Life in Aylmer Quebec

Quebec and Ontario, for some reason, simply cannot agree on when March Break should occur.  Quebec always wants to be different, apparently, so my girls had their break two weeks ago.  Ontario could not possibly synchronize in any way with those frenchies (I can say that cause I am one, sorta) so my parents just had their March break this past week.  So they came avisitin’.  We ate wonderful food, watched some really bad movies, played some board games, and just hung out.  It was really nice.  I really wish they lived closer.

They also came out to meet that wonder horse they’ve been hearing so much about, and brought Emma out so she could sit on Chinook after I’d ridden her (my new project – a mare who needs some regular excercise).

So here are some pics, still in honor of my Christmas present:

Emma, My Mom, and Chinook

Emma and I traded hats

My Dad and Bailey had things to talk about...

Like how important carrots are for your eyesight...

A fairly nice conformation shot...he's a cutie....just ignore the hick holding the horse, who's pulling up her too baggy jeans for the millionth time that day...

And time does heal wounds.  I still miss my old boy like crazy, and I cry when I think too much about him.  Susan, his owner, gave me a beautiful card, with a picture of him in his prime.  I wish I knew how to scan things in with my printer, it is such a beautiful picture of North.  It’s worth sharing.  He was such a beautiful horse.  I’ll try to get Todd to help me with it.  It’s still hard to believe he is really gone.  My sweet old man, my carrot junkie, my intro to amazingness on horse back, the one who loved his head stroked and despised you touching his ears, the one who taught me what a well-trained horse feels like, who loved his makeovers while eating grass, who whinnied at me everytime he saw me, who made me feel like I could truly ride.  My North.  My sweet, sweet North.

Yes or no.

Misha was my soul cat.  I’ve never had a cat like him, truly my cat, and only mine.  I was catatonic (no pun intended) for a few days after he died.  I still see him at times, running down my driveway to meet me when I am walking towards home with the dog.

North, we met late in his life.  But he would do things that I’d ask that he would never do for anyone else.  Things that I was warned he ‘didn’t’ do, like turning right, or walking out of paddocks (instead he ran over you) – which he never did with me.   I connected with him, I loved him, he was my soul horse.

How many soul mates do you get in a lifetime?

Quitting smoking is pretty hard.  It can even make you cry!   While you are mucking out a stall.   And say really nasty things, things that you don’t mean, or didn’t mean to say, it can make you yell at people you shouldn’t yell at, and make you want to eat your own fist!

Hypnosis does not make quitting smoking easy.  But it does make it easier.  It gives you a solid push in the direction that you want to go, and gives you some tools to help with the process.  The key is that you have to actually want to quit in the first place.

A Brief Intermission- (watching Cold Case on TV) for Bob Seger’s  ‘Against the Wind’.  Oh man, I love that song.  I think I love almost anything by Bob Seger.  He ranks right up there with Blue Rodeo for me.   Have I ever mentioned how much I lurve Blue Rodeo?  The island that I am stranded on would play Blue Rodeo 24/7, with some Bob Seger, Gordon Lightfoot, Joni Mitchell, Trooper, G’n'R, Cowboy Junkies, Mozart, Vivaldi, Sarah McLaughlan, and oh my dog, how could I ever forget the Beastie Boys!!  Or Bob Marley?  Or the Verve.  The Beatles, Oasis (brats – but good musicians),  Leonard Cohen (Halleluja anyone ? Bird on a Wire?)    Okay, let’s be honest here.  I just love music.  I lurve music.  Really, really love it.  I feel it in every atom of my being, and when I hear something really, really good, my senses quiver.  Music and horses, my two loves.  Could I possibly pick any two arenas where you could earn less money, if you wanted to design your life around it?

on my own… – Whitesnake.  (the band)  Prolly not one of your favorite songs.  Not one of mine either, but I still sing it some days.  Dog, the eighties were weird.  Weird hair, weird music, weird clothes, weird make up, just completely weird.

That’s all I had to say.

Actually, yes I am.  It’s past my bedtime.  By quite a bit.  But …. hypnotherapy.  Does it work?  I’ve thought about it before, and even vaguely looked into it (thank you intraweb! – inside joke).  Now Karma has stepped into the quitting smoking process, by introducing me to a friend of a friend, who is based in the center of the Universe and what a big place it is Toronto, but who travels to Ottawa to do smoking cessation sessions (say that five times really fast!!).  It’s a bit pricey, but not to bad, and if it works, then hell, what do I have to lose (besides looking like an idiot, standing outside in -15 C, in order to breathe in toxic, poisonous fumes that will kill me, and pretending that I am actually enjoying it!)

So I’m pretty sure I’m going to try the hypnotherapy, and I’ll let you know, my faithful readers Sarah, how it works out.  ( I am pretending that I am a famous blogger, who makes a decent living blogging, even though I don’t post on a regular basis, or take a million photos, photoshop them, and post them for the world.  A girl can dream! )

And my previous post’s mention of Bailey and doing the jumpers was very not understandable at all.  What I was trying to say, is that my secret hope  is that he will turn out to be a great jumper.  It is not likely, but that is my secret hope, and that is what I was trying to say.  My secret hopes are elephants.  (Uhmmm, what????)

Sleepy, very very sleepy.  G’night now.

