In which I expand on random thoughts

I have decided that my dressage lesson yesterday is a living reenactment of Robin Williams' famous treatment on the origins of golf.  His piece starts out with an explanation of how incredibly difficult it is to understand the average Scotsman, and segues into a long winded explanation on the creation of golf.  Mr. Williams expounds at length about hacking away through the gorse, getting so mad "yewl have a stroke".  Wait, that's what we'll call it  - stroke.  And at the end there will be a little white flag - "jes' ta give ya hope." 

I think that is what dressage is.  Hacking away in the underbrush, having strokes and every once in awhile getting a view of that little white flag.  Hope lives!

Driving is all about scribing the arc.  If you can be accurate on a circle you can be a combined driver.

See above - except for the part where you have to REMEMBER everything.  Dresage test, the way to drive through six obstacles, plus alternate routes, and back up plans for the oh shit that ain't gonna work moments and then 20 something sets of orange cones with yellow balls on top of them.  20 something sets of orange cones that look EXACTLY alike.

I walk more doing CDEs than I ever did walking cross country courses. 

One of my favorite lines from any movie - "I am older and have more insurance!"

Trying to help my spouse learn a dressage test is painful. He is also hacking through the underbrush.

I like dance lessons.

I hate that the instant I start on a diet my body goes into survival mode and stubbornly refuses to part with one ounce.

I am very happy my son got the job he was looking for, and more relieved that his father and I won't have to foot the bill for his upcoming trek to Zambia.  Go Team USA!!

My kitty has tortitude.

My pony does not.

Florida in 34 days!!!

In which I ponder the necessity for dressage.

Ok.  I admit it.  I think dressage is really a four letter word.  And I think my dressage instructor is the Queen of Darkness.  And I am not at all sure that it was a wise thing to engage a USDF Grand Prix rider to help out with driven dressage. Isn't driven dressage all about the hats and the outfits anyway?

 The Queen of Darkness keeps coming up with all these ideas that would make the average combined driver roll over in the grave.  Leg yield, rapid fire transitions from the shoulder fore position, upper body positioning (mine), shoulder positioning (his), canter transitions (we don't even canter in driven dressage until Advanced - Hellooo), canter work to strengthen back muscles and build topline, thumbs on top, don't collapse your ribcage, stop contorting your body to the left, get him more on the outside rein, yes I know he is heavy right now - it's where he is at, six pack pony abs, half halt from your stomach. . .

The latest torture was the introduction of a shallow serpentine at the canter.  Seriously.  In preparation for mastering the counter canter.  Inside shoulder back.  Half halt on the third beat.  I can't count that fast - this is a 13.2 pony after all! What do you mean you want this driven from the outside rein.  Brynnie - are you listening to ANY of this?  Think you might cooperate a little???

And yet. . . I have been working with Queenie for about four months.  Pony boy is getting six pack abs.  I can sit up straight, keep my thumbs on top.  He can actually use his back - the space between the back strap and his back is miniscule.  All this in a forward frame with throughness.  And how we laugh.  She has the best phrases - his hind quarters are not just a friend following closely behind.  Expand the toolbox.  If all you have is a screwdriver then everything has to look like a screw. 

So, after yesterday's beat down, I will gird my loins, put to the presentation carriage and head back out for another round.  Because, just like his eventing cousins, Brynnie's ability to make those quick turns, and hold the line in smooth arcs really does all begin in the dressage court.



In which I finally do a little catching up!

It has seriously been a while since I have posted anything - and while the blog hasn't changed, my life certainly has rocketed on a rapid pace.  The POS Ranger has been sold, geocaching on hold at the moment, and my life is a runaway train. 

Competition season is over.  As a friend said, this is the time of year when the horses are lame and the checkbooks are empty.  Not the case here but it is time for a welcome break and some re-tooling for next season.   Brynnie and I finished up a great year at the prelminary level, completing six competitions (five of them CDEs) and coming home in the ribbons, 4th or better, in five of the six.  It's been a great journey with him, and every day we drive we cement the partnership a little more.  I feel sorry for those eventers who will never complete a long format event, the time Bryn and I spend together prepping for our 13-14 kilometer marathons build a relationship that is hard to duplicate.  So without further ado. . . the 2011 Carolina Challenge Cup Winners - Preliminary Single Pony!



My heart horse Bo finished up a successful year with Boyd Martin - with a 15th place finish at the Fair Hill CCI**.  His dressage continues to improve daily and he has come so very far in the year he has been with Boyd.  I miss him very much but I know he is getting great care and the crew at Windurra enjoy having him around.  He successfully completed two advanced horse trials this summer with ease and top ten finishes.  He will be back out in 2012 with his talented stable mates and it should be a great year!!





The husband's horse spent the summer at Windurra learning his craft with great success - ending on a high note completing two training level events.  Bru, aka Krugerrand, is one of the nicest, calmest horses I have ever come across.  Lovely to ride, nice jumper and a pleasant boy all around.  He and Manny made their debut in the hunting world at opening meet this past Thursday, and handled most everything in stride.  Right up to the part where Manny forgot to steer, Bru jumped the four foot jump wing and popped Manny out of the tack.  Xrays are all clear, good drugs are involved, Bru is none the worse for wear and I have a promise they will only hilltop for the rest of the season!!

My son has passed in and out of my life once again.  Being a parent is one of the most bittersweet experiences I have had, and I struggled every day with the concept that my dreams for him are not his dreams for himself.  It was a pleasant departure this time, we chat from time to time and I hope that he finds his own path in life.  He should know that I love him with all my heart and that, just like that stupid song he doesn't like, sometimes goodbye is a second chance. 





In which my heart horse takes me for a ride!

Boyd Martin and Cold Harbor have been named to the USEF short list for the 2011 Pan Am games.  I am definitely thinking this is one of those be careful what you wish for deals.  I have know since Sunday, it's been killing me not to say anything, and now it's out there in public for all to see.  Whoa.  I adore this horse and he and his charming Aussie pilot have amassed quite a record this spring.  Whatever will be will be and in the interim it's gonna be a hell of a ride!

In which I speak about polocrosse

My life for the last few weeks, well two to be exact, have been consumed by polocrosse.  It is an obscure equine sport - a child of a lessor god in some people's eye.  Created in Australia after observing a british riding school, the sport is played across the commonwealth, and came to the US in the mid-80s.  My association with this polo/lacrosse hybrid started in 1998, when a rather imposing District Commissioner of the local pony club informed me that as I had access to a fenced pasture, I was to host a polocrosse clinic.  Jeez - we already had eventing and foxhunting.  I was absolutely not interested in ANOTHER equine sport.  But, as not to cross the DC, who scared the hell out of me, I acquiesed.  As the day progressed it was clear that the little and not so little pony clubbers had gained another partipant in the clinic.  The husband of the madwoman was eagerly taking part, asking questions learning rules.  Within weeks the Carolina Polocrosse Club was formed, we were members of yet another equestrian organization, and plans were being made for tournaments and pony club rallies, travel to distant cow pastures on borrowed horses.  Over the years, we have gone from staying in hotels, stabling horses and cleaning leather tack to totally embracing the polocrosse way of life - camping out, turning horses out in electric pens and white biothane tack.  We have made friends all over the world, and the madwoman's husband has developed an uncontrollable urge to accost any and all owners of large flat fields for permission to play on them. 

Jump forward to two weeks ago.  My son, home after a year in another world, applied to and was selected for his fifth international team - pretty neat for a kid who isn't yet 21.  He's been to Australia and South Africa, and this time around is playing for the USPC in England as I type.  His teammates descended on us, well me, last week, - it's the happiest and most content I have seen him in a long time.  I hope polocrosse will be his salvation, as combined driving was mine.  He's talented, cocky and a natural.  He practices very little, and can still pick up a racquet and hang with the best of them.  Outclassed his old man quite some time ago. 

