Horse Tails - March winds.....brew sorrow

     While Rodger was out searching for fabric for our Color Guard vests and the horses pads, then having his friend sew them, he also was finding the holsters for the flags to sit in for our saddles.  He was our leader every step of the way with the planning details.  In the meantime we would practice in the arena working on riding our horses close together as well as in unity.  David and I rode on the outside flanking David and Becky.  We practiced doing turns as well as riding our horses at a trot or a canter in case we were riding in an arena carrying the flags in addition to in parades.  We thought maybe we could ride as a group when the Contra Costa Fair came in July.  

     We had had a wet winter that year making the arena a mud hole a lot of the time.  Our horses were frisky from being cooped up and not ridden too much.  Still, whenever it seemed dry enough Rodger would have us practice.  Most of the time it was David, Rodger and myself as Becky had odd hours of being a nurse at the hospital.  

     March came rolling in which meant my birthday.  My parents thinking that my year in Antioch had been so hard on me thought to give me a surprise 15th party.  What a horror for me when I walked into our house to find my school friends and my barn friends together saying "Surprise!".  Two groups who had never met and couldn't have been more of a contrast from each other.  I obviously felt uncomfortable just having my parents having anything to do with a party for me.  I liked my friends, all of them, but they had nothing in common except for me.  I could hardly wait for the evening to be over.

      My next big shock was that my parents decided to divorce.  It didn't really bother me as B. wasn't my real father and I didn't have that close a bond with him.  Maybe it was the fact that I had heard them trying to get along but not doing so well, or maybe it was that I didn't care.  I think I was selfish at 15 and could only see what I wanted.   My mom, grandmother and myself would be moving into an apartment and B. to his own as well.  My grandmother was still in Tennessee and would find upon her return a new residence we would be at.  

      Not long after B. moved out, he took me out to dinner.  He was very nice to me, as he always was, but point blanked asked me if I wanted to live with him instead of my mom.  I was floored.  He brought up how my mom and I didn't get along and that it wouldn't get any easier with him gone.  Not that he had ever intervened in any of our arguments.  I firmly told him no.  I let him know that while we fought she was my mom and I had no intention of abandoning her.  Inside I thought that really it was my Nan that I couldn't abandon.  I had missed her so much while she had been away.  I never saw B. again or heard from him.  In my adult years I came to find out that he had had an affair that started in Salinas and continued when we moved to Antioch.  The woman was a friend of the family from way back when we lived in Atwater.  It was insulting that he moved us from all our friends just so he could be closer to that woman.   

     I came home from school one afternoon to find our two poodles, Pepe and Charlie gone.  When my mom came home from work that evening I asked her where they were.  She very matter of fact said they had been ill for quite some time and they were put to sleep as they were not getting better.  I was beside myself.  I loved those dogs!   I knew they both had been on special dog food but I could see nothing wrong with either of them whatsoever.   They weren't old dogs either though they were near 9 nears of age.  My never getting to give them one more hug, more more playtime, one more brushing, one more anything...no more hugs for those little guys.  What I think happened, thinking through an adult mind now,  was that where we would be moving they would not take pets.   My mom had to think about where we would live and the dogs were not high on the priority for survival.  Why we couldn't have found them a new home I will never no.  The discussion and sorrow were not coming from my mom and I was at a loss for why my world continued to be turned upside down.  My room became the only place I wanted to be.  I look back and realize that these had to be very dark days for her as well.  

     In the meantime at the barn, Dub and somehow talked my mom into getting me a new saddle.  I had outgrown my first saddle and we traded that one for a lovely tooled one that fit perfectly for my young adult body.  I looked at all the areas of the saddle that someday I could add silver concho's to like the girls with their fancy show saddles.  The only bright spot in the month of March, not that getting a new saddle dealt with my heartache.


    

Horse Tails - Rodger and David

     What were my parents thinking when they moved us to Antioch?  Because in my 14 year old mind I felt like they cared nothing for my feelings let alone my opinion.  I was mad as hell and sulked like crazy.  Not only that but I didn't have my horse for two months after we moved.  There I was in that good awful town with no friends and no horse living in an ugly track home development.

