Horse Trials and longevity?

I'm reading a book called The Longevity Project. It is about the conclusions from the 80 year long study of over 1500 children born around 1910, and statistically compares all sorts of variables to determine what actually contributed to their longevity or their demise.
The book itself, while somewhat soft for me in the statistical conclusion, and a bit pompous at times, is still intriguing. What do I do that either puts me on pathways to a longer, health-filled life, and what do I do that is digging me an early grave? Am I already too old to get an early grave?
I haven't finished the book, or answered the question; "Is my equi-centric hobby helpful, or harmful?" I, naturally lean towards "helpful", as I spend much time being physical, taking care of, and riding these beautiful animals. Plus, all the emotional contentment must be good for me.
On the other hand, choosing a sport whose required equipment includes
An "ATSM approved helmet. ATSM approved helmets will be tested for required specifications for impact and trauma tests. Materials tested for this specification include the pair of appropriate size headform and helmet and the anvils for the impacts tests, which consist of the flat anvil and the equestrian hazard anvil. "
Also required is a "Body Protective vest" as described:

Level 3 (purple label) is considered appropriate for general riding, competitions including eventing and working with horses. Level 3 body protectors should prevent minor bruising that would have produced stiffness and pain, reduce soft tissue injuries and prevent a limited number of rib fractures.

 Research into 50 falls onto the shoulder during eventing competitions revealed that among the 30 riders not wearing shoulder protection, there were six broken collarbones and two dislocated shoulders, but no fractures among the 20 fallers who were wearing shoulder protectors to BETA Level 3."
You must also wear an armband with your medical information and last rite preferences attached.
So, hmmmm. Helpful? Harmful?  Better finish the book.
And yesterday, I managed to spend from dark until dark competing in my first Horse Trials in 25 years. I had SO MUCH FUN!  And, managed not to fracture a thing, crush my skull, or dislocate any body parts. Whoop!

I was assisted in not dying by my dear friend, Kara, who also successfully completed the day on her mare, Indy and who transported the four-legged participants.
Kara's baby girl, Ava, most adorable of all creatures. Who brings a baby to an Event that requires kevlar vests and kick/crush protective helmets? Why, we do.
And my baby girl, Middlest, to take care of Kara's baby girl, and be my photographer when I rode. I got to be Kara's photographer. This was a matter of juggling, horse, baby, camera, video and trying to watch with my own eyes as well. Needless to say, quality of all but baby and horse care was wanting.

Kara and Indy at warm-up for dressage.

My baby and Kara's baby. Note baby's toy of choice is a dressage whip (39" long). Look out Middlest!

Kara and Indy enter the dressage arena at "A".

Oslo and I about to begin our dressage test.

Oslo and I in a "20 m circle" at "B". Evidently, whole horse shots were a challenge for Middlest.

Kara and Indy in nice form over fence 3, cross country.

Oslo and I in cross country warmups. Foregoing the vest until we do something challenging. It was hot!

Most adorable of Creatures, and her Momma.

Oslo and I over fence 6- embedded in the stadium course (last phase of the three).

Os and I up over fence number 9- having a whole lotta fun!

Kara and Indy in stadium,or showjumping phase. Over fence two!

Kara and Indy place third in their division!

Oslo and I jump fence two in stadium.

And also get to bring home a pretty ribbon!

A night on the farm!

TBC- "The Big City" in my writing.
Cowfeathers- My very small farm (not very near TBC)
Things to be found in TBC; restaurants, museums, concert halls, sports stadiums, movie theaters, stores, Universities, nightclubs, martinis,  bowling alleys, high heels, sporty trench coats, ties.
Things to be found at Cowfeathers; sunset, big red, hay stocked barn, stars, giggling children, twirling adults, potatoes in cheese and cream, chili, loaves of fresh bread, cherry pie, buckets of beer, an outhouse in the darkness, a 7 piece band, c'boy boots, worn jeans, flashlight tag in the corn.
To be sure, TBC has those things each night.
Cowfeathers holds that whole list only one night a year.
The sixth annual Cowfeathers Barn Party had another beautiful night to shine. Pete Shew and the Backporch Swing Band, were excellent, as usual. I would love to have a live band in my barn every night. Sure makes barn chores much more swingin'!
We were blessed this week to have my Father -in- Law here for the week. He was asked to come lecture at the Veterinary School on Tuesday and Wednesday, and stayed for the Barn Party. Always wonderful help, he spent the remainder of his week moving bales and sweeping straw up from the floor, holding the ladder, organizing...getting it done! Wish my M-i-L could've been here, too, but they have been travelling so much she needed a chance to reconnoiter. We will see her soon!

