Somewhere He Opens a Window

"Once you make a decision, the Universe conspires to make it happen."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Change. It's the one thing we can count on: nothing stays the same. Some people embrace change. They are always looking for something new, something better, something more exciting, or just something different. Others don't even like the word Change. Change means leaving behind the things that are familiar and comforting and stepping into the unknown.

The catch with those particular extremes is that the people seeking change may never hang around long enough to settle down and become comfortable with anything. Those who fear change may miss truly grand opportunities or fail to make new friends because they can't bear to see what they love change.

I like to think you'd find me somewhere in the middle. I DO love change. I love coming up with new possibilities and new goals. But I also hate leaving behind the dreams of yesterday.

Last week I had to say good-bye to one of those dreams.

Forever Sky Ranch will no longer function as a boarding facility.

Wow. I finally wrote it out loud.

FSR will still remain an active farm. We have a year full of clinics and schooling shows to look forward to, thanks to Pam Herzberg. That hasn't changed. And the ranch will still remain available for those wanting to trailer in and train in the arena.

But I won't be boarding horses.

Mirka Pitts has decided to lease pasture space from FSR so she can continue training horses at the ranch. She will be renting the barn apartment when Janine leaves.

Janine.

If you have been reading this blog, you know that several times I have mentioned that when I had to say goodbye to my incredible barn manager that I was going to lock myself in my room and cry for a week.

Janine Smothers became the ranch manager in 2009, when Forever Sky first opened. She had been working as a vet tech at the Northwest FL Animal Clinic and with her school schedule getting more and more difficult, she needed to find a job that would allow her time to study (she was working on her Pre-Vet degree in Biology). I needed a responsible barn manager who knew how to work with horses. It was one of those "perfect timing" deals. (Or answer to prayer, however you choose to see it.)

I believe that Janine and I were meant to form a partnership and help each other.

But we both knew that our relationship could not last. Janine, as a dedicated student and motivated woman, was destined to go her own way once she had completed her degree, which she did this past December.

Janine graduated with honors. Since that time, she has been struggling with decisions about her future, with the changes she now faces. She also had to make a hard decision: that heading straight to vet school wasn't the right option for her. She doesn't have the money to pay up-front for that type of higher education, nor does she want to drown herself with over $100,000 worth of debt.

It's too bad, really. She would be an amazing vet. If I had the money, I would give it to her in a flash.

But Veterinarian work is not Janine's only interest. She LOVES research. Lab research. ANIMAL RESEARCH.

Okay, before the hair on your neck start to prickle, Janine is quick to point out the many facets of animal research that have nothing to do with harming animals, such as animal behavior research, research in the care and preservation of wildlife, and agricultural animal research.

"I love to work with real live animals outdoors," says Janine, "I also like the laboratory work. Doing both would be awesome!"

She has the education. She has the determination. She has the passion. Now she just needs to find a job! (A bit easier said than done.)

Whatever company hires Janine is going to be just as amazed with her as all of us have been. I have never in my life met anyone so dedicated to doing a job the right way, so organized, so responsible, so trustworthy, so intelligent. Whoever gets her will be more than lucky. They'll be blessed.

I know I have been.

And I hope, even after all the changes, and regardless of what the future brings, that Forever Sky will continue to be blessed as well.

The Truth Hurts

When I was at the ranch on Friday, Janine was making fortune cookies to take to her church's New Year's Eve party. Instead of fortunes, Janine filled her cookies with resolutions. She gave me one. It was fantastic. (The cookie was good too.)

Inside my cookie was the resolution, "I will procrastinate."

Others included

"I will cancel my gym membership due to lack of motivation"
"I will gain five pounds by next year"
"I will be late to special events"
"I will get angry and yell at other drivers"
"I will not organize my files"
"I will stress about things I can't change"
"I will forget birthdays of friends and family"
"I will overeat on holidays."

"I made them as a joke," said Janine, "because no one ever keeps resolutions."

I believe that making the standard New Year's resolutions only sets us up to fail. Somewhere inside, we know we won't complete the tasks we set for ourselves. And knowing we won't succeed, we don't think hard enough about what resolutions we should make.

