REACH FOR THE BRASS RING
(and NEVER Sleep With Your Mouth Open
11/15/07
Happy Anniversary to me!! After two days in November at M D Anderson being probed, tested and generally violated, the results are in . . . I am an Officially-Certified One Year Cancer Survivor!!
This time, last year, I was lying in a hospital bed, extremely weak after my horrendous catastrophic surgery to remove cancer of the appendix, wondering if life was over. Depression was my biggest enemy, as I was so down that I didn't even want to get out of bed to walk around the nurse's station, pushing my IV pole. I could not drink or eat anything for two months (being nourished by vein feeding), and I constantly craved a big, cold glass of orange juice. If I had been offered a glass of orange juice or a million dollars, I would have chosen the OJ! I had my first microscopic meal in two months on Christmas Day last year, and by the end of January, 2007, I could almost eat a child's portion, but due to the acid, I didn't have my first OJ until May.
Once I was able to eat food normally, my strength returned at an incredible speed, and in April, I camped and rode horses with friends at Lake Rayburn for two weeks, then traveled to Kentucky in May to ride and camp. In August, I spent two weeks in Italy (a life long dream), and in October, went back to Kentucky. (Yeah, I'll have no retirement and be a big ol' burden on my kids!) As soon as I got back, I reconnected with friends from the 80's and 90's, and we all camped at Lake Rayburn again. I seem to have more energy than ever, and in fact, am a borderline workaholic, but what I have noticed most of all is that life is richer after my Big "C" experience. I take nothing for granted, seize every opportunity that comes along, no matter how tired I am, I stay far away from the proverbial 'rut', I savor life like never before, and I practically have tendonitis from reaching for that brass ring!
At our campouts, some of my friends have elaborate campers, complete with TV's and microwaves, but some of us sleep in tents and hammocks. No sandwiches for us – we have full gourmet meals such as biscuits and gravy cooked over the camp fire, grilled chicken, steaks, baked potatoes, shrimp cocktails, homemade soup, and gumbo. In the mornings, I grind my own coffee beans and make the best coffee I've ever tasted in the $3 percolator that my good friend, Althea, got for me from a garage sale.
We particularly love the full moon, when we strap headlights on and ride at night, with the moonshine so bright that we can see our shadows. We strap glowing collars on the dogs and if we miss the trail, the dogs put us back on it. When we get back to camp, we sit around the fire while Dan and Diane play the mandolin and guitar, we sing and make S'mores.
I usually sleep in a tent, but one night, I was so enamored with the beautiful dancing, crackling camp fire that I decided to roll out my sleeping bag and spend the night there, right by the fire, like the old western movies.
Try sleeping on the ground on a sleeping bag with your adoring dog nearby!
I was sleeping peacefully and soundly when my Aussie, "Tex" decided to wake me up with his NOSE IN MY MOUTH!!! Yech!! Maybe I was snoring and deserved it, I don't know. I had to keep getting up during the night to stoke the fire, and each time, Tex would happily jump right in the middle of my sleeping bag, and it took all my strength to roll his limp, pleading body out. My dogs live outside and do not come in my house, so I was not very happy with him putting 'dog cooties' in my bed
Right before dawn, both dogs began to bark a lot, and I was really annoyed, so I turned on the flashlight, and immediately forgave the dogs for all their sins! I could see little red eyes everywhere I shone the light! Apparently, the dogs were keeping raccoons, 'possums and even a fox out of camp. The next night, I slept in a hammock strung between two trees, high up off of the ground!
Because of my cancer experience, I declined invitations to sleep in brand new air-conditioned campers with my friends. Lying in that hammock, the view was magnificent, with the stars twinkling in the sky, huge pine tree branches swaying in the wind, no mosquitoes, with a cool and gentle breeze blowing across my face. I slept like a baby, and the next morning, I was rewarded with a very moving and emotional experience – I was awakened by a strange sound that I'd never heard before, and as I looked up, I realized that two beautiful bald eagles were soaring above me, and one of them was calling out.
I was missing my gang at church, so I left that Saturday night after spending a full three days riding with friends, and drove back home so that I could catch the Sunday morning service. I was amazed that morning, when the sermon was on NOT living life in a rut, all safe and predictable, and that we should live life fully, try to be our best, reach out.
I have never once questioned God during the terrible ordeal I went through with the battle for my life. I never asked "Why Me?", because, why NOT me? (I'd rather it be me than my kids, for sure!) I did wonder "Why now?", since I lost my mother to colon cancer, and I halfway expected to have this battle, but not until I was much older. Now, at the risk of offending some folks, I am inclined to believe that this has been a blessing for me. Life is so much richer -- everything smells better, feels better, sounds better, and orange juice tastes like a million dollars!
