Somebody needs a little horsey Prozac:
He was just sad to be left behind today. Have I mentioned that I’m rather fond of this horse?
Well, I was up with the dawn to feed the horses and then I met up with the Little Britches gang at the Washington Horse Show. The Washington Horse show is an annual horse show to benefit Steep Rock Land Preserve and there is a category for handicapped riders. I assisted three young riders who all won ribbons (deservedly so, they all did an outstanding job). Then, when the Little Britches riders went home, it was still early so I drove home, watched Denis and his friends play street hockey for a nanosecond, then loaded up Snoopy, picked up Jen and a new horse she’s trying out and headed BACK to Steep Rock, just to see how the new horse would do with the show crowd and the trails and the river and everything. New horse (yet unnamed – have at it, blog readers) did wonderfully.
He’s a Paint Horse, which is a type of horse that usually has large white splotches on a darker colored coat. Sometimes it’s the opposite – dark splotches on a white coat. This horse has a white splotch that looks like the continent of Africa on his rump. I wish I took a photo of that. I thought Africa might be a good name, but Jenny already has a mare called India.
Ann Leary, author of The Good House
Author of The Good House
Horses, Dogs, More Horses
A Haunting in Connecticut
I’ve blogged before about what a spooky time of year this is, here in New England. The days are getting shorter, but our windows are still open so we can hear all sorts of madness outside, which makes some of us a little mad inside. During the last full moon, I had a terrible time sleeping. The next morning, I was talking to a friend who lives in a neighboring town, and he said that he had been sitting out on his porch until three in the morning, unable to sleep as well.
“It was the coyotes screeching that kept me up,” I said.
Brains Matter
This is what I managed to do before I got kicked in the head by a horse today:
Yes, I was going to have hard-boiled eggs for breakfast. I put the eggs in the water, set the pot on the burner and said to myself, remember what happened last time! Mustn’t forget the eggs! Then I decided to run upstairs to answer a couple of emails and …yadda, yadda, yadda…what’s that funny smell coming from downstairs?
People, I can’t tell you how many times I have done this. A timer. Why don’t I set a timer?
Tired of Horses Yet?
I feel that Snoopy has been underrepresented on this site. I adore Snoopy, but as I’ve blogged before, he’s a little bit too laid back at times. He just likes to chill:
But today, I decided to load him onto the trailer and take him to my friend Jen’s farm for a ride. I urge you to click on the link and look at the pictures of one of the most beautiful farms in Connecticut (in my opinion).
When we arrived, Jen and her horse Levi were waiting for us and we headed into the Hidden Valley Land Preserve, which is actually a part of Steep Rock. There’s a beautiful pine stand in Hidden Valley:
Photos!
Yesterday I had no photos. Today, I had a photographer – my daughter Dev.
She and Daphne came along to Steep Rock. I went for a ride, she and Daphne for a hike and to take photos. Here are a few:
Torch Song Tragedy
I’m very unhappy with my camera situation. Don’t ever take out a warranty on anything but a car, that’s my advice to you. I took out a dumb warranty on this camera at Best Buy and it was supposed to cover anything that you could do to the camera. You could run the camera over with the car and they would fix it or replace it, said they. “I’ll take it!” said I, and handed over a giant wad of cash.
Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty
Photo by Moses Pendleton
On Thursday, as many of you know, I was in a bit of a funk about the condition of my house. It’s just that I was away for much of the summer and then, when I returned, I saw all the work that needs to be done. When you live in a house everyday, you don’t see the clutter. Or at least I don’t. So, I was sort of spinning wheels, moving piles of books from one place to another, muddling over whether or not to keep a pair of old tights or throw them away, when I got a call from the Pendleton-Quinn household. Would I like to come over for tea? There was something so wonderful and childishly rebellious about running outside when I was supposed to be cleaning my room – running off to play with my friends. Well, it was a beautiful, beautiful afternoon, too nice a day to be doing housework!
The River Hag
Yesterday I went to Steep Rock twice. In the morning, I took Mark. It was sunny and so chilly that I had to wear gloves. Perfect riding weather. We came across my friend Helen and her son Rowan on the trail.
Helen competes in triathlons, and her son is obviously a swift little fellow. Mark is still on the tubby side and we were left in their dust. My friend Leah started jogging past and we kept pace with her for awhile because Leah and I needed to chat. Eventually, I said goodbye to her and I steered Mark over to the old railroad bed that runs along the road.
Happy Memorial Day
Today was a gorgeous Memorial Day here in Northwestern Connecticut. For some reason I thought rain was in the forecast, so I had planned to work on my book. Instead, it was warm, bright and sunny and just a perfect day to go to Steep Rock. I actually groomed Snoopy and was all set to load him onto the trailer, when Mark’s sad, disbelieving gaze over the gate nearly broke my heart. So I groomed him up and off we went. I had originally planned to bring Snoopy because he’s a big black horse. I knew there’d be a lot of people in Steep Rock and the big black horse is so much cooler looking than the short, chubby grey horse with the idiosyncratic gait (and the manure stains on his forehead). But, as usual, I was glad I brought Mark. He was glad, too – nearly dragged me onto the trailer.
Write or Ride
Today I woke up full of ideas about how to promote the paperback publication of my novel, Outtakes From a Marriage.
First, I’ll write that clever piece about our visit to the White House for the Huffington Post, thought I. Then I’ll write a sweet story about meeting my husband for the Modern Love column of the New York Times. I’ll write a piece about how joyous and liberating it is to be getting old for More Magazine. I’ll write a piece about how ugly and depressing it is to be getting old for Vogue Magazine. I’ll write all these pieces and when they’re published, there will be a mild panic among the populace. Each and every American will be forced to look up from their magazines and computers and cry out, as one, “Who IS this Ann Leary, and how in God’s name can I get a copy of her book before they are sold out of all bookstores, everywhere?”
