horse camp

I remember now why I hated going to summer camp, and eventually away to college. Standing alone on that great, unknown campus as my mom drove away, having only a strange room and stranger roommate to go back to, left me feeling much like I did at eight, an introvert in a sea of summer camp activity, feeling as though a week might last longer than I could stay alive.

School horse

It's the strangeness of a new place that is so stressful for me. I suppose if I were an extroverted stimulation-seeker, new places would be like crack to an addict, but I like being comfortable.

One day soon I may be comfortable in this new place, with its tall, dense trees and a bathroom I share with women I just met, both from other countries. In the past two days, in addition to learning new surroundings, my classmates and I have endured testing, hours of lecture and hands on training. It's an intensive, alright. Makes me think I should have stayed home with my dog.

But, when a pony came to class on the first day, I knew I was in the right place. This facility is the nicest I've ever experienced, therapeutic or otherwise, and every staff member I've met seems genuine and supportive.

I'm living in a cottage a brief walk's away from our classroom and the rest of the facility. Being the only one with a car, I chauffeured my Brazilian and Korean housemates to the grocery store so we can begin keeping house in our new digs. I would never have guessed that therapeutic riding was a thing in South Korea, but then again, it seems Asia is big into just about anything.

So far we've toured the facility, begun an acquaintance with the horses, heard lectures on the history of therapeutic riding and why the horse is so fitted to it, and learned the aspects of side walking (supporting the rider from the side of the horse during a lesson) and leading a horse to be responsive.  

There's really so much more to say, but my poor little brain can't handle the workload, and so off I go to dream about Venezuelan Equine Encephalomyelitis....after all, my favorite camp activity was quiet time. 

OneArmGirl  

back to school

I've been feeling pretty lazy since I arrived at my parents' place--watching back-to-back episodes of Nightmare Tattoo while my mom cooks for me. Perhaps it's because at this time next week, I'll be knee deep in school again.

New beginnings breakfast

I haven't 'gone back to school' since the fall of 2001. Ironically my parents live in a college town, replete with old stone buildings, manicured parks, and late night coffee shops. Yesterday the campus was overrun with incoming freshmen, I mean, first year students.

Driving past the park full of young, anxious pre-students walking awkwardly with one or two excited parents in tow, I reminisced a time, over ten years ago now, when I was that anxious student.

When I went away to college at eighteen, I had never been away from home and family for more than two weeks at a time. I thought nothing of my new school's location or academic reputation, I was too busy trying not to cry in my top bunk. I found out later that my roommate was on the bottom bunk doing the same.

That same roommate is now married, has been for over ten years. And I, well...I have a dog. But visiting a coffee house on campus, I was keenly aware of how different I feel now, fifteen years after my first week in college.

I feel stronger, more confident, and less scared of everything new. I don't have to try so hard to fit in, to not be noticed.  Mostly, I just feel I've earned the right to my place in the world, the right to rub people the wrong way if necessary.

At a local crêpe shop for breakfast, butterfly paintings on the wall reminded me that growth is natural, and transformation comes as much, if not more, from being alive than education. 

After four years of undergraduate study, I told myself I wasn't going back to school unless I needed more education to do what I wanted to do in life.

Now here I am, ready to go.

OneArmGirl 

road journal: roughing it

Just a girl, the fire she made, a bottle of wine, and her laptop. Can life get any better....?

OneArmGirl

from the road

I, like Jack Kerouac, am writing from the road. Two days and one bag of Honey Dijon Kettle chips in, I find myself in Oklahoma. 

I'm feeling pretty positive about this first long distance trip on my own. I've had help along the way, from the gentlemanly angel at a rest stop who informed me that the fluid leaking from the bottom of my car was merely condensation from excessive air conditioner use, to country-living friends who supplied me with butter dipped artichoke and a comfy bed.

Here are some of my favorite moments thus far...

Keeper the dog faces off with a very territorial (and playful) kitty. I think they both enjoyed it.

Church in the Pecos River valley of Puerto de Luna (or Moon Door), a place quickly becoming a favorite for me.

Scrambled salsa eggs on journal. If only I wrote more than I took pictures of my writing, I might be getting somewhere.

And now I must get my car-seat-flattened glutei off this couch and back on the road. 

OneArmGirl 

when the hangover clears

I didn't want to write a post this week, as you may have already guessed from my obvious disregard for my own deadline. And this for wholly undeserving reasons, like having too much to drink the night before.

This will be taken up with Human Resources and disciplinary action taken accordingly, I can assure you.

For starters, let's just say I am going to drive 2,000 miles next week with only a dog for company. Well, and a recently downloaded David Sedaris audiobook. Can you blame me if I sow some wild oats this week? I'm only preparing myself for the crushing self-loathing that will undoubtably set in somewhere around Oklahoma City.

I've spent a considerable amount of time this week laying in bed, thinking about how much I am going to miss my bedroom, my living room, kitchen and bath...the whole place, really. I'm what you might call a homebody. Is that one word? Spellcheck seems to think so, but I'm pretty sure there was a time when 'spellcheck' was not a word. Oh, English language, you tricky little deviant. It's enough to make a grammarian commit suicide.

The best guard against suicide is gratitude. It never fails to surprise me how many people seem affected by what feels like my insignificant life course. Many friends have expressed their love for me over the past weeks. It's a nice reminder that we don't have to be anything amazing to make a difference, to be missed when we're gone. Even if it's just going to New England for a while.

I can hear fireworks from the ballpark, which must mean we won. I love fireworks. Is there a more fleeting celebration of the present? A more reckless disregard for the future? 

We've won. No matter what, life is meant to be breathed deeply, every second celebrated, even the freedom to be hungover.

OneArmGirl

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road ready

You ever have one of those days that grabs you by the heels and pulls you out of bed?

Yeah, that's the day I'm having. We'll all be lucky if I manage to stay focused long enough to get this post written.

Just savin' lives

After last week's rather discouraging news, this week brings some of a different variety. I got a call on Tuesday confirming that I've been accepted into the Fall training session for therapeutic riding instructors in Connecticut.

This has initiated a flurry of activity in the remaining weeks before I leave. As I write, my car is in the shop getting a new catalytic convertor; I've called the vet to ready Keeper the Dog to road trip with me; and I've arranged for some Franciscan priests to come for dinner. You know, the usual big trip checklist.

So, theoretically, CPR certification card in hand, I'll be hitting the road in a couple weeks, motoring miles that on some continents would take me through several countries.

[Pause for the making of several zillion phone calls.]

[Another pause for a nap]

Good news: my car is out of surgery and ready to come home. Prepare yourselves for pics from the road...

OneArmGirl