I have preached this all my life: You have NOTHING if you don't have your health; no amount of money can buy good health, but family and friends are paramount, also.
Before the Big "C" experience, I had a list of things that I had hoped to do, and had resigned myself to just dreaming about them, but now, I am proactive. In the next two years, in between working and making a living, I WILL learn to scuba dive, play a guitar, become more fluent in Spanish, travel more, ride my Harley more, reconnect with old friends and make time for them, volunteer for more charity work, write more, and dream big.
Life is one big merry-go-round, so don't
just sit there on your revolving horse – lean way out and reach for the brass
ring while you can!
<----- Thriller and cute little Alexandria at the park in New Orleans.
We hauled 6 horses to East Texas and met with some fellow horse-aholics from New
Orleans to ride, and instead of doing circles in an arena, I thought I would
show them a great time and veer from the proverbial ‘beaten path’. There were 5
of us, with one being the cutest little 7-yr-old girl you ever saw, named Alex
(short for Alexandria), who was there to try out "Thriller", a black and white
spotted gelding I had for sale (since her birthday was coming up). We saddled
up and rode about a mile beside traffic, past a school that had just had their
homecoming parade, and all the horses did well considering all the commotion,
balloons and floats. My brilliant idea was to ride through the historical
cemetery, with gravesites from the early 1800’s, right after Texas became part
of the union. We made our way past the big white headstones and all the history
they recorded, down to the shores of Sam Rayburn Lake, where everyone gave a
sigh at what a beautiful day it was and at the stunning view. I had ridden a
couple of horses out into the lake and had a great time a few weeks before, but
now the water level was lower. We rode in single file, and everyone was
thrilled at the scenery. Lake Rayburn is a man-made lake, and since the water
was so low, we actually got to see parts of chimneys, storm cellars and old
cattle pens from the 1800’s and 1900’s which were buried underwater when the
Army Corp of Engineers came through and made everyone move to make way for the
lake.
We had ridden along the shore for about 5 minutes, when Thriller hit a pocket of
quicksand. His back end went down, but his front end was still on solid
ground. He’s very calm natured, being used to dogs and shooting guns, and tiny
little Alex, although she was a bit frightened, simply hopped off to the side
and held his reins, which came completely naturally to her. (She's going
to be a future great horsewoman!) I stepped off of my horse, took the reins
from Alex, gave Thriller a little pop on the hindquarters and he lunged forward,
pulling himself out with his front feet. About that same time, I heard a
commotion behind me, and Ruby, the sweetest, most gentle spotted horse mare on
Earth went down in a bigger pocket of quicksand, with her whole body being
buried halfway up her sides. She is almost 6 years old, and was raised by a
very nice lady from the time she was born, being pampered and spoiled, so she
doesn’t really understand that she’s a horse! Ruby was literally swimming in
liquid sand, and after about 30 seconds, she just flopped over slightly on her
right side, gave a little sigh and had the attitude that we got her in this
predicament, now she was going to relax and let us get her out of this fine
mess!
About three of us got down on our knees and started using our hands to dig her
front feet out, and she laid there like she was in a resort getting a massage!
She let us take her front legs out, extend them in front of her, and she never
moved a muscle the entire time. I was really beginning to think we were going
to have to go get a backhoe to pull her out. I unsnapped her reins from her
bridle, took one and got behind her and popped her on the hindquarters 3 or 4
times, which was just enough incentive to make her pull herself out with her
front feet. Since her back end was mired so deeply in liquid sand, it took all
the front strength she could muster, but she did it. After she got out, she
stood calmly and let her rider remount, and we moved off toward real land and
forgot about the lake! I had myself some real troopers, because when we got
back, everyone agreed that it was a little scary, but that it had been a fun
ride and a real adventure!
(published May 21, 2000 in the Houston Chronicle)
After a long drive to Shelbyville, Tennessee for a
business trip and putting in long hours, I hooked up with some friends while
there for some R & R the next day. On
this beautiful fall Sunday morning, we loaded up our horses and drove for about
an hour to Monteagle in the Cumberland Mountain Range. I had a premonition that
this would be an extraordinarily rich experience, for, as we made our way up a
particularly steep section of the highway, the sun burst into view as a
beautiful, poignant song from the radio flooded the cab of the truck, actually
giving us chills.
After parking, saddling, drinking steaming coffee and enjoying each other's
company, we mounted, fell into single file, and ceased conversation for awhile
to absorb the early morning serenity, hearing nothing but the thud of hoofbeats
on the forest floor and an occasional song from a bird. Our group rode for
couple of hours on twisting, turning, ascending and descending trails, over
wooden bridges and to rocky ledges where the view into the valley was
breathtaking. Several times we happened upon beautiful does and bucks, which
would stare at us for a few minutes before throwing up their white flags and
gracefully jumping creeks and logs to disappear into the forest.