If you are honest with yourself, you already know what your true goals should be this year.

Many times when we argue with a friend or parent or significant other, we are given a clue about what we need to work on, especially if they say something that makes us really angry.

A simple comment about losing your keys or not listening or being controlling...those comments can only make us angry if there is truth to them.

If someone accused me of being greedy or impatient, it wouldn't bother me. I know in my heart I am neither greedy nor am I impatient. Those might be issues other people struggle with, but they aren't mine.

But when someone tells me that I am disorganized or I procrastinate or I don't spend enough time with my kids, or **drum roll** that I don't follow through with everything I say.... Man, those things hit home. And they hurt. Bad.

I am horribly guilty of not following through with things that I say. It's never intentional. I wake up feeling great and I tell my husband that we should watch a movie that evening once the kids are asleep. But then after a long day at the ranch, by the time the kids are down, the only thing I want to do is sleep. That movie I mentioned earlier? Let's do it another time, okay honey?

Or I tell the boys I'll be home at lunchtime to make cookies. Then the mule breaks or unloading feed takes longer than expected or I get caught up simply playing with my own horses, and lunchtime comes and goes. I arrive at the house in the evening to an innocent son who says, "You were just kidding, right mom? You were just kidding that you were going to be home at lunch."

That's enough to make me want to put my head in the oven. But then when Allen calls me out on it, I get mad. And defensive. And all because what he's saying is true.

I think we all have something we know to be true about ourselves, something we don't want to admit, even to ourselves.

Those are the things we should resolve to overcome this year.

Personally, even though I don't like "New Year's Resolutions," I have made a resolution to always do what I say I'm going to do.

I think the reason I dislike making New Year's resolutions is that when we don't reach our goals--we smoke that cigarette or eat that donut or show up late for an appointment or forget a birthday--we tend to give up. We quit. Our resolutions are broken. It's over.

But it shouldn't be over.

Instead, we should be like Weebles. As soon as we find our goals knocked down, we should bounce back. We should live every day like New Year's Day (minus the hangover).

Every day is a new start. Every day is a new chance. Every day is a new opportunity to succeed.

Better yet, every second of every minute of every hour of every day is a new chance to start over.

Failure should never wipe out a resolution. It should simply make it stronger.

So as the first day of the New Year comes to a close, I challenge you to break one of your resolutions. Break it, and realize that by breaking it, you haven't really broken it at all. Break it, and come away with more resolve than you had before.

Make this a year of resolutions that can never be broken.

Happy New Year, everyone! It is my sincere wish that you are able to live fully during every moment of this next, wonderful year.

Welcome, 2011.

Who is to Say?

Historically, Thanksgiving was a time for people to give thanks for a bountiful harvest. Today, we buy our turkeys and produce at the grocery store and start cooking all those casseroles and pies a day early in preparation for all that family drama.

But somewhere in the midst of cooking and laughing and eating and arguing, there's a moment when we stop and actually wonder what we are thankful for.

This particular Thanksgiving, I happen to have several friends who are going through rough times. It's hard, when your heart is breaking or you're filing for bankruptcy or you're burying a loved one, to hold up a glass of wine and toast to all the things you are thankful for. Sometimes it even seems as though there were nothing in our lives worth the effort to give thanks.

I saw Natalie at the ranch this morning. She was coming to spend time with her horse, Pippin. She was the only one out there except for me. I thought, "That's so wonderful. She wants to spend Thanksgiving morning with her horse." I have no doubt that Pippin is thankful to have Natalie is his life.

Seeing Natalie made me recall a conversation I had with her mother, Teri, just the day before, when we were talking about change.

"There's a Tibetan tale," I told Teri, "that I love."

There's this boy, Yeshi. He wakes up one morning to find that the family's horse is missing. He and his father search all day to no avail. When night falls, Yeshi exclaims in tears, "What bad luck!!"

The father says, "Who can say what is good fortune or bad? Give thanks for everything."

Several days go by and Yeshi finds that his horse has returned and has brought with him another horse.

