Marriage and Mayhem.

This morning, as one daughter brought me my wallet, informing me that I don't seem to have $16.00, and that is what she requires for a school trip, and the other daughter buzzed about, ready to head off to school and the Drum Major audition afterwards, I was mostly thinking about going back to sleep. It is cold. It is damp. Then Youngest's feet pounded down the stairs into the early dawn on his way to see his ducks, and I gave up on sleep. Propped up in bed, under the incubating warmth of the down duvet, I flipped my smartypants phone to the Facebook app, and read a few of the days entries, when my friend Phyllis' entry "I fully admit I can't wait for the Royal Wedding tomorrow morning at 6 a.m." popped up on the screen. I dashed out of bed and downstairs in my jammies to see if I hadn't missed it all. They were just finishing the main part of the ceremony. Fortunately, with recapping, I have seen the highlights, but really, I had intended to figure out the machine that records these things so I could watch it in its entirety, at a decent hour. I did record what I hadn't missed, because I think my children should all have a small bit of memory from this too. I remember Charles and Diana's wedding. I was Middlest's age at the time. Her big 80's poof dress, the carriage, the enormously long train on her gown and the even longer walk down the aisle. She added a good dash of attractiveness to the royal family that seems to have had skipped a few generations. Kate's "commoner" genes should help a lot too. I'll bet the next gen of Royals will be cuties.
At the same time, in complete and eerie  juxtaposition to the majesty of the Royal Nuptials, is the massive disaster of tornadoes in the south. As a child, I'll admit I was not well trained to church matters and the words of the Bible. I did go to Sunday School while we lived in New Jersey. This was the early 1970's, and what I remember most was my Sunday School teacher wore that awful, unbreathing, thick polyester, in big splashy pattern dresses, didn't shave her armpits and smelled like sweat.
I also attended away camp one summer, when I was 12. It was Camp Morningstar? maybe. On the banks of the Cheasapeake Bay. It was a religious camp, and we prayed and did a Bible study. But again, I mostly remember hating it. Being homesick, particularly for my animals, and cold and damp the entire time. I had been signed up for "Wet Wooly Wild Water Week". And sent with two bathing suits that never dried out. NOT a pool kid, I detested waking up at 6 a.m. for a cold swim in the pool. I liked the parts in the bay, okay, but not enough to rescue the week for me, and never went back.
That was pretty much the sum of my religious education before I became an adult. But here is what I remembered most from the bible stories I had learned as a child; it was a scary, dangerous time to live. God could flood the earth, and unless you were in Noah's family, you were toast. God could send things called plagues, that killed everyone, bugs, that ate everything, and sand to drown you.  I felt much safer living in New England .
Except, for the past few months, I've been thinking about the biblical-style take on things like the Japanese earthquake and tsunami. If it had been 4000 years ago, in Palestine, it would've made the bible. I would say that you could count it as the wrath of God. We know so much, we think of it as shifting of earth's core and plates and faults and stuff. But I would call it " a disaster of Biblical proportion". Now, the tornadoes. If you were hanging out in your tents, eating unleavened bread and tornadoes a mile wide on the ground for a couple hundred miles came to call, and you managed to crawl into a sandy cave and live, your account would've made a Bible story.  Fires that burn an area of land larger than Isreal, Hurricane Katrina's arrival, earthquakes, floods, tsunamis, blizzards; Biblical disasters are not a thing of the past atall, atall. Heck, here in relatively safe Ohio, we've seen rain for most of 40 days and nights. The most rainfall in April in recorded history. Thankfully, not of Biblical Proportion- we have no ark, no boat, no canoe. But for the folks in Alabama today, or coastal Japan, I  think they may feel exactly as the people of  Egyptian Old Testament. My childhood naivety alone was what made New England safer than Jericho, for I don't think it matters the time or the place- the walls can just come a-tumbling down.

Tea for two, hair diffidence and the time warp effect.

