It says something about this country that Kurt Vonnegut's death did not stop the presses. There were no tv magazine shows discussing his brilliant wit, his futuristic insights, his remarkable writing talent, his caustic observations on human nature. No special bulletin from CNN, no extra programming (as yet) from the big three stations about his life and works. I mean, you couldn't turn on the telly without an in-depth report on the latest wrinkle concerning Anna Nicole, who, as far as I can see, contributed nothing more than a few sad, stoned incoherent tv moments. I'm sorry that she died, any life cut short is tragic, but did she really warrant so much press coverage? And I'll betcha a box of fresh, fluffy, hand dipped chocolate donuts that just about anyone you talk to will look at you blankly if you ask them who KV was, but could go on at length about Anna Nicole. If you haven't read his short story, Harrison Bergeron, I urge you to read it. It'll take you a minute or two and strike you as eerily prophetic. Even though it was written in 1961.
And i have to comment about the Imus thing. I'm not a political/sociological/ideological commentator - don't wanna be, but why was it ever okay to denigrate any woman of accomplishment? That he chose a disgusting and particularly cruel and nasty racial slur is beside the point. (Though of course arguments can be made that this is totally the point). Why, in this new millennium, in this anno Domini enlighteniosiment (shaddup, i made it up) is it still okay to knock and mock women for doing anything of importance? I mean, these were young college girls, athletes at the top of their game - the kind of girl we all want our daughters to grow up to be. Yes, one would argue, Imus's remarks came out of a rap culture infamous for its foul treatment of women, but why was that even allowed to flourish on our airways? Our culture seems to be on a runaway train, and it's heading backwards.
Nuff said.
So, a few weeks ago, i celebrated another birthday, March 21. Why on earth do i use the word celebrate? Why does anyone anticipate their birthday with any kind of joy? Getting older is not a great accomplishment, I mean, you just have to hang around to do it. And celebrating one more year of heading towards the inevitable stiff joints, wrinkles, graying hair and - um - forgetfulness - doesn't make sense. Henceforth, i will use the word "noticed" instead of celebrate, as in I noticed my birthday. On the other hand, I am happy to be here, enjoying life, so i will joyfully declare that March will be my birthday MONTH, that i want everyone to notice it, and toward that end, I expect lots of gifts. I may not like birthdays, but i love goodies. You can just leave them all by the front door, please.
Happy Trails,
Judy
Friday, April 13, 2007
Monday, March 5, 2007
New Horse
Dear Friends,
Yeah, i did it. I got a new horse. It's not like I needed one, I already have two, my retired Grand Prix horse, a Dutch warmblood named Sultan, and my youngster, a Swedish warmblood named Bailador. For those of you who aren't horsefolks, these are breeds of horses, obviously, from the country so named. Sultan is almost 31, and retired to a life of bliss, friends, good food, and group romps around a huge fenced-in countryside-type field. Heaven! Bailador is coming 7, and is being convinced by a gal named Holly, that his life of leisure is really over. We saddle broke him late (as a five year old) then put him away and now he's back in work. Once Holly makes him a believer of the Horse Work Ethic, i will get on him. I am too old and have too many health issues to do it myself. My days of riding broncs, rearers, buckers, bolters and just plain stupids, are long over.
So the new horse.
He has an amazing story, which started when I took my poodle puppy in to be groomed. Kay, the groomer is a horse person (as is most everyone in my life, except my husband, but that's another blog, someday)., She casually mentioned to me that a friend of hers was giving away a horse. Ho-hum, i thought. There are a lot of people giving away horses, you hear of it all the time. I've even done it myself, recently. Then Kay goes on to say that this horse is jet black, with four white socks, a white blaze, and very calm. Black? With all that chrome? My ears perked up. I love black. I love four white socks. Hmmm, i'm thinking of all my students/friends/people i met have met hither and yon that might want a flashy horse. (Note to my husband - I wasn't thinking of myself, at this point.....really.) Then Kay delivers the kicker. He is FREE, to the right home. AND he was saved from the kill pen at New Holland, PA. by her friend. I get the friend's phone number, i call and leave a message that i might be interested. (Still not thinking of me, honest!)