     When the time came for my horse Duke to come I was obsessed with being able to go ride.  The new barn where he would be was at the fairgrounds in town and my mom would allow me to go be there much more than when we lived in Salinas.  Heaven,  I could brush, ride, and just hang out with horse people.  Dub and Ilene who managed the barn, were the best of people  and made me feel like I mattered but did not  try to parent me.  I may not have had a purebred horse but they dolled Duke up in ways I had never done.  I would come out to the barn and Dub would have his fetlocks all shaved and trimmed,  his hooves shined up glossy, his bridle path clipped and all his whiskers shaved.  Duke had never had this kind of fancy grooming.  I didn't own clippers just a pair of scissors I found at home and took.  I didn't own the horse products to shine a horses coat up with and what was in the tack room I was allowed to use.  Dub would bathe my horse and showed me how to as well.  He had an extra horse blanket for in the winter that he even put on my horse to keep his coat from getting long and furry.   I became a better horse person listening and learning from that man.

     As much as I hated Antioch I met some interesting people that year.  The fairgrounds were filled with horses all year round along with quite a community of families with kids hanging around having a great time.  Our barn was separate and private with full care versus the fair stalls where you had to clean and feed yourself.  My parents oddly enough bellied up to paying more for this barn which impressed me.  Honestly I think they were worried about having to aquire hay and get the stall clean which would mean going there twice a day.  That wouldn't have been a chore they would want to do even if it would be me doing it.  But it would require them to drive me there and that wasn't going to work with their plans.

     Two of the friends I made were Rodger and David. They use to hang around on weekends talking to Dub as Rodger owned a big white Tennessee Walker which is the breed Dub owned.  Oh that horse was beautiful with his long flowing mane and tail.  My Duke looked like a midget next to him.  Rodger was lean and slight of stature, with a hairstyle that reminded me of Elvis Presley, black and greased back with long sideburns.  He smoked like a chimney but then it seemed all the horse people smoked.  David was a dirty blonde with lambchop sideburns that were a darker shade than his hair, trimmed short.  He had a way about him that I just couldn't figure out.  He had a half quarter horse that he rode  and kept in the fairground stalls along with his siblings.  Both these men were in their late 20's and were roommates.  They met each other at work being an ambulance driver (think of the vehicle that was in Ghostbusters).  David was always with Rodger,  they were quite a couple at the fairgrounds.   This was before I knew what gay was.  I had never been around any that I knew about but these two while not openly affectionate were clearly an item.  David was the feminine one, from the way he held and smoked his cigarettes, to the way he sashayed when he walked.  He also had this high toned way of laughing and, dare I say, giggled.  I never heard a guy giggle!  Rodger  was a bit more manly with his deeper way of talking and walking.  Noted by me as well was that they liked to wear their pants tucked into their cowboy boots which I just had never seen done except by little kids.


     I knew that David was estranged from his father who had kicked him out years before.  I can only guess it was his choice of relationship that caused an issue back in the 70's let alone in this hick town of Antioch.  He seemed to only be around his sisters when he was at the barn.  Rodger was his family.  With their shooting the breeze horse talk at the barn, smoking one cigarette after the other, it wasn't long before I was doing it too.  Of course I had already been smoking for over a year but not openly with adults.  I would bum them off the guys who liked the brand Kool.   I who had only done Marlboro brand before enjoyed that menthol flavor.  Sometimes Becky, who was in her 30's and owned a sorrel colored quarter horse with a flaxen mane and tail would be with us.  She had the longest false eyelashes I ever saw.  It never mattered to them that I was only 14.  

     They all took me in as an equal age to them.  When Grand Nationals came to the Cow Palace in San Francisco, the four of us went.  We talked about forming a Color Guard Group together.  Rodger had great ideas for what we would wear and what kind of flashy saddle pads for the horses to wear.  Silver and black would be our colors, with the silver being extra bright and sparkly.  He had found someone who would sew all our vests with silver fringe, and the pads for the horses that would hang down long under our saddles with extra sparkle and fringe.  We would have black boots, black cowboy hats with a silver trim to top it all off.  We were inspired upon seeing the color guard at the Grand Nationals.  Parade riding was nothing new to Duke and I as I had ridden several times in the horse parades during the Salinas Rodeo.   


