A Rite of Passage...

I have one day left of hunting deer during rifle season and after that I'll be heading out to the bush for archery season.

I didn't have any success while hunting this year which left me feeling rather deflated once again. I haven't ever even SEEN a deer while in the bush, with the exception of the deer others have pulled out.

On Sunday morning my father thoughtfully started my car for me before we headed out to the bush. I loaded up my gun, a pocket full of ammo, a thermos full of coffee and a ridiculous orange hat and headed to the bush.



Three quarters of the way there, I looked at my ignition.

It was at that point I realized that my father had thoughtfully started my car with the wrong set of keys. The keys that have my gun lock attached to them were sitting in the kitchen.

A more prepared person would have a set of wire cutters or a screwdriver or THE PROPER KEYS on hand.

Not I. In a fit of rage, my mother and I turned the car around and went to retrieve my keys. I was now missing prime hunting time and my opportunity to see the perfect deer.

We returned to the bush and I was rather pissed. The sun had come up at this point and there was little likeliehood of seeing deer. I now have a day job, something I've been praying for since time began, and as a result, I have no free mornings to go hunting.

In a huff, I began stamping my way to my spot, clanking my thermos against my chair because I was certain no deer would appear.

Then I heard Big Brother's voice.

He had shot a deer and needed my deer tag. It was my last day in the bush and using my tag was the best decision since elsewise it would go to waste.

My elation at that point knew no bounds. A deer! We had a deer! I would now get to miss out on time spent sitting not seeing any deer and get to go help pull a deer out of the bush.

At this point, Big Brother asked me if I wanted to clean it.

CLEAN A DEER? I get to clean a deer?

It would be an honor to clean a deer. It would mean the acquisition of new skills and a lesson that has been passed down through generations of hunters. I would get to use my hunting knife for the first time and see if I could actually do something with some modicum of success.

Big Brother talked me through the process. At first I felt exactly like I did in tenth grade biology when I was dissecting a pig. You have to make smooth, clean cuts and not harm the meat or the intestines.

Things started to get a little yucky when I sliced open the rumen with my ultra-sharp knife. I wasn't strong enough to cut through a piece of bone and I wasn't strong enough again to properly clean the windpipe. Big Brother stepped in a time or two so he could lend a hand when the perfect deer he had shot was at risk of being ruined by my lack of experience.



Afterwards we stopped and surveyed our work and had to take pictures of our job well done.

I've been praised and congratulated every time I've told the story of my first field dressing/deer cleaning experience. I recounted the story to one friend of mine and upon hearing that I managed to clean the deer without vomiting, he actually invited me to go hunting with him come archery season.

Some people say that hunting is barbaric, wrong, and disgusting. And I suppose that they are right, there are elements of all those things involved. I, however, just had a bonding experience with my family and was granted the opportunity to engage in a cultural aspect of my lifestyle that I've never had access to before.

And I feel pretty damn good about myself.

Fuck You, Cancer...

Almost four years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I wrote about what an ass her surgeon was here and about my own fears of medical procedures here. I didn't write much about cancer but I did know two things: it sucks, and the treatments are hard to get through.

Because of this experience, I've innocently and ignorantly thought that this was what cancer was like: It is really, really sucky, and then it ends and you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.

I haven't written very much about my childhood best friend on this blog. I did write this post four years ago as I was expecting her to visit my appartment in the big city all those years ago.

In that post, I mentioned her mother. Her mother was a wonderful figure in my childhood, one who I admired and who I thought was very, very cool.

A year ago, my childhood best friend's mother was diagnosed with cancer. I did my best to support my friend T, and the cancer treatments ended. Hurray! Life could go on as normal!

Two months ago, her mother was again diagnosed with cancer. T (Which is what I call her in real life... My T) told me about her mother's state and level of care and I was nothing but confused. When you get cancer, you get treatment, right? And then you go on to live your regularly scheduled life.

Right?

A little over a week ago, I was at my first horse show with Sargeant and my phone kept ringing. I didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer. The number kept calling and after the show I was left alone with a beer, my thoughts, and my ribbons and the phone rang again. I answered it and it was a voice I didn't recognize saying "Amanda?"

I didn't know who it was so I answered as though I knew who it was and the voice continued to say "I'm sorry to bother you when you're riding, your dad said you were at a show. I'm sorry to bother you..."

And I recognized the voice as my T. The girl who was my main person from the age of four through twenty two. And I knew it was her but it didn't sound like her and she continued to speak

"But my mother died this morning and I didn't want you to find out from the papers. You can keep riding, I know it's important to you..."

And I froze. I just kept saying "What? What!" into the phone.

I said I needed to be with her and to sit with her so my mother and I immediately left the barn and my mother dropped me off at her appartment. We sat in silence, numb and scared, together, drinking diet pop and smoking cigarettes, tears rolling down our cheeks in a state of terrified wordlessness that I cannot describe.

My best friend lost her mother. The girl I grew up with no longer has a best friend, a confidante, someone to shop with and someone to tell all her thoughts and fears to. Her mother was someone you could have beers with, someone you could tell about the guy you're dating, someone you could joke with, someone who made you feel like you were the smartest person in the world.

She always laughed at my poorly placed jokes, she always told me I was the smartest person she knew. She was always on my side, always in my corner and I could tell her just about anything and it wouldn't stun her. And no matter what I said, she supported every word of it. But this is not about me.

The girl I spend my childhood and teenage years with has lost the most significant player in her life.

I have no idea how to support my friend through this, how to say anything that would mean anything of value. I don't know what to do except to sit beside her in stunned silence because this is not what was supposed to happen. This wonderful, exhuberant, intelligent, caring, hilarious woman is gone from this Earth and my friend will never talk to her again.

I've deliberated over posting this since I heard of her death. Since I've known that she is gone I can honestly say that there has been an emptiness inside me, thinking of the horror my dear friend is going through.

Who said technology isn't wonderful?

I am sitting out under the stars after a wonderful evening with family and friends.

Typing from my iPhone!

It is a bright, quiet night in CowTown. The stars are out and the moon is directly above me. I can hear Trooper in the barn, bashing his head against his grain bucket and hoping fruitlessly that more grain will appear. I assure you that I am not about to leave my post at the picnic table and bring him more grain. But the sound of him bumping around is soothing in an odd way.

The pool pump is running and the crickets are chirping all around me. I think I just heard Tia kick in disgust at Trooper's rumbling.

We had such a wonderful day and night here at The Ranch. Everything about it was perfect.

It was one of those days that makes you think, This is exactly how my life should be.

Ready, Set, And.... Go...

We are having dinner for sixteen people this evening, including Big Brother, his wife, their daughter, and their delightful twin babies! So much excitement in the air...

House is clean, hamburgers are made, hot dogs are waiting to be tossed on the grill. My new boyfriend (Bah! Isn't it hilarious for me to put that in writing? Not 'the guy I'm spending time with' or 'this individual I'm seeing but I'm not sure if it is anything' or any of the other terms I've used over the years on this blog, but 'my boyfriend') is going to be doing the grilling because my dad got called away to work and I don't know how to turn on the barbecue. Sometimes I am simply just a pretty face.

Dixie has had her semi-annual bath and is tied out on the porch right now looking mightily unimpressed. Dixie hates baths, she hates babies, she hates company, and she hates being tied up. I had to tie her, however, because elsewise she would have spent the day rolling in mud and dead things and this is no way for a proper CowTown Beagle to greet company.

Lucy, the five month old puppy has been given a place to be tied on the lawn where she will not knock babies unconscious with her exuberance. Tia and Trooper are munching happily in the pasture and I am contemplating: Wash, blow dry, and straighten my hair, applly makeup and put on clean clothes? Or greet fifteen people with a messy ponytail, an oversized T-shirt that is advertising the virtues of the dressage rider, and a pair of dirty blue jeans.

Right.

Off to shower.

A New Development...

So, my family went on vacation the first week of January as we always do. Only, this year, my Dad couldn't come because SOMEONE needed to stay home in case Tia popped out a baby while we were gone. And Lord knows, that someone would not be me. Can you imagine? Me, walking into the barn and seeing three perky sets of eyes looking at me instead of two? No, thanks.

So off we went, into the world of Babies and Snow and OH MY WORD THE SNOW. We went North, and believe it or not, it is possible to get more snow there than it is to get here.

So, there was skiing. Not for me. I prefer to drink pitchers of beer on the mountain village over skiing. But every day my mother went cross-country skiing with my uncle and I was a little envious because I, too, desired to ski.