"This is good fortune!" Says Yeshi.

Of course his father says the same thing. "Who can say if this is good fortune or bad?"

The next week, Yeshi gets bucked off the new horse and breaks his leg.

"Our new horse was bad luck after all," moans Yeshi.

Yeshi's father says, "I'm sorry to see you hurt, but who can say what is good or bad? We have to wait and see."

The next day the King's men come to take all able men with them into battle. Of course Yeshi can't go because of his broken leg.

Even then, the father still says "Who can say if this is good fortune or bad? Give thanks for everything."

And so I propose to you that even in our darkest hour, we cannot know what the future holds for us. Our best bet is to reserve judgement. Be thankful for everything, even if it seems that something horrible has happened.

You never know where your choices will lead you. You never know when something that looks bad will turn out to be something good.

And you never know when a simple "Thank You" is all you need to make someone smile.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! May your cup runneth over.

Lost and Found

I went on a trail ride yesterday with Wendy and Cher. It was my first time back on a horse since Naysa rodeo-bucked me off and I broke my wrist. Oh, my word, it felt WONDERFUL. I didn't realize how much I had missed riding.

Wendy let me ride her horse Topacio. (I'm doing groundwork with Adonis and would like to build a stronger relationship with him before I ride him again.)

When Wendy offered me Topacio, my only concern was whether he was an easy ride or not. I still can't do a lot of pulling because of my wrist. I would not be able to ride any of Leslie's horses right now, like Barney whose idea of a half-halt is what I think of as a full-blown, yanking back, HOLY CRAP HALT. If you try to ride Barney with the reins at the buckle, he thinks you're giving him full license to gallop away like he's just been released from the starting gate at Belmont.

"Oh, Topacio's wonderful," said Wendy. "He'll be really easy with you."

After we were all tacked up and ready to head out, Wendy said, "He sometimes tries to ride out from under you a bit. I wouldn't touch him with your leg for at least the first thirty minutes."

I almost laughed out loud. What I said was, "We'll be fine."

"And make sure to talk to him if we come across a bike rider on the trail. He won't take off with you, but sometimes he'll do a 360."

"He spins?" I asked.

"Yeah, he spins."

"Okay, then."

I admit I hesitated for a moment. And I usually don't hesitate when horses are involved.

I looked at my wrist, which was still in a brace. Then I asked myself, "Am I really up for this?"

I began to wonder if I should have taken Adonis. I knew what to expect from Adonis. For the first time it occurred to me that I was about to hop on a horse I didn't know, a horse I had never ridden.

But I trusted Wendy.

"We'll be fine," I said again and just hoped that it was true.

Of course, Topacio was WONDERFUL. No spinning, no spooking, no slapping me up against trees (well, except at the end, but that was my fault for not ducking!)

Thank you SO MUCH, Wendy!

Topacio was okay with everyone out on the trail except for the guy with the sharp hedge clippers. I could feel him tense up under me, but I didn't blame him. The guy was creepy. If Topacio had taken off at that moment, I would have added leg to suggest we get out of there faster.

Anyone looking a bit too happy while holding up an open pair of long clipper blades makes my creepy list. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if the abandoned ax we found had belonged to creepy clipper guy. Might have been his last murder weapon.

"You watch too many forensic TV shows," said Wendy.

It's true. I love that stuff.

But really, how exactly do you LOSE an AX?

"I have a lost story that will top any lost story," said Cher.

Cher and her husband were cleaning fish at Cher's mom's house. Cher was flinging sticky guts off her hands when her wedding ring slipped off her finger and flew into the air. No one saw it fall. They looked everywhere, but no one could find the ring.

Three years go by.

Cher is hanging laundry on her mom's clothesline, and she sees something on top of one of the clothespins sparkle. Lo and behold, it's her wedding ring hanging there from the top of a clothespin.

I know. Wow, right?

I created Forever Sky Ranch because I loved working with horses, especially my rescue horses. And I wanted the best of everything for my 4-legged babies. I used to wake up each morning with excitement bubbling over.

