Challenge, Do Something You Are Bad At

Fit To Ride

 

Exercise is more likely to happen if it is interesting, yes?


 
In my endless quest to get my butt off the couch and myself off the farm, I found a weekly adult dance class at The Dance Foundation. The format is perfect. Mid-day; I can ride in the evenings. Drop-in; no series sign-up. Casual format; no one was going to ask me to do a year-end recital.

Real dance. I’ve never seen the point of hopping about randomly. I can do that at home without paying anyone. This way, I can convince myself that I am learning something. But not too much. The instructors change each week. So, there would be something new and interesting each week without being a whole new skill set to absorb. Tapas dancing, if you will. Last week, Sara Wallace taught contemporary jazz.

TDF was welcoming. They convinced me that would be okay to be terrible. I knew I was going to be. Terrible, that is. This is not me being bashful. We all have variation in our skills. When I rolled for rhythm, the dice fell off the table. So, I expected to be a tuneless lump. What I didn’t expect was how many other things I was bad at.

Look at me. Put me on a horse and I’ll be the first one in the ring. No problem. An equitation pattern with three judges watching? Bring it on. I was surprised at how much I did not want to go bouncing across the dance space in a room where other people might happen to glance at me.

Step by step. I had forgotten how bad I am at remembering dance sequences. I could feel myself trying to think it through. Robotic is the word I am going for here. Put part A here. Then place part B there. I would get the first four steps, after that, pfft. I had to watch the instructor every time. When she let us move on our own, nada. No muscle memory. No flow. Forget about following the music.

Up and down. My knees aren’t bad. Yet. There are stiff, especially if I sit on the floor. I rise with the grace of a lumbering bear. One of the moves was to sit down, roll from hip to hip, stand. I took so long to heave myself back up that everyone else was four moves ahead. I could not finish on my own, see above about needing to follow someone.

Expression. If I have a physical skill, it is riding. This is not an activity that encourages expressive movement of the arms or sassy sashays with the hips. I have spent years learning NOT to fling my body parts about with abandon. The effort of staying quiet in the saddle has increased my natural tendency to be uptight in mind as well as body. Jazz is so not me.

It’s all good. I wanted to get outside of my normal run of activities. This certainly is. I absolutely plan to go back. I may get better over time. I may never be better than the first time. That’s okay. Either way, it will get me off the farm and get me moving around.

And I got a blog post out of it.

My challenge to you. Pick something are interested in but are bad at. Find a safe space. Go for it. If you feel so inclined, let us know how it went.

Update

I made the TDF Facebook page. This the second time they have referred to me as dancer. When I showed up for the first class, there was a form they had all their dancers sign. Me, a dancer?!

Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott

Learning From Youth

Adventures in Saddle Seat

 

Saddle seat lesson from Emily Hillhouse, a new instructor at Stepping Stone Farm. Not Sam, but at least Optimus, so I was only minimally stressed about the horse [Theory Vs. Reality].

BEFORE
My first riding lesson from someone YOUNGER than me. Technically, Coach Courtney & Coach Kate are younger, but only by a few years. This is an entire generation younger! It’s worse than a younger doctor! The trauma!

DURING
Lesson Notes

Whenever you ask for more, shorten your reins. As I understand it, show horse Saddlebreds work at maximum compression for a brief period. You always want to be asking the horse to gather.

Think about the horse climbing up into the bridle. As someone who spends most of the time asking horses to stretch & relax, I probably don’t ask the ASBs for enough up.

SSF horses activate from the hand as much as from the leg. This is wrong on a cellular level and contrary everything I hold dear. Seriously. Three days prior. I spent an hour working on riding off my leg and using as little rein as possible [Steady On]. OTOH, I can pontificate all the theory I want. I can’t argue with the Saddlebreds themselves.

Me: (leg)
ASB: Uhhh, what?
Me: (hand)
ASB: Oh, okay. I see what you mean.

AFTER
I asked for a post-lesson review. She told me to get my shoulders back more. Everyone does.

I haven’t worked that hard since boot camp. I think Coach Courtney & I may have been phoning it in a bit recently. She knows my focus is elsewhere. I’m just happy that I can remember how to sit in the saddle.

Could I have been riding hard in order to show off for a new instructor? Moi?

Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott

Milton Does Demo Duty

Training Journal

 

Greg & Milton demonstrate long-lining.
Photo by Ruwena Healy, District Commissioner, Cahaba Pony Club.

Cahaba Pony Club hosted an, “Introduction to Driving Horses and Ponies” at El Gezira Riding Academy. Milton went to demonstrate ground-driving. While he is not cleared to hitch in public at the moment, we thought ground driving & long-lining would be a useful skill to show the pony clubbers. Area driver Megan Bridges supplied two minis and a two-wheeled pleasure cart. The other demonstrators, Sandra Norriss and Garioch MacHall, handled the minis and brought a four-wheel, mini-sized, marathon pairs cart for the kids to check out.