We returned home and life was grand and the other day I came in from work to find a pair of ski boots at the kitchen table. I was all like, Sweet! Ski boots! And my mother informed me that they were for my nephew because he is an avid skier who has outgrown last year's skis. And I was all like, Oh, well, you know, they look a little small.

And then my nephew, that dashing young lad, tried on the boots and complained that they were too small.

Rewind: Over the last few months he has basked in the fact that my barn boots fit him. And every time he said it, I figured it was just an exaggeration and that if he were to run from the path of a charging horse, the boots would fly off his feet. Because, you know, he is only NINE and he can't possibly be the same size as me.

So he complained about the ski boots and I p'shawed him and put them on my own feet.

And then they fit me.

And then I made him sit down on the floor in front of me and press his feet to mine. You know those feet: The teeny, tiny feet that used to pitter-patter across the kitchen? The itsy-bitsy feet that I used to rub Johnson's Pink Lotion on after a bath? The little feet that would climb the ladder of my bunk bed and crawl in next to me while I slumbered? Those feet? Do you remember those feet?

Because those feet, the ones I just mentioned in the paragraph above, HAVE CEASED TO EXIST. In their place are a set of monstrous boy-feet that are the same size as mine.

And you know, you never think of these things. Time just passes by and one day you wake up and where there used to be a small, innocent, wonderful little being is someone who is large and in charge, full of ideas and thoughts and questions that stop you in your tracks. And as much as I want those tiny little feet to carry a tiny little child into the room, I enjoy looking at the person this child is becoming. Because he is just too much fun.

Your Love is the Greatest Gift Of All...

So, Christmas has come and gone.

And I'm not sure there is a way to keep this post succinct and to the point, but I am going to try.

I have a good relationship with my Grandmother; the woman who isn't biologically related to me, but who married my Grandfather when I was three or four years old. She has been an enormous influence in my life and I have an enormous amount of respect and admiration for her and for what she has done in her lifetime.

My Grandmother has a flask that my cousin Kim and I have had our eyes on for years. I remember seeing it for the first time when I was sixteen or so and laughing hysterically that this flask even existed.



My Grandmother informed myself and Kim, when we were around twenty years old, that we had not, in fact, invented the world. Oh, sure, I'd heard that old line about each generation thinking they were the first to discover everything, but she told me plain and simple that my generation was not anything special. She has regailed me with tails of her youth that sound wonderful: Not as harsh or unruly as the nights of clubbing that I have been exposed to; but wild and crazy in a way that I think is respectful and fun.

I don't really know how to describe her because on one hand, she is this elegant, wonderful woman with a soft tone and a polite manner. And then there is her louder side, the side of her that she lets loose now and then, demanding a drink and a cigarette and being sarcastic and hilarious.

This flask has travelled with her through the years, taken her to many a party, been there with her in her appartment long after my Grandfather passed away. We've talked about the flask many times through the years, giggling together over it. I've begged for the flask to be mine one day.



It was a day or two before my Grandfather's funeral that Grandma came to each of the grandkids and said "Now LOOK. This is a DRY funeral and I don't want a single one of you showing up with a flask!". And I said, "Ok, Grandma, no flask, but what if I show up with an eyeglasses case?"



Since we were about twenty, my cousin and I have been arguing over who would get the flask. We have each demanded that she leave the flask to us in her will, that one day it be ours (Well, one of us would have the flask.)

And this Christmas, my mother handed me the package from my Grandma, and it was just a simple affair wrapped up in tissue paper. And before I opened it, I felt around and in a single moment, my heart dropped and I knew.

And I saw the familiar brown plastic and I knew more.

And I opened the rest of the gift and there it was, the flask, all for me, a gift from her, something I will cherish my whole life because it has known so much. It isn't about being a wild party animal: It is more about having a history that I don't know anything about. It is about keeping things secret and then letting things out when people need to hear them the most. Maybe it's about my Grandma sharing some common ground with me, and maybe it's just a gift. Perhaps it's a joke between us and perhaps it's that she wants me to know that she and I are connected through our histories, together and apart, we have much in common, much that we can laugh over, and many stories to share.

I called my Grandma after opening the gift. I called her on her cell, because that is just how cool she is, she keeps a cell phone on her at all times. And I was kind of choked up because, you know, this was supposed to go in her will. It wasn't supposed to be given to me this early in my life. I wasn't ready to open it because I wasn't expecting that she would give it to me before her time with me was through.

