Last night we had a band of storms roll through, along with some high winds and a tornado watch, so I asked my husband to close the barn up when he went out at nine. It wasn't so bad when he went out, but an hour later, and on past midnight, the wind was roaring and we lost power.
The kids and I stayed up until it came back on. I called it in a bit after midnight, and within a very short time, the power truck was making its way down our lane, checking every power line with big powerful flashlights. Then they drove back up the road and in 15 minutes or so, the lights came back on.
I'm impressed - we belong to a fairly small electrical co-op, and they are incredibly responsive to calls and repairs. We've had the same experience with our high speed internet, ingeniously relayed house to house by antenna via a small local software company. Calling either of these companies when something goes wrong is so much better than getting stuck in Progress Energy or Time Warner's nightmarish labyrinthine computerized telephone systems.
Today we have sunshine and no trees down. I'm sure the stalls are a mess since the horses did not have their usual freedom to go in and out.
It happens to be chiropractor day, and although we usually get two horses done each month, today it's three because Keil Bay was such a mess last time he needs rechecking sooner than 8 weeks. So that's three horses who I am quite positive have gone out this morning and rolled in the mud who will have to be cleaned up before 9:45. I'm determined to finish my latte before heading out.
Later, my daughter has her lesson on the older, BTDT Arab-Welsh pony she's using for Pony Club clinics while she retrains her own little man. (whose response to her riding/jumping another pony was to persistently try to jump the one vertical we had set up in the arena during her lesson on him last Friday - at the end of the lesson they finally let him and he was HAPPY as he jumped it, which is a victory)
I've got to get rolling here!
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Monday, March 03, 2008
playing with toys
I've been under the weather for the past few days, and am still not feeling all that well. I'm weary of lying in bed or on the sofa, tired of movies, and even reading is becoming an effort. But I can't get outside to do the things I want to be doing, so I'm sitting here in the garret feeling a bit like a sick child who is bored and getting grumpier by the moment.
When my children were sick, it was time for a new toy.
We adults often forget about toys. I'm not really talking about toys like Iphones or expensive gadgets. I mean real toys: modeling clay and Tinker toys, a dollhouse, an Etch-A-Sketch.
A few of my toys I can see from right here in my chair: a little horse ready to mine for gold, a light-up tiara, two magic wands made for me by my son, a Corgi miniature made by my daughter, a whimsical Dachshund business card holder, a tiny red wagon carrying a couple of paper stars. I tried to take photos but they came out as out of focus as I feel, so I'm sparing you the blurry edges of this flu.
I think I'm declaring tomorrow official new toy day. I'm going to stop by the toy store on my way home from the office and pick out something new to play with.
When my children were sick, it was time for a new toy.
We adults often forget about toys. I'm not really talking about toys like Iphones or expensive gadgets. I mean real toys: modeling clay and Tinker toys, a dollhouse, an Etch-A-Sketch.
A few of my toys I can see from right here in my chair: a little horse ready to mine for gold, a light-up tiara, two magic wands made for me by my son, a Corgi miniature made by my daughter, a whimsical Dachshund business card holder, a tiny red wagon carrying a couple of paper stars. I tried to take photos but they came out as out of focus as I feel, so I'm sparing you the blurry edges of this flu.
I think I'm declaring tomorrow official new toy day. I'm going to stop by the toy store on my way home from the office and pick out something new to play with.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
reading pile
I've been saying I was going to list the books in my reading pile, and since I came up to the garret to get another book to read (I just finished Charles Baxter's The Feast of Love), it's a good time to do so.
Right now I'm looking at:
Wayne Caldwell's Cataloochee
Leif Enger's Peace Like A River
Peter Hoeg's Smilla's Sense of Snow
Sandra Kring's The Book of Bright Ideas
Sara Gran's Come Closer
Chris Bohjalian's The Double Bind
Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Mineral
Angela Davis-Gardner's Forms of Shelter
That's just one of the piles, and some of the titles are angled so I can't see them, so that's not quite all of the ones in this particular batch.
I'm picking Smilla's Sense of Snow for the next read. It's what called to me as I scanned the stack.
In spite of all these books waiting, I'm interested in recommendations - so be sure to tell me what needs to come live in my pile!
