As a parent, a daughter, and as a friend or just as me, I worry.   My biggest worries involve my daughters and my mother-guess that is to be expected. 

Each day I call my mother (I have called her every day on the way home from work for years).  But suddenly, she is never there.  She has moved to a closed unit of an assisted living but disappears all the time. Isn’t that the point of a closed unit?  For those of you who haven’t priced assisted living-it will be a shock.  For the price of care, I would expect the unit to know where my mother is-but they don’t.  I get calls from her caregivers, asking me where she is.  I am in Texas.  They are in Colorado.  How would I know where she is?  Her husband, Jim, was living in an apartment in the “non-assisted” side of the center.  He would come and take her to his up to his room.  They would drink Margaritas (which has been a ritual of his for years) and she would fall asleep in his room.  Seriously?  They are like teenagers with no parents to watch over them.  She is supposed to wear an alert necklace which allows the center to track her but she decided it did not match her outfit and took it off.  When the nursing staff told Jim he could not take her off the unit without telling them, Jim, a doctor, told them he could take care her.  I don’t think the nurses telling the doctor set well with him even at age 95.  He is the doctor and they are the nurses and he will do what he thinks is best. 

My mom got angry when Jim decided to move out of the apartment in her building and into a house with his elderly sister.  I understand why he would want to do that.  It is so much less expensive and his sister enjoys his company.  My mother took it as a personal affront.  She has been angry and confused about his leaving her since her move to her new room in the new unit. 

It is difficult to get her aligned with the program when Jim is constantly taking her somewhere else to do something else.  She is not falling into a routine because there is no routine.  You might remember, even when I went there to visit her, she was not there and didn’t remember I was coming.

She told me excitedly on Friday that she knew I would be so happy because she and Jim were getting back together!!  They have been married 15 years. I didn’t know they were apart.   It was like she was telling me the star of the football team asked her out.  I was happy she was so happy.  But I was confused as well.  It’s like a soap opera keeping up with it all.

Yesterday, when I called-she whispered into the phone that bad things had happened that day and she couldn’t talk about it then.  I immediately thought of death and dying.  I asked if she was alright.  No, she said it was really bad.  She told me to call back after dinner.  I was so worried.

When I called back she was carefree and happy.  She said she thought Jim was cheating on her with another women there at the assisted living place-but thankfully, he wasn’t and she was so happy.  Oh my goodness, this is nuts.  I cannot keep up with daily drama.  I don’t know if she has just entered an alternative universe where they are teenagers in high school or what.

I do have a couple of caregivers that go to her place and I get reality checks from them.  They help me to understand what is really going on.  The other day, I came into the house and there was a phone message from one of them that they couldn’t find my mother.  Apparently, she had been gone a long time.  She showed up shortly thereafter. I don’t know how to manage her disappearances from Houston.

I never know what (or who) I will face when I call my mom each day.  I wish I was closer and I wish this was easier.  I should be consoled that at least she still knows she is talking to me, her daughter.

Every day now, I wonder if she will answer the phone.  If she does, what does she think is going on and what is really happening?  Hopefully, she stays on the unit and doesn’t run off for more margaritas but we sure can’t count on it.

Dreaming of the lake.

There are times when all of us as horse owners, parents of kids who ride, or equestrians ourselves, ask, what would we do if we didn’t have this all consuming sport and commitment?

I saw my friend Dee bring it up on Facebook this week-she talked about kitchen make-overs (she is I suspect-a good cook who would love to have a great new kitchen).  But Dee quickly dismissed the idea by saying-wait we have horses; we can’t have a new kitchen.  Lauren and I talked about what the family used to do on Memorial Day weekends before she was born.   I told her we used to go to the lake (in Missouri-it was Smithville Lake or Lake of the Ozarks). We had access to a boat from Dave’s folks and spent many weekends on the water.   A lot of my family had places at the lake in Oklahoma as well.  I remember bright days with my cousins learning to ski at Lake Eufala.  I suspect here inTexas if there were no horses, we might have a place at Somerville or Lake Travis.