And the only thing she had to say about this is that she wants me to have it long before she is gone and wants me to enjoy it and use it.

My Grandma knows about my blog in the vaguest sense possible. My Aunt mentioned it to her once and following that conversation, she asked me what a Blob was and what I did with a Blob on the Internet.

I told her that one day I would write about her.

Panic Mode

And here we are, in that mode I so often find myself in during the fall.

Upon re-reading my essay, it needs work. Lots of work. Plenty of work.

I have yet to do any of that work.

I have also not yet heard from my dream job. I'm now in that awkward state, that one I'm usually in after a date when I don't know if I've screwed something up in a huge, huge way. I have all the qualifications, I have the experience, I have everything they asked for in the job posting. I really still feel that I did a great job in the interview...

Honestly, sometimes it's like my entire life is one big chapter in He's just Not That Into You. I just keep on getting rejected from various things and think, this is ok! Sometimes things just aren't meant to be, and that's not a reflection on me!

And then it happens continuously and I start to feel really, really deflated.

I've got all my paperwork in order to go out for duck season but I have yet to get my sorry self up in the morning and actually go and shoot a duck. I'd love to bring one home, to say that I've done something successfully but the thought of getting up before sunrise and sitting in the damp when I've been working all week is sort of... Well, I do enjoy bonding with my bed. That's all.

I also recieved an invite to go deer hunting with a friend's husband this year, which is pretty exciting. I have no idea if I will go with that invite or with my family but having open options is always nice.

So I guess life is not all negative but the more pertinent things in life are definitely conflicting with my desire to watch YouTube music videos and sleep twenty hours a day.

The Life of a Student While Living with One's Parents

I just finished my essay, that beastly creature that has been tormenting me for months now while I was busy staving it off to the back of my mind. My summer was full of interesting things and I promised myself that the first week of September, I would complete it.

Two weeks into October, I am almost there. I have yet to complete the exam portion of the course, but I figure that will be another sleepless night or two and then?

Freedom!

Until my next course arrives.

My last university experience was spent living either on my own or with the only roommate I ever had, and so my parents were not exposed to me in all my studious glory. They heard about it, I'm sure, and possibly wondered from time to time if the stories were true, but I doubt my study habits weighed on their minds very much at all.

They have now officially been exposed to the horror, to the frantic running around and shuffling of papers; to the wandering and muttering; to the coffee making and coffee drinking out of containers that qualify as soup bowls in most cultures. The not going to bed -- Oh, the sleepless glory! -- the lights being on all night and the exasperated heaving of sighs.

I did not expose them (this time) to the hideous and disgusting gumball habit I have. I figured I'd save them something to be horrified at during my next course.

My goal is to complete one more course before Christmas, two after, and another during the summer. I will repeat this process again in the fall of 2010 and then be applying to my Master's program of choice.

I love that I am actually working towards something of value right now. Although I longed for freedom from school during the five years I spent getting my degree and diploma, once I was free I felt really listless and without goals.

So now here I am, working towards my goals and feeling really, really good about it.

Unfortunately I am over caffeinated and sleep deprived so the joy is sort of overshadowed by that. I imagine in the morning I will be a little more chipper.

A List of Updates, Bullet Style...

- High speed Internet service is coming to CowTown TOMORROW. I haven't updated my links list, or anything, since I've moved home but I hope that changes soon. I also plan to have pictures up now that it will take less than an HOUR to upload them.

- Zydeco has sustained yet another odd affliction. He has a swelling on his belly that is bigger than my fist. And I have giant man-hands, so it is a pretty big swelling. We are monitoring it and taking his temperature to see if he might require a vet.

- I just bought a friggin JEEP. I really can't afford a vet right now, and as such, I'm hoping that prayer will work wonders for my horse's ailment.

- Tia is showing outward signs of her pregnancy! Zydeco is so excited at the prospect of becoming an uncle that he is practicing for racing around with a yearling daily. Tia and Summer continue to be poor players of this game called "I Am So Happy To Be Alive That I Must Leap Everywhere I Go" but Zydeco continues to try and entice them.

- The JEEP is the source of much joy in my life. I love watching my friends climb in and ask me if I have a foot stool handy to make the process a bit more dainty.