Right now I'm looking at:
Wayne Caldwell's Cataloochee
Leif Enger's Peace Like A River
Peter Hoeg's Smilla's Sense of Snow
Sandra Kring's The Book of Bright Ideas
Sara Gran's Come Closer
Chris Bohjalian's The Double Bind
Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Mineral
Angela Davis-Gardner's Forms of Shelter
That's just one of the piles, and some of the titles are angled so I can't see them, so that's not quite all of the ones in this particular batch.
I'm picking Smilla's Sense of Snow for the next read. It's what called to me as I scanned the stack.
In spite of all these books waiting, I'm interested in recommendations - so be sure to tell me what needs to come live in my pile!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
the between-places
For every one of us there are moments of revelation at the nexus point where opposites meet: dark and light, joy and sorrow, knowing and singing. In these days of growing light, when spring is still far ahead and the grip of winter is ever present, the opportunity to sample the opposites and stand at their still center is potent. These experiences do not have to be sought after; they arrive, magically blending elements together to seek us out... thresholds of awakening where the soul is alert and watchful for omens of change, auguries of joy, promises of belonging.
-Caitlin Matthews, The Celtic Spirit
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
waking to neighing and dreaming short stories
Two nights ago I was wakened by neighing. I woke up, not sure I'd really heard the sound, when Salina neighed again, right outside the bedroom window. I woke my husband, who went out to check the barn. The neigh had been very clear - come out now.
My husband found we'd left the gate to the front field open. The geldings had discovered it and went out for a middle of the night frolic. Salina wisely woke me up and they were led back to their paddock and the gate closed.
I'm a sound sleeper, a vivid dreamer, except if something's wrong. How perfect that Salina knows that about me. Aside from everything else, it charms me completely that Salina's paddock extends far enough that she can actually come to my bedroom window and neigh.
Last night I dreamed of a friend's apartment in Paris. Somehow I had visited her without a current passport, and was worried that my old one would be checked and found lacking on my return to the US. Crazily, in the dream, I thought, oh well - the worst that can happen is I'm stuck in Paris! I imagined briefly what it would be like to live out my life there.
Most of the dream involved looking room by room at the lovely apartment. The living room was small but with very high ceilings and a huge window that led out into a quite large back yard. The yard sloped up to a rock face, around which were planted many blooming, dripping perennials. A corner of the yard sloped down to a small pond, and my friend explained that she was still working on designing a terraced dock, with places where she would plant ginger grass. I suggested dwarf-sized fruit trees which would hang over the pond so that she could row beneath them and pick fruit in its season.
Back inside, she had papered one wall in many sheets of thick, jewel-toned paper edged with lace. It made a rich block of color that reflected onto the rest of the room. The kitchen was simple but stocked with the utensils one needs to make a good meal. On the other side of the kitchen was the front door which led right into the busy Paris street. The room had nice windows for people-watching, and I wondered if she might turn it into a writing room - or would the activity outside be too distracting. I stood for a moment in the window and watched the people pass.
Up the stairs a gorgeous crimson and cream carousel horse was suspended by a cord. The movement of air as I walked up the stairs caused it to turn slowly in a circle. The bathroom too was tiny but functional. On my way back down I marveled that the horse had transformed into a dolphin. This was apparently a special feature of this hanging art - it transformed for each ascender and descender of the stairs into a symbol just for them.
The stairs shifted near the bottom to a second stairway that led to the bedrooms. My friend's bedroom was like being underwater - many shades of blue hung from the ceiling: small sheets of silk and sateen fabric. It was quiet and peaceful and she decided to lie down for a nap. Two other friends were resting as well, but not asleep. I made my way to the guest bedrooms, small but perfectly adorned with antique quilts and warm lamps and thick pillows.
On my way back through the first bedroom, my friend's sister arrived to greet us. She was very tall, an older, very elegant French woman who came to us in turn, held our faces in her hands, and divined without a word from any of us who each of us were and what we had come to Paris to discover about ourselves.
Someone noted the beautiful antique parasol she carried, and as she opened it to show it off, it crumbled, and the quaint old Paris she represented seemed to crumble with it. Suddenly she transformed into a wild-haired, temperamental artist, who stormed into the guest bedroom to rest.