I am wondering how I got so little done today, and feeling guilty about it. I can't decide if this is good or bad, and maybe that's because it just, "is". I did get something done I feel proud about- I saw a friend! Out here in ruralness, you have to make a bit of an effort to spend some coffee time on the porch with a friend. Not a whole lot- it takes driving, and putting aside of a space of time- but some effort. My friend also is talented with the scissors, and cuts my hair for me. That seems like a great excuse to get together, and gives me a reason to get my haircut- an event I would previously subject myself to perhaps semi-annually like a bra sale at Victoria's Secret. She is a trained professional, and must like me because our pre-cut hair discussion goes somewhat like this:
Her: So, what do you want to do with your hair?
Me: Shorter? I guess? Or longer is fine.
Her: Do you want bangs back, or keep layering them into your hair?
Me: Um, sure!
Her: Okay, I'm going to elevate it in back, give you a swingy bob and lighten the top with bangs.
Me: Terrific!
See, I am not very hair particular. Never have been. "Back in the day" when modeling, they would cut my hair, give me bangs, layers, perm, whatever. I was like Barbie Head. I looked like a Standard Poodle when a high school sophomore. And I was fine with that.
The best part of getting my hair cut, is getting to chat with my friend. And after the cut is done, and I've swept up my hair, we continue to chat. Mostly about our children. Not really to complain -although we do belly ache a little about our messiest ones and the grumpiest ones, but I think more to share and get reassured that perhaps we aren't making a complete bollocks of the whole business of parenting. Of course, I don't think we'll really know that answer until we see what kind of adults our kids morph into. Even then, after we think they're all that, with paying jobs and stable families, there could be a freak out. A daughter who buys a fast car and runs away with Merriam, her tennis partner. Or a son who decides to quit the "rat race" and open an ashram and live on Ricinus Communis smoke. Even if they were in their middle years when they jumped tracks, we'd still take the motherlode of guilt and self-blame. "Is it because I called her athleticism a gift?" " Did I not allow him his own spirituality?" I suppose, as my own Mother says, " You have to do what you think it best." and, I guess, suffer the second-guessing of screwing up the lives of your precious offspring.
After my friend left, before the arrival of the next wave of wind blasts and water-from-sky, my day then stalled a bit.
Then I felt bad that things weren't getting accomplished. When are the fences going to be painted? How is my horse going to get in shape if we can never get out of the paddock? Why have I not finished the trim in the kitchen? Has the insurance company been informed that my Eldest is driving? Eye appointments are overdue, and Eldest is going to need glasses (darn Huz' eyes), also dermatologist for Eldest, and rent an RV for the fair, get prices on tires for the trailer.... and why are the gardens not weeded yet? When are the onion sets going to get put in?
Ugh.
But no matter, must go get Eldest from school take Middlest to Girl Scouts and Youngest to a Dog Workout with Tucker. This must all happen at same time. Note to people with one child : This is why some families are always too early or late to everything. When three have to be in different places at once, no one is on time.

Optimism- damp and billowing.

Optimistically, I put the horses out to graze the lane for an hour today. I say "optimistically" because I thought, how much damage can they do just walking around either side of the drive. Um, the grass is a bit tilled now. Not because they misbehaved, just because it is so darn soft each step made holes big enough to plant a small tree. But, it is warm. and warmth gives me optimism.
This also made me hopeful. As hopeful as the sweet little Robin who created this beautiful nest, laid three gorgeous eggs, and forgot to build it in a tree. Although, with all the wind, this might be the smartest Robin at Cowfeathers.

I also decided venture into town to get a new headlight for Denty. Since Eldest is starting the process of learning to drive, I think it a fine idea to have headlights. Denty's are pretty dim, so with one missing it was grim night driving.  While in town, I went to the greenhouse to pick up more optimism for some of the many planters around. I have already planted the ones in the front of the house, and several at the side, but the ones in the border garden needed some hopefulness, as well as the little planter at the barn gate. This one will valiantly try to survive sheeping.

The chooks are having a wonderful time outside, as it is currently not raining! Yesterday, I was weeding the border garden in the rain, when I eventually noted it was no longer raining. In fact, there was something resembling sun through clouds! I stopped weeding, grabbed Middlest, and de-mudded the ponies to try and take advantage of the moment. Perhaps the first in many weeks. The only place to ride was the road. The shoulder was too soft. So we headed off around "the block". This is what we call the square we ride that is about 5 miles. The middle section is a dirt road, and it was just perfectly soft enough for stout trotting. The trees are still mostly bare, with a few hints of green here and there, and the beautiful starkly white Sycamore trees, popping out in the woods like streaks of lightning from the ground.  Oslo was curious about the black cows in the field beside the road, and they about him. But, he was confident until we got to the bend in the road, where the road is about 8 feet below the field as it rises to the top of the hill. At the edge of the road- 8 feet up- was a cow that bellowed "MOOOOOO!" I believe he was concerned that the cow was going to jump down upon him. At this point we got going a bit faster than planned. At the end of the dirt part is the Barrs. They have the most beautiful blooming tree. This is Middlest on Peaches with the tree. I took it with my cell phone, trying to keep Oslo in one place after dashing away from the attack cow.

You can tell by the ears, he is searching for other potential dangers.

Today I made it to the last part of the border garden with my weeding and rose bush rehab. Yesterday earned me a sliver in the tip of my right index finger. Following advice from my sister, I applied a piece of potato. This is supposed to draw out a splinter overnight. So, I slept with a potato stuck on my finger and woke up with a potato on my finger and a splinter still in my skin. So, back to old-fashioned digging it out with a sharp object. So the other slivers earned in arms and legs from my tamed roses will have to stay until I feel like digging, and that won't be until after I'm finished with taming of the roses. Perhaps I'll start again after supper.