- I bruised my shoulder shooting at clay pidgeons yesterday. Pics of the injury to follow once I have access to high speed Internet IN MY HOUSE.

- Summer has arrived (The season, not the horse. He showed up last October and has settled into a steady routine of biting my horse and his eighty five dollar blanket quite nicely). As a result of the onset of summer, I am working on my redneck tan, and in the midst of planning great things for The Ranch.

- My garden plans for this year are in the works and I'm sure that Jooms will be thrilled at the prospect of more home grown sweet corn.

- HIGH SPEED INTERNET. In less than twenty four hours. Life is worth living.

Oh, Vacation-y Goodness...

I just returned from a week away with some family members, visiting the SuperBabies and generally having a good time. Not as good of a time as our neighbors at the condo had, though, because they are the ones who left a pile of vomit on our stairs one night. I almost slipped in it the following morning and felt like leaving a strongly worded letter on their doorstep, but decided against it.

The week flew by in a haze of cigarette smoke, empty beer bottles, and heat so thick you could have sailed a ship three feet off the floor of our building. No joke, it was so hot in our room that it was STEAMY, and the windows were frozen shut. I'm typically the coldest person in the free world, and at one point I was bemoaning the fact that I hadn't brought shorts while sweat soaked my entire body. (Ok, so I didn't bring shorts. I was vacationing in ONTARIO in JANUARY. Call me crazy, but before I left, I didn't really think that tropical weather attire would be necessary.)

I also managed to do something that I don't typically do: I immersed my body in a pool of water. I hate swimming and being in water in general, but this week my twin niece and nephew were there and I just couldn't pass up splashing around the pool with them. So twice I overcame my distaste of being wet and cold and actually went swimming. Well, I went doggy-paddling, which is sort of the same thing.

Overall I have to say that I feel like a new person, having been away from work for seven straight days for the first time in two years. I took a week off last June, but that was to work at The Berry Farm, so even those vacation days weren't very vacation-y. (Unless you count sixteen hour days supervising snotty twelve year olds picking fruit as a vacation. Personally, I don't think that counts.)

And now here I am, back to the grind and getting ready to face the workforce once more. Sigh.

Long Days

I returned home from work this evening to find my mother in a fit of cleaning and shower-related woes. I walked in the door, not bothering to take off my boots, because after a fifteen hour shift?

I really didn't feel like expending the energy to lean down, unlace, and remove boots from my feet. Sometimes I'm amazed that I have the energy to turn off and get out of my car once I get home. I've often contemplated sleeping right there in the driver's seat of my Little Chevy.

My mother immediately began to bemoan her day, which involved men, chain saws, our bathroom, and the state of our non-functional shower stall.

And then she stopped.

And she said:

"You're bleeding."

And I said:

"Yes."

And she said:

"Then I guess I can't really complain about my day?"

And I said:

"Nope. Unless you're bleeding profusely from the face, you can't complain about your day."

And then I cracked open a nice, cold beer, threw on some jogging pants, and retired to the comfort of my computer.

Well, Hello, Blog...

I had to charge my phone this evening, and I was wondering what I would do with my time and thought, I know! I'll write on my blog! Then I had a mild and brief panic attack wondering if my blog would still even be active, seeing as how I never even write on it any more.

I've been working quite a bit these days, something I though would end once I was done school. Not so. I'm averaging around sixty five hours a week at work. When the overtime pay rolls in, I'm usually quite happy, but beyond that?

I miss my couch while I spend all those hours at work.

I was trying to think of something wonderful and witty to write about as I waited for my dial-up internet access to bring up my Create Post page. I could write about work, but that would probably be illegal, what with confidentiality and such. I could write about the inordinate amount of sleep I'm (not) getting due to being at work all the time, or the amount of time I sit on my couch, completely zoned out after a week at work watching A&E. I don't even have the energy to go out any more because by the time a day off comes in, I'm all "HEY! I'm not at work! Where's my jammies?!"

My nephew and I took part in our annual gingerbread house making fiesta last night. These days I'm feeling like the worst Auntie in the world because our precious Thursday nights together have come to an end. I was so desperate when I left my last job that I told my new employers that I would work any hours, any hours at all. And so, I do an overnight shift every Thursday and my nephew and I don't get to spend any time together at all. I miss him. I was so tired on Monday night that when I picked him up at the baby-sitter's, I told him that I was very tired and very grumpy and that he would have to work with me on that.