In the end to the dream, the two sisters slept, one peacefully, the other restlessly. The worry about my passport faded in the moment, and I breathed out a small sigh of relief and decided to enjoy the visit, now that I knew why I was there.
(It's probably relevant to know that my birthday is on Leap Day, and I have one coming the end of this week. I was in Paris for my sixth real birthday, a journey that I made alone and which represented my first real step forward as an adult in the world. The first night in Paris I had a panic attack and suffered a case of head-to-toe hives. But then I woke up, looked outside the tiny window, and made the choice to discover something new about myself in a new city. This Friday will be my 12th real birthday. I suspect this dream marks some changes between then and now.)
My husband found we'd left the gate to the front field open. The geldings had discovered it and went out for a middle of the night frolic. Salina wisely woke me up and they were led back to their paddock and the gate closed.
I'm a sound sleeper, a vivid dreamer, except if something's wrong. How perfect that Salina knows that about me. Aside from everything else, it charms me completely that Salina's paddock extends far enough that she can actually come to my bedroom window and neigh.
Last night I dreamed of a friend's apartment in Paris. Somehow I had visited her without a current passport, and was worried that my old one would be checked and found lacking on my return to the US. Crazily, in the dream, I thought, oh well - the worst that can happen is I'm stuck in Paris! I imagined briefly what it would be like to live out my life there.
Most of the dream involved looking room by room at the lovely apartment. The living room was small but with very high ceilings and a huge window that led out into a quite large back yard. The yard sloped up to a rock face, around which were planted many blooming, dripping perennials. A corner of the yard sloped down to a small pond, and my friend explained that she was still working on designing a terraced dock, with places where she would plant ginger grass. I suggested dwarf-sized fruit trees which would hang over the pond so that she could row beneath them and pick fruit in its season.
Back inside, she had papered one wall in many sheets of thick, jewel-toned paper edged with lace. It made a rich block of color that reflected onto the rest of the room. The kitchen was simple but stocked with the utensils one needs to make a good meal. On the other side of the kitchen was the front door which led right into the busy Paris street. The room had nice windows for people-watching, and I wondered if she might turn it into a writing room - or would the activity outside be too distracting. I stood for a moment in the window and watched the people pass.
Up the stairs a gorgeous crimson and cream carousel horse was suspended by a cord. The movement of air as I walked up the stairs caused it to turn slowly in a circle. The bathroom too was tiny but functional. On my way back down I marveled that the horse had transformed into a dolphin. This was apparently a special feature of this hanging art - it transformed for each ascender and descender of the stairs into a symbol just for them.
The stairs shifted near the bottom to a second stairway that led to the bedrooms. My friend's bedroom was like being underwater - many shades of blue hung from the ceiling: small sheets of silk and sateen fabric. It was quiet and peaceful and she decided to lie down for a nap. Two other friends were resting as well, but not asleep. I made my way to the guest bedrooms, small but perfectly adorned with antique quilts and warm lamps and thick pillows.
On my way back through the first bedroom, my friend's sister arrived to greet us. She was very tall, an older, very elegant French woman who came to us in turn, held our faces in her hands, and divined without a word from any of us who each of us were and what we had come to Paris to discover about ourselves.
Someone noted the beautiful antique parasol she carried, and as she opened it to show it off, it crumbled, and the quaint old Paris she represented seemed to crumble with it. Suddenly she transformed into a wild-haired, temperamental artist, who stormed into the guest bedroom to rest.
In the end to the dream, the two sisters slept, one peacefully, the other restlessly. The worry about my passport faded in the moment, and I breathed out a small sigh of relief and decided to enjoy the visit, now that I knew why I was there.
(It's probably relevant to know that my birthday is on Leap Day, and I have one coming the end of this week. I was in Paris for my sixth real birthday, a journey that I made alone and which represented my first real step forward as an adult in the world. The first night in Paris I had a panic attack and suffered a case of head-to-toe hives. But then I woke up, looked outside the tiny window, and made the choice to discover something new about myself in a new city. This Friday will be my 12th real birthday. I suspect this dream marks some changes between then and now.)
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