Moon Phase = Waning past halfWeather = sunny Current books =None
Quote: "Everything's got to be someplace."
- ?????

August 15, 1998

Note to self: Get some Arlo Guthrie CDs.

I don't want a pickle
I just want to ride on my motorsickle
I don't want a tickle
'Cause I'd rather ride my motorsickle
I don't want to die
I just want to ride my motorcy - cle

- Arlo Guthrie
Do they really teach that in college??

I want to know just exactly what is going on with me - RIGHT NOW!!! When I signed on for this self - improvement cruise, emotional hyper - sensitivity (as compared to before this lovely little cruise) was not listed among the perks. Still - goose bumps caused by really good music is acceptable. Near uncontrollable laughter caused by a silly joke is acceptable. Tears are not acceptable!

And with that said, it's time for the latest installment of:



(Or - Dad, are you listening??)


It used to be hard to make me cry. I could take alot before the waterworks began. Nowadays, it depends on the subject. Sometimes, all I have to do is see a horse 'prancing' in its paddock on tv and off I go. I cry when I see Monty Roberts. First Saturday in May and last two weeks in August (or last week and first week in September) are the big ones. ( First Sat. in May is the Kentucky Derby and the World Walking Horse Championship is in Aug.) I caught myself starting to tear up just by seeing a commercial for a special that's going to be on PBS - it's about the struggles of one family in Neb. to keep their farm - and their family together.

Yep - there's a pattern there. Strange, I didn't put the two together until I wrote them down. When I was a kid the thing I wanted to do with my life, first and foremost, was to work with horses. I ate, slept, breathed, and generally lived horses. I soaked every little fact I could about them. To this day, I have somewhere over 100 model horses and figurines. One of the first horses I remember riding was my dad's Paint, Little Man. He was 32 at the time (yes, the horse was 32 years old.) Not too long later, my grandfather bought Little Man's grandson - also a Paint, named Mingo. "He's your horse," he said. My Mingo.

A couple of years later, his Walking Horse mare had her first live colt. He was the horse of my dreams. He was solid black and had five world champions, including Midnight Sun, in his bloodline. I got to name him when he was registered - Trixie's Black Magic. First time I saw Magic (he was only a few days old) my grandfather told me, "We'll do anything you want with him." No brainer there - everybody knew what that was. Show ring, here we come!

I still wonder to this day what the real deal was. I never got to show my dear Magic. (He may not have been mine physically or in name but I don't care. He'll always be mine in my heart.) I wondered why my grandfather never showed me anything but the very basics. Perhaps I just didn't want to see it. I don't know. I kept wondering to my complete ire why my grandmother kept telling every damn one that I was 'playing with the horses'. (Hindsight says, "Hit me over the head with a brick on that one.") One day, my Magic was gone. Gone for training, I was told. I thought we were going to do that.

The last straw was when my grandfather waited until I was getting ready to walk out the door to go home to tell me that he had entered Magic in a parade - that was three days away. Alarm bells began to go off then - why wait so long to tell me? All I could say was, "But I don't have anything to wear." All truth be told, I definitely was not expecting what came next. His exact reply was, "Oh, you won't be riding him - __________ will. You're not man enough to ride him." Not long afterward, Magic was sold without my knowledge.

Here's a koan for you: "What is the sound of a girl's life dream crumbling to dust?" Here's another one: "What is the sound of a girl's heart shattering?"

My grandfather died a year ago last May. Truth be told, I was still angry at him for what he said to my face. I was angry at him for breaking my heart. I'm angry that he passed some of these same damn attitudes to my father.

Last time I was at the farm, he said something that really hurt my feelings. It involved my getting away from the horses because of how dangerous 'he knew they are'. He sounded just like my grandfather when he said it. He may as well have added that I wasn't man enough to handle them. All I could do was walk away because I really didn't want him to know just how much he hurt me (I'm not that good of an actor though.). I will give him credit though - he did something my grandfather never did. He apologized.

I refuse to go through the same crap with my father. I absolutely refuse to be penalized because of my gender. I'd rather walk away.

I still miss my Magic.


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