Our gingerbread house turned out grand, grander than any gingerbread house in all of CowTown, and I told him that next year, he would be old enough to do all of the icing all by himself. He one-upped me there and said that he would rather make a gingerbread castle next year.

So, I suppose this is my newest one-year goal. To fashion a gingerbread castle. I'll have to enlist the help of friends in the construction industry.

When All Else Fails: Have A Baby!

My grandmother has been tremendously ill these last couple weeks. I have been very worried for her, as we all have. She has pneumonia and congestive heart failure. Only forty-eight hours ago, the doctors were talking about putting her on a ventilator.

It seems that the medications and care she's recieved in the Intensive Care Unit have done her well, and today when I arrived at her hospital room she was sitting up in bed looking like her old self again.(A skinny, frailer version of her old self, but her old self nonetheless). I must admit that I gasped when I saw her and said "Grandma, you're back to being you!" To this she responded that she didn't have time for a funeral, and that she had too much left to do before she went. Truer words have never been spoken.

My grandmother and I were just talking about nothing, shooting the shit, so to speak, when I mentioned the pets in my life. I was simply stating that, once my current dog leaves me, I won't be looking for another as dogs are quite the hassle. Grandma then said: "You should get something smaller, that you could hold here." And she motioned to her shoulder.

So I said: "Oh, Grandma. I've tried having cats. They hate me and go insane before trying to eat me while I sleep."

And Grandma said: "Oh, for God's sake. I wasn't talking about a damn cat. I was talking about a baby."

I must say that I was stopped completely in my tracks. Here I was, talking about my dog with a woman I love dearly, when she dropped this complete bomb on me.

I NEED TO HAVE A BABY??!?!?!!???

A Baby?

My grandmother was full of her old self today. She was precocious and vivacious, just the way I've always known her, and for this I am very, very glad. I'm not entirely sure that I'm going to run out and have a baby in the fit of glee I'm feeling this moment, but I have to say that almost anything is worth having my Grandma back to the way she was only a couple weeks ago.

Introducing the Latest Members of the Family...

Here is my new niece, Brooklyn Lori Elizabeth. Her features are fine, she is dainty and looks like a perfect lady.



Here is Tristan.... I love this picture. He looks so much like the Precious Boy did when he was born, almost EIGHT years ago. I love the family resemblance here, how even though so many years have passed by, our genetics don't seem to change at all.



Here is The Princess, kissing her new baby brother.



I was very distraught to leave the babies and The Princess last Saturday. I have the long weekend off, the whole thing, four whole days, and I was planning on going down South to see Mal for the weekend. But when I left the hospital, and again when I left my brother's house, I felt like weeping for hours on end.

I never get to see my brother's family, in part because of the ridiculous hours I work, and in part because they live so far away. My niece has her first ballet recital this coming Saturday, and I'm going to be on a train to drink my face off?

Of course, I love Mal. I need Mal. I feel empty when Mal is not a regular presence in my life.

But those babies, that toddler...

They are my family, and I need to see them.

So this weekend, instead of drinking my face off down South, I plan to go up to visit the newest members of my family, to smell their perfect, velvety soft baby heads, to hold them in my arms and kiss them and admire them; I plan on watching my niece dance her little heart out; I plan on seeing my brother and their wife and I plan on being happy with my decision.

Two Points for the Good Team....

For those of you dreading the world's end due to overpopulation, I have some bad news.

The rest of us, however, are quite thrilled.

Today was the day, and the twins have arrived safely and soundly. Tristan weighed in at a whopping seven pounds, two ounces, and Brooklyn was a little less at six pounds, fourteen ounces. Tristan is going to be quite the little acrobat because he decided to do a somersault and come out backwards, but other than that, no surprises in the delivery room.

SuperNan was there the whole time (Yes, actually IN the delivery room) and apparently a grand time was had by all.

Hopefully by tomorrow I will have some pics to put up.

Hooray for babies!!

Blog? What blog?

So, its been 20 days and I haven't written a damn thing. Its not that blogging has not been on my mind, but I've been working and playing and trying to maintain some of my sanity....