Through the outhouse window...

Middlest awaits the band's arrival.

Huz made 4 different kinds of bread, all delicious, I hear!

Youngest swings his "lasso". The child loves a costume.

The band gets ready to begin playing during dinner.

Gorgeous baby! And love my friends...

Huz promenades with a younger dancing guest.

Huz partners Middlest through a few calls.

Dancing so fast- its a blur!

Love the mix of the dance. Father's partner daughters, married couples,  strangers learn from kids who have been to our dances since they were in kindergarten.

Ken gives his pretty Eldest a swing!

Opa takes TMJ for a twirl!

To prove I attended, I took a self-portrait.

Progress!

Activity arrived at the barn last afternoon with a row of pick up trucks bearing high school boys lined up on the road. The caravan pulled into the drive and emptied of boys who made their way to my big red elderly pile of wood on the hill. They were soon followed by a cement truck that made it's way over our ancient bridge, through the poultry yard and past the outhouse to settle on the north side of the barn, from where soon flowed the gloppy stone-filled greyness to anchor.
The boys positioned their wheelbarrows below the chute and wrestled the heavy, drooping barrows to the farthest wall- Oslo's stall, south wall. From there the forms were filled, one by one. We now have three walls and a large step into the two southern horse stalls. The poor sheep are kept in, as they would have no qualms about stepping all over the drying concrete, the horses are out for night and the day, also to keep them from influencing the final product. As the boys and their trucks left for the night, my friend picked me and Oslo up in her horse trailer to transport us to the jumping lesson. Thank goodness for all this friendship! I feel very blessed, and rather indebted.

The arrival of trucks heralds progress!

Who knew I'd ever have a cement truck and an outhouse in one place?

The forms ready for filling.

The most difficult wall to access, from cement truck, through Mike's stall, out his door, down the front of the barn, up a ramp to the step form, up another ramp into Oslo's stall and then dump into the south wall. I'll bet those boys slept like logs.

5.5 yards of concrete moved by barrow and shovel. Youngest looks on with the youngest sister of my project foreman- 15 year old hero.

Down to the last wall- of this cement run....The barn turns 200 soon, and this project should lend many further years of service.

The kids put their hands in next to mine. Waiting for Daddy-O to make it home before the cement dries!

He did make it home, and got his hand print in place, but I had to get the photo before then, as my ride to go ride arrived just as the cement truck left and Huz also homed.

The lesson went well, with Oslo and I attempting- successfully, or largest course to date. He seems to like the bigger fences. We rode well into the dark, as my friend's arena has lights, and returned to a quiet house. The light is leaving sooner, winter is on it's way. But, It looks like I might have some rather dandy horse stalls by then!

Choose your ball wisely.

