Eat, Pray, Love

I have to admit that I am a huge Twilight fan. I read the entire 4-book series in 5 days. Last year I found myself up at 2am reading New Moon, determined to finish the book before going to sleep. Then like an addict I started Eclipse at 3am without even a bathroom break.

I went to see the movie rendition of Eclipse today. While the movie itself was "okay," what really stayed with me was the trailer for the movie "Eat, Pray, Love." Julia Roberts plays the main character.

"I used to have this appetite for my life," she says. "And it's just gone."

As I get closer to 40, with all the stresses of life, I often wonder how I can hold on to the little girl inside me, the one who can't wait to plunge into life, the one who isn't afraid to trust, the one who loves freely and openly, whose insides are bursting with excitement for everything that life has to offer.

I admit I was starting to doubt it was possible to hold on to such passion for life. Maybe it slowly died, I thought, with every hurt, with every disappointment, with every betrayal.

Then I met Cher.

Cher walked into my barn this past April with a dream. She wanted to get her first horse. Once she had voiced her dream, Cher set out with passionate determination to find an equine companion. After a few disappointments (and one lost deposit from an incredibly unfair woman in Georgia), Cher found Lily.

The day she brought Lily home to the ranch was something to see. I have never seen someone so happy to get a horse. I mean, I wasn't even that happy the day I got Sky, and I was pretty darn happy that day! (Sorry Sky! You know I love you!)

Not only did Cher seem happy to have her Lily-pad, she seemed happy about everything, sort of like a 14-yr-old girl who still thinks life is a bundle of roses with endless possibilities.

Did I mention that Cher is 62?

If I didn't, it's because age isn't something you think about when you meet Cher. She's a beautiful woman. You think that. She has a figure to die for. You think that. She is sweet. You definitely think that. Genuine. Yes. Energetic. Yep. But age? Nope. Not something that crosses your mind.


Really, Cher actually makes me feel old.

"You don't start getting old," says Cher, "until you decide that you are all grown up!"

I'm definitely not all grown up (just ask my mom!) so I suppose there is hope for me yet.

The day Lily arrived, Cher taped this letter to Lily's stall:

DEAR FRIENDS AT FOREVER SKY RANCH,

I WANTED TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. MY NAME IS CHER; I'M A CHRISTIAN AND A NEW MEMBER OF YOUR FAMILY HERE AT FSR! I JUST PURCHASED MY VERY FIRST HORSE!!! I'VE WANTED ONE SINCE AGE 3 (ASKED FOR ONE EVERY BIRTHDAY AND CHRISTMAS OF MY LIFE) AND I'M GETTING READY TO TURN 63, SO IT'S BEEN A LONG 60 YEARS COMING! IT'S A DREAM COME TRUE FOR ME!! CAN YOU TELL HOW EXCITED I AM? . . . AND IT'S NOT EVEN CHRISTMAS!! I KNOW I HAVE SOOOO MUCH TO LEARN AND I WILL DO MY BEST TO OBSERVE PROPER BARN ETIQUETTE AND FOLLOW THE BARN RULES. IF I MESS UP, PLEASE LET ME KNOW RIGHT AWAY AND I WILL TRY TO NOT REPEAT THE MISTAKE. (IF I DO, JUST WRITE ON A POST-IT AND STICK IT ON MY FOREHEAD!!) I WILL TRY NOT TO BE A PAIN IN THE BUTT WITH THE MANY QUESTIONS I'M GOING TO HAVE. I HOPE YOU CAN BE PATIENT WITH ME WHILE I ABSORB EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT CARING FOR A HORSE AND IMPROVING MY EQUESTRIAN SKILLS.
I CAN'T WAIT TO MEET YOU ALL AND THANKS FOR LETTING ME BECOME A MEMBER OF THE FOREVER SKY FAMILY! I JUST LOVE THIS PLACE!

CHER HEFFERNAN, LILY'S MOM

I smiled when I read that note. It was full of such life and energy, such warmth. I knew then that Cher coming to Forever Sky was a blessing of some sort, like a gift from an angel. (Actually, if I found out that Cher WAS an Angel, I wouldn't be surprised one bit. I'd probably say something like, "And?")

A few weeks ago I was having a moment of inner turmoil. Something inside me looked to Cher for what I hoped would be a small piece of advice. Her return email was long, thoughtful, and caring. It actually brought me to tears. She ended her wonderful letter by writing

"Pray. Be yourself. Be happy."

