November is when most organized horse events stop in New England. Jigs and I participated in our last judged ride on November 5th. We placed second in our division even though my brain fell apart at the second gate, and I messed up by overthinking.
Overthinking is one of my fatal flaws. That and my noisy hands.
Winter is the time for slow trail rides and ring work. This week I set myself a challenge- to stop and turn off my seat and legs without using reins. I struggle with keeping my hands still and interfere with Jigs doing his job. I can use the frozen months to work on this.
And I will use Winter’s pause to continue sorting the stuff my parents left behind, like photos from the 50s and 60s. I don’t know the names of many people among them, probably friends of my parents. I did recognize an old car- a Chevy Impala my father loved. I recall riding in the back seat angry my parents were taking me from the solitude of my book to visit cousins.
As their only child, there are lots of photos of me. What strikes me is how even at two or three, my mannerisms were fully formed. Here’s one of me talking to Santa with my hands, something I do today. Noisy hands.
Snapshots of forgotten moments to digitize. It seems a shame to throw away the unrecognized ones. They are someone’s memory, someone’s treasure, but there’s no space to keep them, no one to look at them.
This pruning is part of the aging process. Keep only what matters and release the rest.
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