When I was 13, my dad fell in love with a horse, Brumbie. Brumbie was a 5 year old, skinny, lanky, bay Thoroughbred with donkey ears, a star on his forehead and one teeny white sock. You could call him an ex-race horse, but he broke his leg on his first attempt and was instantly retired to a field. He spent the next year or two working as a “pony horse” – when a race horse is frantic on a track, a slower, more chilled out horse will be ridden beside that crazy race horse to calm him down. Somewhere along the line, he was adopted by a jockey, who brought him to a barn where her friend taught horse riding lessons so he could be used in the rehabilitation program for sick and disabled children. On his first day on the job, he panicked when he was tied to the super heavy, disabled friendly wooden mounting block, and dragged it all the way across the arena. So he was brought over to the lesson program for the more advanced riders, where he showed real potential to be a hunter and equitation horse. Continue reading “Brumbie”
Brace yourselves, I’m feeling sentimental and chatty and Joel isn’t home to absorb the fall out. Continue reading “Sentimental Hoarding: A Clockwork Orange”
Summer doesn’t officially start for another 10 days, but it sure as hell feels like its already here.
While I don’t like summer, I love summer mornings. When it’s bright and warm, but not hot. When you feel like things would be perfect if it could just stay like this forever, but you know damn well in 4 hours the humidity will be so high that it’ll be too hot to sit next to someone on the couch because the body heat is ridiculous so you lay on the floor in front of your oscillating fan and even considering venturing out of the apartment will drench you in a pool of your own sweat and leave you wondering when death will come with its sweet release.
But, the mornings are nice.
Thankfully, it’s been a cool spring, and it’s only been this hot a couple of times, including today. The weather report said it would be 93*F/34*C by 3 PM, but at 8:15, it was beautiful. So I decided to walk down the road to get a coffee before things got crazy. And it was as I hoped, a nice summer morning. Bright blue sky, white pillow clouds, and a low set sun. Warm, not hot. Bus stops with occasional students and Friday commuters. Scent of flowers and rising humidity. Everything just felt warm and still.
And I was instantly hit with a wave of nostalgia, the same wave of nostalgia I get with every sunny summer morning. Of every last week of school. Of early mornings at horse shows. Of bleary eyed walks to 8 AM class during summer sessions. Of waiting with baited breath for mom to get home so she could take us to the pool. Of letting the dogs out first thing in the morning. Of hazy Maryland mornings when I couldn’t wait to get outside and play. Of happy hour drinks under a shaded patio. Of every shitty, humid 4th of July party, ever.
As I walked down the road, sweat glistening* on my face, awash in summer nostalgia, I thought, I don’t hate summer. A lot of good things have happened during the summer months. And maybe I’m just letting my hatred for high temperatures cloud the happy memories I do have. Perhaps my year of 2 summers will re-program my attitude. I waited for my coffee with dare I say it–summer optimism? I took pictures all the way home, thinking how lovely today would be, no matter how hot it got.
I was only gone for about 20 minutes, and it didn’t feel any hotter than when I left. But when I walked back into our apartment, it was like walking into a humidity filled Tupperware container resembling an apartment. I opened all the windows and realized my optimism was a tad premature. And lacked air conditioning
If you need me, I’ll be parked in front of the fan, wishing for winter.