Around noon, we stopped for a lunch break at a deserted cabin by a small lake.
As I was really tired and sleepy from the long drive from Texas a few days
before and grueling work week, I broke away from the group to look for a place
to take a quick nap. It was a beautiful, sunny, cool October day, and while
everyone else took the opportunity to grab a bite, I tied "Hitech
Generator", my Tennessee Walking Horse, to the nearest pine tree on a knoll
carpeted in six inches of soft pine needles. He had given me a wonderful,
spirited, smooth ride all morning and now he was surprisingly content to stand
quietly tied, one hind foot cocked in relaxation while I stretched out. I found
myself hypnotized by the beauty of the contrast of the deep green, achingly tall
pine trees that seemed to stretch forever into the blue, clear Tennessee sky.
I don't know how long I lay mesmerized by the cool wind, clean pine smell and
the sheer comfort of the thick pine bed before I drifted to sleep. I awoke about
30 minutes later to the comforting sight of “Hitech” still tied to the tree,
apparently snoozing, himself. I began to say a prayer of thanks for all the
events and circumstances that allowed me this almost religious experience of
communion with nature. A firm believer of the adage "Everything happens for
the better", I had suffered several frustrating and depressing setbacks
earlier in the week, all the while knowing that something good would be just
around the corner, and now, here I was, in "church"!
I reflected on the stark contrast of a few days before, when I sat alone in the
sterile, monotonous corridor of a hospital for the umpteenth time, waiting with
a sick feeling in my stomach for bone scans, MRI's and other mysterious,
complicated tests to be run on someone I love. Then, and again now, I said a
prayer for my mother, who was terrified and fighting two kinds of cancer, and
another prayer of thanks for being fortunate to be blessed with the good health
to be available to help her. I watched as she was poked and punched, needles
seemingly a routine part of her life as they drew blood every time she visited,
and again as they administered chemotherapy. I cringed as I listened to her at
night after each treatment, suffering the pain from the damage that the vile
chemicals did to her body. And I felt bad as I remembered that only a few weeks
before I had administered pain to her myself, having to give her nightly,
burning injections of cancer-combatants. I felt certain that the light at the
end of her tunnel must have seemed dim and remote to her. When I realized how
tough it must be to gather courage to cope with this barrage of pain, fear and
hopelessness, my problems paled in comparison, and I was cognizant of how I have
learned to truly appreciate the simple joys of each day.
I got up, dusted the pine needles off and untied Hitech. As I stepped into the
stirrup, swung into the saddle and urged him forward, I was once again
transported to that magical world where only a horse can take you. And that
world is heaven when it's enhanced by the rhythmic, smooth ride of a gaited
horse on the perimeter of a beautiful Tennessee mountaintop.
I said another prayer of thanks for whatever I did right to deserve this
experience and rode off to find and rejoin my riding buddies. As Hitech surged
forward with an awesome, four-beat glide, I said a prayer of thanks for my
health, my horse, and being an American living in this beautiful land of
freedom.
SEPTEMBER, 2003
We took a couple of weeks off and traveled by bikes (Harleys) to South Dakota,
Nebraska and Wyoming, and it was very interesting to see how hay for the horses
and cattle was handled. Most of the areas we went through had to be irrigated,
and there was lots of alfalfa, but the strangest thing to me was the fact that
they store their hay right out in the open, frequently right off the highway.
Alfalfa is sure beautiful whether it's growing or baled, and while I saw some
round bales, I saw lots of huge square bales, bigger than most round bales.
Nothing smells as good as a mature crop of alfalfa -- almost like a field of
cologne! There were several fields of sunflowers which were incredibly
beautiful -- I had no idea there was such a market for their seeds. I took some
breathtaking pictures of the countryside and enjoyed those wide-open Wyoming
skies. We packed everything we needed on the bikes, and frequently stayed in
our tent, even in Yellowstone (where we had to stow most of our stuff in
bear-proof boxes).
We got back home and back to the business of weaning colts, which isn't hard
when you've imprinted them, but we run a few cattle with the horses, and I
discovered that one of the new baby heifers was limping. Her mother was a
first-time mother, and didn't seem to have much milk. I felt like the heifer
was not going to make it and needed to be bottle fed, so I enlisted my son's, Bud's
services to catch her and bring her in, while I sat on the back porch enjoying a
glass of wine and a beautiful sunset, ready to be entertained! Bud is an
athlete and can ride like a deer, and he loves a challenge. He's very
talented with the horses, and has been known to walk out in a big pasture and
catch horses which are renowned for being hard to catch. On this day, I
found out how fast he can run when he's scared!