Somehow over the years, with fences to build and waterers to fix, with pastures to plant and fertilizer to spread, with this and that and the other and this and that again, I lost sight of my purpose, my reason for doing all of it. I sacrificed time with my horses to make the ranch work. I sacrificed too much time.

Now, having had 6 weeks of forced vacation, it's as if someone has turned on the defrost in my brain.

I finally realize that while my lovely ranch and my FSR family are as close to my heart as they can get, time with my horses has to be a priority. Each day that goes by that I don't get to spend time with my babies, something inside me wilts.

So from now on, when you head out to the ranch, yes, you'll still see me on the tractor or holding a drill or picking up manure, but just as often, you will also see me in the pasture with my orange carrot stick or you'll see me grooming or riding or simply hanging out with one of my horses while they graze. You might even see me in the round pen standing over a pile of hay. (For that to make sense, you have to read Naked Liberty by Carolyn Resnick or just ask Mirka about the waterhole rituals. Awesome stuff.)

Point is, I finally remember why there's a Forever Sky Ranch. It's not because of horse shows or blue ribbons or competitions or anything of the sort. It's because there was once a girl who was a dreamer, a girl who thought hanging out in the pasture and watching the interaction of the herd was a good way to spend the day, a girl who wanted nothing more than to ride bareback and bridleless across an open field without a care in the world, a girl who thought connection with a horse meant more than leg aids and rein contact. A girl who wanted to share her joy of horses with the world.

Yes. I finally remember. And thanks to a broken wrist, an inspiring trainer, an awesome trail ride with friends, and a story about a lost ring, that girl...well...she's BACK.

We Have Nothing to Fear, But Fear Itself.

I am a recluse by nature. It's true.

An introvert.

I often play the part of "extrovert," but when it comes right down to it, I'm simply not that outgoing. I am, in fact, deep down, merely scared.

It took me a long time to recognize that basic emotion that churned in my gut as FEAR because it was always so cleverly masked with ideas about rejection and approval, disappointment and success. But when you pull away all the layers, what you are left with is FEAR.

When I realized my entire life was based around my own personal FEARS, I was suddenly able to better understand my horses.

That's what a horse's life is about, after all: FEAR

Horses are prey animals, and as such, their lives are naturally based in fear. The red bucket that wasn't sitting by the side of the barn yesterday poses a grave threat to the intelligent equine. Anything out of the ordinary or anything out of place = threat.

I worked with Adonis today--my first time since breaking my wrist. I was unsure whether or not I could adequately hold the lead line in my left hand, if the pressure would be too much for my broken wrist, even in the cast. But fortunately, leading Adonis was effortless.

He sniffed my cast all over (it was new, after all) to make sure I didn't happen to have a hand grenade taped to my arm. Once he was satisfied that the bright lime green cast wasn't going to hurt him, he fell into his normal behavior pattern.

I took him to the round pen and let him loose. My only goal was to share the space with him and not have him infringe on my personal space unless I invited him to do so.

So he stared at me. (He's an extroverted horse. He lives for attention.)

But he surprised me by respecting my space. If I looked at him and with my body language suggested he come forward to meet me, he would walk up to me. But if I didn't look at him, and stood relaxed, he didn't approach me. He stayed close, but not in my space.

So just as the realization of my own fears helped me understand my horses, the reaction of my equine companion gave me an equally important realization.

Our connections with other human beings is up to us. It's in how we LOOK at other people. If we are aloof in our body language or reserved with our visual contact, the people around us are going to stand back. It's only when we open ourselves to other people that we have the opportunity to form friendships. We must first "suggest" with our body language that we are approachable, that we aren't a threat.

I will probably always be "scared." It's my nature. I have a tender heart, and I don't like having it hurt. But maybe, for us introverts, fear isn't all we have to look forward to.

Maybe we can learn from our equine friends that sometimes all it takes is a desire for connection and a bit of confidence in those around us. We realize that the red bucket is just that: a red bucket. And we begin to trust. And through trust, we experience freedom.