One last picture of the HUGE tulips in the Anniversary Garden. Hard to tell how big they are in the picture.

Easter Garden

Easter has dawned early for a few years. Excitement dominated the grey early light for the littles as they were anticipating the second coming of- Santa? The Easter Bunny is like mini-Santa. The Tooth-fairy is like a really lame Santa, but incites thrill just the same. As parents of young ones, we lead a whole other double life trying to give life to imaginary holiday hosts. Presumably to make it special? Maybe just to make us crazed. But, for the past few years, as the older ones get older, and more inclined to stay in bed until forced out by circumstance, or bronnoyance (that is brother annoyance), Easter starts in the dawn light because they are involved in the Youth Service at our little church.

Easter Sunday church must be accompanied by sweet dresses and brushed teeth, so we were up well before dawn this a.m. This is about a third of the youth in our church youth group, including Eldest:

(She's the blonde one)

And this is Middlest in her role as Usher for the day. (She's the blonde one)

They did a service that took the congregation through the week in Christ's life, starting with Palm Sunday, and ending with the Resurrection, as seen from the point of view of the stones in those stories. Indeed, the week rocked the world.
We then shot a family photo, and went to the church basement for a brunch- much like any brunch served in any church basement all over the middle of America today. (Southern church basements have different fare, and I don't think East Coast Churches have basement breakfasts. West Coast- do you have church basements?) In Midwestern church basements, they have yellow food. Eggs, and meat and potatoes and cream stuff. Here is the family, somewhat spiffed for Easter Morn:

Then, home before 9 a.m. to a rainy Easter Sunday.
Rainy. Continued rain. Someone at church said it has rained for seven weekends, and the weathery types are predicting at least 7 more weekends of rain. That will get us most of the way to July. April has seen almost triple the usual rainfall, and I'm trying to look at this as my opportunity to have an English garden. England is cool and wet in the spring. And the fall. And the winter. Even the summer is pretty cool and wet. So, I expect my gardens to transform into the lush abundance of the age of Jekyll. Except, I looked up the average rainfall for England in April, and it is only 2.4 inches. Since our average rainfall is 3 inches, my optimism seems misplaced. Still, I have a battle to join. Crabgrass and Creeping Charlie are formidable foes, and I have always chosen hand to hand combat there. But, it seems I lose garden ground every year. Resort to chemical warfare? Two days of weeding in the rain has gotten me ahead of the weeds in the Anniversary Garden. This is how it looks on Easter Day:

The yellow tulips in the center round have sadly been beaten up by the weather.But the muscari are the best they've ever been!  

While I've been stooping over in the Anniversary beds, Huz has been turning one of the Kitchen Garden quarters. Nice, black rich soil. Time to heave some heavy, wet compost into the mix!

Now, I've told the two youngers they can play on the Wii after they cut down a tree. So, I must go police what tree they choose....and perhaps find the blueberry bushes!

Maundy, Maundy, so good to me. Ba Da Badadada.

Leonardo da Vinci, was born near Florence, Italy in 1452. That would be some Fourteen hundred and fifty two years after Jesus was ministering. Yet, when we think of the event of Jesus' last supper, in the "upper room" with his disciples, we think of the painting by da Vinci. To be honest, I haven't thought about The Last Supper a whole lot.  

I tend to shy away from thinking about things that make me frustrated. For instance, I do not like war or holocaust movies. And the last day of Jesus stunk a lot. He was scared, and all the disciples were too, and then Judas does something he regrets- completely, and then there is gruesome dying. Plus, the "maundy" part is about (blaaach) washing feet and then there is a supper involved and feet and supper are no match in my reckoning. So, mostly, I skip over most of that part in my thoughts about the life of Jesus. The  story of the resurrection is much more hopeful. I suppose that is why we give our children candy shaped like bunnies and chicks on the remembrance day of the resurrection instead of the evening of the last supper. Or, in celebration of the crucifixion.
So, this  year, Maundy Thursday was a bit different. Instead of a M.T. service, our little church held a reenactment of The Last Supper- a la da Vinci. Each of the Disciples introduced themselves and said a bit about how they came to be a disciple, and their personality, and then what they did after Jesus ascended and how they died. It put things together for me for the first time, really. Although, the 13 were men, and I still think there are two women in the painting. I think Leo was making a statement. Leo the Women's Libber.
Huz was part of the reenactment, as Thomas- the original doubter. A dandy piece of casting work. The whole thing was really neat. Here is a photo, shot a bit on the sly.....

Any KT Tunstall fans out there?



Woo-hoo!



Rain Reign, go away.

