There is a lot to learn about yourself when you are around big animals, especially horses. I'm a Sag baby, half horse, which means I am drawn to the ponies. All horses are ponies to me, just as all dogs are pups, no matter how old.
As a kid, I spent all my free time at the barn; it was my escape from being the geek kid at school and the problem child at home. I would shovel stalls to get an hour on the back of a horse. Riding is like using chop sticks; you have to pay attention and small movements matter.
When I lived back east, I would go to a barn near Marshall and rent a horse to ride for an hour. There is nothing like being on the back of a pony to put things in perspective. If life was difficult, staying on the back of that horse made me realize I could keep up with whatever difficulties I encountered. Being in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the fall on the back of a horse was magical because it seemed God took a paintbrush of yellows, reds, browns and golds to the hillsides. I would always come home after a good ride with a smile on my face and sore thigh muscles.
Balance has always been a challenge for me, both mentally and more often lately, physically. How do you find balance in a life that is full of pitfalls, bad choices and having people depend on you? I'm still working on that, and probably will be for the rest of my life. I'm learning, through working with the ponies, that balance is key to being a happy person. If I am unbalanced in the saddle, I'm eating dirt. If I'm afraid of being unbalanced in the saddle, I'll never get on and find out differently. If I continue to look and work for balance on all levels, I find that I appreciate things I never would have noticed before such as a perfectly blue sky, a gift of flowers just because or the most important things in my life: my son, my fiancee, my friends, my house and the fact I wake up every day wondering if I'll fall today or not. Balance is a goal, a hard goal, but in my life, the gold ring I keep aspiring to reach for.
So, here are some of my pony life lessons:
1. Be aware. Don't take for granted your surroundings, whether its in a round ring or out on the trail or life in general. Years ago, I signed up for a Ride-A-Thon to help raise money for an organization that worked with kids and adults with disabilities and horses. I raised a lot of money, but had no horse to ride. I had met an older lady who was happy for me to clean out her stalls and my son and I would spend weekends working around her horses. I asked her if I could "borrow" one, and she agreed. So I had a horse, but no way to trailer her to the site. I rented a trailer and away we went. This pony was supposed to be a Tennessee Walker, but had the worst gait ever. Walkers are like sitting in a rocking chair; this girl couldn't figure out what gait she wanted to do. The course was a 5 mile trail ride through Great Falls and we had a wonderful time. We finished early and I wanted to go around again. The first time around, we passed a ginormous concrete post sticking out of the ground. No worries. The second time around, since I'd already been familiar with the trail, my feet were out of the stirrups and I was enjoying the day and the ride, not paying attention. Damn if that pony didn't buck at the concrete post and the next thing I know, I'm flat on my back on the ground. Thrown at a walk. Seriously.
2. Patience is a virtue. Patience has never been one of my strong points, but working around horses forces me to learn patience. Ponies are smart and sometimes loco, but I digress. Good, wonderful things happen when I slow down and appreciate the work I am doing with a horse. A head shake, a nuzzle, bright eyes and ears forward are all rewards for the human involved. Patience with people may get you a head shake, but at least you've given them time to think about it.
3. Never take anything for granted. When the pony listens to your commands on a lunge line, its a huge success, but that doesn't mean those same voice commands will work once a saddle is on. Working with ponies is like interacting with the people in your life. You start taking them for granted and bad things happen, relationships fade away, trust is broken and resentment sets in and you find yourself in the dirt wondering what just happened?
4. Building a relationship from the ground up is worth the patience it takes to sustain one. Starting from scratch, without bringing your baggage into the ring or the relationship is worth the time. Horses are very sensitive to moods and attitudes. They know when you're having a bad day, and will make sure you have a REALLY bad day if that's the direction you are headed. Leaving the attitude at the gate will turn things around and make it a really great day. Holding on to bad stuff will only make things worse.
5. You may be old and be a little grey, but you still got attitude. And like a good rub-down. My current pony, Diamond is a bit older and wiser than Loco Luna and myself. She understands what I need from her and knows that when all is good in our world, a good rub-down at the end of an hour of lunging is worth it. I may be older and greyer, but attitude has gotten me this far. And I will purr for a good massage!