The heifer was asleep in the field and the adult cattle had grazed away quite a
distance. There was a herd of about 20 horses grazing about a hundred yards to
the other direction, so Bud figured the easiest way to bring the heifer in was
to sneak up on her while she was snoozing. He successfully stole his way
quietly to the sleeping heifer, pounced on her, held her down with his body
while he began trying to tie her legs together so she couldn't run and he could
carry her back. What he didn't count on was the bawling she began at the top of
her lungs, and that started a chain reaction rescue attempt with every critter
in the pasture! The cows (some of which had big horns) lifted their heads from
the grass, spun around and began to gallop over to Bud and the heifer, the white
birds (cattle egrets) which accompany the cattle took to the air in noisy
unison, and even the entire herd of horses spun around and came at a gallop
toward the struggling heifer. Bud looked to his left, saw the horns, looked to
his right, saw the flying hooves, let out a scream, threw the rope straight up
in the air and ran for his life. He vaulted the fence in one bound, and I fell
off the porch laughing!
Tropical Storm Allison hit Texas on June 8, 2001 and was so slow-moving that it circled around and hit again during the wee hours of June 9th, causing severe devastation. Here is one "horse" story from that storm, as published in the Houston Chronicle.
<--- Laverne's truck and horse
trailer about to go under the flood water.
Many people hear about flood stories and have a hard time understanding how
others get caught, and how quickly raindrops turn into gallons and then into
tons! On Friday before the revisit of Allison, I spoke with my friend, Laverne,
who lives in the C.E. King/Hwy 90 area, about her water level and the safety of
her animals. I remembered from a previous flood how quickly the water can rise .
. .
. . . In 1994, I got a call from some friends who lived in the Spindletop
subdivision in Crosby, and they were concerned because the water was already up
to the knees on their horses. In thirty minutes, I was parked about a half mile
from their house because the water was only 2 inches deep at the entrance, and I
dared not go farther. I splashed my way down the street, waded into the pasture
and led the horses, which were now up to their chests, back to my truck and
trailer. In the 20 minutes I was gone, the water had risen halfway up the wheels
on my truck, and the tongue-hitched horse trailer was actually floating and
swaying from side to side on the trailer hitch. I evacuated the horses safely to
a pasture in Dayton, but the memory is still vivid about how fast tragedy can
occur. If I had been 15 minutes later . . .
On Friday afternoon, since Allison had already passed, Laverne thought she would
be fine, and the horses were standing on a slightly higher level in her pasture.
Thinking the water would recede, she told me that she would call me if she
needed help. The next morning, she woke up with her dogs in bed with her, and
three feet of water in her bedroom, so of course, her phones were not working.
No problem, she had a cell phone - but as many discovered, apparently some of
the towers took on water, or the lines were blocked by heavy use, because
service was knocked out all over the area. She was virtually stranded with no
idea which way to evacuate. Outsiders would think that you could just walk
outside and head for high ground, but where is high ground?
Since Laverne's house is on blocks, the minute she stepped outside the water was
up past her knees and apparently rising. She grabbed a 200-gallon PVC water
tank, strapped her purse around her neck (with all her money, credit cards, ID,
keys) put her dogs in the tank and floated them down the street. At one point,
people yelled at her to change direction, because they knew the water was deeper
where she was headed. She made her way from Robert E. Lee to C.E. King where the
only high ground was the Texaco station and the fire station, which was packed
from border to border with rescued people. She found a nice couple at the Texaco
store and asked them to watch her dogs for her while she went back to rescue her
horses. She also handed them her purse, told them that it held everything she
now owned, and that she would be back for the dogs.
When she got back to her house, the shortest horse was now up to his neck, and
she knew that she didn't have time to evacuate them one by one, so against her
better judgment, she snapped lead ropes on all three and began another
exhausting "swim" out. She probably wasn't aware at the time because she was
operating on adrenaline, but her guardian angel was hovering overhead. One of
the horses was a young, 2-year-old filly and could have been a real problem in
all the excitement, but for some strange reason, she quietly cooperated and
followed the two older geldings. To add to the difficulty, piles of ants kept
floating toward Laverne and the horses, and as anyone who was in this mess
knows, they look like piles of dead leaves until they hit you. In addition,
Laverne had to get a stick to knock the snakes away, which kept trying to seek
shelter on her body!