Thank you, Cher. For being part of the family at Forever Sky. For your laughter. Your joy. Your friendship. And your smile. But most of all, THANK YOU for showing me that regardless of what life throws at you, it IS possible to hold on to your appetite for life, your passion, your excitement, and your love.

I'm Really Not a Biker Chick

I love tattoos. I always have. I wanted to have a tattoo long before tattooing became a fad and every California teenager had have her navel surrounded with an image of the sun. There really should be warnings posted about tummy tattoos--something like "If you get this now, don't get pregnant. Ever. Just saying."

My Uncle David was "inked up." He was retired from the Navy and sported a blue splotchy anchor on one forearm and a blue splotchy busty woman on the other.

I LOVED those tattoos. I was six years old, and I loved them. I used to trace the anchor with my fingers. I think I was too embarrassed to touch the lady.

Of course when I told my mom I was going to have tattoos when I grew up, her response was "That's nice, honey." She probably thought that my desire to put permanent marks on my body would pass along with my desire to have fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror of my future car.

But it didn't. (Sorry, Mom!)

So when you walk into the barn and see a woman with a tattoo of a panther on her upper arm, that's me. Hi. I'm really not a biker chick. I just love tattoos.

Carla, my very first boarder and my very good friend, sent me a text yesterday. It was just a picture. Of a tattoo. A wolf and a dragonfly on a woman's shoulder blade. HER shoulder blade.

"Did you just get a tattoo???!!!?" I exclaimed with texting punctuation.
"Yep," was all she wrote.

My first thought was "We're going to have a barn full of chicks with tattoos." My second thought was, "I have such a cool barn."

Tattoos are addictive. Once you get the first one, there's something inside you that wants to get another.

I have four.

I think number five will be a horse. Not sure where that one's going just yet. I'll let you know when I decide. :-) Just don't tell my mom.

Whiskey for my Men, Beer for my horses.

A few years ago I hated the Toby Keith song about Whiskey and Horses. I couldn't listen to it. When it came on, I would turn the station.

"Awful," I thought. "Just Awful."

I hated it.

It's important to say, I suppose, that I always thought the lyrics were "Whiskey for my men, BE-FORE my horses."

I was appalled. Those horses broke their backs to get those ungrateful poor excuses for men to wherever it is they were getting (yes, I realize it's just a song, but still) and those pathetic self-centered cowboys were going to give their men whiskey first? Not on my watch. Heck no.

Later I realized the song was "Whiskey for my men, BEER for my horses."

I felt much better after that.

I have to say, Naysa LOVES beer.

She smells it and her neck stretches out so long you would think she was a giraffe.

A friend of mine who drinks Corona--and only Corona--gave Naysa her first sip of beer last year. After that, she became a total addict.

Today, when I walked in the breakroom, I checked all the coolers that were still sitting out after our amazing party this past Saturday. (I have been forbidden from blogging about the party. Yes, it was a REALLY fun evening.) The IGLOO cooler which held the beer was still full of ice--even after two days.

I picked up an ice-cold Coors and thought two things: 1) I would love to drink this (I'm not drinking beer these days) and 2) I bet Naysa would love this.

I covered the beer cap with my FSR shirt and twisted. A bit of cool fog drifted about the opening of the beer.

When I walked out to give Naysa a sip of beer, I heard Katrina call out, "You're not getting my horse drunk, are you??"

Katrina had brought her horse Amira in for a lesson with Alexis. (Amira is a gorgeous Arabain mare. Way too good for beer. I'd guess high-class champagne for her.) Amira was nickering at the sight of me providing "treats" to other horses.

"No," I called down the barn aisle. "Just giving Naysa her fix!"

Nay took a few laps of beer from my hand, but then turned her nose up. (Guess it wasn't Corona.) I ended up with most of the beer on my shirt and the rest splashed on the ground. I could hear my Corona friend say, "That's downright alcohol abuse, that is."

The moral of the story??

There IS no moral to this story! I'm just glad our horses get beer if they want it, and there's not much cowboy whiskey drinking going on.

**Amira would like to inform her public--now that she has become a blog star--that she will not be taking any phone calls but will be signing hoof-o-graphs for a special select few.

Every Journey Has a Beginning

My two sons and I were watching movie trailers today--The Last Airbender, Avatar, Toy Story 3, Twilight Eclipse--when somehow we came upon the preview for Star Wars, Episode I. The boys were captivated. I had to read out loud the words on the screen:

Every Generation has a Legend.

Every Journey has a First Step.