      For all the flak David and Rodger took by others, which as time went on I heard some nasty comments made at the fairgrounds about them, they were the nicest people to be around.  My parents never were interested in what I did at the fairgrounds nor ever asked.  When the color guard idea came up that was fine with them.  I didn't realize my parents were having their own issues between them.  I heard them arguing more in their bedroom and my Nan had gone to visit her sister in Tennessee so it was just us three.  I stayed in my bedroom as much as I could except for meals.  I still was mad with them for taking me from Salinas where I was happy and had a lot of friends.  Here I only had the barn friends.  An oddball group of misfits we were. 

     One of the silliest times we had together was David driving his Volkswagon bus out to the field adjacent to the fairgrounds that had been cut but not baled yet, taking armfuls and filling that bus up.   His bus had a skylight that we opened and once we couldn't stuff anymore in from the side we passed it up to whoever was on top to throw down the skylight.  We were all laughing, covered with oat hay in our clothes and hair.  We drove that bus around in circles till we figured we better get out of there before we got in trouble.  You would have thought they were teenagers like me.  Our horses loved that fresh cut hay as a treat as Dub and Ilene fed pellets because of storage issues.  David filled his extra stall that he stored tack and feed in with the rest.  I think I had the tips of the oats stuck in my socks, shirt and pants for quite sometime as they seem to be impossible to fully extract.  


    

The piano

     When I was a little girl there were times when I walked inside the house after coming home from school or playing outside and I would hear the piano being played.  I could hear my Nan singing along to her simple chords of "Jesus Loves Me" while she sat at the piano in our living room.

"Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes Jesus loves me, 
The  Bible tells me so."

    I would come stand next to her and I think she was a bit embarrassed to be found singing.  Sometimes I would sit next to her but she usually didn't stay playing once she had an audience observing her.  She would stop and ask me about what I was doing.

     Her book of church songs would be open on the piano stand.   I would sing along with her if it was one I knew from Sunday school.  Jesus Loves Me being the one I remembered singing along to.

"Jesus loves me this I know
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
they are weak but He is strong."

    Most of the time I just listened to her softly sing her hymns.  She never preformed for us that I recall.  It seemed to be her time privately when we weren't at home that she would sit on the bench enjoying herself.   All her songs seemed to have been hymns which thinking about it now, I wonder why she didn't come to church with us.  I think she must of come every once in awhile for Easter or Christmas but otherwise she stayed home.  Maybe her piano time was her church time.  


    That piano now sits in my brother's home in his living room.  I should ask if in the piano bench are any of Nan's piano hymn books.  My mom kindly shipped it out to him many years ago when she decided a stand up piano wasn't the right look for her grand home.  She needed a shiny black baby grand even though she did not play herself.  It sits there like a fine piece of furniture dusted and well taken care of to the eye.  I doubt that it has been tuned in ages sadly as it deserves to be due to it's expense.  Occasionally one of my daughters has played on it while we visited but otherwise it sits lonely with it's white ivory keys shut tight beneath the black lid.


    The piano my Nan played had a life.  My brother took lessons and I tried to take lessons but gave up.  Sometimes I would  use some of the books my brother had or just plucked out some notes, but most of the time I played the tune "Chopsticks" along with "Heart and Soul"  with my girlfriends.   My brother's oldest son took lessons and played away on it beautifully.  It was used and isn't that what a piano should have happen?  To be played?

     In my home, we were given an old depression era baby grand by dear A. and C. before they moved to Seattle.  It's finish is worn and crackled, faded out of the black coat it had to a fine brown shade in the sunlight.  That piano has had much life in our house.  Our daughters loved banging on the keys to made up songs and then when two took lessons such lovely music came from it.  How much we enjoyed having a 'concert' given to us.  I loved to open the lid, prop it up, and have the sound come out so rich and loud when it was being played!   It needs restoration work but I cherish it because it was given to us just the way it is.  My oldest daughter sat at this piano with A. when just a little one, smiling with joy at the sound it made.  In fact A. is whom that piano is for me.  She may not live near me but the piano is a vivid memory of our times together at her home long ago.   