Now, while Laverne has led a fairly physical life and has never been a "couch
potato", she has suffered some health setbacks recently and was certainly not in
condition for all this aerobic activity. When she reached the Texaco with the
horses, she was so exhausted that she tied them to the bar between the pay
phones, pulled up a concrete block, sat down, tried to catch her breath and
prayed that the water would not rise any higher. The horses seemed to know that
they were in trouble, and stood quietly, happy to let people and their kids pet
them. They provided a therapeutic diversion for all the poor flood victims,
bridging any gap there might be between blacks, Hispanics and whites as people
thrilled for the moment, touching and stroking their heads, noses and shiny
coats. Most of them wondered how the horses could be so calm while so much was
going on, but Laverne wasn't surprised because her horses are Tennessee Walking
Horses, which typically have gentle, quiet dispositions. In no time, these
horses had their own "flood" fan club, and when an older man who had obviously
been drinking beer stumbled out of the store, threatening to kill any of the
horses if they kicked him, Laverne was afraid the man might be mobbed! He was
quite unpopular from then on. Fortunately, for the majority of the people in
Houston, this flood brought out the good qualities in people, and this man (and
his kind of behavior) was really a minority.
I have taught my kids through the years that for every tragedy or bad thing that
happens, something good comes of it. The nice couple who held Laverne's purse
and watched her dogs were absolutely trustworthy. Watching everyone pitch in
together and help each other really helps to restore our faith in human
kindness, during current times of child molesters, bombers, drive-by shootings,
and other acts of violence reported each night. I spent my whole weekend
watching the devastation on television, absolutely mesmerized by the tragedy,
and having no idea of Laverne's misfortune. I thought about her the whole time,
but I assumed that since she didn't call, she was fine. By Sunday night, I was
feeling really guilty because I didn't suffer any flood-related calamity and
that I wasn't helping someone who did, so I was relieved and happy when Laverne
called me Monday morning to tell me that several of her "horse friends" were
coming to help. I took my son, Bud and his friend, Derek Coronado and we went to
help the gang rip out carpet, ruined furniture, supplies, pick up trash, haul
off ruined hay, etc. The boys wound up going next door to help the neighbors rip
their carpet out, also. Later in the week, the 2nd Baptist Church on Woodforest
showed up at Laverne's house in force with supplies and swarmed her place,
cleaning and moving heavy furniture.
On her kitchen wall, Laverne has a prized set of iron skillets and pots hanging that her friend, Jo Harrington gave her. In the flood of 1994, Jo's house was flooded and she didn't want them because they had been flooded with river water and were going to take a lot of effort to restore. Laverne was happy to have them, and worked hard for a solid month on them, using lots of elbow grease to polish and get them back to their original condition. She is looking for a new home for this set of iron cookware now, and she insists that they go to someone who lives on high ground!
PICTURED AT RIGHT: Laverne's three horses tied to the bar between the pay phones
at the Texaco store, patiently and quietly waiting for rescue. You can see at
the lower right corner how close they were to the flood waters by the "wake" in
the parking lot being created in the parking lot by passing vehicles.
(published March 15, 1998 in the Houston Chronicle)
For years I've watched and experienced the negative effects of showing horses. I've seen many long friendships, relationships and marriages break up because of the smallness in people that showing horses seems to bring out. I've seen teenagers hiss at each other as they come out of the ring, adults throw ribbons in the dirt and proclaim each horse show to be their "last", and animosity between friends develop over a silly blue ribbon or championship.
But this is a story of the positive effects of horse showing, or at least the positive effects of the camaraderie experienced during horse shows.
Once upon a time there was a girl -- we'll call her "Cinderella" because she'd kill me if I used her real name -- who didn't care for school, didn't have too many friends and really didn't have any hobbies. Her self esteem was nonexistent; she thought she was ugly, and consequently she carelessly slogged her way through her schoolwork, making C's and D's.
When her parents talked her into playing softball, she didn't really put her heart into it, although she was actually quite talented at the game, and was also talented at riding horses. And oh, what a grouch Cinderella could be if asked to wash the dishes or do chores around the house!
One thing Cinderella had going for her (sometimes against her) was her independence from the time she was a toddler. She figured she could do anything she wanted to. (She knew she could do anything if she tried, because her mom told her so, but she had to want for it to happen.)
One day, Cinderella's mom got a phone call from a previous customer who had bought a 3-year-old gelding from her for field trials. After two years of bird hunting, the owner was getting a divorce and wanted to sell the gelding. Cinderella's mom agreed to buy him back. When he stepped off the trailer, he was 5 years old and had a huge grass belly, long shaggy hair and worn-off hooves.
Mom saddled the gelding and rode twice around the arena, disgusted because the horse was so terribly pacey. But Cinderella yelled, "There he is! That's my new show horse!" Even though his nose stuck straight out in front of him and he had no style whatsoever, she recognized his potential and promised her mom she would take care of him.
Cinderella's independent nature would not allow her to accept help or advice from anyone, but her mom decided to give her a chance and watched while her daughter rode the gelding each day after school, gradually pulling his nose in, settling him in his gaits and changing his mind about being barn-sour.
