Danger Zone
Let’s imagine I just wrote a post with so much whine in it that the international cheese market jumped in anticipation of the inevitable huge demand.
It was extravagant. The royal wedding can’t even begin to compare to the pity party thrown by my whine.
We are talking an epic that would have brought Homer to his knees in awe, if he could have seen it.
It was, in short, a whine that has reduced me to punning about Homer.
The problem is that I am so mentally and physically at the end of my rope, I can’t see how to fix it. And “it” has more facets to it than the Hope Diamond.
So I’m begging you: fix my life.
Just pick a problem—I’m probably dealing with it—and tell me how to fix it.
Because if you don’t, there are worse things in store than punning about Homer.
I’ll start translating Catullus again. The last time I did that, I ended up with a poem called “Look at Leslie’s Ruddy Rooster.” It wasn’t really about a rooster, if you know what I mean. I am nearly reduced to that again.
Help. Me.
Fortune Favors the Gluttonous
Today, I ordered Chinese for lunch.
The Chinese place won’t deliver without a minimum order, which means I got enough food to get me through the weekend. I also got multiple fortune cookies.
Fortune cookies are fun. Fortune cookies from this particular restaurant, however, have historically proven themselves to be less “fortune” and more “non-specific platitudes carefully crafted to avoid all legal liability whatsoever.” They are the equivalent of a luke-warm bath.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the first cookie and it said: “An unexpected windfall will be yours.”
Really? That’s like an actual fortune. Someone was feeling bold at the fortune writing factory.
I already got my tax refund. Any relatives likely to bequeath me anything are already dead. I don’t play the lottery. The only windfall I can envision, frankly, is the wind rushing through the trees while I’m riding, Ro spooking, and me falling.
Not really the fortune I want.
But I had more cookies to check, so maybe they would invalidate the first one. Or counteract it. Or something.
Next cookie: “You have a charming way with words. Write a letter this week.”
Do you see what I mean? That’s not a fortune. On the other hand, maybe writing the letter will secure that windfall for me. Who do I know that reads letters and has extra money hanging around? This requires some thought.
Opening the last fortune cookie, however, requires no thought at all. It’s Friday; who wants to think, anyway?
“Don’t worry about the stock market. Invest in family.”
What? Really? A fortune cookie is advising me about the stock market? That’s more economic awareness than I’ve seen in many living, breathing people. I’m amused. And a little frightened. How did society reach a point where fortune cookies are giving financial advice?
On the other hand, the combination of fortunes suddenly makes sense:
My family can provide me with my unexpected windfall, as long as I write a charming letter.
It’s a nice thought, except that my family is rather large. Figuring out who to send this charming letter to will be a challenge.
Darn it. I knew I should have ordered a fourth dish. I do not have enough information here. I need more. More information. More fortunes. More paper-tasting but strangely addictive cookies.
More cookies. Mmm. Cookies.
I bet I could get a relative to send me cookies, if I wrote a letter. That’s close enough to a windfall for me.
Oh, hay
The barrel race, which was scheduled for last weekend, got canceled. I’m not sure when it will get rescheduled, but I still plan to enter Ro when it does. Just for laughs.
In the meantime, the dressage show that was supposed to happen in December has been rescheduled… again… for Sunday. Barring some freak storm that blows in and ruins those plans, Ro and I will be there.
Although, to be honest, “show” is stretching it a bit. It’s more like a Ride A Test thing—ride your test, get feedback from the judge, and ride it again. My goal is just to stay in the arena and maybe, you know, do some things that look more or less like the test movements. If they happen in the right gaits, that will be a bonus.
I suppose I should go memorize the tests…
In the meantime, I am facing the rather painful reality that I still can’t back up my trailer. Earlier this week, we went to pick up another load of hay, which was good—it meant I got to haul the trailer around again. But we didn’t actually unload the hay, which meant I didn’t actually back up the trailer. I didn’t even back it up when we parked—we were so hungry by then, I turned the keys over so we could unhook quickly and go get food.
So tonight I decided I would unload the hay—it needed to be done anyway, and I could practice backing up the trailer.
I thought ahead just enough to get the truck hooked up to the trailer before it got dark, and then I waited for everyone to leave the barn.
This was going to be some stealth backing. Besides, it’s more fun to back up in the dark. Who wants to see stuff before you hit it, anyway?
I will say this—I think I got down the barn aisle more quickly than I did the last time. I’ve kind of figured out the way it handles when I am going straight-ish (people more experienced than me would be able to go straight. I go backwards like a drunken duck, but I get there eventually).
Then I had to go park the thing. I had two choices: park it where it was before, between two other trailers, or go park it on the far end of things, where I could be yards and yards away from everyone. It was dark. One of those choices was sensible, given my inexperience backing up the trailer. The other wasn’t. Guess which one I picked?
It took me a couple tries to get the trailer lined up, but I got it parked back in its original spot, without hitting anything.
So, the backing straight-ish thing is coming along nicely. Tomorrow I need to hook it up again and work on turning while backing. That is a total mystery to me—I really haven’t figured out how quickly it will turn, or how far I can turn the wheel before I risk jackknifing, or any other minor details like that.
Ro, meanwhile, is doing great. Tonight she tried spooking at a leaf in the road just to see if she could get away with it, but she was very sensible when we went to work. She seems so happy lately, which makes me happy.
How we weather the weather down here: Finally Friday
‘Twas the night before storm fall, and all through the news
Not an anchorman was hedging, without even a pause:
The snow fall is coming; we’ll count it by inches!
The city was planning for Dooms Day on Earth
With shut-downs of schools, offices and all
That might be impacted by the snow-yet-to-come.
My horse was deep-bedded, to her hocks in her hay
And my cats and I snuggled under a blanket or two.
The snow could come falling: one inch, two, or three!
And then in the morning, I woke with excitement—
I sprang from my bed to see how much had fallen
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Opened the curtains and drew up the blinds
When what to my wondering eyes did appear
But pavement bone dry and grass brown and drear.
It was kind of a bust, to be honest.
All that hype about the Historic Storm, and there was nothing—nothing!—at my apartment complex. After a couple minutes of peering around, I did see some ice on some pine needles, and some other ice caught on shingles on the roof of the building next to mine.
The news did say that there were over 100 accidents in four hours, and the tollways were closed down by midmorning. Although we didn’t get snow, apparently some parts of town got hit pretty hard by ice.
I just shrugged and started working. From home—no way I was getting on the roads.
After work, I headed out to the barn to sort Ro out for the night. For the last time, I hope, I put my buckets in the truck. I buckled myself in, turned on the truck, checked my mirrors, and saw a Fun House quality distorted view of the world.
There was probably a solid 1/8 inch of ice on both my side mirrors. Because it was a flat sheet, I couldn’t chip it off; there was nothing to even start chipping away at, and even if there had been, the ice was too thick for my Texas version of an ice chipper (read: my credit card).
I ended up steaming an old towel in the microwave and using that to melt off the ice enough so that I could chip it.
Out at the barn, everything was good. Ro’s turned out tonight for the first time in ages, which she is thrilled about.
Tomorrow temps are back up in the 50s, so she’s going back to work. She probably won’t be thrilled about that, but life can’t be one big all-you-can-eat buffet forever.
How we weather the weather down here: A Little Perspective
This just about sums it up: