Time, lights, and wintery nights

There has been a lot going on the past few weeks and I have had a very odd sensation of going both fast and slow, in different directions, at the same time. The phrase "doesn't know if she's coming or going" would be apropos lately. I've been on the road more than usual, driving 70 mph on freeways trying to get to the next place I need to be, and although I'm going fast, I have a distinct feeling of time slowing down. 

It may be that I know in my head all the things I'm NOT doing, like writing, editing, some special projects that I want to finish up, and it may also be winter, and the nights falling early. I'm not sure what it is about darkness that slows time down for me, but it does.

This year we put a smaller tree in the living room and put the big Christmas tree on the front porch. When I drive down our lane to November Hill, I catch a glimpse of light as I come down the hill. Every time I see it I pause to ask myself if that is our light or someone else's - the road curves further along and I'm never sure if I'm seeing our tree or the neighbor's lights. But that initial glimpse, the question, then the knowing, is like a little bit of balm on dry skin, the first sign of Home.

When I get to our driveway I see the tree clearly, all lit up with tiny white lights, the warm golden ones, not the blue-ish LED lights I'm seeing everywhere these days. Like little candles, ours are, and although on one hand I feel so glad to be home a part of me wants to hit the gas and get to the garage as quickly as possible, what I actually do is slow even more, bringing the truck to a near stop as I enter the driveway, enjoying the lights, letting the good feeling of being home wash over me.

Often when I glide slowly along the driveway I'll see one of our wild extended family members. Last night it was brown bunny. Some nights I see the November Hill deer. Raccoons, opossums, owls, foxes have been spotted in the past. I love the fleeting glimpse of whichever animal I see. Our little world is home to more than we know. After that I take one last look at the tree and head into the garage, and I can hear Bear Corgi upstairs and usually see at least one cat waiting as I come up the stairs and into the house. 

Donkeys braying, sometimes the musical whinny of a Big Handsome Bay. All of this is what that fleeting glimpse of light at the top of the hill means when I drive down our lane. 

Home is the place I want to be when I'm rushing madly around, and when I get here, it's where the rushing time and the slowing time finally meet in the middle and come to a very beautiful stopping point. Or at least that's what it feels like to me. 

Crazy week, supermom, good heart

This past week was nuts. My dear daughter had 4 final exams in a 3-day period which included the day my mom went in for her scheduled heart valve replacement surgery. We had cold weather and rain so horse care was on the intensive end of the scale. I had clients and a writing deadline and, being humans, we had to eat too. 

Wednesday went great for my mom. The valve replacement was successfully done without cracking her chest, she came out of it feeling great, and the hospital has good coffee (at least until 3 p.m.) and good food. 

Thursday I posted this on Facebook:

Superman: able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Supermom: able to dash across campus to buy a replacement calculator from the student store while calculus exam time clock is ticking without pausing to even consider buying a peppermint mocha from Starbuck's on a cold wintery day.

Later in the day my mom's team of doctors decided she needed a super-duper smart pacemaker to address a very specific issue she has and that was scheduled for Friday morning. That, too, went well, and exams were over for my daughter, and yay, it was the weekend. Then dear husband headed out of state to visit family and wheeeeee, colder air blew in and chores got a bit harder and my mom is still in the hospital and animals need feeding. I ate dinner last night at 11 p.m. I was too wired to sleep until close to 2 a.m. so the morning feeding time here came very quickly this very cold morning! I'm now finally feeling like I can sit down and just breathe. 

Fortunately husband returns today, my mom is probably being discharged, and the temps look to be warming enough that breaking ice off water troughs and blanketing/unblanketing won't be necessary. It's good to know that I can go from 0 to 80 and maintain it for a brief period and that even when going 80, the key is still to do one thing at a time and remain flexible when needed. And the Starbuck's drive-through right by the hospital is a Very Good Thing. 