It wouldn’t be fancy- but there might be some jet skis or a boat.  There would be great family times, hot, summer days and long summer nights spent with friends.  I remember the days at the lake fondly and wish there was a way to do both.  But there is not, not now.

I think the one regret I have of Six Meadow Farm is that it has gotten to be so much.  Yesterday I enjoyed my solitude but was a little overwhelmed by the end of evening (and a little short with the cats and dogs-yes, I was yelling at them all) because I was hot and tired.  I was yelling at a tiny Yorkshire terrier-really inappropriate.

The horse life that I am living along with so many of my friends is rewarding and demanding.  The show schedules take up most weekends.  When there is a weekend without a show, you need to catch up on barn chores. It is hard to have outside interests.  I am sure my daughters Amber and Ally feel at times they are second to the horses.  The horses demand immediate and intense actions.  I have hung up on my daughters to care for my animals way too many times. 

Those of us with our own places feel it the most.  The majority of us work fulltime outside our lives as barn managers.  We are gone all day.  We work hard at our “regular job”.  We have that competitive spirit and it spills over into all aspects of our lives.  We want to do it all well.

Not as a call to feel sorry for me or what I have chosen to do but as an example, instead of getting up, going to work and coming home, cooking, eating, watching a little tv or doing some computer work, the horse people with outside jobs, must do all those things and care for the animals as well.  Most of us are not content to have just horses, but have scores of cats and dogs as well.  It is a choice.  It is a choice we are lucky to have made.  In the winter it is cold, muddy and darkness falls early.  In the summer, it is hot, miserable and darkness (and the cool it brings) never seems to come. 

I think my friend Gaylyn has had three evenings away from her place in the last two years.  On those three nights she came home but we went over to feed the animals because they would be gone during feeding time.  She has not been on vacation away from home that I am aware since they moved there.  That is nuts.  Lauren and I have not been gone at the same time in the evening or overnight except once-for one evening at a horse show in the last few years.  We did go on a week’s vacation this year but that took military precision planning to accomplish.

So, I guess no lake house is in our future.  We have chosen our lot in life and reap the rewards.  But there are those days when the memory of the still lake water makes you long for days gone by and choices made.

May 22nd Texas Corn

When you grow up in the Midwest, as I did, corn was a late summer crop.  It was an August thing.  My mom would go to the farm stand, buy fresh corn on the cob, my dad would shuck the corn and I would eat it.  Part of our summer life in the Midwest.

In south Texas, corn is planted early.  The picture above is the corn today-in the middle of May.  It is almost ready to be picked.  It changes the way you think about things.  I grew up with the saying “corn-high as your thigh by the fourth of July”.  Sometimes corn is that high by Easter here.

So, what is all of this about corn?  It is an example of the same thing grown in different ways but just as successfully.  I spent the weekend with two of my daughters (Lauren stayed at home to mind the farm) and all the grandkids. I was reminded how my children remember growing up uniquely.  Amber’s childhood was much different from either of her sisters.  Amber saw a marriage.  It didn’t always work, and certainly there was conflict but there were some good years as well.  Amber is infinitely patient with her children.  She and Ryan will teach their children well, and still each child will grow up to be different. 

Ally and Lauren grew up in a post-divorce single parent home for the most part.  Ally tries to be a better parent than either her father or I ever was for her.  I hope she succeeds and I know she and Luke will always do their best.  Lauren doesn’t really remember her father and I ever together.  She will bring yet another view of parenting when she has children.  And yet all the children will grow.  At different rates, in different climates, in different ways, but hopefully in the end there will be a successful life for all of them. Just as there has been for mine.

Looking across from the road, new drive to the left and “barn” straight ahead.

Moving to our little home in south Texas, was an easy decision at the time.  I was working in that area and commuting from Houston to this little town.  I was paying board for my horses to stay with someone else.  It took awhile to find the right place (or the best of possible choices) but then once decided it moved quickly.

We have been here five years.  Long enough for Lauren to go to high school and start college.  Long enough for me to change jobs and now be commuting back to Houston over 100 miles a day.  It was long enough for a menagerie of four horses, six dogs and million cats to make this little farm home.

