Grumplepuss

Well, it must be said. Plain and simple, I have been a royal curmudgeon for the past week or so. I've been so grumpy and so downright surly that I can't even stand myself...that in itself serves little purpose other than making me feel even more ornery. Ironically today, MONDAY of all days, I find myself feeling just a little bit better. I am in better spirits, but not 100%, that will take another day or so I think.

I attribute my mood shift to finally being able to get to the barn yesterday. Even though I spent my time there bringing in grumpy horses, and then riding Gypsy while freezing my hands off. I suppose knowing that I wasn't the only ill tempered beast in the barn made me feel better. I suppose it's true that misery loves company.

Gypsy was a total pissy mare yesterday and made her opinions known by swishing her tail angrily every few steps while jogging. I kept hearing a shhhwsh...trottrottrot...shwiiiiiiish sound. Sure enough, Gypsy was a wringing that tail of hers! I am wondering if the saddle pad I was using was irritating her, it was cheaper than the one I normally use. Also, I had a different bit than the one I normally use so it could have been just her expressing mild discomfort, then again, it could just be plain old grouchiness.


I have to say, the horses were so miffed yesterday that old Ceaser, who is normally a crotchety old man, threatened to kick at one of the young ladies when she made an attempt to halter him up for a lesson. Needless to say, Ceaser got a spanking for that one as kicking should NEVER EVER be dealt with lightly.

Ah well, I suppose there's a time and a place for everything. Normally I'm pretty even keeled with my moods. I'm usually happy and in good spirits, but once in a while, I guess I have to suffer from the blues.

With that said, I still had a very thankful Thanksgiving. Thankfully I have a wonderful family, great friends, health, a job, and yummy food at my beck and call *that might not be such a blessing judging by my scale*; irregardless, I'm thankful for all of those things and more!

I hope everyone had a great holiday weekend! Good luck to one and all this Christmas season ~ BAH HUMBUG, I say ;).

Thank You

Last weekend was a terrible weekend. Losing my Grandpa has been harder than I expected. Yes, he was 91 years old. Yes, there is a small amount of comfort in knowing that he had a long, good life. Still though, my heart aches for my family's loss.

The funeral was heart wrenching, as I imagine all funerals are. My grandpa was buried with military honors; something I know that if he could see (and I hope he could, from somewhere wonderful), would make him smile. The taps, however, were almost my undoing. Have you ever been to a funeral with Military Honors? It's something beautiful, but very, very VERY tearful.

Anyway, I want to say thank you for your heart felt comments on my earlier post. It really and truly means a lot to me. I find that writing is so therapeutic. After writing that post, I felt just a little bit better. If anything else, it was my own personal tribute to a wonderful man. Thank you for allowing me to share that.

Unfortunately, I had absolutely no contact with horses over the weekend. Something that would have been very nice indeed. I hope to ride Gypsy soon, and I will be sure to take pictures to share!

I hope you ALL have an absolutely wonderful Thanksgiving!

Gypsy and I, 2009

P.S. make sure to hug your grandpas if ya' got 'em!!!

Grandpa

My grandpa, who was so blessed to have lived 91 years, passed away on Friday morning. He passed peacefully, having lived a full life surrounded by people who loved him.

His mind slowly crept into  shadow over the past decade; a dementia which ironically, brought him back to a child's mind in the early stages. It wasn't sudden, but we caught faltering glimpses of a silliness etching his personality. Maybe it was a sloppily hidden half eaten bag of Oreos beneath his chair, or a simple joke he'd share; at first we weren't sure, but by the end, we knew. Grandpa was not grandpa, really. 

In the end, he had forgotten who I was; though I think he knew he was supposed to know me, it was there in his eyes. Though my name he hadn't uttered in a decade, those same eyes that had read me Little Bear books as a child, that penciled thousands of crossword puzzle answered into the weekly paper, those eyes told me what his mouth couldn't, that he knew, and that he was sorry.

He was born in 1919 and died 2010. He lived through Prohibition and the Great Depression. Women couldn't vote when he was born, the advancement of cars and technology; Civil Rights, JFK's assassination, several wars, Nixon's scandal, the technological advancements alone wouldn't have been believed if he could have foreseen. The history in his lifetime, the advancements, the sacrifice, the tragedy and the victory. Incredible. a life worth living!