 


     At my parent's second home near us, they bought a player piano.  What a lot of fun that piano was!  It had all types of music scrolls that ranged from Christmas music, to old time music, to classical pieces.  I loved watching the music scroll down on songs we could sing along to as the words were right there easy to see.  Yet the best part was watching the keys play without a hand on them.  I think it felt like a ghost playing.  I don't know why my parents gave that piano away to some friends of theirs.  It sits in their family room at their vacation home in the mountains.  At least this family loves pianos and the husband plays splendidly.  In fact they have a grand piano there dominating the living room of that home  with special humidifiers to protect them from the dryness of the mountain air.  Sometimes  I want to ask them if they ever don't want it to please let me know.  I would find a place for that piano in our home just to have those good memories of singing around it as it played.  I would love to put one of the many scrolls in and listen to it. 



     A piano with a story, a song, fingers playing effortlessly, fingers, struggling to grasp the sharps and flats of a song.  Pedals for depth in a song, or the pedals hard to reach with young legs or not used at all.  I loved to push the pedal that sustained the notes.  The song "The Chimes" being a favorite song of mine to play just for that purpose, making me feel like I was in church with the echo of the lofty ceilings and high walls around me.  


  

The Piano from Ellen F. on Vimeo.

    

Defining A Movement

This was posted on my facebook home page and it spoke to me of the mothering of my children.  I love the quiver in the voice of the woman speaking in this because that is how I would be.  Trying hard to say from the heart the love I feel overflowing towards my children.  This has given me a bit of inspiration as well....

You tell me....

I think R. was ahead of himself in style with his hair.

When he was in 5th grade, 5 years ago, he decided he wanted to wear his hair long.  I didn't mind.  

Now R. had a baseball coach several years ago who constantly bugged him to cut his hair.  R. ignored him.  We ignored him.  What difference does it make how long your hair is if you play the game?  R. had been pitching for many years and doing a fine job as well.   I guess the coach didn't like his hair and he didn't think he pitched fast enough.  R. got short stop, third base or outfield.  Yeah.  

That was 2008.  He stopped playing baseball that year.  Burnout.  Fed up.  I don't know and in the end he really was enjoying his electric guitar and baseball games were a memory behind him.

Where am I going with this?  You tell me....but I think R. was rockin' the long hair way before the Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum....

My guy  -  2008

The Giants guy - 2010

My guy was definitely ROCKIN'!!!!!

 He wears his hair shorter now.   He still rocks...and rolls!

Toys at my P.T.

     P.T. is just a blast!   I have been treated with such kindness (really!), laughs, grimaces, great talks, grimaces, relaxation (while reading a magazine while I wait to be called) and there are such fun toys for me to have for MY benefit.

     After the fitting of my ugly splint the first appointment was all about measuring.  How far I could flex my wrist in different directions.  How uncomfortable that was.  Not part of the fun especially when you compared both wrists.  I have a ways to go before they are matched in the flexibility department.  The two hands don't even look the same!  The broken wrist at the beginning was swollen and quite stiff.  While presently the swelling is almost gone I still have some stiffness in my fingers and of course in bending my wrist.  Oh it is better, way better!   This whole recovery is going to take some time and I do need to be patient which sometimes I am not.

     So what fun things do I get to do?

      This machine is one that I think could be improved upon.   First of all you put your arm inside an arm hole of mesh fabric where they seal your arm around with velcro.  Good thing because when they turn the machine on all this hull stuff starts flying around with warm air.  Your suppose to make grabbing motions with your hand until the machine stops.  I guess about 10 minutes.  The improvement I have is there could be prizes inside that you keep searching for as you do the grabbing motion.  I suggested a diamond ring on the high side or for Halloween some silly items like fake eyeballs, plastic bats, and candy.  They laughed at me but thought that was a cute idea.

  
This is really fun to do!  The Parabath.  Doesn't that sound nice?  The idea is to put your hand in this warmed wax, dipping into it five times.  Letting it cool between dips till voila!  You have what I call the hand candle!   The point of this is to create warm heat therapy for my wrist.  Once I have finished my dipping my hand is put into a plastic bag and then wrapped in a towel for about 10 minutes.  I wondered how it was going to come off but it peels right off in one piece.  

Ultrasound....you can't feel anything with this but under my skin it is to promote healing for my joints and muscles.  They put a blob of blue (cold) gel on my wrist and roll it around and around for awhile.  We can have a nice chat about this or that during this time.  Passive therapy.