When not alarmed by the world, Milton was a model citizen. Climbed on the trailer without hesitation, stood patiently, allowed himself to be admired, and so on. Most of the time, he is easy to work with.

Milton was the model for the harness lecture.
LtoR. Garioch MacHall, Milton, me, Greg. CPC audience members in the foreground.
Photo by Ruwena Healy, District Commissioner, Cahaba Pony Club.

However.

From time to time, Milton goes from zero to the-sky-is-falling. He does so at warp speed and without warning.

Things That Alarm Milton
Trailers
We had unloaded and were taking Milton’s wraps off. Someone made a sarcastic ‘Whoa, there, Wild Horse’ sort of comment about Milton’s relaxed attitude. I responded with my standard line, “He’s chill, right up until he’s not.” Shortly thereafter, a big, rattly, stock trailer arrived. Milton decided the aliens were landing.

Verdict: Weird, but we know about this one.

Barking, Running Dogs
Two dogs of a breed that does not have the best reputation came after Milton with what looked to me like every intention of biting his back tendons. Milton spun in circles to stay out of the way.

Verdict: Totally justified.

Thunder
Loud boom. Milton may not have been the only on who jumped.

Verdict: Would be nice if he didn’t, but understandable.

Milton checks out the minis.

Minis
He was not spooking at, as much as fascinated by. He couldn’t stop staring.

Verdict: Not uncommon.

Minis & Cart
When one of the minis was hitched, Milton insisted on violently turning to keep the cart in sight. Fascination? Afraid the cart was going to eat the mini? Eat Milton? I have no idea. Although Milton drives, he hasn’t seen other horses attached to carts very often. Horses frequently object to seeing horses pulling carts [not a post “At Full Circle, the resident horses …”].

Verdict: Ditto.

Milton continues his habit of expressing himself on camera [Looking Goofy, Horse Show Outtakes].

Update [Heading Home]

Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott

The Stay-At-Home Horse

Horsekeeping

 

Considerations on proper horse distribution.

Scenarios
Scenario 1. Working Milton at home.
If we leave Rodney out, he ignores us. If we put Rodney in the stall while Milton works at home, Rodney paces and frets.

Scenario 2. Working Rodney at home.
Milton gets put in the stall. If not, he will follow us around. Literally. If I take Rodney for a walk, Milton will crowd up behind Rodney as if it were rush hour on the subway. Occasionally, he will think about letting Rodney go on alone. He only lasts about half a field before he comes galloping up screaming.

Scenario 4. Taking Milton on a trip.
Rodney has the run of the field. This made it so much easier when we took Milton away for his non-compete adventures [Here for the Experience, Notes from North Georgia]. Barn-sitter said Rodney was happy to see her, possibly a little lonely, but mostly chill.

Scenario 3. Taking Rodney on a trip.
Milton goes in the stall. He screams when we return but only once & usually not right away. The stall has not been trampled, leading us to believe that he stands quietly and eats as soon as we are over the horizon.

Query
Can we give Milton the run of the field when we take Rodney off the grounds?

He may be okay. He fusses when Rodney works at home, but Rodney does the same thing if he is in the stall. Milton doesn’t appear to fuss once Rodney gets far enough away.

He will run around like a crazed idiot. Rodney is chill in the pasture by himself, but he also chill in the pasture by himself when Milton is working. Milton is not.

We will be doing small tests of the system. This is not a choice one wants be wrong about.

Question
Those of you with multiple horses, what you do with the stay-at-homes? Is it different depending who leaves or stays?

Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott

A Ring On The Table, A Fiction Sketch

Writing About Writing

 

Crossposted [Will Write For Feed Blog: A Ring On The Table]
~~~
An empty ring box on a table at McDonald’s. Romance Spinners: Now I wonder … saw this and asked for speculation. Here is mine.

(Pauses in trepidation.) May I emphasize the sketch-like nature of what follows? A sketch is only a step up from a doodle.

(Pauses again. Imagines fiction career as a tiny plant sending up first tentative shoots. Has images of weed whackers and lawnmowers.) Okay, here it is.
~~~
You Had Me At Blue Hair
by Katherine Walcott

What first caught my eye was her hair. She was sitting a few tables down from me at a late night McDonald’s. You couldn’t miss the hair. Screaming, neon, electric blue. I didn’t think you could get that color outside of a cartoon. I stared. You would have too.

She caught me looking. I looked away. I hadn’t missed the self-defense spray canister of Mace sitting on the table next to her left hand. Move along. Nothing to see. No one here but us harmless fellow french fry aficionados.

The hair said Notice Me! The Mace said ‘That’s close enough.’