Here in our small town, as I've written before, High School Football is a destination, entertainment, social mecca Friday in the corn. Our team is not overly inspiring. We don't take down the bigger schools and have Hollywood moments of underdog domination. You can sit there in the heat, the cold, the wind, the rain, and watch occasional flashes of brilliance, several "oooh, bummer" incidences and several hours of boys piling on each other to the tune of the whistle. Sometimes I'll enjoy a Tootsie Pop from the concession stand to add an air of festivity.
The Cheerleaders are fun to watch. They can flip around, they have good hair, and they do this thing I call "scary eyes", where  a girl will be normal and smiling, and then it is like a switch flips and she pops her eyes open really wide so you can see the whites all around. There is one girl that makes me nervous, because she is confirmationally incorrect for gymnastics. She is toe out and back at the knee- horse talk, but even if she's not equine, huge strain on the joints without doing 8 flippy dippies down the track. Sure enough she's wearing a knee brace. Eldest's knees are like that, fortunately never showed an interest in gymnastic activity.
And the Band, well, they are worth watching. During half time the shows are really fun, and they play rousing music for the team when they're in the stands. Plus, there are some truly nerdy displays of enthusiasm that are so refreshing in a world of otherwise "cool" teens.
But, the town is missing out on the real action. The edge of your seat, adrenaline fueled, breath holding moments that come bam!bam!bam! in a sport that is really exciting.
Girls Middle School Volleyball.
I am NOT KIDDING.
In less than one hour the girls play the best of three games, and I am hoarse, flushed, weak at the knees and my head hurts when the final whistle blows. You're jumping up in your seat and then sliding down in despair, only to pop up again, arms above your head. There isn't a "Their Side",  "Our Side" seating like at football games, so you can cheer for the other team when they perform brilliantly. And there is something so "Ripley's" about watching a slip of a 12 year old, with arms awkwardly long and jointy, effortlessly slam a ball into back court. "HOW does she do that?"
Middlest is on the 8th grade team. It is mostly the same group of girls who fumbled through their 7th grade year now more mature, more capable, and breathlessly exciting. Now, let me say here that this year's crop of 7th graders are fan-freakin'-tastic volleyball players. Many of the girls are little sisters of girls currently on the high school teams, so have been watching volleyball for years. The game concept is old hat. For our 8th grade team though, there is a huge improvement from last year. They have become fun to watch, and without the helmets and padding of the football players, you get to know them, by their expressions and body language. I know one girl gets too excited under pressure and is likely to hit it out. I know one girl who acts very casual, but takes it hard when it doesn't go her way. Another girl who the other's look to for leadership, and the one trying to prove she belongs. Unfortunately Middlest doesn't get enough court time to really tell what kind of player she is.... she has been in for maybe 4 plays all year. That's okay. She's working on her skills and I can see the improvement in her warm up. It will be hard to gain confidence though, if she's not put in the game. For now it is enough to go and to cheer and to become invested in that hour (or 2 because the 7th grade game is not to be missed!) and give her a big hug afterwards and say "That was SOOO FUN!" Because, it was.

Middlest, second from right, watching her team.

Middlest working bumps it up!

Middlest blocks our spiker's slam.  Well, maybe not. But she made it there!

Keep it special, unique, memorable.

The Middle School Remembrance Ceremony for 9/11.

The tenth anniversary of the horrible day that was September 11, 2011.
I feel like I've been tiptoe-ing through the week, feeling the press of the moment when so much truly changed for us as Americans. Pearl Harbor was "American Soil"...but Hawaii seems like a exotic locale. When you are there, American though it may be, you can only feel like a suspended reality of America awaits elsewhere.
New York City, was here. A place I worked many years ago, but is held in my memories like part of my viscera, the smells of exhaust and street vendors burning hotdogs and stale pee and that mysterious effluvium that flows from the grates in the sidewalks, warmth up your skirt in the winter. The sounds, always cabs- honking, honking, zooming, and the rumble of people steps and voices and the subway and the pigeons. The cool smoothness of the high end store fronts on 5th and the grimy, bum-filled doorways of the Bowery. When the train rumbles to a stop and you step out into the fetid warmth of the bowels in Grand Central, that is a different Cate, one who walks fast, speaks to no one, eyes up, bag held tight to side. She could hail a cab in rush hour, she could bargain for a scarf on the sidewalk from the man who had laid out his cheap knock offs on a blanket next to the gutter. Those memories are there, mostly held apart from my conciousness. Who needs 'em? Not I, the girl whose legs sport rings of bruises from last week's brawl with the ram. Not I, the girl who is finally finished painting the fence, it looks just grand.
But on this day, 2001,when I sat in library story hour, baby on my lap, Middlest with pudgy hands and baby curls sitting cross legged in front of Miss Brenda, listening to The Hungry Caterpiller,  Eldest at the nearby elementary, a normal average morning in the city, all safe and accounted for...and heard whispers of other mothers.  Surely a rumor about a plane and the World Trade Center, far away in New York, but then, not a rumor, not an accident, not a terrible mistake, not far away.  Part of me felt New York, and the shift in the conciousness to a generation who will have more to face.  My children will be raised in the shadow of that day.Shadow that brings light to the illusion that we are apart. We are Hawaii, we are Isreal, we are Bahgdad, London, Madrid. We are vulnerable. It will be men and women who keep us safe, or don't. It will be men or women who shatter that safety.
It is you,  Louie, Nick, Chris, Dana, Cable, Dominque, Brian, Mitchell, Colton, the boys from West Virginia, California, Texas. You girls from Arkansas and Boston and Kansas. You are who we look to for the net that keeps 9/11 so special. So unique, so solitary, so memorable. 10 years on, you're doing something right.

Calling all Lawyer friends...

Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you...
Okay, I didn't watch the show "Cops", but I do recall someone I know singing the theme as she snipped blooming forsythia from a public hedge for a flower arrangement. Hey, even Martha Stewart went to jail.
So, today, I tried my hand at "court". The week before last, as I reached the top of a hill,  a guy in a little blue car, not paying any attention, crossed the center line and clipped my horse trailer. Horse and I were fine, and I though I was irritated with the driver for causing damage to my trailer. Then I got cited. On the statement from a driver behind the blue car that I was not on my side of the road. Now, more than irritated. Thus I enter a pretty murky realm.
Maybe I should preface this by saying that even though a medical text makes perfect sense in my brain, one sentence of tax code makes my eyes glaze over and dream of butter.
So, perhaps it isn't quite as inexplicable as it seems what it means to have a ticket you would like to contest.
The officer did explain that I needed to either pay the fine, or appear at the courthouse at 9 am today. Then, he led me to believe we would all share our stories, and then something would be decided,  (probably I end up paying anyway and just get stuffed.)
So, this I did. Dropped Youngest off at a dear neighbor's house early, so I could find the Courthouse and parking and be on time...all of which I managed, albeit driving around the block three times trying to figure out which building I was to enter, and where in the world it was legal to park. Probably keep people coming back to court to pay the fine from the parking ticket given them while they were in court paying the parking ticket given them while they were in the court......
The Courthouse is a wonderful, stone, musty building reminiscent of elementary school. Traffic court, a sign read, was on the second floor. Hmm. I'll try that. So, up a wide marble stair to a few fellows with a hastily post 9/11 erected metal detector. I talked them into letting me keep my tea by bribing them with organic lollipops. I suppose that should have made me fear for my safety, but I was glad to still have my tea.
I sat and after a while noticed that everyone that came up the stairs and through the detector were then directed through a door marked "Clerk of Courts". I had not been directed, this because the metal guys thought I was a lawyer. Something I didn't try too hard to correct, as the tea was getting a pass. No, I was not in a suit. But I was equally not in an OSU tee and flip flops, so I forgave them for their mistake. A lady in that office took my traffic ticket and told me to sit down outside and they'd call me. Okay. Back to my seat. More swiftly than I expected my name was called, and a tidy man in a salt and pepper tweed sportcoat handed me a yellow form, asked me to read it and sign it. This form is legalspeak. Yuck. Also full of scary things like "you have a right to bail" and "you have a right to be thrown in jail forever if you sign this paper" Or somesuch. I read, I signed. All the while the man in the sportcoat standing next to me, looking at the top of my head. A bit disconcerting, but my concert had left when I got to the words "felony" and "sucker".
When finished I pushed it back to him and he looked at me and said "You are one of the few people that comes through here that ever reads the paper." Oh, dear. Next, I waived my right to a "speedy trial" on the advice of the Sportcoat fellow, who advised me that if I stuck with the speedy one, it doesn't matter what time they give me that's my time. No changing, no wiggle room. Otherwise, I can more or less name my day of the week, and that would be accommodated.
Time to readjust my thinking of how this would go. A Trial? So, I'm guessing they aren't going to hear my side of the story this morning. I'm guessing I'll have another chance to try and get my tea into court. I'm guessing I'm right.
So, Sportcoat tells me to sit, they'll call me again and give me a date.
I sit.
Another fellow comes out a bit later, also in natty attire, bearded and calls my name. Impatient this one. He's calling it over and over as I walk towards him. "HERE!" I say- back in elementary again.
He just hands me the sheet of paper and turns to go.
"Wait!" I say. "Do I just come back here on this date?"
"Yes, just come and find one of the bailiffs and we'll call you."
Um, okay. Bailiff. That was the tall one with the uniform in "Night Court". Holds the Bible, makes you swear. Jeez...now I know why people just pay the fine and wash their hands of the whole mess.
I shall continue to stumble through the system, likely end up wishing I had just paid the fine and stayed bitter.

5 Veterinarians, 2 Engineers, 1 Nurse, 1 Physical Therapist, 1 Builder, 1 Realtor, 1 Spiritual Cleaner, 1 Girl Scout Mogul, 1 Real Estate Queen, 1 Physician, 1 Heating and Cooling Specialist, 1 Teacher, 1 Motivational Speaker, 1 Landscape Architect, 1 Race Car Driver, 1 famed Eqyptoligist, 2 farmers,1 Pastor and Martha Stewart.....not a lawyer in the family.