I'm on my way to being done college, PRAISE BE TO GOD, and I only have six weeks left to go. I've secured a final work placement/co-op type dealy, and I look forward to JUST doing ONE thing once I'm done. I can't imagine a life where I work forty hours at one location, and don't have to run/drive like a mad thing to my next location. (Although, really, who's kidding who? Like I've ever run anywhere in my life.)

I've been working on getting my physique presentable for tank top and short weather, which, PLEASE, SOMEONE, tell me is coming soon. Its not that I don't adore lazing around the house in layers of oversized jogging pants and sweaters, but I'm starting to feel a little weighed down and I would like to comfortably don a tank top. The racer back kind.

SuperNan is away for the time being, which brings with it some bonuses and some pitfalls. For example, I can do laundry my way (The way that involves clothing strewn about the house for days before I actually get around to washing any of it. But it's piled near the laundry room, so I feel like I'm on my way to accomplishing something). However, no one is here to FEED us and as a result, I'm sitting by the computer eating salami on dry bread with no one to talk to. Hmph.

You might be wondering WHY SuperNan is in absentia, and that reason is that the twins are due momentarily. Actually, its looking like the twins won't be coming out any time soon, much to my sister-in-law's chagrin. It seems that her belly has outgrown all of her maternity tops and she can no longer see her feet or tie her shoes (Another reason members of my family are impatiently awating warmer weather.)

I swear, I'm going to try and update more regularly....

There is No Peace...

I was talking to Mal today, about her plans for the future, and much to my chagrin, she mentioned moving back home to her parents. Her parents live over eight hours away.

I tried my best to sound like I thought it was a good idea, like, Oh, Yeah! Your parents! Yeah, if moving back in with them would be better, then, like, that would be so much BETTER!

Mal could sense the fake-ness in my voice, even though I was sincere in saying that if she wanted to move back to her parents, then surely I shouldn't be the one to try and keep her here. Because really, I want to hog up all the Mal time, and tie her up and keep her locked upstairs in my Clifford-accented bedroom so that I could ply her with second hand smoke and slightly inebriated jokes about the modern making of an honest woman.

While I was trying to have this conversation, the Precious Boy and one of the dogs were shrieking and barking and rumbling. And I couldn't hear her response because of the cacophony behind me, but I know that somewhere in there, I heard the word "Crazy."

And I said: "What?"

And she said: Crazy! Moving back in with the crazy family. I don't know if I could do it. Like, look what happened to you!

And I was all like: HEY! What happened to me?

And she was all like: Crazy happened to you, my dear.

So I said: How so?

And she said: Dogs. Dogs and small children and construction and voices. Lots, and lots of voices. And pounding and drilling and music and television. I mean, like, the environment is just so... crazed?

And at first I was a little offended, and said: You're calling my family crazy?

And Mall offered up: Well, not so much crazy. Like, Dude, I love your family. But every time I'm in your house, the environment feels a little... Crazed.

And I said: Ooooooh, crazed. Well, sheesh. You should have just said that, instead of calling us all crazy.

Because, really, being crazy is so much different than being crazed, and if she had just called my family crazy I might have had to sic a herd of wild dogs and small children on her.

Although, in all honesty, its not like I don't do that every chance I get already.

We are quite comfortable with the crazed status we currently have. But if you call us crazy?

Whoooo-wheee.

Cans of whoop-ass. Opened up all over this small town.

On Riding My Horse....

I didn't really write too much about riding my horse yesterday, because I was just so excited about the ride and the pictures.

People sometimes ask me what it's like to ride a horse, because its something they've never experienced themselves. I'm not sure about how to describe riding a horse... the feelings it leaves you with after a successful venture out are hard to put into words. If I was to wake up beside someone who was blonde haired and blue eyed and over six feet tall; and if that someone had already driven the twenty minutes to Tim Horton's and gotten me a perfect triple triple; and then he had my favorite sweater washed with Gain and a case of beer that he never, EVER wanted me to pay him back for; and then instead of pestering me to make out with him all night he offered to sit idly by while I drank the beer and watched Sex and The City on DVD.....

That's the kind of joy I get from riding my horse. It is an all-encompassing feeling of joy and warm fuzziness that starts in my toes, works its way up my burning, aching legs, through my nearly blistered butt and up through my stiff and hurty shoulders. Because even though I love riding, after a three month hiatus, damn, does my ass ever hurt when I get off.