     This nifty gadget is a Muscle Stimulator.  I get hooked up with a couple of patches that are plugged in with wires to this machine.  Once the machine is activated and the dial is turned you gradually start to feel a buzz feeling.  I get asked if  I am stimulated enough (hahahaha!) and then my wrist is put on ice or heat for the next 10 minutes.   This is the last of my treatment at a session.  I stare out the window and look at the sky and trees or I eavesdrop on the next patient whose turn it is for whatever they need for treatment.   I bet you can guess what I choose to do.

  



Strength or what little I have after the trauma my poor wrist has had, was recently tested.  Last week I managed to squeeze to 15 pounds.   Pathetic.   This week I was pushing 23 pounds!  Yippeee!   The idea with this is you squeeze the handle and my therapist is able to read the dial of what I can do.  I can't even see it as it faces away from me.  





     I do like the massage I get on my scar to reduce the scar tissue that can build up underneath.  I also get much stretching of my wrist joint as well as the exercises I do at home repeated at my session.  Theses past two weeks I have been doing weights.  One pound weight.  Impressive isn't it?   My Love has had quite a chuckle over my weight lifting.  He better watch out is all I can say. 

     Looks like I will have another 3 weeks to go before I am turned loose to do home strengthening and healing.  I will be glad to not have to drive out there twice a week but I will miss the time spent with Jeff or Barbara.  They're really nice folks and I have learned a lot about my wrist and the healing process of what happened simply by falling down on a hike.  I am beyond grateful that I had such a good surgeon who fixed my broken bones.

     I can't wait to see what new toys I will get to play with Friday.....maybe I will get to play with the playdough stuff they have.

No pain...no gain

     For two weeks the hot pink cast and I made peace with each other.  I liked that it was significantly lighter in weight than the post surgery one.  It was even kind of cute.  

     After the two weeks I went back to my Dr. to have the cast removed.  I was going to graduate to a removable splint!   

     What to my surprise after the Tech. removed my cast was that he told me to go wash my arm.  What?  Once again my wrist was weak and ached with the loss of the support from the cast.  I walked over to the sink, turned on the water to warm and looked down at the dry blood on the tape covering the incision area.  I felt sick to my stomach honestly.  Somehow I managed to remove the tape, wash my now naked wrist and remain standing.  No fluffy towel to dry off with only stiff paper.   Really wouldn't it be nice to provide a soft towel to blot the water off this expensive incision area?   

     I am told to go to the Physical Therapy department to have the splint made.   I cradle my wrist as I make the walk hoping, please, that no one trips me on the way.  It feels quite uncomfortable even with the Aleve I had taken prior to coming in anticipation of being in possible pain.

     Jeff, one of the two P.T.'s has me sit down and speedily creates a splint that I swear he could do blindfolded.  It isn't pretty that is for sure.  I mean, I have a sleeve to put on my wrist that reminds me of a rolling pin cover.  Next the ugly splint with wide velcro to hold it on.  My new support.  I make future appointments for the next phase of recovery...Physical Therapy.  Torture treatment?  Oh how I hope not.   I make it to the car and sit for awhile.  I begin to cry.  I guess I needed a cry even if I want to blame it on the discomfort. I wonder how I am going to drive because of the pain.   Time helps though.   I pull myself together and start the car.   Just get home is my mantra.

     Four days later I went to my first P.T. appointment and Barbara worked on me.  It wasn't as bad as I feared as at this appointment she did some measuring to see what flexibility I had post-cast.  She gave me papers with new exercises I was to do 3 to 5 times a day after going through each of them with me.  I can't say that I was liking all the different moves I was to do.   When my wrist didn't like what I was moving it let me know quite clearly with a sharp pain.  Each move was to be doing slowly and carefully.  Following the exercises I was to ice my wrist as well.


     Show and tell came the next morning as I removed my splint and the rolling pin cover.   My Love and R. got to see how big my incision was for the first time.  And it was much longer than I thought it would have been.  They watched me grimace as I went through the routine.  My Love cheered me on with so much positive praise as he cooked or washed dishes while I diligently stretched that tight wrist.  I was swollen and bruised still which made it harder to do many of the moves.   As a note though, each day all the homework does pay off.  Little by little I have less discomfort from the stretches.  More bend, less swelling, more rotation.  I accept the scar easier as I massage it each time before I start working on my wrist with massage oil to help it heal by breaking up the scar tissue that lies beneath.  I accept this which is something for me.   Remember when it comes to blood, scars and icky pain I am a wimp.