6. Don't get too close or you might get stepped on. If I'm having a bad attitude sort of day, its very easy to leave myself open to being stepped on and my feelings hurt. Personal space people! Hanging around the ponies offers the same risks and rewards. Body language speaks volumes and the ponies are the best readers of body language ever. You make them mad, well, you didn't need that foot anyway for a couple of days, right? That'll teach ya about attitude.
7.
Thanks for reading!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
When the Tones Go Off
"BEEP!! BEEP!! BEEP!!
Both of us jerk awake to the sound of my superhero's pager going off. It's one o'clock in the morning. Fire in a house trailor out in the County. Jeff fumbles for his clothes to the light of a flashlight. He is very considerate that way. As he stumbles around in the half-light looking for jeans, shirt, shoes, I ask "Do you have to go on this one?" because I know he hasn't been feeling well. "We're short-handed" he says gruffly, as he bounces, literally, off the window next to his dresser. "Are you ok??" "Not awake yet" he answers. He comes around to my side of the bed, kisses me and I say, as I do everytime, "I love you, go save someone Honey and be safe". He never leaves this house without that kiss and those words. It's become our ritual. Five minutes later, I hear the sirens and his voice on the scanner telling Dispatch his unit is on-route. It's 1:15am.
I lay in bed for a few minutes, wishing I could go back to sleep, but knowing I won't until he comes home again. Being in love with a firefighter has its moments, but my heart bursts with pride knowing that at 59, he still leaps up and races for the door when the tones go off, knowing someone needs him. I stumble downstairs to find the door half open because in his haste to get out, he doesn't realize he hasn't closed it all the way. The dogs go out into the dark and rain and are confused that food isn't waiting for them like our morning ritual. It technically is morning, but they are going to have to wait until its really morning.
Being in love with a firefighter means you are a part of a community of volunteers who all jump to the sound of those tones, race out of their homes, jump into trucks and run towards danger. Wives, lovers, children, home safe while they barrel towards an overturned semi-trailor on the highway in a blizzard, a house fire or wildland fire in the county. Each and every one of them takes their job seriously and personally. And they are volunteers.
Rural Firefighters are a family, my family. When Jeff and I got engaged on New Year's Eve, Chris, a LT. with the fire department told me I was now "part of the family". I've never had a nicer thing said to me. I may not run hose or drive a truck, but I am Momma Bear to this group. Many of the firefighters are significantly younger than Jeff and every call is a learning experience for all of them, no matter their age. I am very protective of my firefighter family. During the blizzard of 2010 which happened on Thanksgiving, these brave men and women were all working, pulling people out of ditches, stopping traffic on the Interstate and helping people get back to their homes when the drifts were too big to get through. They worked all day and most of the night, missing their families and Thanksgiving.
After the storm was over and things were back to "normal" Jeff & I talked to the Chief and suggested we cook a full-on Thanksgiving dinner for all the firefighters who worked through the holiday. A couple of friends helped me in the kitchen and we cooked a 30lb bird with all the sides, including pies and homemade cranberry sauce and served anyone who wanted to come to the station. We decorated the tables at the station with tableclothes and flowers. I have never felt so good doing something, in the kitchen no less, for others.
Like any family, this one is always full of drama. Some days I would just shake my head ruefully as Jeff would tell me the latest news in the department. Small towns breed drama and when its a slow day, "so and so" said "such and such" and a third "so and so" is pissed off. Jeff is the perfect guy for a leadership role in the department as Assistant Chief. He is level headed, safety minded and knows what he is doing. It's hard not to get caught up in the stories though. He'll worry something like a dog worrying a bone until he's shaken it hard enough that he's figured it out. Sometimes you just can't help but get caught up in other people's dramas. I try not to get involved and I know how to keep my mouth shut, most of the time.
