Monday, February 25, 2008
I know at some time in every child's life they ask their parents for a pony. I wasn't one of those children. I liked kitchen stuff. My daddy made us a sink and stove that we kept in a little play kitchen at the back of the Montgomery Wards store in Denver City. Mom and Daddy owned that store so we would go there after school and play in the back. I loved it.
Back before Christmas a couple from our church asked Michael if we would like to go on a trail ride with them. My first reaction was "no". I then remembered the number of times I have shared with newly married girls the importance of doing things their husbands enjoy. So "no" came out of my mouth as "sure, that would be fun"! Okay, it really came out as just "sure". So we loaded up Lily, our big draft horse, and The Old Man, our big old man horse. I love them because they are pretty. I like pretty horses. I rode Lily and Michael got on The Old Man. We got to the end of our trail and turned around to ride the four miles back. When we would go up a little hill, Lily would kind of trot up so she would get both me and her up the hill. I didn't really want her to trot so I would pull back on the reins. We did okay until there were two hills in a row. She trotted. I pulled. She trotted faster. I pulled harder. She kicked. I flew. I did a very graceful Superman impression as I catapulted to the ground, landing on my back. I jumped up to see if I could find my finger I thought I left in the reins, and saw it was still attached to my hand. There are two good things about falling off of a horse. One is that it happens so fast you don't realize what happened until you are back in the saddle. Two is that if someone asks you to go ride and you go with your first reaction and say "no", they completely understand.
People that know me well know falling is something I do often. My kids are never surprised when I tell them I've fallen off of something. I have weak ankles. When I was 28 living in Houston, I fell off the curb while checking the mail and broke my hip. When I was digging a hole in Stillwater to plant a tree, I fell off the shovel and fractured a bone in my ankle. I fell down a step in our bedroom in Snyder and off our sidewalk in the front of our house here in Chatfield. These are only examples of when bones have been altered. There are countless other times you would be bored with. Sometimes my foot even falls off the gas pedal when I'm driving. If I was Indian my name might be something like "Come Tumbling Down". If that is my lot in life, so be it. I'll do it with as much grace as I can muster.
Back to the kitchen/pony stuff. I hinted to Michael a while back that I might want a new kitchen sink for my birthday. The big day was on a Sunday and when we got home from church there was a brand new pony. Actually it was a horse. A very beautiful horse. She is a paint with the thickest black mane you ever saw. Her tail is white at the top and black at the bottom and almost drags the ground. She is so pretty. Someone very dear to us in our church got her because she would be good for me and the girls to ride and we wouldn't have to be afraid of falling off. Thanks, Jim, we thank the Lord for you and love you very much.
It was tough coming up with a name for her. Michael mentioned "Jubilee" because in scripture the 50th year is the year of Jubilee. Her tail kind of looks like a skunk so I was trying to think of some girl skunk names to fit what she looks like. I was trying to think of a name that had something to do with her tail end because it was so pretty. Meet Fannie Jubilee.
I may never have asked for a pony growing up. Now that I have one, there's a certain amount of pride when you get to say "My horse". I'll take good care of Fannie, and I believe she will take good care of me.
Oh yeah, I'm going to Lowe's today to pick out a sink! I love my life.
Friday, February 22, 2008
A couple of weeks back, my sisters, nieces, cousins, Mom and Aunt Nancy all got together at Grapevine to spend the weekend together. We had such a good time. A few days later I couldn't figure out why my hip was hurting so bad. I battle with arthritis in that hip but this was a different kind of pain. I bent over to pick something up off the floor and as I was contemplating my next move (how to get back up) it suddenly hit me why I was in such a painful mode. I flashed back to the hotel swimming pool. Someone had the bright idea to do a synchronized swimming routine. I don't know if you can call one move a routine, but nevertheless a routine was in the works. We all stuck one foot up in the middle of our circle and held on to each other's shoulders. That is when the hip cramp reared it's ugly head. If I hadn't been holding on to someone, I might have drowned one week before my 50th birthday. I didn't drown, but it is quite amazing how long a muscle will stay sore if it hasn't been worked in awhile and all the sudden it works real hard.
Christy sent me an email the other day to let me know that 50 years equals 600 months. That is a lot of full moons. It also equals over 18,000 days. There are several of those days I wish I could take back. I don't want to do them over, maybe just photoshop them a different color or maybe soften them a little. I know that even all the mistakes I've made in these many moons, have helped write my story. Thankfully, the Lord never left me. No matter what I did.
Speaking of photoshop, enjoy the pictures of the weekend with the girls and one boy. Little Eli came to celebrate with us. He's so beautiful. We also had little Avery there. She is my cousin Allen's granddaughter. She is precious. Allen's wife Gini is such a good grandma to this little doll. We set the lights up in the lobby of the hotel and took lots of pictures. The folks there were very gracious. Too gracious, if you ask me. They also let the girls put pictures of me all over the wall. Don't worry, girls, the tiara is in a safe place ready for the next 50th. I hope Randy won't mind wearing a hot pink shirt and let the rest of us wear black. I'm sure he'll be a good sport.
Maybe the whole hip thing means I really am getting old. Maybe the fact that I'm wearing pink and red glasses down on my nose to type this means I really am getting old. Cary Ann gave me a card that said " You're not old until the fat lady sings". You open it up and there is a picture of a fat lady with an opera voice holding a high note until you close the card. It is hilarious. I've been told that being old is just a frame of mind. So I'm going to take off these glasses (as soon as I'm done), take me some Tylenol Arthritis, ask Michael to rub my feet and forget that I ever heard that fat lady sing.