Night magic in the barn

Last night I was in the barn just after dark fell, cleaning stalls and putting in clean shavings while waiting for the rain to roll in. Keil Bay was at his back stall door, holding court beneath the shelter and knocking the door with his knee, more than ready to come in.

It was quiet, the only sounds were the soft snorts and occasional bang bang bang of Keil's knee. The stalls looked nice with fresh bedding and just as I started putting hay in the stalls I heard the first drops of rainfall.

I hurried and let them in. Rafer Johnson and Apache came in the near side with one stall (our other stall on the near side is full of hay!) and Redford, Cody, and Keil Bay took the three stalls on the far side with the shelter. Redford is always welcome to come over with Rafer and the pony but those two have become such good friends Redford often chooses to stay with the big boys. 

I cleaned and refilled all the water buckets and made sure the shelter was clean too. When we have rain the shelter becomes a much-used space - allowing the horses on that side to go in and out of stalls without getting wet, and offering space to hang out and watch the rain fall, which they do.

In January we're having the barn roof replaced and a matching shelter built for the near side, which will be so nice for whoever is spending time there. I was thinking last night how nice it will be to have a muck barrow on each side of the barn. 

There is something special and lovely about getting horses set up for a cold wet night. They seem to appreciate it, and in Keil's case he expects it and even demands it! Every time I do it I have the fleeting thought that the only thing better would be to get them all tucked in with hay and water and fresh shavings and climb into my own little bunk right in the middle of the barn aisle.

But then I would miss the walk to the house, with the horses munching hay behind me and the warm lights through the windows drawing me inside. Seeing the activity through the windows as I head through the gate and along the path to the back door is its own special magic, like I've been in one perfect little multiverse and am heading to another. The space between the two, the walk, feels like what I imagine an astronaut might feel floating alone in space. 

All the good stuff and where it is

I was intrigued by this poster in my son's physics department lounge when we were there on Thanksgiving Day. I'm drawn to the idea, especially when I think about all the crazy and in some cases awful stuff going on in our world, that all the good stuff is out there still waiting to be found and studied and made sense of.

And then I stand in the front field with Keil Bay touching me with his nose as the sun sets on November Hill and I realize that all the good stuff is truly right here.

Circling at F

I wrote earlier about the big red oak at F in my dressage arena, and how it's the corner where monsters sometimes lurk, where Keil Bay might act a little spooky or try to cut the corner altogether. It's also where the acorns fall and on any given day in the autumn if given access the herd will gather and crunch what they consider treats. So it's a place where monsters and good things live, which is sort of like how life is when you think about it.

I write a lot about how great Keil Bay is, and part of that is true in the most basic ways: he's handsome, well trained, elegant, kind of heart, willing to tolerate my quirks and imbalances in the saddle, and generally easy to manage. He also has a fun personality. He'll nudge for peppermints, untie himself in the barn, bang when he wants his wet tubs, sing for his supper, splash in the big trough when he's hot. 

But there's another way in which Keil Bay is great and that is his offering up of opportunities to take what is happening with him, on the ground, in the saddle, and look for what those things mirror in my life away from the barn.

Circling at F has to do with approaching a scary corner and choosing to stay forward, to come back at it again if need be to move through whatever's creating fear or resistance. Stopping at F to find some treasure and appreciate it. Every time I ride Keil Bay into that shadowy corner of the arena it reminds me that sometimes, often, this is the answer when facing larger questions in life. 

Over the years I've learned that sitting tall and straight, balancing my weight evenly in the saddle, looking ahead and centering myself is the very best way to let Keil know things are okay, and, that by circling at F, we're affirming that it's a safe place to be. I use this every single day in other ways. That all of this takes place beneath the big red oak, a perfect manifestation of the Tree of Life symbol, makes it even better. 

Sometimes that corner is Shadow and monsters, in the summer it is shade and relief from the hot sun. It's the same corner but it takes on different meanings at different times. The answer is always to ride in deep, circle when needed, and stop to experience the treasures when we see them.