Honestly, Lauren and I had no idea what we were doing when we moved here.  They say God protects fools and small children and maybe we qualified on both counts.  We made some good decisions and have certainly made the most of our little place.  When we bought it there was a 1400 square foot house, a 12×10 shed, a dilapidated green house (like one you grow plants in) and almost six acres of farm land with no trees except around the house.  No fences.  No barn.  We did not own even a riding lawn mower.  I pretty sure the farm land only included a crop of Texas gumbo mud.  Sun flowers pop out in the late summer but no edible plants have ever come up.  Certainly, no grass or pasture has ever been established there. Mud is our top product or dirt during the drought years.

We have moved the little shed next to where we built our (run-in shed with stalls) barn to serve as a tackroom.  We built an arena.  We got a million loads of sand.  Of course, the sand delivery thing was not without angst.  The sand was delivered in a semi-tractor trailer.  My land was never as dry as anywhere else.   The driver thought it was dry enough to deliver the sand.  It was not.  The driver sunk the semi in the middle of my pasture up to the axles. He unloaded the sand.  Still it was stuck. The driver called his friends named (seriously) Bouncy and Bubba and he sent his wife off to get a bottle of Crown Royal (apparently that goes as payment for a job well done here in my town). Bouncy showed up with a dually tractor while the other good ol’boys cut down my fence to give him enough room to proceed.  The dually tractor pulled the semi out of the mud and it was all a big adventure.  Next day, I noticed my arena fence had a new 18 foot hole (used for the tractor to run through) and that I could no longer close my arena except by using ropes to tie it off at foot wide intervals. My front fence had the wires snipped but at least they had hastily been repaired.  If you’ve been reading along, you know we recently got a new fence for the arena and front of the property-this little escapade was why it was needed.  Oh, and we got a new sand delivery man too!

My son-in-law and friends installed giant lights so we could ride through the long winter evenings and cooler summer nights.  We bought, built, and created jumps.  We now have a pretty decent riding space.  We have added fencing, gates and barn lights.

We added a second driveway to get the trailer in and out, and the driveway actually has gravel in it now.  There was a time in the early days when I got home from a horse show to a torrential down pour.  Lacking the ability to back the trailer into my narrow driveway, I took off (with Mickey in the trailer) at 50 miles per hour across the pasture thinking if I moved fast enough I could get the trailer turned in a big circle and back to the concrete before I sunk in the mud.  EPIC FAILURE!!   Yeah, those were great times.  My neighbor finally came with his tractor (not Bouncy with the dually tractor-just a neighbor who took pity on me) and pulled the trailer and truck backwards to the driveway.  He didn’t answer my calls for a long time after that.

Although that certainly wasn’t the first or last time we got stuck, we did learn to have a variety of “boys” on call to get us out of whatever our latest disaster was.  Fortunately, Lauren’s boyfriend, Blake has a big truck with four wheel drive, can back a trailer with ease and has gotten us out of some seriously tight spots.  Like the night we went to pick up Feather from a barn in Houston after she had been on a trailer for three days from Florida.  Lauren picked the EZ Tag lane that was too narrow for a truck and Blake saved us again. Just prior to ripping the sides off the truck and trailer (with who knows what damage to the horse), in the middle of the night, Lauren in tears, Blake crawled across the front of the truck to save the day again.  He proceeded to back the truck and trailer down Beltway 8 so we could go in the wider lane.  Great times abound when we trailer horses.

We had the bathroom that was original to the 1950 house remodeled last year (the bath tub drain had eroded away and water drained outside on the ground-one observant friend told me that wasn’t sanitary-really?).  It has a walk-in shower so my disabled body can be clean (a bonus for all that work with me).  We have upgraded the kitchen and appliances after CenterPoint Energy blew up the entire kitchen with some voltage issue.  We have done a lot of work on the grounds, the barn and the house.  We have made it our home.  But perhaps it is time to see what else we could afford that would be closer to work for me.  I am afraid of starting all this work over in a new place where we do not have a network of friends.  I know that as we get closer to Houston, the amount of land we can afford and the house and barn we will be able to live in will be less.  Maybe we need to live in the little green house until times are more secure or Lauren moves on.  When Lauren moves it will be necessary to re-evaluate this home I have created.  With two of us, it is mostly doable and enjoyable.  On my own, I am afraid it would be frightening and overwhelming.  Obvious answer-Lauren stays with me forever.  We will see how that works.