Every Saga has a Beginning.

I suddenly saw Alexis as Obi-Wan Kenobi training Jedi Star fighters, and I laughed out loud. The boys made me start the trailer over because I interrupted. Brats. :-)

It's true, though. Every journey does have a first step. And every saga does have a beginning. Forever Sky took that first step on July 18th of last year, when we officially opened for horsey business. We had a big party that day. It was Sky's birthday. One year ago the ranch was quiet. I had my horses. I had Janine. And I had a very big dream. The worst that could happen was that no one would share my dream. But little by little, things began to happen. And the dream began to become reality.

Now, a year later, I look back at all the activities FSR has hosted: Adult Horse Camp, Dressage Workshops, a fantastic Schooling Show, and an incredible summer kids' camp. The young ladies at kids camp had so much fun that they begged Alexis to start a Saddle Club. (Please, Obi-Wan. We are ready to train.) So this year, as we approach our anniversary, I'm no longer the only one holding on to the dream of what Forever Sky can be. Now we have a team of dreamers--the FSR team.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the FSR Saddle Club.

**Insert Applause**

Next Saturday, the 17th of July, at 4:00pm, FSR will celebrate its first anniversary. We'll have food and cake, wine and beer. We'll have brand new FSR shirts for sale. And we'll have plenty of nice, cold A/C in the breakroom. In addition, the Forever Sky Saddle Club will have its first official meeting. (If you're interested, come an hour early. The group is meeting at 3:00)

We are so excited about our upcoming party! Please join us and help us celebrate the fact that every so often dreams can, and do, come true.

Two Roosters in a Stall

34 days.

That's how long it's been since I posted the last blog. I've toyed around with a few stories, but I couldn't bring myself to wrap them up and post them, not until today.

Every time I would start writing about the FSR kids camp or Katrina getting separated from her horse, or my trip to get Ruby from Texas, or how I actually printed brochures with "Let your Imagination SORE," I would see that picture of Jake chilling out on the couch, his mouth slightly open in that wonderful doggy grin.

To post a new blog meant taking Jake off the front page. I suppose in my subconscious, somewhere, I felt that putting up a new blog meant that my life with Jake was really in the past. And I wasn't ready to let go.

This morning when I arrived at the ranch, everything was quiet. It was drizzling a bit, and the dark sky and cool wind promised we could expect more than a drizzle at any moment. Since I was just coming to drop off brochures, I planned to be in and out fast before the sky opened up and I had to carry on with wet clothes. But as I turned to leave, Naysa nickered at me.

I was forced to head to the peppermint drawer.

While I was feeding Naysa's peppermint addiction, I suddenly heard a resounding

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!"

I literally froze.

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!"

I headed toward the noise.

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!"

I stopped at an empty stall and slowly moved to peer over the door. There they were. Two roosters in a cage. They looked at me and cocked their heads to the side--no pun intended. Their big red combs flopped with the quick movement of their feathered heads.

I started to laugh. It was one of those laughs that comes from deep inside, the kind you know you can't stop. I just kept laughing. And then I laughed more.

Turns out the roosters were waiting for Janine's mother to come pick them up. FSR was just a short stop on their way to a new home. (In their cramped cage, I'm sure they felt like any of us do at the Atlanta airport.)

Life never ceases to amaze me. Somehow, on a rainy, miserable day, those two funny roosters made me realize it was okay to move on.

Rest in Peace, Jake. We still miss you. We always will.

King of the Mountain

This past Tuesday I had to have Jake, my wonderful dog and companion, put down. He had toe cancer. Apparently black male standard poodles are prone to toe cancer. Sounds almost silly. It's not. Jake was 10 years old.

We had two of his toes removed a couple of years ago, and we made the decision that if other toes became cancer-ridden, that we weren't going to keep cutting off body parts. It was a hard decision.

When Jake was a puppy, he would climb up on this large rock (nearly 5 feet high) in our front yard. Often he would be holding a frisbee in his mouth that he had successfully retrieved. We called him "King of the Mountain."

And he really was King of the Mountain.

It's odd coming home without seeing his big fluffy "fro," and that dangling pink tongue. Jake was big and black, and strangers were always terrified of him. So funny considering he was essentially a 75lb lap dog. Jake was truly the best dog ever.

I miss him.

Last year this time I had to put down my horse Arete because of tumors behind her eyes that were causing her pain. She was 26. You can find her portrait in the Forever Sky break room. She looked exactly like Sky. I miss her too.