Going Cross Country

For the first time in 25 years, today I schooled on a cross country course. Just thinking, 25 years ago, I was a bright eyed teen blond, with an elegant chestnut mare. The fences we schooled were substantial- big spreads, big height, fearless rider.
Over 25 years, a few things have changed.
I haven't, naturally.
This is where teens of today add an "lol".
But, such fun to be back on a cross country course! For the uninitiated, "cross country" is much what it sounds, the second phase in the horse sport titled "Eventing", cross country is a timed course you ride over ground, with natural style obstacles in the marked course. Ditches, water, hills, open meadow, woods, all with natural material jumps built solidly on the course. So, jumps are made of logs, stone, bushes, ponds etc. also things you may find in a field, like a wagon, hay bales, that sort of thing. The courses can be simple, or complicated, of different lengths, dependant on the level of competition. The idea is to gallop off and negotiate all the obstacles on the marked course without stopping, point to point. This generally requires a steady, fearless horse, strong, athletic and smart. The rider needs to be also fearless, smart, fast to create adjustments and able to think ahead.
Now, this is not the picture of me and my partner, Oslo. He needs a confident rider, because he is fearless about some things (deer popping out of the woods) and a chicken about others (less predictable). When chicken, he's a bear to ride. So, for this first attempt at cross country for the big man, I decided to school him over a very friendly, manageable size course. Rocky Point Farm near Dayton, was just right. The wonderful home, which we were welcomed into, as upon arrival at the farm the rain had decided to come, is a walk back into my childhood. It fits right into those memories of 25 years and more ago. A stone house, British mid century windows, packed full of comfortable furniture and devoted to horses. A breakfront library desk holds the past century of racing pedigrees, a dry sink has photos from lifetimes, all featuring a horse, or a dog..and sometimes a human. Everywhere is welcoming for dogs, boots on the end of breeches-clad legs, and the smell of a slightly dark tack room, dark and rich with leather. Sit, and a cat will promptly decorate your lap and test the fabric of your breeches.
The barns are single stalled shed row type with a central courtyard area. They look like they've relaxed themselves into the ground over the years. Not a straight edge or crisp angle left, rooves happily green with moss, horse heads hanging out chatting with neighbors. Delicious.
Oslo and I were transported there by friend, Kara, with her mare, Indy.  My trailer still in the no-man's land of insurance cluster since being clipped by a car last Tuesday. Kara is a good person to know, as she knows places like Rocky Point Farm- which might have taken me years and years to discover.  Kara and Indy are a bit farther along in their jumping ability- Indy is athletic. Very. But young, so just getting trustworthy.

This is neither me, nor a fence a Rocky Point Farm. In fact, the only way this photo has any bearing on this blog entry atall, atall, is that this is a cross country fence. A large one. This is from the Rolex Four Star FEI Event in Lexington Kentucky. The idea on this fence is jump up the bank (which has a deep ditch in front of it, so it ends up being about 7' to the bottom of the pit- which believe me, the horse sees. Then you land, and directly from that landing, jump again over the log fence on top of the hill. ( about 3'6" high) on the other side of that log, the hill drops off underneath you, so you don't land until about 8' down. Then, out of the frame of the photo, you have about 3 strides to another fence that is a narrow vee shape, about 4.5' high, with brush that is higher to jump through, the whole fence about 3' wide. This is not something I will ever do. Give me a nice log fence, wide and uncomplicated and I'm happy enough.

Os and I started out by walking out on the field course checking out obstacles. Then, we trotted to warm up a bit and took some warm up cross rails. (These are small jumps in an "X" shape. Much like that "X" turned on it's side). The first few warm ups were fine, then after one, he gave an unholy buck. I hit my left rib with my left hip bone. But, by golly, I wasn't planning to hit the ground, so he had to put up with my burr routine. After that, the silly- business was mostly gone, and we began to jump in earnest, and have a wonderful time. Although my lower back is going to take some stretching out. We did some of the little fences, and even some of the bigger ones. I planned one line where we jumped a log jump and then cantered all the way across the field to a raised log going uphill. About half way across the field he definitely voted for trotting. I urged him to keep up the canter, and he made it. Albeit, choosing to walk on the other side. His stamina is not large yet- just his bucks! After about  an hour of jumping about here and there, the sky decided we should quit.  Fine by me- a very successful trip! Now, to actually compete in an event.....