I had a full day. Good day to be grateful. And an easy day to be grateful. For just about everything.
*Sunshine.
*Friends.
*Horses. Galloping with my brother riding behind me, trotting while riding behind my friend, such joy. Ahhh.
*Reading crazy books about children falling off giant chess boards and flipping coins as to whether the sun will rise or set.
*Flipping to the next chapter of a fairy tale and reading the chapter title: Enter the Pea. Is that not fabulous?
*Eating potato cheese soup. My absolutely favoritest soup ever. And our first soup this fall. Mmmmm. So cheesy. So good. *Dies of amazing soup.
*Playing with puppies in the light of the full moon. With sisters and brother and friend.
*Loving people. (In response to the comment about No. 5 on yesterday's list.)
*Leaving my Bible open in my bedroom all day long. Whenever I went in there, it was just encouraging to look at it.
*Eating Chocolate cake. Always a plus.
*Playing games on the trampoline in the sunshine. I didn't win, but it was a blast playing anyway. (Of course it was, it was a word game!)
*Attempting to do handstands. They kinda failed.
It was a good day.
Showing posts with label horses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horses. Show all posts
Tuesday
21 Day Gretitude Challenge
I'm guessing that I'm not quite the only one who has bad days. Probably not all of you know what that means, but perhaps at least a few?
Anyway, this post is for those of us who have bad days and don't like to be glum.
SURPRISE!!
You don't have to be. I discovered that yesterday. Here's the story.
It was more of a joggy nose and a pony throat than anything more serious, if you know what I mean. Not bad enough to keep me from getting up and doing school, but just bad enough to keep me from enjoying any of it. That's the worst kind, I think.
Anywho, I managed a nap in the morning and rest in the afternoon (fit my school in betimes) and by 5:30, I was elated in a stuffed-up sort of way because I was nearly done. Daddy dearest came bounding up the stairs to interrupt my piano practice in his usual way. I thought.
"Gianna!"
"Hi Dad." Sniff.
"Ryan is here with the hay, sweetheart," as he ran towards his bedroom to find work jeans.
"And the kids have soccer practice too!" I wailed. For the last two loads of hay, my mom and younger sister and brother - the primary equine lovers in our family - had been gone at various horse shows. I was a little tired of the habit.
I found my farm jeans, a less-than-clean T-shirt and a pair of gloves and followed Dad to the barn. Kiara and Mom left, profusely appologizing, and I wearily started throwing hay bales onto our wagon.
I was well on my way to constructing a miserable mood for myself by the time we were half done.
Then I started noticing things that I couldn't help but be grateful for.
*The way the autumn leaves dropped silently to the ground.
*The way the sunlight spilled over the farm like magic golden liquid.
*The way Dad randomly started to rub my shoulders between loads of hay.
*The way my dog watched my every move with soulful brown eyes.
*That none of the hay actually went in my shoe. That would have driven me crazy. Rawr.
*The way Dad let me do the easy part of the job.
*Riding on top of the hay like I used to do years ago, laughing to myself and trying to keep random hay bales from falling off the wagon.
* The way my horse looked at me underneath the wood of a partition.
*The way one of the horses ambled into the hay shed - the back of which opens into the pasture.
*That we finished and had time for a leisurely dinner before Ryan brought the second load of hay.
Do you begin to see my point? Even if you have the sniffles and you have to scratch up your arms carrying hay to feed the horses your sister rides (while she plays soccer), there is something beautiful to find, something sweet to be grateful for.
So I dare you, fellow bloggers, to take 21 days to be grateful with me. Each day, instead of or in addition to your normal posts, publish a list of ten things that blessed you. See if it doesn't cheer you up! I'm willing to bet that trying it will take some of the blue out of your day and put more wind in your sails.
Comment if you're going to do this please! I want to know who's with me!
...Thank you! :D
Anyway, this post is for those of us who have bad days and don't like to be glum.