When she finally saved enough money to take her horse to his first show, Cinderella met wonderful people who enthusiastically helped her. Many took her under their wings and offered words of encouragement, shod her horse for free, loaned her riding clothing and equipment, took her to lunch, gave her a place to spend the night at overnight shows, and even drove all the way out to her house to carry her and her horse to and from shows.
Once or twice, a guardian angel even swooped down in the horse show office and paid her remaining entry fees when she realized she didn't have enough money. Another angel, the pioneer of a youth achievement program, encouraged and educated Cinderella, making it possible for her to reap tangible rewards for her hard work and dedication.
Each of these single acts and occurrences might seem insignificant and trivial to the outsider, but in aggregate, the effect on Cinderella was like waving a magic wand. Spending so much time around these adult guardian angels developed her maturity, confidence and self esteem. Positive feedback through winning ribbons and the support and warm encouragement she received from her fellow competitors gave her a sense of self-worth.
The commitment she made to the project of developing her show horse and competing in the youth achievement program was paying off, and not just in the show ring. Her grades began to creep up to A's and B's, and she even began to seek more challenging classes. Her softball coach took notice of these improvements as she stepped up to the plate and began to swing her bat with more confidence, resulting in powerful hits to the outfield and beyond!
When Cinderella's mom had to make a business trip to Tennessee, she kept the home fires burning and really came through when put to the test. While her mom was out of town, a new filly developed an infection and the scours and had to be given a series of antibiotic injections. Cinderella bravely assumed all responsibilities and saved the filly's life.
She was also responsible for getting her little brother up every morning at 5:30 and getting him (and herself) on the school bus without disturbing her grandmother.
Cinderella's mom is proud of her daughter for maintaining a cheerful disposition and attitude, even when she doesn't win. She is proud of her daughter for recognizing and admitting to herself that most of the time, her losses are the result of her own lack of preparation and/or insufficient effort. She is also proud of Cinderella's ability to work hard and compete, but to strive foremost to have a good time, which is what childhood and horse shows should really be all about.
She believes that her daughter has learned some of life's hard lessons at an early age, when most people still don't have a clue as to priorities. Cinderella has watched people she loves struggle, suffer and even die, so she understands that winning a blue ribbon is just a tiny deal in the grand scheme of life.
Every story should end with "and they all lived happily ever after", but alas, that's not the case in this tale, because Cinderella still gets grouchy when it's her turn to do the dishes!
Where is that fairy godmother when you really need her?
(published January 24, 1999 in the Houston Chronicle);
(published July, 2003 in Chicken Soup for the Working Woman's Soul)
After working for a law firm in downtown Houston for ten years, I changed careers and have "graduated" to working with horses every day, and spend a lot of time in my truck delivering or picking them up. About every six to eight weeks I travel to Tennessee via the freeways of east Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama. I believe the most beautiful freeway along the route that I take is Interstate 59 right around Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Magnolia trees are plentiful, along with a thick forest of pine trees on both sides of the two-lane southbound freeway, as well as northbound, so that the opposite side of the freeway is completely camouflaged.
In fact, the last time I drove this freeway, it was so secluded and quiet , I had the road completely to myself. I had been driving alone, for about seven hours and was feeling kind of stiff and tired, so I decided to "get comfortable". I carefully checked front and back for any other vehicles -- no traffic for miles. The truck was in cruise in the left lane and I was wanting to remove a particularly binding undergarment, which is relatively easy to do in a safe manner while cruising. Double checking and once again not finding a soul in sight, I removed my shirt and set it on my lap close to the door, removed the offending undergarment and tossed it to my right (where it fell to the passenger floor area), and proceeded to carefully retrieve my shirt and put it back on.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a state trooper passed me on the right. For some reason, his taillights came on just as he blew past me, and he suddenly slowed down to coast even with my passenger door. Meanwhile, much to my horror, I found that my shirt was hung on the door handle and I had no way and nothing to cover myself with. I was unsuccessfully trying to untangle the shirt without accidentally opening the door while simultaneously watching the road and keeping an eye on him. After what seemed like an hour, he flashed his lights and hand-motioned for me to pull over. (I swear he took his own sweet time communicating this command to me!)
After he dropped back behind me, I immediately moved to the right lane, still trying to untangle the shirt and wondering how to hide myself. (I didn't think I had been speeding and the only thing I could imagine was that I would have a hard time explaining to my kids that I had been thrown in jail in Mississippi for public indecency!) I finally came to a stop, put the truck in park and jammed the shirt back on over my head. I took deep breaths in an effort to return my face to its natural color before he walked up to my window. As he approached to ask for my driver's license and insurance card, I noticed that Mr. Trooper was very young and very good-looking. Since my face was still burning from three shades of red, I tried not to make eye contact as I handed him my license and, Ohmigosh, an expired insurance card. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but it seemed he was trying really hard not to break out laughing.