Like most families, if you need something, someone from the Department will be there to lend a hand. When we moved into our house, we had 4 firefighters helping us, in the snow. When a giant tree limb fell and almost smashed Jeff's car, Chuck, a great friend, and member of the Department, came out with a truck and a chain saw to help Jeff get the limb out of the way and safely cut apart so no one would get hurt. When Georgie the WonderDog died, a bunch of firefighters joined us for a wake to celebrate that wonderful dog's life. Actually they watched me drink enough tequila to get alcohol poisening the next day and stood over me as I drunkenly slipped on the floor in my kitchen. I remember looking up to see all these faces peering down at me as I was sprawled on the floor, worried and concerned that I'd hurt myself. No pain, but then tequila does have that numbing effect. Jeff poured me into the guest room (thankfully not upstairs) to sleep it off. They were there for me because they knew how much pain I was in losing that dog. They were there to make sure we knew we were not alone. And they have been there ever since, hasseling me about my drinking habits.
This department has a history of weekly training for every volunteer and weekend trainings throughout the year on different aspects of being a firefighter-wildland fire training, house fire training, breaking thru walls, running hose, using the "jaws of life" and cutting apart a vehicle as well as CDL training. For a group of people who are not getting paid for putting their lives on the line every time those tones go off, safety always comes first and everyone knows when the time comes, the training will kick in and there will always be someone who has their back, dramas be damned.
During fire season, and there is such a thing in big sky country, Jeff could be gone for weeks at a time, working with the Montana State Fire Command, in charge of setting up all the communication equipment for all the agencies involved. He's taken a helicoptor to the tops of mountains to set up antennas. He sleeps on the ground with hundreds of others fighting the fire. He isn't one of the young kids digging ditches to keep a fire from jumping or putting out hot spots, which helps me sleep a bit easier when he is on a fire. His role is key however, making sure everyone can communicate with each other. A couple of years ago, one of his teams lost a member during a fire and it was devastating. Being a firefighter, like being a policeman, is dangerous work.
Jeff is constantly questioning me regarding whether I feel resentful when he runs out to a fire. I always answer "no" because I know he lives for those tones and the reason to run out of the house in the middle of the night, leaving the door open. He is a superhero. They are all superhero's, but he's MY superhero.
Next time you see a firefighter or police officer, take a moment and thank them. Many are paid; most firefighters are volunteers and your neighbors. While you are sleeping, they are saving lives, homes and structures.
Thanks for reading!
Both of us jerk awake to the sound of my superhero's pager going off. It's one o'clock in the morning. Fire in a house trailor out in the County. Jeff fumbles for his clothes to the light of a flashlight. He is very considerate that way. As he stumbles around in the half-light looking for jeans, shirt, shoes, I ask "Do you have to go on this one?" because I know he hasn't been feeling well. "We're short-handed" he says gruffly, as he bounces, literally, off the window next to his dresser. "Are you ok??" "Not awake yet" he answers. He comes around to my side of the bed, kisses me and I say, as I do everytime, "I love you, go save someone Honey and be safe". He never leaves this house without that kiss and those words. It's become our ritual. Five minutes later, I hear the sirens and his voice on the scanner telling Dispatch his unit is on-route. It's 1:15am.
I lay in bed for a few minutes, wishing I could go back to sleep, but knowing I won't until he comes home again. Being in love with a firefighter has its moments, but my heart bursts with pride knowing that at 59, he still leaps up and races for the door when the tones go off, knowing someone needs him. I stumble downstairs to find the door half open because in his haste to get out, he doesn't realize he hasn't closed it all the way. The dogs go out into the dark and rain and are confused that food isn't waiting for them like our morning ritual. It technically is morning, but they are going to have to wait until its really morning.
Being in love with a firefighter means you are a part of a community of volunteers who all jump to the sound of those tones, race out of their homes, jump into trucks and run towards danger. Wives, lovers, children, home safe while they barrel towards an overturned semi-trailor on the highway in a blizzard, a house fire or wildland fire in the county. Each and every one of them takes their job seriously and personally. And they are volunteers.
Rural Firefighters are a family, my family. When Jeff and I got engaged on New Year's Eve, Chris, a LT. with the fire department told me I was now "part of the family". I've never had a nicer thing said to me. I may not run hose or drive a truck, but I am Momma Bear to this group. Many of the firefighters are significantly younger than Jeff and every call is a learning experience for all of them, no matter their age. I am very protective of my firefighter family. During the blizzard of 2010 which happened on Thanksgiving, these brave men and women were all working, pulling people out of ditches, stopping traffic on the Interstate and helping people get back to their homes when the drifts were too big to get through. They worked all day and most of the night, missing their families and Thanksgiving.