Our normal trickle.

Rain Reign.





When we moved to Cowfeathers in the fall of 2003, as with all houses not new, but new-to-you, we had a lot to discover. One of the things that charmed and fascinated me was the bridge. As with houses built two centuries past, they planned them around important features, such as access to water. Our house has a little creek that bisects the property, and which the driveway must pass over- or through....and mostly, if you had a strong team of horses and a workman-like wagon you could drive through. The bridge though, did not seem like the right size bridge for our little creek. About 12' wide and 6' high, made of ancient concrete, it appeared to be quite overbuilt. But then again, you could make that argument about our 200 year old barn. Overbuilt? Or, built to last? It seemed to be an extraordinarily large bridge for such a tame(lame?) runnel. Then, came our first spring at Cowfeathers. And, it rained. Not just a normal rain, but one of those egregious rains. A Reign of rain. I put on my wellies and tromped outdoors during a lull, to inspect our little runnel. The top lip of the bridge sent little splashes up into the air. Whaddya know? There was a reason indeed for our little creek to have a bridge that was more than 1000 cubic feet. I'll just bet that wasn't the first time the water went high since Cowfeathers was built! In seven springs, it hasn't happened again. But today, we're getting pretty darn close!

Looking south from the bridge in winter.

Looking south, now.









Swim? Anyone? You can see the spring gamely bubbling away in the flooded field.





The Circle of Life? Yikes.

I sit here, on a pink velvet chair,  in a satin peignoir, a Maltese on my lap. My nails are perfect ovals, painted sheer pink, my hair, increasingly blond, in soft waves over my shoulders. Subtle, but  precise make up blurring the lines of the decades. Retired starlet. That's me.
Ahem.
Really, I am on a wooden chair, in well-used polar tech, a golden retriever sitting on my feet. My nails are ragged, my hair, increasingly grey, in a partial pony tail. Retired 80's model, that's me.
In one of my past lives, I commuted from Connecticut to NYC, to appear in bits and pieces here and there. Mostly TV commercials, and print ads in newspapers. A few magazines, a soap (WAY before they were all cancelled), a sit com once in a blue moon. I was so not-famous. But, good money for a teenager who had big schooling ambitions.
Then, off to college and on to becoming a DVM.
And, 25 years later, a new commercial. The real star in this one is the Golden Retriever. He suffers through another physical exam by Mom- this time for the camera. Get Tucker a peignoir....

Oh, my. Definitely no Maltese or velvet chair.

It blew away.

AAAACHHHHH!- A Furball!

Furball: A alternate name for hairball, a large conglomeration of hair in the digestive tract.
Furball: A large dogfight between fighter aircraft.
Furball: A videogame released for the Commodore Amiga.
Furball: A term of endearment for a kitten.
Furball: A reason for Huz and I to get dolled up and raise money for the United Pet Fund.

It was a "Vegas Night", and Huz was dealing Blackjack. I sat at his table and bet no less than $200 on each hand, finishing off with more than I started with. I'm a high-roller. No doubt. Except that the chips were free....and I can be a high-roller with fake money.

Thoughtful Thursday

Middlest, cantering with a bareback pad on Patches. (Not to be confused with Peaches)

Horsing around.

Equine Affaire was last week. The Ohio Expo Center (State Fairgrounds) hosts big crowds for seminars, speakers, demonstrations, breed galleries, exhibition riding and shopping. I took off an entire day from work and home to attend. It's a 'spensive day!.....$6.00 to park. $14.00 to get through the gates to go park. But, since I was there at the start of the day, I did get to park right up close to the buildings- at the bottom of the giant slide (not attended, but still there). I met my friend Melissa in the first morning seminar by John Lyons about de-spooking your horse. There was a lot going on in the arena, with two of Lyons' sons riding and another horse, named Preacher, just loose in the arena. Preacher was evidently not too spooky. Whilst the one son was trying to encourage his mount to stand on a blue plastic tarp, Preacher walked onto the tarp and reached his nose out to the scared horse. Then, Preacher wandered over to a big black plastic bag, picked it up in his mouth and flapped it around for a while. He knocked over a garbage can and pawed at the contents, even whacking the can with his muzzle,  and carried a yellow plastic cover around, playing with it. All this while John Lyons spoke into a mic and talked about left ears moving or something. I had more fun watching Preacher.
Melissa and I walked around the associations displays for a bit, then watched a seminar by Reese Koffler-Stanfield, a dressage rider. She was working on developing basic balanced position in the riders- it was a lot like a Pony Club lesson! Having already benefited from many years of those, we decided to make our way to the big Exhibit Halls- shopping. My mission was to find boots. For several years I have been trying to buy what are called "Dress Boots". These are the tall black boots worn for most everything outside of schooling your horse. I have ordered many pairs, only to return them for being ill-fitting. For my competitions and foxhunting I have worn a pair of winter riding boots, insulated, warm and waterproof...okay for hunting, not so nice in July.  So, in the Exhibit Hall, I tried on boots. There were lots of boots in the exhibit hall. LOTS. But, as with most things in central Ohio, they are Western style, and will not do atall atall for what I am looking for....

