to get out of bed most mornings. And now — I don’t know. I’m desperately unhappy with the whole horse situation. I just need patience, I know. A little patience.

At least I’m surrounded by wonderful people: a lovely boyfriend, impossibly generous friends, sweet coworkers. I surely wouldn’t be surviving half so well without them.

I sold my horse.

It’s still weird, even now, three weeks later. It happened so abruptly.

I sold my horse.

One sunny Sunday I had a casual chat with my trainer, who knew a woman from the foxhunt looking for a new horse, and wouldn’t Everett be perfect? And there was no harm in talking to her, nothing to lose. I’ve known for a long time that he’d be happier hunting, that he hates the indoor arena, hates much flatwork in general. I’d been watching the days grow longer, the leaves turn, dreading the day we’d have to head back inside. Dreaming of a winter without ice, all bright fluffy snow, nothing but good footing so we could stay out. And two and a half weeks later he stepped onto a trailer and drove away to his new life.

It’s a good thing all around. I know that objectively. I’m good at living with my head; I like it. It’s comfortable there. The heart’s a messier matter. I miss him. I sold him on to a better home, and I’m happy for him, but I sold my best friend, and thinking of it that way — it’s a terrible feeling. Just gutting.

The last three weeks I’ve been horse shopping. A lot. And it’s been fun! I’ve ridden a lot of different horses — 18 at last count. From 15.1 to 17.2 (for you non horse people, that’s 5′1″ to 5′10″ measured to the withers — where the back and neck join), thoroughbreds just off the track to Novice event champs, wobbly babies to jumpers doing full courses with auto changes. And it’s frustrating, because it’s such a monumental decision. Last time I did this I had a very modest budget, which helped narrow the search quite a bit, and no one to really help me shop. This time I have the assistance of some excellent horse people, a bit more to spend, and a truly rotten economy driving down prices. There’s lots to choose from, and they’re all so different. And I just don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to be best, what’s the right choice for me.

I stand at this crossroads, and all I can think is that I sold my best friend.

I don’t regret it, and I don’t regret one moment we spent together over the last two years. I just don’t want to screw up this opportunity I have now, to make another good choice.

I’m in my parents’ entryway. Light is streaming in through the window in their old front door, and the bell rings. The door swings open and standing there, impossibly tall and slim, young, glowing, is my grandmother. It can’t be her, of course; she’s dead; but it is. Unmistakeably.

I stare, openmouthed, silent. She looks at me for a moment then turns. She casts a glance over her shoulder as she steps down to the driveway. Out there everything is the warmest, clearest, softest of summer afternoon light. I call, frantically, for my mom. I look away just for an instant, up the inside stairs to the living room, and when I look back my grandma is gone. When my mom gets down to the entryway I am sobbing. I don’t know it’s a dream and I can’t understand what’s happening, can’t make any sense of it.

I wake confused, breathless.

I miss her.