I have had a job of some sort ever since I was 14. Even the summer I took off to finish my master’s thesis, I wrote a weekly column for a local ad paper. (Remember those? It was the 80s after all). What to fill time with?
But I will be busy over the next months. I’m overwhelmed at how busy. First to arrange expenses to fit a lower income. This means getting the house ready for sale and finding another in a less expensive community, preferably with acreage. To do that means another go around sorting 60 years of stuff accumulated by my parents. My dad NEVER threw anything away. There are some things I don’t love, but could not let go the first time because my mother loved them.
But the best part will be riding during the work week. I admit all the Facebook and Instagram photos of others riding weekdays make me jealous. Now I will take my own weekday photos!
No resolutions for 2023. How can I know what my reality will be in three months, six, or eleven? What defines me today may not be relevant tomorrow.
The rational me counters, but without goals how do you get anywhere? Achieve anything? Fair point.
A local news commentator declared successful resolutions are “smart goals.” I’m left pondering if resolutions are goals? Goals map out a journey toward a larger vision.
Perhaps the relevant question is what is my vision for 2023 and beyond?
When I was “less old,” I used to play a game where I wrote a letter from my future self to my current self. In it, I described what I had done and was doing. It was an attempt to actualize success. At thirty-five, I thought I had time to meander along paths of distraction. So, I did. Nothing in those letters ever came true.
And now there is less time to “fulfill” a “vision.” But if each step, each moment in time, is a life lived, does it matter? My vision is to continue meandering along the paths of distraction and leave behind trails of joy.
I have not posted in a while. Lessons and clinics consume my weekends, work my weekdays, several contain a commute.
Lessons are focused on breaking through the barrier of insecurity and fear. Trail riding is a rare event as I work to become a better rider for my 19-year-old pony. I know it’s silly to anthropomorphize horse behavior, but Jigs truly seems to enjoy the first half hour of our lessons- especially the cantering part. Beyond that, not so much.
Working Equitation Clinic
Fun moments are strung between frustrating ones. I’m relearning to balance both trot and canter. Proper riding is critical for elder fitness.
I struggle with turns on the forehand, turns on the haunches. Last lesson my instructor put a whip through my elbows and behind my back to retrain my hands – like a kid learning the basics. But I understand this is needed to get clean turns. Years of structureless riding built up bad habits of hands, body, and mind. Retraining is hard but then there are the moments when it comes together, and we get a neat turn or canter to a clean stop between poles. There is a glimmer of what can be.
Days are longer, Summer, nearly here. There will be more lessons, clinics, and maybe even a few competitions. Balancing the canter is not unlike life, it’s about slowing down, sometimes even stopping to gather yourself and try again.
Rain drained most of the trees of their fall color, but some persist, flickering with flames of yellow, orange, and red.
My friend and I marked marked the annual pumpkin ride in the rain. It wasn’t too bad but by the time we finished 9 miles, we were drenched with both rain and laughter.
Autumn
I stress about trail marking and over mark so as not to lose anyone one in the forest. Getting lost in Upton State Forest is not likely. There are two main “roads” that circle it. Trails weave through and around them. Both go directly back to parking.
We marked trails seldom used off Loop Road. They were a bit wet from this year’s constant rain, but passable with good stretches to move out.
October was not as busy as I hoped. Jigs and I competed again in a Mountain Trail Competition. The few lessons helped, we finished first in novice, but our scores were about the same in level one. The mistakes were mine.
I’m surprised at how much I did learn in three lessons. We worked on hands and leg placement. Our turns are much better.
Unfortunately, lessons stopped due to the instructor’s schedule. Or maybe that was a polite excuse. Working with an older riding pair and a especially a “quarter horse” is not every dressage instructor’s dream. Best to have younger athletic riders and horses to work with, I suspect. Too bad, I believe I could learn a lot from him.
Cross Buck
I signed up for a working equitation and western dressage clinic later this month. The clinician is popular in the area. Maybe she will give me a few more things to work on. I’m curious about both disciplines.
Next year I want to try different things. Jigs will be 19; our time together is flying by. He is the best horse I have owned and the most forgiving. I am so grateful for his friendship and all he has given me.