Lauren with Feather in the arena showing off my fine crop of dirt and great lights.

Friends, I have learned, come from unlikely situations and develop in unusual times.  I found who my best friends were when I was flat on my back for months with a broken pelvis.  I still cherish the times sitting around my darkened room talking with dear friends who gave up an afternoon or Saturday morning just to visit with me. I will never forget Becky, my Doberman Wally and I, all up on my bed, chatting and making the long hours shorter.  The Lindas did so much, for which I can never re-pay them.  But it was a time to learn to let friends help.  Some came from Houston, changed my bed and cleaned my house.  Others were new friends who developed as the summer days grew shorter into fall. But I learned a lot about accepting help and hopefully something about giving back when it is my turn. 

One special friend sent me a get well card literally everyday for over three months.  Each day Lauren would go to mailbox to retrieve my new card and it would always be there.  She made an arbor of cards around my doorway that I could see from my bed.  It is the little things that touch your heart.   I can’t remember to send a Mother’s Day card on time and someone could send me cards for 90 days straight?  That is a friend.

Facebook has reunited me with friends from my younger days.  Camille, Sondra, Liz, Thom and others, it is so great to catch up with you after all these years and know you are doing well.

My animals develop friendships as well.  Again, from unique situations, friendships grow.  Our tiny Yorkie, Gia, has developed friendships with Sneaky, the Corgi.  When we go for our walks, little Gia will clamp down on Sneaky’s chaps (her fluffy back legs) and hold on tight.  Sneaky should be the herding dog but Gia does a great impression of one running and snapping at Sneaky’s back legs.  Sneaky, who does not even tolerate Lauren touching her back feet, will for the most part, put up with this annoying ritual.  She will occasionally turn and yap at Gia but mostly just powers on along our walk. 

Chloe and Gia-friends.

Gia has also taken up with Chloe the cat.  Being old and less than agile, I am sick of chasing the puppy around the yard.  I started putting a leash on her when I go out to hay the horses at night.  Perfect solution.  Gia runs with her pink leash trailing behind.  Chloe, entranced, runs behind her, pouncing on the leash periodically and jarring Gia to a stop.  Chloe never lets her get out of her sight.  And since Chloe comes when she is called, it all works out.

Leo loves Kid.  He will stand with Kid tirelessly all day long.  They can be found scratching each other’s back and taking turns at the water trough.

Lula loves Kena. Or Kena loves Lula, I am not sure.  But they can often be found cuddled together.  They have no idea the picture of contrast they present.

Pairs of the cats, seem to have taken up with one another.  Orange, a big Tom cat, is constantly in the company of Siobhan, a delicate, pretty neutered female.  He says he knows how to pick them.  Our oldest cat, a neutered female named Alice is always in the company of Matt the Cat.  I don’t know why they pair off.  Perhaps they have learned their own lessons about friendship.

Orange (or L’Orange as he says) with pal Siobhan.

Lauren, my youngest daughter, and partner in this farm, is also my friend.  Sometimes, that is difficult because I must count on her to be an adult and accomplish endless daily chores.  If things do not get done they have huge ramifications.  It can be hard to be her mom and her friend.  We must count on each other.  But we also keep each other company and support one another through the daily process of living.

When I count what is important to me, my girls, all of which are also my friends and my outside friends take on the most important meaning.  It was once said you could tell the caliber of man by the friends he keeps.  Don’t know who said it but it is so true.

I did not look up the history of baby (and/or wedding) showers but my general understanding is that the new baby or new wife were to be in essence “showered” with gifts.

Little has changed the days of my first baby shower, for Amber, many years ago.  My daughter Ally, was blessed, like I was, with good friends spending thoughtful hours preparing a party that would be fun and have wonderful food.

It is the idea of showering the baby with good tidings and gifts that is so great.  People that loved my daughter came together to make sure she and new baby, Kendyll, were off to a good start. The time spent making the unique cake (a zebra striped dress and shown over a  pregnant torso), the great favors and decorations was obviously a lot.