The friend calls me back. The horse is sweet and calm and sound. She thinks he's a quarter horse, but he moves and has the conformation of a warmblood. And yes, she saved him from the kill pen, bought him right from the people who were going to take him to the Canadian slaughter houses. (Now that is definitely going to be another blog.) Just wants to find him the right home as she has four horses of her own, and well, you know, you wind up collecting these guys and....yeah, i said, i know.
Okay, now I'm hooked. How big is he? i ask her, thinking, well, quarter horses tend to be short, and now I'm saved, because I'm tall and need a big horse. My horses have always been big (17 hands for those horse people among you). Big, she says. At least 16 or 16.1 hands (that's big, too, for those hp among you). Now I'm absolutely hooked. We make arrangements and he arrives at the farm where Sultan is retired. I can't believe what I'm seeing. He is drop dead gorgeous, jet black, white socks, white blaze, sweet....I still can't believe it. He was scheduled to go to the slaughter house. And his rescuer tells me his story. She had, on the spur of the moment, decided to go to the New Holland auction to buy buckets, since they sell horse equipment there at very low prices. She and her husband brought their horse trailer, for no apparent reason. Just happened to stroll past the kill pen and noticed him. She remembers thinking, wow, this horse is too classy for this place, and made inquiries. He was emaciated and crippled from a very bad shoeing job, she didn't care. They bought him, took him home, fed him, called the vet, worked on his feet to get him sound, rode him for several months and decided that he needed a nice home.
There is a place reserved at the right hand of God for people who rescue abused animals.
And the best thing is that I'll be sharing him with Patti, the farm owner, since my schedule is far too busy to keep him in shape. I'll be training him dressage, he'll be training Patti, and then Patti'll be training her big black thoroughbred (with help from me). Can it get any better than that? Did I mention that Patti's farm is HEAVEN?
We nicknamed him Zac. It fits him. I'm happy.
If I ever learn to post pics, I'll try to do it.
In the meantime,
Happy Trails,
Judy
Yeah, i did it. I got a new horse. It's not like I needed one, I already have two, my retired Grand Prix horse, a Dutch warmblood named Sultan, and my youngster, a Swedish warmblood named Bailador. For those of you who aren't horsefolks, these are breeds of horses, obviously, from the country so named. Sultan is almost 31, and retired to a life of bliss, friends, good food, and group romps around a huge fenced-in countryside-type field. Heaven! Bailador is coming 7, and is being convinced by a gal named Holly, that his life of leisure is really over. We saddle broke him late (as a five year old) then put him away and now he's back in work. Once Holly makes him a believer of the Horse Work Ethic, i will get on him. I am too old and have too many health issues to do it myself. My days of riding broncs, rearers, buckers, bolters and just plain stupids, are long over.
So the new horse.
He has an amazing story, which started when I took my poodle puppy in to be groomed. Kay, the groomer is a horse person (as is most everyone in my life, except my husband, but that's another blog, someday)., She casually mentioned to me that a friend of hers was giving away a horse. Ho-hum, i thought. There are a lot of people giving away horses, you hear of it all the time. I've even done it myself, recently. Then Kay goes on to say that this horse is jet black, with four white socks, a white blaze, and very calm. Black? With all that chrome? My ears perked up. I love black. I love four white socks. Hmmm, i'm thinking of all my students/friends/people i met have met hither and yon that might want a flashy horse. (Note to my husband - I wasn't thinking of myself, at this point.....really.) Then Kay delivers the kicker. He is FREE, to the right home. AND he was saved from the kill pen at New Holland, PA. by her friend. I get the friend's phone number, i call and leave a message that i might be interested. (Still not thinking of me, honest!)
The friend calls me back. The horse is sweet and calm and sound. She thinks he's a quarter horse, but he moves and has the conformation of a warmblood. And yes, she saved him from the kill pen, bought him right from the people who were going to take him to the Canadian slaughter houses. (Now that is definitely going to be another blog.) Just wants to find him the right home as she has four horses of her own, and well, you know, you wind up collecting these guys and....yeah, i said, i know.