He made me get out of the truck and walk all the way back to the end of the horse trailer. After quizzing me on where I was going, who I was going to see, etc., he asked me if I realized that I had managed to commit three infractions. I was shocked, but braced myself for the embarrassment. The first, he said, was speeding. Fortunately, I didn't deny it, and he informed me that it was only 5 miles over the limit and he would just drop it. The second was I had no license plate on my horse trailer. I thought he was kidding but when I looked up, I realized that it had blown off. The third, he said while allowing a slow smile to light up his face, and while I braced myself for total humiliation, was that I had been driving in the left lane. I was so relieved that it was not related to my barreling down the freeway 70 mph naked that I actually laughed and demanded to know what kind of people were Mississippians to build freeways with two lanes and not be allowed to use the left one? With that mysterious little smile, he patiently explained that the left lane was for passing only, which was the law in other states as well, including Texas. He graciously never mentioned my nudity and even though my insurance card was expired, he just smiled and pretended not to notice.
Mr. Hunka Trooper returned my driver's license and worthless insurance card and told me he was not going to cite me. I drew a deep breath of relief as he told me to be safe and have a good day. I thanked him, wished him the same, briefly entertaining and dismissing the thought of giving him a quick hug when he zapped me.
"By the way, your shirt is on backward and inside out," said my smug little Trooper Guardian Angel with a twinkle in his eye as he climbed back into his patrol car.
IT'S GREAT TO LIVE IN AMERICA!
I found out, although I’ve heard it a million times, why
it’s so good to be an American. Recently a friend and I rode our Harley
motorcycles from Houston to Mexico (and back) – that’s quite a long trip in the
hot sun! We wandered around in Nuevo Laredo for a couple of days and it really
made me count my blessings. I felt so sorry for the buggy horses there, which
were very, very thin and overworked. Their feet looked bad and they had to
stand, trot and gallop all day long on the hot pavement. I wondered if they ever
got to see a green pasture, and I observed one particular horse in a really foul
mood. His ears were pinned against his head, a sure sign that he was mad, and
sure enough, he was kicking out behind him, one foot at a time. It is so crowded
in that area of Mexico, and the locals just swarmed us, wanting us to buy their
wares, which were relatively very cheap. A 15-year-old boy was selling excellent shoeshines for one dollar, and I got the impression that he did it out of
necessity. Even small kids were trying to sell me flowers and cheap jewelry, but
they were doing so without smiling.
Back in Texas, a few weeks ago, six of us saddled up and rode in the forest in East Texas
again, and it was an extremely hot weekend. I was riding a gelding that gets
jumpy and nervous if you have to move quickly in the saddle. You can expect him
to jump out from under you if you have to slap a mosquito or adjust your hat,
but he had the most exhilarating, wonderful big-striding, smooth, head-shaking
Tennessee walk that I’ve ridden in years, so I found it very easy to forgive
him. Bud was riding a 17H 3-yr-old green, green gelding and the trails were very
challenging. Since we had a more seasoned horse in the lead, the younger ones
were crossing the obstacles we encountered with no trouble. After a couple of
hours, the horses were hot enough that we had to stop and take about a 30-minute
break, so we decided to ride off in the creek. We found a swimming hole that was
3 or 4 feet deep, and took the horses in with us. They were so hot that they
stood in place, not moving a muscle while we splashed water all over them to
wash off the salt and cool them down. The look on their faces was pure ecstasy,
and of course, we had lots of fun swimming, ourselves. When we left, the horse I
was riding was so relaxed that none of my antics from the saddle bothered him,
and I think I could have ridden him past a saber-toothed tiger and he wouldn’t
have minded.
The next day, Bud decided to go fishing in a pond which was 2 or 3 miles away.
Since the four-wheeler was not running, he had to be “Opie” from Andy Griffith
and either walk, or saddle up a horse and ride over. We had leftover baby
crawfish for bait, and he picked the calmest horse we had, packed up the bait
and his fishing pole and rode about 2 miles to the pond. He baited his hook,
cast out, anchored his rod and rode the horse back. We had two 10-yr-old girls
who wanted to ride, and we like to ride their horses for them for a bit to make
sure they’re behaving properly, so he swapped horses, rode back to the pond and
discovered he had hooked a big catfish. Much to my delight, he did this a few
more times, catching fish each time and riding different horses. The last time
we all saddled up and rode back over to the pond with him. Unfortunately, the
fish had swallowed the hook so deep that we couldn’t get it out, so that ended
his fishing (because he didn’t have any more hooks). When Bud got his fish off
the line, somebody had a brilliant idea that they would put it on a stringer and
tie the stringer to Bud’s horse. By this time, he was riding the green 3-yr-old
again. We almost had a rodeo when the fish came alive and went to flopping
around on the side of the saddle. The fish had actually been tied toward the
back of the saddle, where it hung down in the flank area – you know – the
sensitive area where you tickle a horse if you want it to buck! We managed to
disconnect it from the saddle before we ruined the horse, and all was forgiven
that evening as we dined on fresh catfish filets and French fries (made of
potatoes from the garden). Ah, life is good!