Jordyn, as the only child at the shower (although is Jordyn ever really childlike?) entertained us all with her happiness and enthusiasm.

I am thankful that I have a family with such friends that my daughter and new grandbaby  can be ushered into the world with such love and care.  I am only sad that Kendyll’s other grandma could not be with us as I know she deeply wanted to be.

Thank you Melissa, Stefani and Britany for such a special day for my special girl and her special girl-to-be.

I love Sunday morning when no horse shows are scheduled. Normally, I feed before 5 am and must immediately move on to the process of getting ready for my day. I have the routine down to an art, dogs out, drop their feed, feed Puppy Girl (separate so she is not eaten), outside then to feed multiple cats (can cats be in a pack?-because I am pretty sure this is a pack)  waiting on the front porch  their dry food, then hike across to the barn, ask Leo if he is hungry, watch him nod his head, dump four big buckets of horse feed, go back to the house share one can of wet food for the kittens, then take Puppy Girl outside to pee.  Then, I start my day.  Sunday is an opportunity to stop and pet a cat before I just dump kitten chow, altering the daily routine.

On Sunday, I can stop to ask Kid how his night was and take a minute to clean out his eyes. I can pick which dog gets to come with me to hang out in my room while I lay down a little longer and enjoy the still dark morning.

Even when I finally get out of bed (okay, so it 7 a.m. not that late-but a luxury for me) I can ease into the chores. It is the one day where there is a chance to catch up on some projects, rake the front of the barn, scrub water buckets and re-arrange all the tack that has gotten out-of-place during the week. Sounds like chores, but these are the chores I love.

All the horse get to go out in the grassy paddock on Sunday mornings. It is small so if it were an everyday thing, it would quickly have no grass at all. But Sunday mornings, the gates are opened and the horses gorge themselves on the fresh spring grass.

Sunday mornings I watch the sun come up lighting my barn with its shimmering rays, then stretching across to the arena where the first ride of the day will take place. It is still cool and there is usually a nice breeze.

On great Sundays, I convince the arena-loving Lauren to go out and ride the hay roads with me. I love being out in “the wide-open spaces” at least for this corner of Texas.

Later I will shower, spend some time in the air conditioning, catching up on a movie or reading.

Sundays, simple days, simple times, a lot of joy.

Thanks for riding along with me! Let me when something strikes a chord with you or just leave me a comment. Thanks!

So what started this crazy love of horses?  For me, although it might well be genetically hard-coded, it was because of my father, the late Fred Brown, that I got the exposure I did and a little girl’s love of horses became a life-long passion.

My father was born in 1912.  I came along late in life for him, the third daughter to be born to superior athlete and I became his last best hope for doing sports-like activities.  My step-sister Lynn, is/was a terrific athlete in many areas but never did much riding.  My deceased sister Betty took lessons and rode adequately but preferred other activities.  I was born with hip issues and spent the first 18 months of my life in a body cast but I was up on a horse long before the casts came off and before I had learned to walk. 

My father had always had Quarter horses and while he had ridden English he preferred the western saddle and trail riding.  In the 1950’s he joined the Roundup Riders of the Rockies, an organization devoted to increasing tourism to Colorado.  He spent a week every summer with them on a 125 mile horseback ride.  He has crossed every mountain pass, accessible to horse, in the state of Colorado over the years and dearly loved the mountains and his horses.

I remember doing chores for him with my best friend, Camille, for the reward of getting to clean his saddle-yeah, I know, stupid kids.  But I loved everything about horses including the smell of the leather cleaner.  My sister Betty and I, at ages 8 and 6, respectively started English riding lesson at George Jayne’s Illinois TriColor Farm.   My father told us if we learned to ride English, we could do anything we wanted in the horse world.

It was with his love and support that I got my first horse at age 11.  Except for a few brief periods in my life, I have owned horses since that time.  My father was a great man, one with many talents who lettered in three sports in high school, played college football, had a top career with United Airlines and still enjoyed his time with his horses.  How lucky could a little girl be to have such support for what they loved to do? Hopefully, I have been that support for my daughters in the interests they have chosen to pursue.