The Ground Hurts-- or--Reasons I Don't Belong in the Rodeo, But My Horse Does

This past Thursday, I had a marvelous day with my ponies. I trailered Adonis over to Double P Farm in the morning and had a fantastic trailer-loading lesson with Mirka. Our two-hour lesson turned into three as Mirka worked to teach me how to load Adonis the natural way. (I have to say, the three hours felt like 30 minutes. The woman has a gift.)

When we accomplished the task, with Adonis actually more relaxed than when we started, I was flying high on pony love.

I got back to the ranch and practiced a few more times getting Adonis in and out, as Mirka suggested. Then I cleaned up my lovely Arabian boy and put him back in his stall with fresh hay.

That's when I looked at my watch.

4:02.

I had to pick up the boys from school before 5:00. They were in aftercare. I had promised we would stop by Krispy Kreme on the way home, so I really needed to leave. (And I really should have left.)

But I wasn't ready to give it up.

I went to Naysa's stall and kissed her nose. She and I had experienced a fantastic session together the day before. I had taken her out to an empty pasture, removed her halter, and began to work with her at liberty. She responded so wonderfully to my leading her that I was surprised.

So as I stood there loving on her, I thought, "Let's go for a ride."

"I think I'm just going to hop on bareback," I told Leslie.

I hadn't planned to ride for an extended period. I only wanted to hop on, take a stroll around the barn, and just "be" with her. I hadn't ridden her in quite some time because she had developed a breathing problem during the heat of the summer, but now that she seemed to have recovered, I wanted to start working with her again.

"You saddled her after all!" said Leslie as I walked Naysa over to retrieve my helmet.

"She was good girl, too!" I replied.

Naysa didn't even shift her weight when I put on her saddle, and she didn't even blink when I tightened the girth. She practically put the bridle on by herself.

When I walked her to the mounting block, she stood perfectly still and square. I put weight in the stirrup to make sure she was okay. She had cocked her back leg, so I wasn't all that worried.

WRONG!

"You still there, Leslie?" I called. Leslie stepped out of the barn with Christine at her side. "Just wanted to make sure you were close by," I said. "so you can call 911 if she bucks me off."

I was TEASING. (Note to self: Don't ever say that again.)

Once I sat down in the saddle, Naysa went into full-blown rodeo mode. She got her head down and, according to Leslie, all four feet came off the ground. At some point she tossed me down and I hit the ground hard. (I should have hopped on bareback. I might have stayed on!)

I knew when I hit that it was bad. I couldn't breathe. I struggled to get up, but I couldn't. Leslie was at my side in an instant. So was Naysa.

"The way she was standing there," Leslie said later when we were in the ER, "it looked like she was saying NEXT!" Her words were tinged with laughter. "Naysa was fine after she got you off her back."

"She must hurt somewhere," I replied. "I must have hurt her."

After I hit the ground, I tried to stand up, but I couldn't put weight on my left wrist. My wrist didn't concern me, though. My lower abdomen was hurting and felt increasingly warm. When I attempted to stand, everything would start to go black and I would sink back to the ground. I began to worry that the impact had caused internal bleeding.

I asked Leslie to drive me to the ER, and I called my mom to pick up the kids. Allen was still teaching class.

Leslie took wonderful care of me. She even fed me a Krispy Kreme donut on our way to the hospital. Now THAT'S a good friend!

When I entered Triage, my blood pressure was 80/50. I told the nurse about my abdominal pain, but she didn't seem concerned with my case--or with anything for that matter. A robot would have paid more attention to me. She sent me to "Fast Track." When the fast track nurse evaluated me, he rolled me straight down to the main ER after rolling his eyes in disgust that I had been mis-placed.

Apparently any fall from a horse is considered a trauma alert.

So they did all the X-rays and CT-scans. The nurse scared both me and Leslie by suggesting that I had probably fractured my pelvis.

"We see that all the time, "She said. "It's the most common horse fall injury."

Thankfully, only my left wrist was broken. They set it in a temporary cast, to be replaced by a "real" cast next week after the swelling is under control.

The rest of me just hurts. Bad.

"Don't you remember what I told you?" said Alexis. "Don't fall off next time!"

