One of the guys who works on this farm had a friend with a 'tween age daughter who began coming out to visit Old Pride several years ago. Each time she came around either with mom or grandma she brought a new tool for grooming or training. The top of the concrete basement steps is where she kept all her stuff and we provided bags of sweet feed and hay. What I saw as a nuisance because I had to chase his ornery horse's ass back in so many times, she saw as something to love and look forward to. She never rode him because frankly, he just would not have it. When she heard that he died she sent me a message and hasn't been back since because as she told me "it was just too hard." I know the feeling. Yesterday afternoon she came to pick up her stuff and we visited a bit. Becca said she's getting a new horse at her grandma's and had to get a saddle. Now, there are not one but TWO saddles and a boatload of ropes and bits down there so I told her if she thought they were worth messing with, she could have 'em. You would have thought I gave that kid a million bucks! she hauled it all out to the car and sent me some pics showing how nicely it all cleaned up. I love it when that happens, and I knew there was a reason I held onto that stuff. The barn still stands and his body is buried under the corn. Pride died during the second of two long ice storms/ freezeouts we had during the winter. Rest in peace buddy...here's an apple.
I heard the funniest tale yesterday which my mother swore me to secrecy on because she doesn't like folks all knowing her business so I shall change the names to protect the innocent in this little tale of rebellion. During the forties there was no such thing as girl's PE until the new football coach brought a wife in who was the one in charge of making sure those girls worked up a sweat. She made them wear uniforms (bloomer like things) and one feisty young lady refused to wear it which resulted in her being told to run 10 laps around the football field. She turned her back to the teacher and muttered "bitch" under her breath, or so she thought. Teacher heard what she said and hauled her ass up to the principal's office. She was told to go home for lunch (across the street) and bring her daddy back to choose punishment. All the class people were just freaked out because she was such a "good girl" and never talked back. Her daddy and the principal stood outside the office and told jokes while she was in there worried about getting her ass whipped. No wonder she adored her daddy.
We are fractured now, our family. Each time someone dies or leaves, there's a hole in the fabric that is my heritage. I treasure the ones who survive with me as keepers of our mutual history and I have become to believe the Hindu thing about cousins being siblings. We are all related somehow. During their fifties and sixties my parents did the full family tree business and it's here in a box somewhere. Mama has meticulously kept scrapbooks for all of us during our lives and their home is filled with them. The house is a log cabin with red siding on the outside but clearly visible original logs in the living room. Very cool house! I've slept in every room of it except the bathroom, that very same one that all five of us used. Lord.
I slept in again and it felt good to wake up without an alarm. There was late night benadryl and I thought that was perhaps why I felt so bad but nooooooo...now there's a sore throat to go along with the runny nose and fever blister. My body is a hot mess of post-op asthmatic weepy and sentimental jello right now. Mercury must be in retrograde. I have a full week ahead of work and other projects so today is it in the relaxation department. BG and Boogs are gone with her dad to eat breakfast at the greasy spoon downtown. Jordan is still talking with "emotion" as they say, but not any words that I recognize.