Okay, now I'm hooked. How big is he? i ask her, thinking, well, quarter horses tend to be short, and now I'm saved, because I'm tall and need a big horse. My horses have always been big (17 hands for those horse people among you). Big, she says. At least 16 or 16.1 hands (that's big, too, for those hp among you). Now I'm absolutely hooked. We make arrangements and he arrives at the farm where Sultan is retired. I can't believe what I'm seeing. He is drop dead gorgeous, jet black, white socks, white blaze, sweet....I still can't believe it. He was scheduled to go to the slaughter house. And his rescuer tells me his story. She had, on the spur of the moment, decided to go to the New Holland auction to buy buckets, since they sell horse equipment there at very low prices. She and her husband brought their horse trailer, for no apparent reason. Just happened to stroll past the kill pen and noticed him. She remembers thinking, wow, this horse is too classy for this place, and made inquiries. He was emaciated and crippled from a very bad shoeing job, she didn't care. They bought him, took him home, fed him, called the vet, worked on his feet to get him sound, rode him for several months and decided that he needed a nice home.
There is a place reserved at the right hand of God for people who rescue abused animals.
And the best thing is that I'll be sharing him with Patti, the farm owner, since my schedule is far too busy to keep him in shape. I'll be training him dressage, he'll be training Patti, and then Patti'll be training her big black thoroughbred (with help from me). Can it get any better than that? Did I mention that Patti's farm is HEAVEN?
We nicknamed him Zac. It fits him. I'm happy.
If I ever learn to post pics, I'll try to do it.
In the meantime,
Happy Trails,
Judy
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Post Valentine's Day
Dear Friends,
Hope you had a great Valentine's day. We had a blizzard. Actually, I had a nice day. Made scones, ate scones, agonized over eating scones because I'm trying to lose weight, promised myself that these are the last scones ever, that are coming out of my oven. No carb is going to pass through my lips again.
This morning, only one day later, I had a scone for breakfast. So much for promises.
As of right now, i am sitting in my office (at home) and writing another book. Trying to write, since my two puppies, Lola, a cinnamon colored toy poodle, and Jean-Luc (of course, from Star Trek), my Boston terrier, are dropping their drool covered bouncy balls in my lap and begging me to toss them for a game of fetch. The terrier is also dropping little gas bombs, as terriers are wont to do, which does motivate me to throw his ball far away, like into another room, so i can catch my breath. What is it about Boston terriers that anyone would want one? They snore, they snort, they fart, they can sit for an hour and stare at you with goo-goo eyes, they eat everything. (Jean-Luc eats hay, from my guinea pig. Hay. ) but they are so lovable, and cuddly. Just don't squeeze them too hard when you are in the middle of a cuddle.
I did promise to tell you about my first radio interview. It had been set up by my publicist, with a radio station in Phoenix. I am in NY. The time was set for ten a.m. Arizona time (which is noon in New York). Live feed via telephone. Of course, I was nervous, and wanted it to go perfectly. I woke up early, had a nice breakfast, reread some notes, took a leisurely shower and put on a sweater with flattering colors (yeah, I know, it was for a radio show) and was brushing my teeth for the second time that morning when my phone rang. I had plenty of time, but was ready to tell whoever was calling that i would call them back. I mean, this was my first interview and I wanted everything to go right.
It was the interviewer.
I mumble hello, with a mouthful of toothpaste. Apparently my publicist forgot that there was a time difference between NY and Arizona. She meant ten a.m. New York time, which is eight a.m. in Arizona. I can barely speak, I have toothpaste running down my chin, I am trying to wipe my teeth dry with a washcloth and sound bright and chirpy. I mostly sound drunk. Horrible.
Now that I relived it, I think I need another scone.
Happy Trails,
judy
Hope you had a great Valentine's day. We had a blizzard. Actually, I had a nice day. Made scones, ate scones, agonized over eating scones because I'm trying to lose weight, promised myself that these are the last scones ever, that are coming out of my oven. No carb is going to pass through my lips again.
This morning, only one day later, I had a scone for breakfast. So much for promises.
As of right now, i am sitting in my office (at home) and writing another book. Trying to write, since my two puppies, Lola, a cinnamon colored toy poodle, and Jean-Luc (of course, from Star Trek), my Boston terrier, are dropping their drool covered bouncy balls in my lap and begging me to toss them for a game of fetch. The terrier is also dropping little gas bombs, as terriers are wont to do, which does motivate me to throw his ball far away, like into another room, so i can catch my breath. What is it about Boston terriers that anyone would want one? They snore, they snort, they fart, they can sit for an hour and stare at you with goo-goo eyes, they eat everything. (Jean-Luc eats hay, from my guinea pig. Hay. ) but they are so lovable, and cuddly. Just don't squeeze them too hard when you are in the middle of a cuddle.
I did promise to tell you about my first radio interview. It had been set up by my publicist, with a radio station in Phoenix. I am in NY. The time was set for ten a.m. Arizona time (which is noon in New York). Live feed via telephone. Of course, I was nervous, and wanted it to go perfectly. I woke up early, had a nice breakfast, reread some notes, took a leisurely shower and put on a sweater with flattering colors (yeah, I know, it was for a radio show) and was brushing my teeth for the second time that morning when my phone rang. I had plenty of time, but was ready to tell whoever was calling that i would call them back. I mean, this was my first interview and I wanted everything to go right.
It was the interviewer.
I mumble hello, with a mouthful of toothpaste. Apparently my publicist forgot that there was a time difference between NY and Arizona. She meant ten a.m. New York time, which is eight a.m. in Arizona. I can barely speak, I have toothpaste running down my chin, I am trying to wipe my teeth dry with a washcloth and sound bright and chirpy. I mostly sound drunk. Horrible.
Now that I relived it, I think I need another scone.
Happy Trails,
judy
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Welcome to my first blog or how i'm learning to make peace with my 'puter
Dear Friends,
It's a miserable, cold, snowy day, perfect for sitting down and forcing myself to write my first blog. Okay, not my very first one, the others got lost somewhere out there, where blogs go when they are untethered to a blogspot, due to their authors forgetting to save them. I imagine an astronaut someday looking back down on earth and seeing a large cloud filled with musings and pictures and blatherings, blogs gone astray.
So, I'll introduce myself. I'm a writer. Of books. My first book Horseplay came out two years ago, at the end of 2004, my new one, Still Life With Elephant is coming out this July, 2007.
Don't for a minute think that this is a glamorous life filled with excitement. Unless sitting in front of a computer with a cup of cold coffee really does it for you. Actually, it does it for me, which sometimes strikes me as pathetic.
Occasionally I am called upon to do booksignings and to actually read, in public, no less, what I've written. The first time I had to do this was a total disaster. I had gone to see my dermatologist two days before because of this funny little bump above my eyebrow. Skin cancer. Nothing terrible, but that's what you get when you own horses (more on them another day) and have spent your entire life getting bathed in fly repellent and then baking in the hot sun. So, my derm procedes to remove the funny little bump and leaves a funny little crater. Fast forward to my very first public booksigning and reading. It went well except that now I had a shaved eyebrow and a huge shiner due to bleeding down into the eye from the funny little surgical procedure. Can you say ludicrous?
Next blog, I will tell you about my first radio interview. It beats the black eye thing hands down.
Happy trails,
judy
It's a miserable, cold, snowy day, perfect for sitting down and forcing myself to write my first blog. Okay, not my very first one, the others got lost somewhere out there, where blogs go when they are untethered to a blogspot, due to their authors forgetting to save them. I imagine an astronaut someday looking back down on earth and seeing a large cloud filled with musings and pictures and blatherings, blogs gone astray.
So, I'll introduce myself. I'm a writer. Of books. My first book Horseplay came out two years ago, at the end of 2004, my new one, Still Life With Elephant is coming out this July, 2007.
Don't for a minute think that this is a glamorous life filled with excitement. Unless sitting in front of a computer with a cup of cold coffee really does it for you. Actually, it does it for me, which sometimes strikes me as pathetic.
Occasionally I am called upon to do booksignings and to actually read, in public, no less, what I've written. The first time I had to do this was a total disaster. I had gone to see my dermatologist two days before because of this funny little bump above my eyebrow. Skin cancer. Nothing terrible, but that's what you get when you own horses (more on them another day) and have spent your entire life getting bathed in fly repellent and then baking in the hot sun. So, my derm procedes to remove the funny little bump and leaves a funny little crater. Fast forward to my very first public booksigning and reading. It went well except that now I had a shaved eyebrow and a huge shiner due to bleeding down into the eye from the funny little surgical procedure. Can you say ludicrous?
Next blog, I will tell you about my first radio interview. It beats the black eye thing hands down.
Happy trails,
judy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)