 I found one pair that nearly fit. They were a bit tall in the back, but still very nice. But they were "Field Boots", and I wanted "Dress Boots". Field boots have laces in the front of the ankle. Dress boots do not. Still, they were very pretty. So, asking the dreaded question "How much?" Left me gasping for breath. Twice as much as I was willing to spend. UGH. For boots that aren't exactly what I want and don't fit me perfectly, and don't do dishes? No thanks.
But I found nothing better.
After lunch, ( I found a vendor that would sell me a plain baked potato, that had been dipped only in olive oil before baking) we went back on the boot hunt. Melissa was on a trailer hunt, so we did a bit of that too, but the meat and potatoes of trailers were in another area, so we concentrated on the vast Exhibit Halls first. We saw legions of horse tails (to braid into your own horse's tail to make it look full and thick), horse voodoo dolls, tack, jewelery, art, magnetic floormats, electric purple coats, Derby hats, lotions, cleaners, waterers, sign makers, halter customizers, stalls with brass fittings....you name it. No boots that fit me.
Then, I walked around a corner and  ( drum roll please).... La Mundial! Custom-made boots since 1906. Boots that will fit me.
Dress boots, soft as butter, exactly how I choose for them to look. I hope I chose well!

Getting measured.

This is kind of the boot I chose. I chose a different leather, and a inside calf patch, and hidden stitching. No bling (alligator, snake, patent...etc.) And since my right side is slightly bigger than my left, it won't matter. My right boot will just be slightly bigger than my left boot!
I was finished with my boot fitting after the talk by Janie Savoie had begun! I had missed the greater portion of the lecture. Darn! So, we raced back to the Voinovich Arena to catch the last. And, it was really good. I wish I had planned better so I hadn't missed any of it....
We found the Mid-Ohio Dressage Association booth. I paid my membership and then received the booklet of the new dressage tests for 2011. Big doin's in the dressage test world! There is now a canter in one of the intro tests, and you can post the trot in 1st level.
On to trailer shopping. We found several fantastic options in beautiful, shiny, light-weight aluminum trailers from which Melissa can select. Oh, the options!

This is Melissa. (She chose not to have a sloppy pocket for lunch, but German potato salad and a bratwurst from Schmidts.)

Soon it was time for my family to arrive. They were joining me and friends Vicki, Kara and Kobi for the Fantasia show in the evening. Fantasia is like a circus act-type show featuring horse acts only. What fun! And, I got to sit next to Youngest, which is always great, because he's so enthusiastic.
The trick riders were his favorite. Trick riding and Roman riding have been around for a long time, but it is still fun to watch!

Eldest liked the drill team riders the best. They had a neat act, and the last part of the act, long shiny streamers, like they hang a car lots, came down from the ceiling, and the drill team members held on to the ends of the streamers and rode around in forms.

Middlest liked the Zorro act, with a big black Fresian horse. Great music and a bull whip and lots of rearing.

Huz liked the drill team and the amazing Priefert Percherons, with a crazy man riding them Roman style with no saddles and cowboy boots on. I liked that one too.

 Each one of these horses is 18.3hh. Which means at the withers (where the neck meets the back) the horses are 6'3". Their heads are about 8 feet in the air. They weigh over a ton a piece, and yet are fast and shockingly strong.

My favorite? A whole day just horsing around.

Ducks!

Living dangerously by choosing to have three, Youngest selected his ducks last evening. He is taking a "Fancy Ducks" project  to the county fair, and as our ducks suffered from death this winter, he needed to find his show ducks. One of our high school 4-H'ers let his duck sit on her eggs last year. He suspected he would get a few ducks, and could take a pair to the fair this June. Plenty (20+) hatched. Unfortunately, as nature seems to choose in such cases, most are males. But, Youngest phoned him this winter, and asked if he could purchase a few ducks and pick them up in the spring when the danger of duck mauling was slightly lessened (by our trapping efforts). So, last evening we detached the horse trailer from Blondie and bumped over to their house to scoop up three crazed ducks and transport them to their new home. They are Khaki Campbells. They look like this:

Right now, they are housed in a cage, inside another, bigger cage for added protection. We will leave them there for a few days, until they are familiar with their new digs, then let them out!  They will be very excited to enjoy the pool.
The danger factor comes in for the ducks, well, by being ducks. Defenses are very poor. All manner of predators like duck. Even the Henry (our gander/dinosaur) is a threat, as he has been known- or perhaps it was Rosebud (our other gander/dinosaur now living with my parents) to sit on the ducks and scalp them, peeling their skin right off thier skulls and leaving it flapping. Did I mention the geese are aggressive? I sew the scalp back on the duck, and it leaves a scar, but all have survived this assault thus far, and it has been a few springs since this has happened. This may be because the ducks wised up, or it may be because the ganders matured. I hope it is the latter, as if it is the former, I have newbie ducks ripe for the scalping. The danger comes in for Youngest, in that you need a pen of two to show, and he has but three ducks. Dum dum dum dum daaahhh!
Youngest was up early, and came bounding into my room to ask if he should go check on his ducks now. Middlest had already been up there, and assured me they were all still alive. So, off Youngest went to check food and water. He thinks they are getting used to him. He'll be discouraged when we let them out of their cage and they only want to stay far, far away. Previously, we've raised our ducks from fuzzy little ducklings. Last set of ducks were Cayugas.
Fuzzy little Cayuga ducklings look like this:

They get held, a lot. And then, they're pretty friendly little things. But if you let them be raised by their mommas, they aren't as complacent around the human beings.
So, Youngest has some taming, and some naming to do! The naming should be interesting...

Having a Ball.

Ah, rural life. Three kids, chores to do, half a tank of gas to get much of anywhere. "What are we doing this weekend?" Used to denote "evening". No longer does it mean: where are we going out, and with whom. It now denotes "daytime". It means: fencing, gardening, fixing, ferrying kids to required activities etc. We don't go on many dates. Not even to Lowe's.

Then, there comes a great "date night". The Miami Valley Hunt, Black & White Hunt Ball. I flit along the outer edges of The Hunt. I enjoy the tradition and the group pounding through the woods and the quiet, still moments at "check"( when the hounds are casting about with their noses, searching for a "line", or scent). And the Miami Valley Hunt are a fun group of friends. But, hunting happens on Wednesdays and Saturdays during the season, and between working, activities of three kids and the stinky weather, I just don't get to play as much as I'd like.

They are kind enough to still include me in the hopes that someday I will get my act together and really become a useful sort. This includes an invitation to the Hunt Ball. This is the big shindig at the end of the Hunt Season. The ladies all wear black or white and the gents wear black tie, or "Scarlet, if convenient". Scarlet means the deep red coat worn by staff members of the hunt, the ones who have earned the honor of wearing the scarlet coat. For the ball, the gents in scarlet wear their formal coats, with tails and white tie. They look- magnificent. The ladies, even those who have earned the right to wear the scarlet coat in the hunt field still dress in black or white for the ball. They, too, look magnificent. This group inspires me. I sometimes hear forty-somethings in the "I'm too old" blahs. That gets, well, old. With this group, it's more of an "I'm only in my eighties" mentality. And, there are some at that distinguished age, lookin' good and cutting a rug on the dance floor.

So, my Prince Charming took me to the ball. My Fairy Godmothers helped me get my dress in order (Eldest and Middlest), taking in the straps and helping me sew on hooks for the train (dancing in a train is dangeroux). Off we went to Dayton and the charming old neighborhood of Oakwood for cocktails at one of the Master's houses. Masters are the big kahuna of the hunt. Her house is just delicious. It reminds me of so many British houses, full of things, all fine, and well loved. The art on the walls captures my attention, and the Tudor architecture of the 1920's build is much like the Tudor where I lived in Tewkesbury, England. (With a 17th century build).
The Ball is held at the Dayton Country Club, high on a hill overlooking the city. They had the fireplace going- a fine idea, as spring is not sure it wants to arrive quite yet. We were seated at the table with one of the Masters and her husband, who is a former Huntsman. (The Huntsman is in charge of the hounds= thus truly in charge). They are not only true horsemen, but also Air Force careerists. We had a fine time chatting about horses and Academies. Also at our table were another couple, also Air Force. And a trio that also ride "Top Hand" rounded out our table. "Top Hand" is the exhibition-style riding where you gallop about standing on the backs of two horses. It strikes me as I read this, that there may be a certain "danger-boy" element to those who enjoy The Hunt. Speed and a certain "control as illusion" element. I can testify after the high-flying tumble I took from Oslo yesterday that gravity still works.
We had dinner and wine and enormous fancy cupcakes, lots of toasts, a memory for the hounds lost this year to old age and a birthday presentation of a gorgeous new scarlet coat to the Huntsman.
Then, as the band started up, and several gents departed to the smoking room for a cigar, we made our way to the dance floor. Dancing is fun. Don't do that often anymore either!
We did not take photos, really, because I did not want to carry a vintage satin clutch and a massive digital SLR, so we only have a brief snapshot in front of the Country Club.