After the storm was over and things were back to "normal" Jeff & I talked to the Chief and suggested we cook a full-on Thanksgiving dinner for all the firefighters who worked through the holiday. A couple of friends helped me in the kitchen and we cooked a 30lb bird with all the sides, including pies and homemade cranberry sauce and served anyone who wanted to come to the station. We decorated the tables at the station with tableclothes and flowers. I have never felt so good doing something, in the kitchen no less, for others.
Like any family, this one is always full of drama. Some days I would just shake my head ruefully as Jeff would tell me the latest news in the department. Small towns breed drama and when its a slow day, "so and so" said "such and such" and a third "so and so" is pissed off. Jeff is the perfect guy for a leadership role in the department as Assistant Chief. He is level headed, safety minded and knows what he is doing. It's hard not to get caught up in the stories though. He'll worry something like a dog worrying a bone until he's shaken it hard enough that he's figured it out. Sometimes you just can't help but get caught up in other people's dramas. I try not to get involved and I know how to keep my mouth shut, most of the time.
Like most families, if you need something, someone from the Department will be there to lend a hand. When we moved into our house, we had 4 firefighters helping us, in the snow. When a giant tree limb fell and almost smashed Jeff's car, Chuck, a great friend, and member of the Department, came out with a truck and a chain saw to help Jeff get the limb out of the way and safely cut apart so no one would get hurt. When Georgie the WonderDog died, a bunch of firefighters joined us for a wake to celebrate that wonderful dog's life. Actually they watched me drink enough tequila to get alcohol poisening the next day and stood over me as I drunkenly slipped on the floor in my kitchen. I remember looking up to see all these faces peering down at me as I was sprawled on the floor, worried and concerned that I'd hurt myself. No pain, but then tequila does have that numbing effect. Jeff poured me into the guest room (thankfully not upstairs) to sleep it off. They were there for me because they knew how much pain I was in losing that dog. They were there to make sure we knew we were not alone. And they have been there ever since, hasseling me about my drinking habits.
This department has a history of weekly training for every volunteer and weekend trainings throughout the year on different aspects of being a firefighter-wildland fire training, house fire training, breaking thru walls, running hose, using the "jaws of life" and cutting apart a vehicle as well as CDL training. For a group of people who are not getting paid for putting their lives on the line every time those tones go off, safety always comes first and everyone knows when the time comes, the training will kick in and there will always be someone who has their back, dramas be damned.
During fire season, and there is such a thing in big sky country, Jeff could be gone for weeks at a time, working with the Montana State Fire Command, in charge of setting up all the communication equipment for all the agencies involved. He's taken a helicoptor to the tops of mountains to set up antennas. He sleeps on the ground with hundreds of others fighting the fire. He isn't one of the young kids digging ditches to keep a fire from jumping or putting out hot spots, which helps me sleep a bit easier when he is on a fire. His role is key however, making sure everyone can communicate with each other. A couple of years ago, one of his teams lost a member during a fire and it was devastating. Being a firefighter, like being a policeman, is dangerous work.
Jeff is constantly questioning me regarding whether I feel resentful when he runs out to a fire. I always answer "no" because I know he lives for those tones and the reason to run out of the house in the middle of the night, leaving the door open. He is a superhero. They are all superhero's, but he's MY superhero.
Next time you see a firefighter or police officer, take a moment and thank them. Many are paid; most firefighters are volunteers and your neighbors. While you are sleeping, they are saving lives, homes and structures.
Thanks for reading!
Monday, May 23, 2011
Being an Unemployed Queen
I'm considered Queen of the Universe. All my friends know that about me and I have a makeup bag with Queen of the Universe emblazoned on it, so it must be true. The Queen club is a small one. My friend Lorraine, is Queen of the Obvious. I love her dearly, but this title doesn't really jive with who she represents to the world, yet it still fits. Lorraine became Queen of the Obvious the weekend we took our young kids to Lake Anna. My six year old son had recently lost both his front teeth. We were grilling burgers and corn on the cob for dinner. When I gave my son his dinner he looked at me and said "but Mommy, I can't eat the corn on the cob"! My first reaction was "DUH, what a stupid mom I am". Lorraines reaction on the other hand was to say "just cut the corn OFF the cob, he can eat it that way". Never, not once in a million years, would that have occurred to me. Therefore, Lorraine is the Queen of the Obvious.
