Virtual Brush Box

Reign of the Swan Princess

I am at a horse show today. Another horse show?! Yes, I am quite aware how lucky I am. It’s close enough not to be worth getting a hotel, so I am driving up for the day.

I shall swan in at 8 am for hair & makeup. I shall stand about like a princess while my horse is dressed and presented to me. I shall ride in two classes. I shall graciously accepted such ribbons and adulation as are presented to me. I shall hand my horse off to the next rider. I shall wave farewell to my minions and return home.

I hate this.

While I am more than happy to have folks make tiresome tasks disappear (see Husband, dinner cooked by), I don’t stand around well. I want to be involved, to be helpful, to be moving. Granted I normally stand around waiting for the horse to be tacked up, lest I soil my riding clothes (see Show Report, cost of). At least when I’m around for the rest of the show, I can pretend to participate. Today, I will not even stay for the evening session. Last time I stayed till the end I was exhausted, and that was when I had a driver.

I shall mitigate my cavalier behavior with an offering of doughnuts.

(*Devil’s Panties – It’s Not Satanic Porn: The Princess Escapes. Do you think the judge would be amused if I wore it on my lapel? No, probably not.)

Foto Friday: You Rang?

Mathilda neighs from the barn, asking Rodney where he has gotten to.
(Click on photo for better view.)

On Idle

No lesson this week. Instructor went on Sunday to set up the stalls for the horse show. Horses went up on Tuesday. I will be going on Saturday. This is one reason I don’t see myself committing to big-time saddleseat. [For a more ponderment on the subject, see Suiting Up.] Our menagerie is such that it would be hard to get away for a show that starts on Wednesday. English shows – eventing, hunter/jumper, dressage – tend to be one day, or at most Saturday/Sunday with Friday afternoon for travel. One has to go fairly high up the food chain for an English show that starts in the middle of the week. For example, Penn National starts today and continues through next week (livecast by the USEF Network). For that show, we would figure out a way.

Therefore, I am grateful to the Saddlebred powers-that-be who created Academy. Critics claim that riders get stuck and never leave the division. Possibly true, but I’m willing to bet far more riders use it to ~~get sucked into~~ begin an exciting career in saddleseat. To the point that I think other breeds and/or disciplines could benefit from having school horse/lesson rider division at their shows, even the big ones.

Would an Academy division be useful in your section of the horse show world?

Moxibustion

Our latest therapy for Rodney is moxibustion, a traditional Chinese medical practice of burning dried mugwort. I had moxa sticks around the house, having tried it with Previous Horse and Mathilda. Neither they nor I was impressed. However, Internet surfing informed my medical advisor that moxa can be used on scar tissue. He dug up an old stick. Rodney LOVED it.

Does it work? Who knows. I’ve been doing energy balancing and massage with horses for years and am still undecided on the effectiveness. Clearly the horses enjoy it. I’ve seen licking, chewing, yawning, eyerolling, deep sighs, farting, horse mego, even a sharp kick with two different horses from bilateral balancing across the hips. When I was working on the earth meridians for one of the Saddlebreds (Sam), the horse pitched a fit. He made it clear that I had started on the wrong side. I switched. He calmed down. I have a witness.

Does it have an effect past the short-term gain of relaxation? I like to think so. If nothing else, it fulfills the first principle of medical ethics: Do No Harm. Plus, doing something nice for a horse has its own benefit. The moxa sure smells nice.

I have found that I get more distinct response from Rodney if the moxa stick is a blowin’ and a goin’. In a 45 minute session, I need to re-rev 2-3 times. A lighter is the easiest way to do this. Can we pause to ponder that? One of the defining characteristic of Homo sapiens, the ability to make fire, in my hand for the price of a candy bar. Tell me this isn’t a modern miracle.

Hissy Fits

It’s dark. It’s late. I’m lying in bed. Awake. My mind begins to ponder life’s inscrutable mysteries. What if something terrible happens and I’m a widow and I have to lie in this bed alone for the rest of my life? What if they never get the Fujiyama reactor under control and nuclear armageddon oozes over the world from the waters of the Pacific Ocean? What if the government shutdown leads to the end of civilization as we know it and we are reduced to shooting our neighbors and eating rats? When I seek solace in the arms of my beloved, his standard half-awake response is, “Oh, shut up and go back to sleep.”

So.

A few days ago, we were mildly late for morning chores. Rodney was in a state, ‘Where have you been?’ Pause to trot back and forth in stall. ‘You weren’t here! Breakfast is late!’ Spin and hop. ‘There is no food! There will never be food again!’

My husband is right. These fits look silly from the outside.

Barn Jeans

A while back, I came close to flashing the postmaster.

Our land is surrounded by field and forest. The neighbors are close enough that I call for help in a crisis but screened enough that I can do the occasional Lady Godiva to the clothesline. Therefore, not all of my barn clothes are fit for public consumption. I had one pair of jeans that had gone through the seat in a comprehensive manner. The rest of the pants, particularly the pockets, still worked so I kept wearing them.

Barn shoes while I'm at it. — Current barn shoes

One day I realized I needed to get to the post office that morning. Pick up a package? Mail the water bill? Don’t remember. History does not record. What I do remember is jumping out of the truck, taking one step, and thinking, ‘Huh? Oops!’.

It was bad. The wardrobe malfunction – is it a malfunction if you knew it when you put on the clothes? Wardrobe mismatch maybe? – was severe enough that I would need to go home and try again if I didn’t have a solution. I untucked my shirt. Not long enough. I unearthed a ratty jacket. Despite being well into warm weather, I wrapped the jacket around my waist and sauntered forth.

I think I threw those jeans away shortly after. I’ve already scared my UPS driver enough, but that’s a story for another day.

Process notes
This post started out as a comment. Cur Tales wrote a post about wearing “clothing that’s seen better days.” I gave a short comment. (BTW, her response is worth reading.) Then I realized this would make a cute post. I didn’t have any other ideas and it was at least barn-related. I was pretty sure that I had mentioned the story on Facebook at the time. To save myself the trouble of retelling, I went back through my personal Facebook timeline. Not too hard, I don’t post all that often. Plus the post would have been in the time period after joining Facebook but before the daily blog, a period of about year and a half. I searched. I crashed my iPad several times. I searched more. I finally gave up. As a result, I spent far longer searching than it took to type the above. There’s a life lesson lurking in there somewhere.
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Gratuitous Cat Picture