I saw her again a few nights later. When you work the graveyard shift and work 80 hours a week, the choice of places to eat is limited. Sneer if you must at the health value of a Big Mac, lament the loss of local cuisine to an over-arching global corporate culture. Over-arching, see what I did there? I crack myself up. Anyway. At 2 am, on a cold night, hot greasy food is both warming and comforting.

So, it wasn’t a surprise to see her there again. There was a rotating cast of regulars who knew each other on sight. We’d nod. Maybe make a remark about the weather. General neighbors-in-the-big-city behavior.

What was a surprise was her hair. It was lime green.

A week later it was blond with red tips. As I walked out past her table, I gave a friendly smile and said, “Color-coordinated. Nice”

She gave me a flat stare. I left.

Shit.

Did she not get it? I mean, she’s sitting at McDonald’s with yellow and red hair, how could she not realize she matched the decor?

Shit.

Of course she realized. She just thought I was an idiot for pointing it out. I was going for clever and overshot. I obsessed about the Internet adage: “The failure mode of clever is ‘asshole.’ ”

Shit.

It was a few days before I saw her again. When she came in, she ignored me. She sat down. Ate without looking at me. I tried to be encouraged that she chose a seat approximately the same distance away. At least I hadn’t caused her to retreat to the far side of the dining area.

She finished her meal – grilled chicken, double fries, water – gathered her garbage and rose to leave. Passing in front of my table, she stopped. Still without looking at me, she said, “Originally, the chairs were designed so you would hunch over your food and eat faster.” Then she walked on, dumped her tray, and left.

The next time, she was there before me. I sat a few tables away from her. A little closer than previously but nothing that would qualify as stalker distance. As the mandatory unwrapping and meal preparation commenced, I held up a fry. “McDonald’s uses an average of 250 pounds of potatoes per day per store.”

She nodded. We ate in silence.

A few minutes later, she held up one of her fries and regarded it. “I wonder if their potato chopping machine is big enough to chop up a person.” She looked over at me. “A night-shift worker could have a side hustle of disposing of bodies in between fry batches.”

I probably should have looked horrified. A normal person would have looked horrified. Seven years of working in an ER does strange things to your brain.

I shook my head. “Wouldn’t help. You’d still have the same amount of material when you were done, just sliced. A proper body disposable service would reduce the amount to be disposed of. Dissolution. Combustion. One of those methods.”

She nodded. We finished our meals in silence and left.

I wish I could say that I sensed her deep kindness. Or I that sensed her pain and knew she must be approached as one would approach a wounded bird or some other condescending animal trainer bullshit. The truth was simple. I was bored. I was lonely. And I really wanted to know what was up with that hair.

I didn’t see her for a few weeks. Changed jobs? Changed McDonald’s? I was surprised at how much I missed her. We had not exchanged more than a few words. Yet I was starting to count her as a friend.

Which says something about our mutual attraction, and about my limited social life.

She came back. Her hair was jet black with a wide, white stripe. As she walked over carrying her tray, I nodded and raised my eyebrows.

‘Business trip.” She paused. “Long one.”

I nodded again. “Did they have a McDonald’s?”

She smiled. She sat down at my table.
~~~
A few months later, we were sitting at our table.

“If we got married, we could have the wedding catered by McDonald’s,” I said.

She sat back in her seat, “We are getting married?”

I held up an admonishing finger. “If, IF, two people, who had meet at a McDonald’s, were to get married, hypothetically, it is amusing to envision a wedding reception with burgers and heat lamps.”

She leaned forward. “The cake would be a fortress made of apple pies.”

“You would wear a – I paused to check her current hair color – magenta taffeta gown.”

“What would you wear?”

“Oh that’s easy.” I gestured at myself. “Matching scrubs.”

“The wedding favors would be in Happy Meal boxes.”

We both paused to imagine the uproar this would cause. We both smiled.

And that is why I proposed to her at McDonald’s.
====finis====

A Princely Porta Potty

Random Images

 

Seen at Saturday’s horse show [Spontaneous Showing].

The diagonal seat is genius. It is one of those ‘Duh, why didn’t anyone think of this before?’ moments. As you see in the photo, the seat of the portable toilet is set on the diagonal, creating more space for one’s legs.

I did not have the presence of mind to take photos of any identifying marks. Therefore, I do not know the brand. The show management rented it from Rankin Septic. In researching this post, I was surprise to find out that porta potty is not a trademarked name, Porta Potty? Porta John®? Porta Loo®? Portable Toilets!

The other neat tip I’ve seen recently was to leave a pump-top bottle of sanitizer in the box. What can I say, I’ve seen a lot of porta potties from the inside [Seated Perspective].

Update: It is a Tuff Jon III made by The TSF Company, Evansville, Indiana, USA.

Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott