You know what I love?
Getting up early, naturally to the sound of my dog getting restless, even if I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep.
The sun is more brilliant in the morning than at any other time of day… maybe it’s the dew sparkling off the grass that makes it that way… but it’s my favorite time of day. The birds are active and chattering… the town is still quiet… the coffee pot is brewing and sending a “good morning!” smell into the air…
…and for that brief hour of calm before the day, everything is at peace.
I haven’t really figured out how to deal with grief. I have conflicting emotions about it, and that only seems to intensify the feeling because I’m not sure how to handle it.
One of the horses in my care was put down this morning. Ariel. Such a pretty name. Such a sweet mare. She was old. She had cancer. It wasn’t the cancer that pained her, however, it was an abcess she developed in her throat. It wouldn’t go away, and there was nothing we could do. She was miserable and straining to breathe, and the only humane thing to do was to help her go peacefully.
That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, unfortunately. I was expecting this to happen soon because of the cancer. But I wasn’t expecting it today. I’m grateful for the rain today… rain makes tears seem more appropriate.
The thing is, my first reaction upon hearing about Ariel being put down was to shout to the world that she was going to die. I wanted to blog about it immediately and make everyone feel my grief. But I couldn’t write. I didn’t yet have the words, and I felt like I was doing her a disservice by telling the world. I needed to let her go peacefully.
So my second reaction was to bottle it in. To push my grief down and feel it. To let the tears flow inside. To simply remember her, and grieve for her, and let it hurt for a while before seeking comfort. So I did that. And I’m still doing that. But just now, I wrote a little note to her people, telling them how sorry I am and how much I’ll miss her. And in that note, I said I trust she’s now happy and pain free in greener pastures than ours.
And I truly believe she is. And that. That makes me feel better. Knowing she doesn’t hurt anymore. But that hasn’t assuaged the tears just yet.
This horse stuff is hard. It’s hard on my emotions. It’s overwhelming and exhausting, and days like this, I wonder why I even do it. Why I let myself get sucked in so intensely. Why can’t I keep them at a distance? Aloof-like? But I know it wouldn’t be the same… and it wouldn’t be worth it.
I suppose it’s healthy to grieve. It puts things into perspective and allows you to reevaluate what’s most important. I do it because I love it. Because I love them. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Rest in peace, Ariel. I’ll miss you.
I’ve heard from numerous sources that it’s best to come up with a list of “musts” when scrolling through life in search of a partner… these are just a few I’ve come up with so far:
- He must make me laugh. And I don’t mean a random “ha ha”… That’s fine sometimes, but once in a while I need a falling on the floor, tears in my eyes, belly ache kind of laugh. I want to laugh so hard that I pee my pants and then laugh harder when he starts laughing at me for peeing my pants. And this has to continue… I need to believe that I will still feel this laugh in 20 years. I’ve already learned that once I no longer laugh at someone, I no longer desire their lifelong company.
- He must be financially independent. He doesn’t have to be rich. I’m not looking for someone to support me. However, I’m also not looking for someone to support. If we can’t go out for dinner once in a while because he’s strapped for cash, or if I find myself picking up the tab all the time, I’ll be out the door in a heartbeat.
- He must be a hard worker. By that I mean he knows the value of a hard day’s work and how to let loose when work is over. I don’t mean he’s a workaholic… He needs to be able to work with his hands and get dirty via manual labor sometimes, but then he needs to relax once in a while and set work aside to spend time with me.
- He needs to be close to his family. The minute I hear about a poor relationship with mom or dad, red flags go up. I need someone who values family as much as I do, and I don’t want to enter into an uncomfortable situation with parental units.
More to come later…
I fear the Web has erased any sense of modesty or class in our society. Nothing is private anymore. Nothing is off limits. Nothing is censored. In addition, the Web puts men and women on the same playing field. While this is a positive thing, our feminism push seems to have reached its peak on the Web and, at the risk of offending people, overstepped in some instances.
I fear the female gender has lost something… not innocence, per se… more like elegance. Women have longed for equality on every level… demanded it even. For good reason. But at what point did equality come to mean that we all act like pigs? Where did all the manners go?
When did it become blasé to burp or fart out loud in public? Why is it necessary to post rude pictures on facebook grabbing each other’s boobs or making out? When did vulgar swear words become a part of our everyday lingo? Just because we are free to do these things, to act like impolite children who don’t know any better, doesn’t mean we should. If anything, feminism should make us more proud to be women. We should be more classy, not less. More demanding of respect, not more open to degradation.
Call me old fashioned, but I find it courteous when a man opens a door for me, not chauvinistic. I appreciate it when someone says “you’re welcome” after I say “thank you.” I like when someone offers to grab a bag or two when my arms are full or unlock my car door first or offer me a hand when I’m getting out of the car. When did independence and equality deem these behaviors offensive?
I’m not saying I’m not guilty of it myself. I’ve had plenty of classless moments in my day. Many times my independence has come across as arrogance and insolence. I’ve reached for a door so a man couldn’t. I’ve received a “thank you” without answering “you’re welcome.” I’ve burped and farted and swore in public.
But I’m also growing up. I find myself embracing my femininity without falling to my knees. I find myself less tolerant of this behavior in others. I find my liberal mind wishing for a little more conservatism.
I think we should be proud to be women. The fairer sex. The “innocent” ones. We know we’re equal. We know we can take care of ourselves. We know we don’t need men to take care of us.
That doesn’t mean we should refuse to let them.
Every year I find myself marveling at how time flies… how each year seems to go faster than the last. Does it continue to get faster as you age, or do you reach a point in your 60s or 70s or 80s when time again slows down to the speed of your childhood? At what point do you stop and “smell the roses,” as the saying goes? At what point is there time to do this?
My boss was out of town all last week at a conference, and I was looking forward to a week at my own pace, by my own schedule. However, the other job required even more hours than my normal job, so my free week was spent with my nose to the grind 10-12 hours a day. The paycheck makes it worth it, but I can’t remember when I’ve had a weekday to myself, to do whatever I want.
So, today I asked my boss for the next two days off… and I plan to spend these days with my almost 1-year-old niece, who just moved to Wisconsin last night (yay!). And I plan to spend some time playing with my 3-week-old filly, because damn she’s just about as perfect as can be. And I plan to spend some time in my garden, probably with a garden book that shows me what the plants I’m growing look like so I don’t pull them out with the weeds engulfing them. And I plan to spend some time with my BFF because she’s bound to pop that baby out any day now. And I plan to relax. And breathe. And smell the roses. And will the days to crawl by as slowly as they possibly can. Because I can’t imagine them any more perfect than they are right now.
Oh, by the way, have you ever seen a more perfect filly?