While fighting in WWII, just a young man himself, he was captured by the German's while hunkered down in a stone house in Belgium. It was December of 1944 during the Battle of the Bulge and he was lined up then was marched for miles to be forced in to train cars with hundreds of other prisoners, smashed together until he and many others suffered frost bite and more. He was kept in a German Prisoner of War camp in occupied Poland, and though it's hard to imagine the awful things he must have gone through during that time, he survived and came home to start his family Lottie, his most cherished wife, and my grandmother.

The years he served and fought are something that he rarely spoke of, but as his mind slipped,  he spoke of it often. Perhaps those wartime memories, too painful or bothersome to recall burst forth as his kinder memories slipped away. Like the broken lock of a Hope Chest springing open after years in a dusty attic.

He sometimes spoke of the terrible things he'd seen during the war, but sometimes he'd talk of his comrades and friends. "They called me Curly," he'd often say, "because of my curly hair."  I know that that war changed his life in ways few can understand, I suppose that is something only others who experience similar atrocities can fully grasp.

The last time I saw Grandpa was just a few months ago. The entire family was over at the house for a visit. Grandpa was feeling pretty spry, because he was walking about, saluting (something he has always done) and engaging with jokes and stiff jabs to an unsuspecting belly or two; a bit of the joker he was once known to be come forth once more. I found myself alone with grandpa toward the end of my visit. We were standing by a window looking out at two flags, wound up the ages old steel flag pole in grandpa's front yard. They were flapping gently in a late Autumn breeze, an American flag and below it, an Army flag. 

"See that," he said to me "that's an Army flag," he said. "Yes, grandpa. I know, because you were in the Army, right?" I replied.

"I was?" he asked me.

"Yes, grandpa. You fought in a war, and you're a hero." I told him. His eyes lit up, "Yes, I did fight in the war." he said "I'm a hero and that's my flag.

"Yes, you are." I agreed.

We sat there for a while watching the flags. Then quietly, he turned to me, saluted and marched off to join the rest of the family. 

A Place for Everything and EVERYTHING in its Place

My husband Brian is a total neat freak.

Unfortunately, I have a tendency to leave things laying around, which I've always done. I'm trying to get better, but it is what it is. Anyway, all my mess really is, is maybe a coat draped over the bar stool, my purse set onto the dining room table; and then in the bedroom, maybe my pajamas on the floor or a rubber band or two (those things seem to multiply) and my over night bag that I am constantly packing and unpacking. It is nothing major.

For quite some time now, Brian has had this awful habit of taking all of my stuff and throwing it into a corner by my side of the bed. He does this when he decides it is time to clean up. Now, don't think for one minute that Brian doesn't leave stuff lying around. For instance, his shoes are always laying in the living room, he leaves snacks and candy out on the counter, his computers are all over the place and he leaves his over night toiletry kit hanging in the bathroom until I put it away, sometimes a month later. Our house is quite clean, but you know, we sometimes just have a few things laying around.

Last night I prepared my outfit for workfor the next day (today). I took out a dress, tights and boots, folded them nicely, and placed them on the office chair in our bedroom, all nice and ready. This was at about 10:00 at night. I took a shower, then Brian took a shower and as he was finishing up, I noticed that my outfit was missing from the chair. Brian had taken my outfit, boots included, and thrown it into the corner along with a bunch of other things (my overnight bag that I was in the process of packing, pajamas, etc.)

Ohhhhh but I was mad. I decided to silently fume as I didn't really want to get into it. Knowing that I was silently fuming, Brian just couldn't stand it. He kept cajoling me and telling me that he didn't throw my outfit (he did as it was lying crumpled beneath a pile of other items).

The thing is that I don't throw his stuff. If it bothers me, I put it away - boots in the closet, hang the clothes or drape them over his clothes bar, that kind of stuff.

I was so angry, so at about midnight, I began putting EVERYTHING in the house away. His and my stuff. I hung up every jacket, I made him hang up his jacket that he was wearing today. I put away everything in the kitchen - pots, pans, candy, snacks (I hid one of his things in the fireplace - LOL!) I put everything away in the bathroom including his overnight kit, shoes, blankets folded - his tools, every single item of clothing, bags, everything - that house is spotless.