The team is apparently have one of those "growth" experiences, communication is limited and it appears from all reports they have been handed horses that are of far less quality, while the other teams in this competition are playing their own mounts, with no provisio for switch rides or rotation of horse pools as is commonly done in international test matches.  The games have been heartbreakingly close, with the US team coming up short each time.  I wish I could say my experience with USPC this time around has been a good one - but I find my self disappointed in the lack of support, thought and oversight that has been put into this trip.  I expect that this experience will be fodder in the long run for great tales, fetes of accomplishment that will grow larger the farther away from the week at hand we get.  It's been hard to sit by and not say or do anything, and to let my son be his own advocate.  If you know me, you'd be surprised at just how quiet I have been about the whole thing.  What I have seen is my son step up and become a leader, whether on a conference call or on the playing field.  No matter what the outcome of this week, I am very proud to claim him as the madwoman's son. 



I head to USPC Championships shortly, in what will most likely be my swan song with that organization.  I love organizing, fancy myself to be good at it,and I am looking foward to running polocrosse championships one last time.  Dilemma as well - I plan on speaking to the powers that be about issues, hate people that complain without offering to be part of the solution, and yet I don't want to be part of the solution.  I am sure a path will present itself to me, and in the meantime I think it is time for a nap.

In which we attempt another round of Geocaching and Survive the Great Ranger Radiator Escapade.

Last opportunity for geekness for awhile, perfect early morning after some monster storms last night, appropriate targets selected.  Heigh Ho Heigh Ho. . .

One of the really special things about geocaching is the opportunity to find interesting out of the way sites right in your own backyard.  This morning's grand adventures started out just that way.  We picked three caches within a close distance to one another, and started with the one entitled Poison Ivy.  After reading the description carefully and realizing we had no heavy gloves we opted to attempt Pothole in the Woods instead. 

General area located, GPS gpsing, off into the wilderness we trekked.  Soon found ourselves standing directly on top of where the cache claimed to be located.  After about 15 minutes of wandering around in circles, with much muttering, swearing and snorting involved, it was determined the area of focus should be broadened.  Came face to face with a large traffic cone, in the middle of the woods.  WTH?  Took several mintues for it to register this was our intended target.  More muttering from the retired military guy about military geocachers.  Log signed and on to cache number two.  Still no gloves, but we decided to give it a try anyway, what's poison ivy between good friends? 

What we found was a lovely rural cemetary, full of area history, life and dreams and in at least once instance, a mother's broken heart.  The poison ivy turned out to be artificial and we learned a bit out this particular cacher, who is new to our area.  His third hide site was nearby - three for three - hoo-rahh!

Now, children, it gets ugly.  We decided to try for three more, just south in the Gamelands area near a military training site.  Made a wrong turn on the gamelands, with failing GPS (oh how I HATE AT&T and my aging iPhone!) and a poor road map.  The geocaching vehicle du jour is a POS 2002 Ford Ranger.  Doesn't run particularly well, gets lousy gas mileage and is both very underpowered and very light in the back end.  (Note: please see above reference to monster storms prior to proceeding). 

At this point we have made several wrong turns but are confident because at least one of us claims to have a general idea of a. our location and b. our destination.  This portion of the adventure has required some large puddle/stream crossings and after one very deep water hole the POS 2002 Ford Ranger sputters to a stop.  Drowned.  After repeated attempts to restart, accompanied by much swearing and sputtering, we proceed up a fairly steep incline.  (NOTE: please see reference above to light in back end and underpowered.)  Halfway up the hill we find ourselves buried up to the rear axle in soft sand.  More swearing and sputtering ensues.  POS 2002 Ford Ranger is eventually extricated and backed down the hill.  Decision is made to attempt the next cache at all costs.  Cue dramatic music.  To Be Continued. 

In which I contemplate the other woman in the bedroom

Ha! Not what you were thinking was it!  Gabbie is the Empress of Immenseness and she lives solely and strictly in our bedroom and bathroom.  She defends her territory with the fierceness of a mother lioness defending her cubs, and admonishes us for transgressions real and imagined like Sister Euphenia at Our Lady of Perpetual Grace Academy.  No opposible thumbs, thankfully so at least no ruler.