SURPRISE!!
You don't have to be. I discovered that yesterday. Here's the story.
It was more of a joggy nose and a pony throat than anything more serious, if you know what I mean. Not bad enough to keep me from getting up and doing school, but just bad enough to keep me from enjoying any of it. That's the worst kind, I think.
Anywho, I managed a nap in the morning and rest in the afternoon (fit my school in betimes) and by 5:30, I was elated in a stuffed-up sort of way because I was nearly done. Daddy dearest came bounding up the stairs to interrupt my piano practice in his usual way. I thought.
"Gianna!"
"Hi Dad." Sniff.
"Ryan is here with the hay, sweetheart," as he ran towards his bedroom to find work jeans.
"And the kids have soccer practice too!" I wailed. For the last two loads of hay, my mom and younger sister and brother - the primary equine lovers in our family - had been gone at various horse shows. I was a little tired of the habit.
I found my farm jeans, a less-than-clean T-shirt and a pair of gloves and followed Dad to the barn. Kiara and Mom left, profusely appologizing, and I wearily started throwing hay bales onto our wagon.
I was well on my way to constructing a miserable mood for myself by the time we were half done.
Then I started noticing things that I couldn't help but be grateful for.
*The way the autumn leaves dropped silently to the ground.
*The way the sunlight spilled over the farm like magic golden liquid.
*The way Dad randomly started to rub my shoulders between loads of hay.
*The way my dog watched my every move with soulful brown eyes.
*That none of the hay actually went in my shoe. That would have driven me crazy. Rawr.
*The way Dad let me do the easy part of the job.
*Riding on top of the hay like I used to do years ago, laughing to myself and trying to keep random hay bales from falling off the wagon.
* The way my horse looked at me underneath the wood of a partition.
*The way one of the horses ambled into the hay shed - the back of which opens into the pasture.
*That we finished and had time for a leisurely dinner before Ryan brought the second load of hay.
Do you begin to see my point? Even if you have the sniffles and you have to scratch up your arms carrying hay to feed the horses your sister rides (while she plays soccer), there is something beautiful to find, something sweet to be grateful for.
So I dare you, fellow bloggers, to take 21 days to be grateful with me. Each day, instead of or in addition to your normal posts, publish a list of ten things that blessed you. See if it doesn't cheer you up! I'm willing to bet that trying it will take some of the blue out of your day and put more wind in your sails.
Comment if you're going to do this please! I want to know who's with me!
...Thank you! :D
Friday
Good ol' County Fair
Celebrations mark the opening of Fair. A parade marches past. Flying candy, children running almost to the middle of the streets, Miss So-and-so and Miss Queen-of-something and Miss County giving their unrealistically refined waves and trying not to overheat their gowns, fire trucks annoying and startling more than they please, bands playing snatches of tunes that nobody has the time to recognize...And then at night, the fireworks! Magical light in enchanting colors and patterns dazzle the sky and reflect excitement in wide-open eyes. (If there were like Gandalf's, though!)
"The finest rockets ever seen, They burst in stars of blue and green, Or after thunder, Golden showers, Came falling like a rain of flowers." -J. R. R. Tolkien
Mom caught these!
You ought to be gasping with me. They were so exciting! I hadn't seen fireworks forever!!!
Is this not beautiful?!
The cheese curds were gargantuan. They were not bites, they were hand fulls. You spend the first minute gazing at them and trying to pick one to eat. You can't decide whether to save the big greasy one for last, or not. So you grab one and take a nibble; a grin lights up your eyes and displays stringy cheese to a crowd of persons who don't know you, but having mozzarella draped over your chin doesn't bother you today. Your eyes bug out when you remember that you have numerable nibbles left.