Meanwhile, Brian laid in bed watching me. Finally he said "I think you're overreacting."

Truth be told, I was, but it sure felt good. I hope he learned his lesson...I am so going to get on him every time he leaves something laying around. I still can't decide if I want to throw his stuff in a corner or if I should put it away...what do you think?

I Rode a Horse

On Sunday, I dusted Gypsy off and took her for a spin in J's indoor arena.

Gypsy is so wonderful, even though she's really only been ridden a handful of times. She sets up beautifully in the bridle, she naturally just hooks right over and carries herself well. It only takes a small pull on the rein to get her to set back up. Her jog is extraordinarily slow and soooo smooth. Anyway, we worked on neck reining as she currently only knows the direct rein...she did very nicely.

J sat and watched as I worked Gypsy and she said that she wishes Gypsy's canter were further along because she looks so nice under saddle. Sigh, so do I J, so do I.

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I've been looking for a rocking horse to give to my baby nephew, Dean, for Christmas. My budget isn't too high, so I can't afford a drool worthy Harrod's Rocker, but I'm sure we'll find something cute enough. I prefer the wooden varieties with the yarn mane and tail or a nicely made fabric one....cute.

Look at some of these rocking horses, though. Aren't they unbelievable? Don't you want one?

Here's the website these gorgeous toys came from.

Oh Dear, Oh Deer!

Late Saturday evening, as Brian and I were driving home from visiting friends, we came upon a deer.

The deer was lying in the center of the road. The deer was dead. The deer was very big and had just been hit. In fact, the woman who hit the deer was in the process of turning her car around so that she could get the deer removed before other motorists hit it. About the time the woman had parked in the ditch is about the exact same time Brian and I hit the deer.

It was raining and we were on Grand River, a busy road that cuts its way across the state of Michigan from Detroit to, well, I don't even know, but it's long. Anyway, the part of the road we were on happened to be in a rural area, no businesses or towns for quite some time. We were just driving along at about 55 mph when all of a sudden, A DEER. There was no time to react so up and over we went...we caught some serious air too....totally Dukes of Hazzard style, only we weren't in the General Lee, but Brian's beloved Mercedes *another reason why it's a crime that I don't have a horse...right? RIGHT!*



We hit the pavement hard on the far side of the deer and then quickly pulled off to the side of the road to assess the damage. The Radiator was completely torn apart, and the car was not drive able, so insurance and the police were called.

Here's the thing though, we don't know many people where we live. The ones we do know were either at bars drinking (and couldn't come get us) and the other one, our brother in law, lived 30 minutes away. The accident happened in a very rural area about 25 minutes from our home.

We were told by our insurance provider that the police would be able to assist us in getting home. The wrecking crew could only get us about half way home to their office, so that was a no go. Naturally, we counted on the officer who assisted us to at least get us to a gas station or somewhere where we weren't so vulnerable (instead of on the side of a busy road with no lighting, in the rain, in November, at midnight with nothing but cornfields for 10 miles in either direction).

What do you think happened? Well, I'll tell you. The officer refused to assist us. He told us that he could not offer us a ride anywhere because
1. he was only one of two Sheriffs on duty in Ingham county
2. he had another accident to get to (the woman who actually hit the deer and was parked 100 feet from us) and
3. he had no room in his car (BS, because I saw with my own eyes that he had a full back seat open and ready ~ not that I wanted to get back there, but hey, I would have taken it at that point).

I can understand that, but he could have given us a lift to the nearest well lit and covered place, or he could have given us the number to a taxi or something. All he did was get into his car and drive away, leaving us alone, in the dark, miles from anywhere on the side of the road...annnnnd, I was wearing my new high heeled boots!!!!! The outrage I felt was great! Can you imagine the trouble he would be in if we were struck by a car and killed? Ohhhhh....I almost want to complain, but I'm not really a complainer *disclaimer: I complain, I just don't complain to officers*.

We ended up getting ourselves to an MDOT station a while down the road (you know, where they house the salt trucks and maintenance equipment). There we sat in the cold waiting for our saint of a brother in law to drive us home. All in all he must have taken an hour out of his evening to drive our butts around...poor guy! To top it all off, we have a $500.00 deductible because apparently hitting a deer is an at fault incident....Oh DEER!

Hello, Goodbye (Courbette Edition)

Months ago, while I was still on my "must buy every nice horse tack item I can, so that when I get a horse I already have what I need" kick, I purchased a very nice, brand new Courbette Weymouth bridle.

Why? Well, I guess I thought that one day I might need one.

Never mind that the bridle is a padded, BLACK Weymouth bridle (and my saddle is dark brown), and never mind that I didn't have a horse either. Never mind that most Morgans wear a Cob size, and the bridle I purchased was Horse sized. Never mind any of that. What matters is that I won the auction and that I now own an actual Courbette Bridle. Seriously, I think I'm a horse tack label whore, I never owned nice tack in my younger days, so now I have this thing...I must own nice tack, even if I don't exactly own a horse...sigh. I also own a very nice VOGT bit, something I purchased during that same kick, mentioned above...I won't be selling that though, I sometimes lend it out so technically it's being used, just not by me :(.

...I seriously just spelled whore, horror. Luckily I realized my err and fixed it. I think I'm showing early signs of dementia...but I digress!

Anyway, months later I realize that I must now sell my beautiful Courbette bridle. It has been sitting in my bridle bag just wasting away, and it's too nice for that. The Bridle is over $400.00 brand new, but since I got it for such a great price, I am selling it for what I paid...actually a bit less then, but I'm hoping someone will bid it up...not looking likely.

So anyway, if you or anyone you know is in the market for a very nice, new with tags, Courbette Weymouth Bridle (Horse Sized), bid away! At this point, it appears I'm the only one whose actually viewed my Ebay ad, so you won't have much competition! It breaks my little heart to sell it .......but I must for the betterment of my own horse lovin', tack buyin', money wastin' self!

Hot to Trot

Honestly, there is nothing exciting going on in my life right now. That's a good thing, but it doesn't make for good blogging topics.

I guess I could write about my ridiculous hour and fifteen minute commute to and from work, but believe me that's not interesting. Thank God for Satellite radio, is all I can say about that.

Hmm...I could write about how my mom, grandma, J and I were going to go see Secretariat tonight, but had to cancel because my mom hurt her back....poor thing. She was doped up on pain meds when she called to tell me, and she kept saying over and over "yeaaaahhhh...huh huh, I'm on pain meds....."  Gee mom, I couldn't tell. But really, I hope she's feeling better soon, back pain is some of the worst pain there is.

Lets see. What else is going on? Oh, I quit working out a few months ago when I started my new job. I planned on starting back up as soon as I acclimated to the hours, but haven't been able to find a gym that I like. Well, I sure did a stupid thing this past week.

I decided to make an appointment with a personal trainer so that he/she could give me some pointers on how to workout to get the results I'm looking for. So not knowing what to expect, I set up a free consultation with Brian, the owner of a local personal training gym.

The consultation went well. Brian had me doing all sorts of exercises to determine my stamina and strength, and he took some measurements and we had a nice talk about what I'm looking for. Brian told me the prices ($69.00 a session - wowza) and we discussed options. I told him that really, I just wanted to stop in from time to time for pointers and motivation. I was hoping to come in by appointment maybe once a month (of course I'd work out in the meantime on my own).

I set up an appointment and paid my $69.00 for our first session. I was hoping to get a really nice hard core work out and learn some great tips. Well, that's not what happened at all. I paid $69.00 to sit down for 1/2 an hour with a different trainer. During that time, I allowed that trainer to take pictures of me in my sports bra ~ say it aint soooo, I am still smacking myself for that one! Ugh, I was so annoyed when I left that I didn't even say anything...I just threw away $69.00 on nothing because I'm too stupid/timid/nice to say anything. Well, all I can do is learn a lesson from it. I could call and complain, but ...well, it all comes back to the too timid thing again. Why, oh why!?!?!

I feel better after venting, whew. Now, on to some fun things!

I love retro commercials.

The commercial below (Stetson) always made me want to live out west, somewhere like Colorado or Wyoming. Then, the camera pans and I'm guessing New York City pops into view. So, really? people ride around in what could only be Central Park in the dead of winter in the middle of the night? What's up with the spare horse too?



When I was little I absolutely loved the movie "Hot to Trot" with Bobcat Goldthwait. Oh, yes I did! I thought it was hilarious. Do you remember it? Below is a commercial advertising the movie.

Bobby's Hair and a Nice Horse

Yesterday I headed out to J's after work to help out with evening chores. After finishing up, I brought Bobby out to put some conditioner in his mane and tail and to give him a nice curry. His mane and tail are terrible, prone to breaking and flaking skin at the dock and crest. Some time ago, Bobby caught his tail sock in something and completely ripped what little tail he had off. He was left with a flimsy shag of hair shooting off his dock like a tiny little draft horse. Not such a good thing in the Morgan show ring and not good for marketing him either...some people literally turn horses down if they don't have the goods in the tail department. That astounds me, but I guess it is what it is. Anyhow, his tail is now just about touching the ground, that is when he's relaxed and his dock is lowered...hmmm...regardless, progress is progress.

When I was through with Bobby, I headed over to J's house so that we could drool over her horse magazines. This is something we both like to do occasionally. The only thing that I don't like about it is that unlike me, J is a total horse collector. I have the ability to look at horses and thing "ohhh...one day I would love a horse like that," while she is the type to say "Hey, Jenny, e-mail this horses' owner tomorrow and make an offer!" In fact, right at this moment she is scheming to purchase horses for lessons as well as show...ugh! She's a great horse owner, I just think she has more than she needs right now, just my humble opinion. 

So, as I was perusing the most recent issue of The Morgan Connection, I came across this horse:

Normally, I don't pay much mind to saddle seat horses (English Pleasure, Park and Classic); not that I don't like it, because I do, it's just not a discipline I've really gotten in to. I'm more of a western/hunt kind of gal. Regardless, this young horse is A-MAZ-ING! Both J and I were drooling over him. He's a youngin' so I'm very excited to watch his show ring career unfold. He won the Grand National Champion 3 year old park saddle this year ~ exciting indeed. He is kept at a lovely farm in Ohio, they've got some amazing horses including some Saddlebreds and Hackneys. Of course, I'm partial to the Morgans in their (beautiful) barn the most.

The Many Misadventures of Daisy

A few weeks ago I posted about Daisy my aging cat. She has been put on pills, twice daily for her hyper thyroid and since that time, she has been doing wonderfully. Brian and I have noticed that she has all but stopped her up chucking, and she even seems quieter and more content. That is until this morning, but I'll get to that later.

Now, to explain this cat a bit more. Daisy has always been a very vocal thing. She meows for food, for constant supplies of fresh water (we're talking 3+ times a day) and also, just for the sake of meowing. Daisy and I have always lived a happy coexistence together. There are times where she annoyed me, but overall, we were happy. Then Brian (my husband) came along.

Growing up, Brian never had pets. He didn't know much about cats, so Daisy has been doing a bang up job in educating him. For instance, Brian didn't know that cats could meow so much before Daisy came into his life. Brian also didn't know that cats, or at least Daisy, got sick (puked) frequently as well. I think that the day Daisy puked on Brian's lap might have been the day that he decided he disliked cats. Her incessant meowing didn't help either. According to Brian, he was sitting peacefully on the couch minding his own business, when Daisy casually strolled over from across the room, perched herself on his lap and yakked all over him. I think he thinks that she schemed it up just to piss him off. Now, you and I know that cats don't just sit around plotting all day...or do they?

A few years ago, Brian and I purchased a new mattress. This mattress was a long awaited present from ourselves to ourselves. Up until its arrival, we had been sleeping on a sagging double bed that had seen its glory days during Brian's college years at UofM (go Blue)! We searched high and low for the best mattress we could find. Finally, we plunked a healthy chunk of change down on a mattress and eagerly awaited for its arrival into our bedroom. At long last the glorious day came! We slept like babies on our new, most prized belonging...our wonderful, cloud like pillow top mattress.

A week or so after we received the new mattress, as Brian and I were climbing into bed, I noticed that the mattress was a bit damp right about where I lay my head (just under the pillow area). Because I often go to sleep with wet hair, I thought that it was just leftover dampness from where I had slept the night prior (I know that is bad too, but normally I use a towel to protect the bed).

Anyway, I eased myself into my sleeping position and took a nice soothing deep breath.