Alexis has requested I get a tie-dyed cast. (I didn't realize there was such a thing.) Regardless what color I choose for the cast, I'll definitely have people sign it! I mean, there have to be some perks since I'm going to be one-handed for a while!

It's funny, I have had several people tell me "I'm sorry she hurt you."

I find that a ridiculous notion. Horses don't set out to hurt us. We hurt ourselves. We are responsible. We get hurt because we don't listen to our equine companions, because we don't build the bond on the ground before we get in the saddle, and simply because we don't pay attention to our environment and what we are doing.

It was my fault that Naysa bucked me off, not hers. She needed more from me, more preparation and more consideration, in order to accept me on her back once again. I didn't give her what she needed. And it's certainly possible that she has back pain. I owe it to her, to us, to get her back checked out.

What's NICE to know is that horses have an amazing capacity to forgive. If any horse has taught us that, it's Naysa. When I feed her treats tomorrow and scratch her ears, I'll tell her I'm sorry, and she'll understand, because while she might not comprehend the words, she will no doubt sense the emotion.

Beyond Watermelon

Allen dropped me off this morning so I could pick up my car from the shop. It had been there since September 10th, 12 days ago, when I had a blow-out on my way home from the ranch and found out that the tires to my hybrid weren't so easily replaced. I could have picked up the car much sooner (9 days sooner), but I didn't want to spare the time since I was preparing for the FSR Schooling Show and needed every last minute to work. I drove my truck instead.

As we were driving to get my car, I realized, with horror, that I had forgotten something of vital importance.

I gasped.

"What's wrong?" Allen asked.

"I left a watermelon in the car."

At the time, when the tow-truck driver dropped off the car, I had assumed I would pick it up the next day. When the Chevy people told me it would take the weekend to fix, I didn't think about the watermelon. And by the time I decided not to worry about getting the car until the show was over, I had forgotten about the watermelon altogether.

I don't think it's necessary to describe to any of you what 90-degree heat (higher inside a closed vehicle) does to ripe fruit.

What is important to tell you is that I have an unusual phobia. I can handle blood and guts with ease. I can deal with dog puke or kid puke or any manner of poop. None of that bothers me at all. But I can't bring myself to go near a rotten fruit or vegetable. Just the sight of a sunken tomato is enough to make my stomach turn. And the smell...oh God, the smell.

So I pulled out of the Chevy dealership like a crazy person. I had to find a dumpster and fast, and I was struggling to stay within 5 miles of the speed limit, but it's hard to race away from the stench--and not speed--when the stench is in the seat behind you.

I ended up driving to the University where I knew I could find an open dumpster and no one would ask questions. Or try to stop me. (I could just see a helpless Walmart employee trying to keep me from using their dumpster. I'm sure the scenario would involve me getting a mug-shot taken and a headline of "Lunatic Assaults Employee with a Rotten Watermelon. Story at 6."

Just recalling how I gathered up the squishy mess with old ranch towels makes me want to run to the bathroom holding my stomach. But I was able to scoop the nastiness up and throw it out, even though the towels made their way into the dumpster along with the rotting red nastiness.

Getting rid of the melon, though, did not get rid of the smell. I was reminded of the Seinfield episode "The Smelly Car." Jerry says, "You don't understand what I'm up against. This is a force more powerful than anything you can imagine. Even Superman would be helpless against this kind of stench."

So I drove home and literally emptied a gallon of odor and stain removal on the carpet where the putrid juice had poured out. Then I went to it with the steam cleaner. I admit the smell was better, but not totally gone. I sprayed the area again with Oxy Carpet Stain Remover and left it soaking with the windows open.

"It's just a watermelon," said Allen.

"It's beyond watermelon," I replied. In fact, I still feel dirty. *shiver*

I can't tell you how happy I am that I have to drive the truck tomorrow. I am trailering Adonis over to Mirka's for a lesson. With any luck, the smell won't still be clinging to me like an entity. But maybe I should warn her, or at least bring her a clothespin for her nose, just in case.

And I think I'll shower a few more times before I go to bed.