In the 4-H building, scents and colors dance wildly for your attention. Homemade clothing swells proudly on it's display. Pictures of events judged earlier stand boasting in their awarded ribbons. Creativity made manifest in numerous venues; scrapbooks pull colors together in charming collages, bilboards broadcast "quickfacts" and "My Story" in alternating bursts of before-and-after pictures and short sentences or paragraphs. Ropes sag around display tables, upheld by soldier-stiff metal rods.
Outside, sterotypical heat necessitates costly water balloon fights and dunk tanks. The ferris wheel turns in it's traditional circles, lifting fairgoers to glorious hights before sinking them into noisy reality again. The subdued roar of the rides accomanies the chattering roar of the people. Every so often, someone jumps up and waves his arms, having noticed a friend he must talk to. People amble past, ignoring and ignored - all minds are on rides, food and fun. The midway streams with scantily dressed girls clinging on their shaggy haired boyfriends and mothers who've eaten to many snacks pushing strollers and searching for another dollar, rescuing an almost-dropped chili-cheese-dog, and calling after the one who graduated from stroller-hood and thinks she can go anywhere.
It is the first time I have paid attention to the stables since last years fair. The first thing to catch my attention is a flashy new sign reading "Horse Barn." Two horses, from the whithers up, are outlined. I grimace: they are not well drawn horses. The lines are smooth, but they are horrible proportionately. Almost like caricatures of horses, but bad even for that. I know my artistic and horse-loving sister will have a fit when she sees them.
Inside, things are not so dis-familiar. Stall doors all hang at the same nearly straight angle, tattooed with staples that, 363 days ago, held ribbons, posters, signs, and pictures. At one end of the barn I remember the manure pile used to be. Likely to be there this year too, I reflect, since the other end of the barn is towards the fair and people will want to keep up appearences. But right now a pretentious and self-righteously clean folding table stands, holding an assignment list of the stalls and turning up it's corners at the rustic structure behind it.
By Thursday, there is no more table. Mocking manure is chunked and heaped where the table stood. Horses fill the stalls - making friends, declaring enemies, or generally ignoring the hubbub. Older horses stand relaxed with their heads in the quietest corner of the stall. They've aquainted themselves with the hay pile and the water bucket and they know they should rest while they can. Middle aged horses turn about their stall, still hopefull that they can make it comfortable. They are mostly to proud to acknowledge bystanders. The youngest fillies and colts are too busy discovering if they love or hate their neighbor to eat immediately. One filly takes an instant dislike to the mule behind her and expresses her feelings by applying her teeth to his rump. Minature horses - always two to a stall - ignore the world and eat in silent companionship.
Well dressed chidlren clinging to slender mothers shriek with excitement or gape in awe as real-live COWGIRLS(!) walk casually past carrying grain, pitchforks, and brushes with careless ease and nachalance. The youngest ones stare as farm boys in dirty shirts - sleeves long since torn off - enter stalls and talk softly to equine friends. Anxious mothers chide their children that saddles should already be on the horses which are still only being bathed. At the riding ring, the only relaxed ones are those unrelated watchers sitting on the single bleachers. An announcer commands the attention of those on the horses, announcing the games, calling out the names and numbers of the next riders. Riders command the attention of the parents, who run around holding reins of their childrens horses, cheering when their children ride, comforting when the children lose. Riding instructers pay attention to everyone, announcers, riders and young children running annoyingly and dangerously close to the horses.
Little Bro washes his horse, Knightly.
Little Bro rides Jewel, our Appolousa.
Art Maniac ('Lil Sis) rides the two-year-old horse that she has been training through the spring.
Little Bro shows Knightly in Halter Class.
Art Maniac shows her horse, Dance, in Open Class horse show and takes Grand!
Little Bro does the barrel race.
Little Bro does the Trail "race". You have to open a gate and ride through without dismounting. He did well!
Waiting between games!
Waiting for results...who will place?
Art Maniac and Midnight run the keyhole race.
Art Maniac (Horse maniac?) and Dance celebrate a victory.
And all the stalls undergo the necessary decorating.
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