DOES THIS SOUND FAMILIAR?
(previously published in Voice Magazine, Official Journal of the Tennessee Walking Horse Breeders' & Exhibitors' Association)
The telephone rings and the caller is inquiring about a gaited pleasure horse for trail riding. She claims she is not too particular and doesn't really have any preferences, but desires a good looking animal and only wants to spend about $1,500. I tell her that I have a handsome 3-yr-old black gelding that fits that description. She says he sounds nice, be she prefers a mare. I tell her that I have a 3-yr-old black mare, also. She prefers something a little older with a little more experience. Okay, I say, I also have an 8-yr-old black mare. She wants to know how tall the mare is, and I respond that she's 15 hands tall.
She tells me that she is really looking for a horse that is 16 hands.
I tell her that I have a 12-yr-old gaited mare, gentle and smooth, sorrel with a blazed face and stockings that is 16 hands tall but no papers for $1,500. She says the mare sounds nice and wants to know what kind of gait she has -- does she have a big, reaching back and a high-stepping front end? Oh, and a deep shaking head nod?
Did I just imagine that she said she didn't have any preferences?
Well, I tell her, the mare is "trail priced" and consequently, "trail" quality, with a pretty good way of going, considering she is barefoot. She is smooth as glass and even with no shoes, her front end looks promising. I tell her that she could always experiment with toe weights and enhance what the mare has naturally.
She guesses what she really wants is a REGISTERED Tennessee Walking Horse, one that already has these qualities barefoot. I break the news gently that she may have to spend a bit more than $1,500. She thinks she could maybe scrape up more money and decides that actually, she thinks she is probably going to need a 16 hand golden palomino mare by Pride's Generator, with 4 white stockings, blazed face, white mane and tail and blue eyes. The mare must also possess a big, reaching back end, a "top rail" front end, nice head shake, a great personality and love to be around people. She prefers it to be push button on commands, canter from a standstill, jump fences, sidepass, run barrels and poles, swim and work cattle. It doesn't HAVE to be a show horse, but it would be nice if it could win an occasional plantation class here or there and maybe she would be willing to pay $2000.
My mind begins to wander from this telephone conversation as I suddenly have strong suspicion that there really IS life on other planets, although I'm not so sure it's INTELLIGENT life. My thoughts reluctantly return to Earth and I quietly and patiently explain that a horse of that caliber is probably going to cost a few THOUSAND more dollars, and be a little difficult to locate.
Well, she tells me (all in one breath) . . . .
. . . She only has $500 saved but she's going to receive a $200 settlement from a lawsuit in a few weeks plus a $30 commission check for selling cosmetics door-to-door and expects $150 back from her income tax refund and could possibly sell her washer and dryer and she also has a pedigreed rat terrier that is going to have puppies in a couple of weeks and she could sell the puppies in a couple of months to scrape up more money and maybe hold a garage sale and sell all of her old shoes and clothes and stuff and go on a diet and eat pork and beans twice a day and if that's not enough, she could probably give up her apartment and live out of her car for a few months to save even more money.
I feel an overwhelming desire to inhale deeply, a tremendous gratitude to the person who invented voice mail, and give her the old "don't-call-us, -we'll-call-you" routine before resigning myself to the fact that I just wasted 30 frustrating minutes and energy on this telephone call.
Then, I just can't resist, and I ask . . .
"Would you settle for a 4-foot-tall mousy brown barefoot llama that paces and LOVES to blow spit on people for $500?"
LEFT: Bud Kidder on gaited miniature pony that would bow,
lie down, pull cart.
RIGHT: Krystal Kidder on "Cloud 9 Silvermine", a mare that could read my mind!
She was so well-trained that I swear I could just THINK a command and she would
do it. She pulled a buggy and took us almost all the way to a Versatility
Championship before she had a filly that sidelined us.
BELOW MIDDLE: Bud Kidder on "Cirrus" right before he was due at a baseball game.
BELOW LEFT: Pete Zylks, now 69 years old, who was raised all his life with
walking horses. He's pictured here next to ol' Vernon, a gaited Jack.
BELOW RIGHT: Krystal and friend, Amanda on ol' Vernon, goofing off.
CLOUD 9 WALKERS
P. O. Box 878
Hardin, Texas 77561
936-298-1984
since January 3, 2002