Jeannie, a friend of Lorraine's is Queen of Comp. She can go anywhere and get whatever she wants for free. Every time. So we have the Queen club trifecta. I maintain my Queen status by knowing in my gut that I know everything and I'm right all the time. Until I'm proven wrong, and then I accept my failings, brush off the crown, and place it firmly back on my head.
My Queen crown is a bit off-center these days because I am unemployed, again. All I can say is What the Fuck? Had a great job, thought it was going well, based on my explerary performance review in December 2010, only to find myself laid off in March 2011. The reason? Hmm, owners couldn't afford my measly $11/hr salary. My job description was changed in January 2011 to Outside Sales and the owners were disappointed I couldn't fill 99 rooms in February and March in Livingston Montana, immediately. Livingston Montana in the dead of winter is not a destination for many who are planning conferences with at least 6 months lead time. Hmm. People who live here don't go out in the dead of winter unless they are skiing, or going to the grocery store. Negative temps and wind chill has that affect on folks.
I don't like being unemployed, but I am doing my best to keep busy. I typically spend 3-4 hours each morning searching for a position, re-writing my resume to reflect that particular job and writing an appropriate cover letter that doesn't sound like a template letter. Being unemployed is hard work! And most days, self-defeating. Insurance companies love me. I've been head-hunted by 5 at last count. I was actually considering one, but the more I learned about the company, the less interested I became.
My initial reaction to looking at the insurance industry was that I am at a crossroads in my career and needed to redirect my energy. 30 years ago I did what was expected of me and was a secretary. HATED that, but did it anyway because as my father put it "you'll always have a job". He was right, damn him. He was right for the DC metro area, but there is life outside of the beltway.
I hit 40 and discovered I hated what I was doing, hated where I was living, hated the keeping up with the jones' attitude and rat race of DC. So I did what any normal, clear-thinking Queen would do: dumped my life, my job and moved to the middle of nowhere Blanding Utah to become a VISTA volunteer working in economic development. Who does that?? This Queen does, and has absolutly no regrets. Well maybe one very big one, but we've worked through that. I was no longer a secretary. I was on the ground, working with the Navajo, Ute and Morman communities bringing in tourist dollars to a town you can't find on a map. And I was very successful at it.
After two years as a VISTA volunteer living under the poverty level, I found sustainable employment as the director of a Main Street program in Farmington New Mexico. I've run non-profit organizations ever since. I've been the lead on recruiting volunteers, promoting communities, community planning, politics and a voice. I found my voice after leaving my comfort zone of 40 years in the DC metro area.
Then I met a man. A jackass. A manipulative asshole. And I fell hard. He left me for a wife I wasn't aware he had. My life imploded. I've always been the one to leave. I always have my eye on the exits. Heartbroken and broke, I made my way back to DC to lick my wounds and figure out what to do next.
Because I made my "name" with the Main Street program, I followed the money to a Main Street job in Livingston Montana. Montana! Who does that?? I kept asking my friends, "who goes to Fucking Montana??" Never just "Montana", always "Fucking Montana". Hmm, you got it. Being Queen allows you take the road less travelled and instinctively know its the right decision. Which brings us full circle to selling insurance. Karyle Frazier, insurance agent. I don't think so.
So, I am an unemployed Queen. I go to the gym. I walk the dogs. I work with horses. I'm getting ready to plant my garden. I clean floors and do laundry and watch really bad daytime TV on bad days. I'm addicted to all the Housewives on Bravo, except New Jersey-loud, mean and really uninteresting. At least with the others (NY, OC etc) the clothes rock, the shoes are to die for and the bickering is just stupid and doesn't break out into a fist fight. Living vicarously through ladies with more money and stupid issues than I could ever want.