But, the picture needy will be appeased as we go to another Ball soon....what was I saying about few dates??

Spring Break...Part IV; The Final Chapter

To round out a fine trip East, last stop? Family! They say you can't go back again, and that seems to be true, as the place you go back to is not the same place you left. I left Connecticut in 1986,  so, no surprise it has changed. Still, a really beautiful place, the small town of Redding is where my sister is still living with her husband and my two nieces. They have a busy, thriving family, which surely takes some shoehorning to squeeze in time for a visit from Midwesterners, but shoehorn, they did.
We arrived a few minutes before it was time for departing with Youngest Niece for the Wilton Running Club. Youngest and I accompanied Aunt Steph and the reluctant runner. We watched as Youngest Niece warmed up with the rest of the pack of 10-14 year olds then practiced sprinting, becoming an enthused runner. Youngest and I tossed the football around as the sun went below the trees. I can further understand why large woolen capes are not standard football uniform. Then back home for the massive gastronomic pleasure that is a really, really good pizza.
The next day we spent just being together! Where I live in Ohio, many families are surrounded by family. They have grandparents, parents, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, cousins, etc. within driving/walking/spitting distance. This is not so with our families. We are spread thin. Huz' parents and  brother live in the same state. That's the closest we come. Otherwise we are hundreds of miles distant. So, we don't get to "hang out" much. Or anything else. So a day, kind of a normal one, is really special. I wanted to drive through nostalgia, and my sister obliged. We saw our old house, Puckihuddle, which was not quite unrecognizable, the church, the pony club fields, the pond we used to swim the horses in, the quarry, elementary school, middle school, old boyfriend's house, my Little River, several old horse haunts, the Cradle of Methodism, our Caroling route, some of my favorite cemeteries(hey, there isn't much in Redding. Cemeteries are important.) Pretty much drove the kids to distraction with boredom, but fun for me!

 Next we let the three eldest girls decide what they wanted to do...and they chose shopping! Which, thrilled Huz, Youngest Niece and Youngest, I'm sure. So, we hit "the second largest Forever 21 on the East Coast". Which means a ginormous, completely hectic affair the size of  our nearest small town mall. We did not look at all the offerings before all the shoppers were already worn out and ready to quit. This was a relief to Huz, who had been wandering the mall with the Youngests, attempting to induce sugar comas by buying them sweet teas from McDonalds for 3 hours.

We hauled our parcels home to relieve poor Gretyl, waiting for us patiently. Gretyl is nearly two and has a 5 foot verticle leap, plus a completely pliable spine. Gretyl looks like this:

She's Awesome.

The hanging out continued, with my sister whipping up a fine dinner for 9, complete with separate offerings for the Veges (Eldest Niece and me). And as dinner was ending, a visit from Uncle Dev's Mom, Joy and her husband Dennis. Joy is cheery and fun and just like a little Grandma Whirlwind. I enjoy her everytime I get to see her, which, of course, is never often enough. The shoppers put on a little fashion show:

Eldest, Middlest and Eldest Niece in their selected finery.

Audience members, Uncle Dev and me.

The next morning was a school day, so we "helped" the girls get ready for the bus. They leave a good deal later than my girls, and for Eldest Niece there is an impressive beautification ritual in the morning. My girls beautification ritual involves brushing teeth and creating a ponytail. This is Eldest Niece after her morning beautification ritual, between ponytail wearing Eldest, and Middlest. Who, presumably has brushed her teeth.

Youngest niece is not as fashion concerned as her sister. Her fashion sense, according to my sister is "blue". Also anything made to wear while moving fast and kicking/hitting/ throwing a ball. She did, admirably, brush her hair and tolerate the placing of a barrette. Then, obligingly demonstrated her current dining talent; eating an egg in one bite. This is what that looks like:

Ta Da!

This is just what you need to send you off on a 12 hour drive with a jolly feeling! See, with a plan and the required effort anything is possible!











So, we put everything back in it's place in Denty and fired the fearless squeaker up to head west. But first....WAIT ! WE FORGOT TO GET A SISTER'S PICTURE! This is traditionally done, right before departure, to prove we really were together. Usually done without makeup and knowing it will be dark before we get out of the car again.

This is my little big sister.

And, off we go. Mostly to travel through "the wilds" of Pennsylvania. But, just after crossing over the Ohio line, and going into Youngstown, we encountered snow. Lots of snow, wet, huge flakes that collected quickly and caused slow downs and traffic jams. Through Akron and south to Columbus, snow, snow snow. Eventually we made it to the north side of The Big City. And stopped for dinner at Chipotle. As we ate our beans and rich and veggies, I wished for our previous neighbors (from when we lived in TBC) to just stop in for dinner too. It would have made it the perfect spring break! Alas, we finished our meals without providence stopping by.
Home. Tucker was soooooooooooooo glad to see his peeps! Evan had done a fine job of keeping everyone safe, fed and happy. Our own beds were deee-vine.