Horses saved my life twice, once when I was a rebellious teen and again in middle age. I don’t speak much about the recurring depression that rises out of my insecurities, of my anxiety. The presence of my horse lifts this shadow. My eyes dilate when I gaze on him and I see the world as a more perfect place. My breath slows to match his. My heart beats with his. Together, we remain in a moment where the past is gone and the future, immaterial.
The human/equine symbiotic relationship is hard for non-horse lovers to understand. Some humans are born to bond with these magnificent beings. Our souls long for their presence. On their backs, we fly. We walk more confident beside them.
I am grateful for the grace my horse shares with me in these strange times. Perhaps, I am saved again.
An extra day. February has always been fickle. Too windy for me to ride due to memories of a fall from Pepper that ended in a broken ankle, I decided it best to keep my feet on the ground.
Jigs I and took a walk through the woods. We do that occasionally. He seems to enjoy it and I believe it is good for relationship building.
We walked down to the old “pine grove” where we used to ride when boarding at the other barn. The local land trust recently purchased the property, but not before loggers made a mess of the trails. We had to bushwhack through their debris.
I encountered burdock. Placing my mittens on ground, I struggled to remove the annoying stickies from my leggings. Somehow Jigs had avoided them. I let out an exasperated breath. Jigs lowered his head, grabbed one of my mittens and handed it to me.
Oh, of course, he was expecting a treat. His nose was already at my pocket.
“What about that one?” I asked Jigs pointing to the remaining mitten. He picked up and handed it to me. Another treat.
I have been working for years on teaching Jigs to ‘fetch’ hats and gloves with the hope that one day, it could be a useful trick if I dropped something from his back.
In all that time, he has never handed me something without being asked. Today, he just did it- no cue. It was like he anticipated I was going to get the mittens and decided to help out.
“Smart pony,” I said scratching behind his ear. “Maybe you can lead yourself sometime like Olive.”
Olive is the lab who lives with me. When I put her on the leash, she will pick up the end and lead herself to the door.
I was only kidding when I said that to Jigs.
Pleased with my pony’s intelligence, we came out of the woods and walked up the road. It had gotten warmer. I stopped to take off my mittens, inadvertently dropping the lead rope.
Jigs looked at it and then at me. Slowly, he dropped his head, picked up the lead rope and handed it to me.
My January 1st ritual every year is to remove Jigs’ ribbons above his stall. It is how I refocus on new goals, new challenges. It is mid-February and they are still up. 2019 was a tough year. I lost my mother. The ribbons are a reminder there were positive moments. I really need to take them down.
Last Sunday was The Bay State Trail Riders Association’s annual meeting and banquet. I’d almost forgotten Jigs and I had won the Judged Pleasure Ride and qualified for a year end award. To my delight, the award was a beautiful riding skirt that matches my saddle!
I was so excited; I drove from the banquet right to the barn to try it out!
Riding Skirt
It is perfect.
I don’t know what 2020 will bring, maybe a few more ribbons, maybe myriad meandering trail rides. And when the weather is wet and cold, I will be wearing a lovely turquoise riding skirt!
End of December is the time for retrospectives of the year. A lot of the bloggers I follow have posted theirs already. One stated that blogs are old school and announced she is moving to other venues, pod casts, on line classrooms, for a fee. The free blog will remain, but I wonder for how long. Everyone must make a living. I get that.
Rather than looking back, I am looking toward 2019. Disclaimer-despite my fondness for Tarot, I am not clairvoyant. Expectations may or may not be realized. There will be hardships. There will be moments of joy. My hope is joy will out weight hardships.
And what are my expectations?
I expect to laugh and cry with those I love. I expect to continue preparing for retirement. I expect to ride Jigs down new trails. I expect to attend horse events, lessons, cow sorting, versatility, maybe a show if I get brave. I expect to win a few ribbons. Maybe.
Missing are my wished-for things: economic stability, a truck, Jigs at home with me, a finished book of poetry, 40 years in the making.
On January first, I will take down the ribbons Jigs won in 2018 and put away the memories of our successes, near successes, and yes, failures.
The space above his stall will be empty- a proverbial blank slate- a space for realized possibilities that will become 2019.
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