So, here ends my very first blog as an Unemployed Queen. Stay tuned. Maybe next time I'll write about the joys of having a pup that sheds like a blizzard or a horse that doesn't want to remember from one day to the next what lunging is for.
Thanks for reading!
Jeannie, a friend of Lorraine's is Queen of Comp. She can go anywhere and get whatever she wants for free. Every time. So we have the Queen club trifecta. I maintain my Queen status by knowing in my gut that I know everything and I'm right all the time. Until I'm proven wrong, and then I accept my failings, brush off the crown, and place it firmly back on my head.
My Queen crown is a bit off-center these days because I am unemployed, again. All I can say is What the Fuck? Had a great job, thought it was going well, based on my explerary performance review in December 2010, only to find myself laid off in March 2011. The reason? Hmm, owners couldn't afford my measly $11/hr salary. My job description was changed in January 2011 to Outside Sales and the owners were disappointed I couldn't fill 99 rooms in February and March in Livingston Montana, immediately. Livingston Montana in the dead of winter is not a destination for many who are planning conferences with at least 6 months lead time. Hmm. People who live here don't go out in the dead of winter unless they are skiing, or going to the grocery store. Negative temps and wind chill has that affect on folks.
I don't like being unemployed, but I am doing my best to keep busy. I typically spend 3-4 hours each morning searching for a position, re-writing my resume to reflect that particular job and writing an appropriate cover letter that doesn't sound like a template letter. Being unemployed is hard work! And most days, self-defeating. Insurance companies love me. I've been head-hunted by 5 at last count. I was actually considering one, but the more I learned about the company, the less interested I became.
My initial reaction to looking at the insurance industry was that I am at a crossroads in my career and needed to redirect my energy. 30 years ago I did what was expected of me and was a secretary. HATED that, but did it anyway because as my father put it "you'll always have a job". He was right, damn him. He was right for the DC metro area, but there is life outside of the beltway.
I hit 40 and discovered I hated what I was doing, hated where I was living, hated the keeping up with the jones' attitude and rat race of DC. So I did what any normal, clear-thinking Queen would do: dumped my life, my job and moved to the middle of nowhere Blanding Utah to become a VISTA volunteer working in economic development. Who does that?? This Queen does, and has absolutly no regrets. Well maybe one very big one, but we've worked through that. I was no longer a secretary. I was on the ground, working with the Navajo, Ute and Morman communities bringing in tourist dollars to a town you can't find on a map. And I was very successful at it.
After two years as a VISTA volunteer living under the poverty level, I found sustainable employment as the director of a Main Street program in Farmington New Mexico. I've run non-profit organizations ever since. I've been the lead on recruiting volunteers, promoting communities, community planning, politics and a voice. I found my voice after leaving my comfort zone of 40 years in the DC metro area.
Then I met a man. A jackass. A manipulative asshole. And I fell hard. He left me for a wife I wasn't aware he had. My life imploded. I've always been the one to leave. I always have my eye on the exits. Heartbroken and broke, I made my way back to DC to lick my wounds and figure out what to do next.
Because I made my "name" with the Main Street program, I followed the money to a Main Street job in Livingston Montana. Montana! Who does that?? I kept asking my friends, "who goes to Fucking Montana??" Never just "Montana", always "Fucking Montana". Hmm, you got it. Being Queen allows you take the road less travelled and instinctively know its the right decision. Which brings us full circle to selling insurance. Karyle Frazier, insurance agent. I don't think so.
So, I am an unemployed Queen. I go to the gym. I walk the dogs. I work with horses. I'm getting ready to plant my garden. I clean floors and do laundry and watch really bad daytime TV on bad days. I'm addicted to all the Housewives on Bravo, except New Jersey-loud, mean and really uninteresting. At least with the others (NY, OC etc) the clothes rock, the shoes are to die for and the bickering is just stupid and doesn't break out into a fist fight. Living vicarously through ladies with more money and stupid issues than I could ever want.
So, here ends my very first blog as an Unemployed Queen. Stay tuned. Maybe next time I'll write about the joys of having a pup that sheds like a blizzard or a horse that doesn't want to remember from one day to the next what lunging is for.
Thanks for reading!
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