When I got home yesterday, I sat down at my desk and the first thing I saw was a picture of Leslie and her horse, Rico. Looking at the picture brought fresh tears to my eyes. Like Arete, Rico was 26 years old when he crossed over the rainbow bridge. He went quietly. One day they simply found him lying down in the field. Peaceful. At rest.

Are we gluttons for punishment? We take these creatures into our homes and hearts. They become family. And yet we are destined to lose them.

Sky will be 26 next month. And while she acts like a bratty 3-year-old, I know she's not. I sometimes wonder when I'll have to say goodbye.

But it's not something I dwell on.

Losing Jake was hard, but it reaffirms for me my belief that you never know when your last moment alive will be. Nothing is certain. And so we must live every day in a way that fulfills us and makes us proud. We must live with Integrity. Joy. Fortitude. Reckless abandon. Tenderness. Compassion. And most of all, Love.

Take time today--and everyday--to really hug your family and your friends. Pet your dogs and cats. Wrap your arms around your horse. Take a moment to cherish the living beings in your life, whether they walk on two legs or four. Tell them you love them.

Take time to do the things that are really important.

Love more. Laugh more. Live more.

Famous Last Words

Thursday I had a great lesson on Sky. When we were finished, I was feeling so good, I wanted to keep riding. So I tacked up Bingo, the pony who is dead calm for children but will spook at his own shadow if an adult is on his back. While I was trotting Bingo around the arena, Leslie was having a lesson on Barney, her 20-yr-old thoroughbred.

I wanna ride Bingo!" said Leslie. (Everyone loves Bingo.) Leslie was frustrated with Barney because he was doing beautiful flying lead changes which would have gotten perfect marks for Level 3 dressage, but she was trying to get him to work on the Level 1 test.

"Wanna switch?" I asked.

"Absolutely!"

So when Leslie finished her lesson, I gave her Bingo, and she gave me Barney.

Barney is AWESOME. He stands at 16.3 hands and has the most amazing stride.

"You have to be firm with him," warned Leslie, "or he'll take off with you. He can be a butt."

"I'm not worried about him taking off with me," I said. (Famous Last Words.)

I could tell Barney was excited when I first got on him. Whether it was from just coming out of a lesson or from all the jumps in the arena, I didn't know. (Barney had once been a gold metal jumper. He had also had training under Michael Matz--the guy who trained the famous Barbaro.)

I took Barney into the dressage arena so he wasn't tempted to clear one of the jumps, and we began to canter.

His canter was almost too amazing. It felt like we were flying. I was totally comfortable in the saddle. The only problem was that once we were in that flying canter, I forgot to actually RIDE. I was leaning forward, and so Barney kept going faster. As we approached the edge of the plastic dressage fence, I suddenly realized I had no control what-so-ever. I looked at that little plastic fence and thought, "He's jumping out of this arena."

I prepared myself for exiting the dressage arena, but all of Barney's training must have kicked in at the last minute. He suddenly made a sharp turn to the right. If he had been a car, his tires would have squeeled. I, on the other hand, kept going in the same direction, at which point I "was separated" from Barney. Unfortunately, I landed on my back on that plastic dressage fence. Ouch.

"I should never have written that blog about the Physics of falling off a horse," I said to Janine when we got back to the barn.

"That's the bare basics of physics," said Janine. "If you want to get into real physics, you'd have to calculate the velocity of the horse, your velocity, and the angle at which you were separated."

Definition of acceleration: a = (Vf – Vi)/Δt
*motion equation: Vf2 = Vi2 + 2aΔx
*linear motion equation: Δy = Vyit + ½ ayt2

Hmmm. Okay. Maybe not. I think I'd rather fall of a horse than do anything resembling Janine's homework. Besides, the calculator on my iPhone doesn't have sine and cosine.

"Were you tense at all?" asked Leslie later that evening, when we were chilling out in the break room. "You looked really relaxed."

I laughed. "You mean relaxed as I was flying through the air?"

"Well, yeah. You seemed pretty calm."

I probably had been. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but I don't worry about falling off.

"And I can't believe you got back on," Leslie continued.


"Well, it wasn't his fault," I said. "I was leaning forward. He was doing exactly what he thought I wanted him to do. He's a good horse. I can't wait to ride him again."


The next day, my body hurt from head to toe.

When I told Alexis how stiff and sore I was, she had only one thing to say.

"Stay on next time."

Thank you, Alexis. It's good advice. I think I'll take it, along with some Ibuprofen.