My whole life I have had the priveledge of watching expert riders ride horses. Sometimes I get to see my mother ride Zydo, and it fills my heart with joy because I know that perhaps, some day, I might make him move in such perfect segue from one stride to another. If that ever happens, I will know that I HAVE ARRIVED.



Riding is unlike any other sport because you are dependent on communicating with someone who is non-verbal. You literally control the motions of the horse with your thighs and your ass, your hands, and sometimes muffled screams as you dive through bushes at twenty three miles per hour in hopes of escaping an emu.

Zydo and I have to have a perfect relationship built on mutual trust, respect, and understanding, much like that which you get from a stable companionship with someone you love. If I don't trust him, he picks that up in my behavior, and if he doesn't trust me, I pick that up when he pitches me through the air and into the nearest telephone post.

I'm fortunate to own a horse that I have that relationship with, and sometimes when I think about how lucky I am to live back here at The Ranch, with my pony and my family that loves me, I have to stop and breathe for a minute. There were so many times in the last four years that I thought I would never be at peace with what I have, but then I think back on some of the wonderful, amazing opportunities I've had in the last twelve months....

And I think, Damn, this is what its all about.

The Beer Fairy...

Today is Saturday, the Saturday of the Snow, the day that will forever be ingrained in my head as the day that so much snow fell, I breifly contemplated ending my life.

We were anticipating this snow day, and as a result my mother and I went shopping yesterday to stock up on supplies. We got Taco mix, cheesy popcorn, cases of pop, and pizza pockets. If we ever have another Eastern Seaboard power outage, we'll be totally fucked, because really, how can you heat up pizza pockets without a microwave?

Of course, I was in a rush yesterday because I was called in to work early, and this means WE FORGOT TO PICK UP THE BEER. We pulled back into the driveway and for a moment, I thought that my head was going to roll right off my shoulders and wedge itself under the tires of my mother's car.

I came home from work last night to discover that the Beer Fairy had paid a visit, and a full case of Canada's finest discount lager was in our cold storage room. Turns out my Dad is the beer fairy, and while I'd love to talk about how he loves me so much he can't bear to see me without my favorite beverage in tow, the reality of the situation is that he KNOWS me so damn well. He just KNOWS that I would run out of my own beer and happily help myself to his beer, and then he would be out of beer AND I would be out of beer, and really? No one wants to be snowed in WITHOUT ANY DAMN BEER.

And so now here we are, snowed in and getting fatter by the second. I've eaten half a bag of cheesy popcorn, so much taco-y goodness that my stomach nearly exploded, enough Coca-Cola Zero that my hands are shaking from the caffeine, and now its after five!

And after five is the time that normal, healthy people start drinking!

But first I need a nap. Lord knows I need to work up some energy before I have to twist off all those pesky bottle caps.

A Good Day to Feel Like Death...

My parents went away this weekend, leaving me all alone to tend to The Ranch. I took care of Tia and Zydo as if it WAS MY JOB, and damn, those horses have never faced such neglect as when they were left in my care.

I love my horse, and I even love my father's horse, the crazed and maniacal little lunatic that she is.

The problem is that on Saturday evening, I started to feel a strange scratchy feeling in my throat.

And then things just went downhill from there.

I came home from a night out on Sunday morning and fed and put out the horses, fully intending to clean their stalls properly, and even fork the cleanings from their stalls to the top of the shit pile. (See how I wrote there, 'the cleanings from their stalls'? Aren't I polite on the Internet? Usually, I would just say 'fork the shit to the top of the pile'. I love how being in the public eye makes me classy.)

Today was a snow day, and I had no intentions of going to school regardless of the weather. At ten, my mother informed me that she and my brother were going shopping, so, in hopes of scoring some free coffee, I begged to go along for the ride. We arrived home back at The Ranch in a beautiful afternoon, one of those afternoons that just screams how Spring is coming, and Damn, Girl! You should tack up your horse and ride him for all he's worth.

And instead, despite the fact that Zydo was looking balefully at me from the pasture, I got home and found myself in my warm and cozy bed, and I slept for two hours LIKE IT WAS MY JOB, and I woke up...

And then it was dark, and all chances of riding were over and gone....

And I have nothing left but to think that perhaps another such day may come. Perhaps another day will happen upon us here in The Great White North where I will feel like getting my lazy ass off the couch to spend some time with my horse.

Sadly, today was not that day.