Or just feel like you have, the best thing to do is go with it.  The truck, that is.  My truck led me to my couch, where we proceeded to nap for a few hours under my horse’s new cooler.  It’s clean, and actually a second hand fleece blanket that I picked up with the idea of using it as a cooler for Bailey.  It was just the closest, firstest, warmest thing I could snuggle under.  The added bonus is that the cats loooooove fleecey blankets, so I get some kitty cuddling, which has been scientifically proven to boost your immune system.  So have hot toddies, or warm cinnamon wine.  Ever tried that?  I was talking about Glugg today (mulled wine), and by the time I got home, it was sounded pretty damn good.  Although I seemed to have skipped the warm and the cinnamon, and went straight for the wine!  But Glugg still sounds so good, and I wish someone here would make me some.  Unfortunately, I don’t see that happening.  Oh well.

A hot toddie is not my husband, but basically any hot drink, tea, apple cider, whatever, with a shot of brandy, rum or whatever hard liquor you have lying around.  What, you don’t leave it lying around?  Anyways…..back to poor me.  I’m sick.  I don’t think it is the SARS/West Nile/Avian/Feline/Equine/whatever flavour of flu/illness/epidemic/pandemic/let’s all freak out and go crazy/call in the army/oh my flying spaghetti monster!!!  With the stuffy nose, the achy joints, the slight headache, and tiredness, my guess would by some kind of coldy virus.  You know, the kind of virus that we have not been able to find a cure for.  AKA the common cold.  The way my ears feel, I’m pretty sure that’s it.  I’m just begging you, FSM, please leave my ears out of it this time.  I hate being deaf.  I hate the achy, pain-like-a-knife-somebody-shoot-me that my ears become when I get a cold.  Cause really, what’s to love about that?

yjr rmf

oops, meant to type:

the end

Psych.

Wasn’t really the end of this garbledegook post of mine.  I had a great day with Bailey.  He reaffirmed my affection for him, and the fact that he is the most awesome horse in the universe.  We didn’t do much, but he needed his feet picked out and the mud brushed away, and he was good.  I’ve been having problems with picking his back feet in particular, mostly my fault, cause I’m a bit leary of a horse’s back end sometimes.  And he has kicked before when I’ve tried to pick out his back feet.  Not meanly, just a ‘you’re bugging me’ kinda thing.  As I get older, I get less brave.  Today I was young, he lifted his feet, I picked them out, it was all good.

My husband, the dear and smart man that he is, has come to the realization that we need to move.  We like our house, we have a great yard, and a fantastic neighborhood but …our house is simply too small for us, and minus one bathroom.  And the girls aren’t even preteens yet, the primping has yet to begin and it’s already a push for bathroom time.  And we are clutter bugs.  Big time.  We need a basement, or a room where we can shove stuff and close the door on the mess.  And the girls will soon need their own bedrooms, and what we have is just not big enough, nor private enough for the four of us, especially when they get older.  And of course, parents need their privacy too!  So we have been talking about selling and moving to something bigger.  Which leads me to the farm…

All my talk of buying a horse, and related costs (board alone is close or over $500 a month, never mind the vet bills and the farrier (horses spend almost as much on shoes as my sister does  – gotcha Sarah!!),  has brought Todd to the realization that I would be spending almost the equivalent of half of  a mortgage payment on a new house every month on a horse.  So 2 + 2 sometimes equaling 4, why not take that money, actually spend it on a mortgage payment, and keep the horse(s) at home?  Which means needing a large enough property, aka a farm.   So now 4 + 4 equaling 8 most of the time,  what this means is that we are going to buy a farm.  Or at least a house with enough property to keep a few horses!  And chickens.  Just don’t mention those fowl things too often, because they aren’t that popular with him.  Are you excited yet??  Cause I am!  For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to live country.  And now, being married to such a smart, wonderful man, I have a partner in this vision along with me, for the ride.  I’ll even let him drive.  But I call shotgun!!!

Who knows.  You reach a certain age, and Friday night loses its luster.  It used to be my favorite night of the week.  It meant going out, dancing, listening to music, having fun with the girls and flirtalicious with cute guys, and later, when you were hooked up, being with your guy, knowing you were going home with the guy you came with, and all with the knowledge that you would get to sleep in the next day.  Till bloody noon if you so chose!  So if you drank a little too much, danced a little too hard, and laughed a little too loud, it was all okay.  Precious sleep would help you nurse the hangover, coffee and a cigarette in the am would do the trick, and so what if you made an ass out of yourself, (I will not go there!!!).  Somehow, what seemed like an excellent way to spend the night at 22, seems awfully silly at 37.  Especially seeing as the last time I danced was in my kitchen with Bob (it’s a radio station-see my post about 80′s music), I just have no clue how to dance anymore!

Whatever, dude!

I am so bloody tired.  Worked like a dog today.  Literally.  Didn’t get home until close to 6pm.  Todd has today and tomorrow off cause his work is moving, so he was home, which allowed me to stay at work and do the night feeding.  Have I mentionned that my co-worker hurt her back so she is off for a few weeks?  So another boarder and I are doing all the turn out, feeding, etc…plus today I did all the stalls in one barn.  I don’t know how full time working Mom’s do it.  And I don’t have the luxury of being sick, which I am at the moment.  Plus I had my knee surgery done finally, in office but still counts as surgery as knee was sliced open, removal of a  very large cyst (gross) so have 9 stitches and a painful knee.  So I’m feeling sorry for myself.  So I am exhausted, dirty, (not allowed to get knee wet, so still trying to decide how to proceed to take a shower), sniffly, ouchy, and grouchy.  I sound like one of Snow White’s compatriots.

So I’m going to play Sleeping Baggy Eyes, and go to bed now.