Spring Break...Part III-House Looking.

After watching Yummie and Poppie depart from the Thayer Hotel, we loaded our things into Denty (160k miles and squeaking like a chimp, er, I  mean "champ") and had one last wander around West Point. Classes were back in session and the cadets were striding around the place in shiny shoes and little caps that look like upside down canoes.

We drove out of Highland Falls and up the hill that looks way down on West Point and the Hudson. Huz doesn't prefer to stop for these things, so I shot a photo over my left shoulder whilst at speed:

As you can see, the sky is very blue.



West point is the bit on the left, above the blurry rocky bit and next to the blue watery part.

From here we decided to go house looking. I am very fond of old houses. Exhibit A: Cowfeathers.
And, in this part of the country there are some swell old houses. The first one we went to also had a beautiful barn. I am also very fond of barns.
Here is the barn:

It looks a bit hyper. I think they were in the midst of painting it last fall when the weather asserted itself and they had to break for winter. I don't know if it will be all red, dark grey or light grey, but I think not all three. The area in the foreground is supposed to be roses. Just not yet. But where are the roses? Do they dig them up or what? Plant new every year? Roses are NOT annuals....maybe they just had a blight or something.

The house we went to see was called Springhill or maybe Springdale. But not Springfield. It's in Hyde Park, NY. This area of the Hudson River was the fall and spring residences for the hoity toity, and the year round residence for the hoi polloi. "Money" lived in New York for the winter. For, this was opera season. Then, they went to Hyde Park for a few weeks in spring, then to Newport for the summer, back to Hyde Park for the colors of fall. At a whim they could also head to any of their other multiple homes.  At all these venues, you held parties or went to parties, or planned parties. These were the folks that either had money they had managed to keep, or made a lot of money. The "old money" was reluctant to accept the "new money" until the "new money" was at least 3 generations deep. The owners of Springhill/dale were "old money". They were the Roosevelts. They bought the house when they were raising kids. One of the kids was Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who even though he had polio as a child was a real nature lover. He also grew up to be the President of the United States for 3 unprecedented terms and marry his cousin, Eleanor. She wasn't a first cousin or anything, they were 5th cousins once removed. I'll bet there are folks around here who are more closely related than that, and don't even know it. Besides, being related to your spouse wasn't unusual for the hoity toity then, as you were supposed to marry someone of your "class", and there were only 3 families in this class. Really. Even the Vanderbilts didn't qualify, as they were "new money". LOTS of new money.
So, FDR lived here during his presidency, coming up to the Hudson River Valley for breaks. Then, after he became a regular citizen again. This is what Springhill/dale looks like:

I had to blow this up a bit, so you could see both the house and the family on the steps. They are the only things I can claim here.

The kidlets sharing tea with the Bronze Roosevelts.

 The FDR Presidential Library is also here, as are the graves of Eleanor and Franklin. Which, creepily enough, look fresh still, as they are dirt mounds over the graves. Someone keeps them looking just buried. Wonder how that job description reads....
After seeing the FDR home, we went to another little place on the Hudson.

This homey looking place belonged to the poorest of the Vanderbilt boys. Grandpa Cornelius made a big pile of money. Then he gave most all of his huge fortune to one son. That son doubled the family fortune in 10 years. He divided it only slightly less unevenly than his father and gave his youngest son (who was a bit introverted and did the unthinkable by eloping with an older divorcee- scandal) only 11 million or somesuch. So, he bought the required house on the Hudson- important for party season of spring and fall- only to find it was a dump. So, they had to build a house to have parties. Frederick and Louise Vanderbilt did well with their little portion of money. They had no children, but quite a few parties. And Frederick ran about a dozen successful corporations, mostly railroads, making money right through the depression. He died in 1938 with about 80 million dollars. He generously shared much of this with the government when he died. What was left was parcelled out to his trusted staff and a few relatives. The one who got the most was a favorite niece of his wife, Louise. The niece was pretty well off herself, so not needing the house- which was bequeathed to her, along with at least one of the other 4 residences, tried to sell it. In 1940, you could've bought this house, along with the surrounding 211 acres- with gardens harkening back to 1764 for $200,000.

This is what you can buy for $200,000 in Hyde Park today:

As you can see, we all missed a deal.
The niece couldn't unload it, even at bargain basement prices. So, sold to the US Government for $1.00 to become a National Park Service Historic Site.

This is what the back porch of the 50 room mansion looks like.

And this is the view from the back yard, and the best darn sledding hill, maybe ever.

After looking at these houses, I realized just how much I like my own. Time to move on... to Connecticut!