In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, out through the...."What's that smell?" I asked Brian.

 "Nothing, Jen. Go to sleep." he mumbled back.

I bolted up right, clicked the bedside lamp on, much to Brian's crabby protestations, and frantically began patting the mattress where my head had laid just moments before, gingerly I sniffed my hand. "PISS!" I yelled. (Crude, I know). Daisy had peed on our new mattress. Why? I don't know, but she did it. She peed on my bed once, years before that just after I left to go to college. I believe that is when Brian's dislike for cats in general turned to full out hatred for cats, and Daisy in particular. He was now convinced that cats were evil, and Daisy was the center of it all. Needless to say, he was not a happy camper.

After a long while of bickering, I was finally able to convince Brian that in fact Daisy was not evil, but that she was simply a cat and made a mistake. I promised him that she would never pee in the bed again. He said the next time she does, she's out! Cat pee is nasty stuff, but Daisy is my girl and she won't be going anywhere, I replied. Foruntately, Daisy has not peed anywhere but her litter box since. She must know.

The past year or so, Brian and Daisy have been living relatively peacefully together. Daisy doesn't go near Brain, and Brian ignores Daisy. I've even seen him petting her a time or two when their paths occasionally cross. Brian is the one who expressed the most concern for Daisy when she began dropping weight, so I know that deep down he must like her, or at least not hate her quite so much. But then this morning, things took a turn for the worse.

First I have to mention that Daisy absolutely loves eating the pill pocket treats that her pills are slipped in. She has taken to moaning for them morning, noon and night. This morning, she awoke very early to begin her meowfest. She wanted a fix, or so I thought.

"Meoooow, meowmeowmeow" Daisy said, as I got up to get ready for work. Grumpily, I began brushing my teeth when I heard it. The telltale vomit moan. "Mew, meow, MEEEEEEoeeeeeeewwwwwwww, mowrmowrmowrmowr...roo roo rooooooooooo. Mo..momomomoooo...hukhukhuk.."

I ran into the living room to scoot her off the rug (her very favorite place to deposit), but she wasn't there.

"Morooooooomoroooo--boonnbooobnoonnnooonoooo" Daisy said, from...behind Brian's huge flat screen tv.

"oh crap" I whispered, trying to keep Brian from this new turn of events.

"moroooooo" Daisy moaned..."hackakakakak...."

I ran lickity split for the tv, peered behind it and there Daisy sat, on top of Brian's big expensive speaker thing, in position to vomit on Brian's expensive electronic plugger inner doohicky.

 "DAISY!!" I yelled. Foruntately I was able to flop her off of the doohicky in the nik of time, she got sick behind the tv, but luckily it wasn't on anything important. Whew...that was close Daisy.

 And here, we had been making such headway.

Pretty Morgans and Rally

EYE CANDY, EYE CANDY, EYECANDY

This is a different horse (below)

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Over this past weekend, Brian and I drove to DC to visit my very best friend, Laura and her husband. Laura owns a doggy daycare in the DC area as well, so it was fun checking that out!

On Saturday we headed downtown via Metro to the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Keep Fear Alive.

Rally'n

The Rally was great; there were people there of all different beliefs and views but everyone wanted the same thing for the country. It was literally the most peaceful, friendly and accomodating crowd. There were over 210,000 people and it was unbelievable to be a part of. People were crammed into every nook and cranny of the Mall; from the white house all the way down to the Monument. Amazing. We were kind of midway through the pack, and though we couldn't see much, we did get to hear some amazing bands (The Roots, Kid Rock, Cheryl Crow, The OJs, Tony Bennet

That evening we went back downtown to Adam's Morgan where I witnessed some of the best costumes I've ever seen.

BEHOLD!

Pauli D...eh? eh? He was a riot!

Maybe I'm easily impressed, but that's one darn good Goonies costume. Notice mama' in the back? L.O.L (period, dot, exclamation !)

After finally finding a bar that wasn't too packed, we were able to kick back and have a few drinks too.

Finding a taxi that would take us all the way home at the end of the night was a whole 'nother story though. I think we finally hit the beds by 5:00 a.m. and I must say that I am no spring chicken anymore...I am STILL recovering and it is Wednesday. Ahhh...good times!