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Date:2010-02-07 21:51

I miss my pony.

Oh, God, I miss my pony so much sometimes it hurts to breathe.

Most of the time, it's not too bad. I can ignore the dull ache in my chest where his thick white mane and chocolate brown patches used to reside. I can move through my life with the comfort of Emerald leaning his long thin body against my back, wrapping his graceful neck around me to lay his sleek head on my shoulder. It's enough, most of the time. He does his best, loving me unconditionally, listening to me when I call to him, rushing to my side when I need him near me.

He's no Cocoa.

Emerald is impatient. He shuffles from side to side when he wants me to move faster. He becomes angry when I pay too much attention to other animals. He causes trouble when he thinks I'm not looking. When I need to hold onto him to keep from falling off the deep end, he just doesn't seem to understand.

Cocoa was stable. He knew. When I pulled into the driveway at the farm nearly in tears I could look towards the barn and see Cocoa standing in the front pony pasture, as if he knew I would be coming. He stood still as I clung to him, for as long as I needed him to stand. He held me up when I was falling apart emotionally.

I could make it through anything, because Cocoa's heavy mane would dry any tears that fell. When I couldn't breathe, his woodsy scent filled me. He was pure pony, and I can't imagine how many other emotional teenagers he stood by in his life. When I needed him, I couldn't believe he ever walked up and nudged another girl crying on the muddy ground with his velvet-soft nose.

There are days when I don't know if I want to scream or sob or just fall asleep, and on those days- on these days- I miss Cocoa the most. Driving to the farm- the long way, through East Haddam, past the Haddam Neck Fairgrounds- has become habit after all this time. Take the long way to calm down. Pull in, eyes toward the barnyard. Try not to let the tears fall when it hits- again- that he's gone. Spike tries, but he's too small. Truffles is too antsy. Casper is just too dumb. Nestle tries her best, but it's not in a mare to really care.

Emerald stood still today. When I buried my face in his deep, wooly neck, he stood still. He let me wrap my arms around him tighter than I know was comfortable. He let me hold on when I felt as if I was falling off the deep end. He stood still, and laid his velvet-soft muzzle atop my head till I was done.

He's no Cocoa, but he loves me, and he's trying. It'll have to do, I suppose. I know I love him for it, but I miss my pony so much.

(4 Cookies | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-11-11 17:59

The holidays are creeping up again, even though Siruis radio doesn't have their Holiday Music station playing yet. I'm just brainstorming, trying to figure out what to get the boy, and what I want myself.

I'd like these, as of now.
My Cuppa Coffee
Invisible bookshelves
What the Dickens by Gregory Maguire
An Alphabetical Life
Cheese of the month club

Help me decide what to get my boyfriend.
Pranks and Pastimes for the Workplace
Firefighter keychain
Nuts about you keyring
Personalized M&Ms

Help me decide what to get April.
What's for lunch decision wheel
Invisible bookshelves (She'd like them too!)
Emergency Survival Kit
Genius Pen
The Art of Doing Nothing Book

Any suggestions?

(1 Cookie | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-07-14 05:42
Mood: sore

I love long days.

I love the aches in my body when I finally lay down to sleep. I relish in the burn of blisters and the scratch of calluses against soft sheets.

Glory, what a long day.

Personally, I think I did very well. I didn't threaten the vet student with bodily harm. I didn't flinch (much) when the vet started cutting on my baby. My llama. My Emerald.

Fifty-seven rabies shots yesterday. Eighteen blood tests. Two operations. Ten sheep sheared. I did very well, I believe.

When Laura started shearing, though, I wasn't prepared. The second lamb, and I almost lost it. I found myself having to take a step back, leave the barn for a minute, and remind myself that Sherman died in November, and this was no time to get all emotional about it.

Two lambs are Patrick's. They have none of the characteristics that Sherman's progeny have always had. Sherman's children have quirky horns, freckled coats, and, gengerally, don't mind too much when they're flipped and sheared.

I've spent years watching lambs be sheared. I know Sherman's.

I pointed the second lamb being sheared out to Ted, once I came back in the barn.

"We have to keep this one, Ted. Sher's one of Sherman's." He asked how I knew for sure, and I smiled, running my hand across her oily back. "She has freckles. Hundreds of thousands of freckles. They'll disappear when her wool grows in, but it's a trait Sherman passes on."

My llama is doing well. The zedonk is on the road to recovery. Every animal in the barnyard has been vaccinated for rabies. It's a weight off our shoulders for another year.

Before Sherman left us, he made sure to leave us with three beautiful reminders. Now all they need are names.

(Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-07-06 23:19
Mood: frustrated

I can't sleep. I'm frustrated. There's never any silence in my home anymore. The televisions scream over each other; my nephew isn't controled; phones are always ringing, or chiming, or screaming.

The minute I close my bedroom door, the cat starts yowling, and if I let him in he complains till he's let out. It's the little things.

I can't focus. I stare at crossword puzzles, knowing I know the answers to them, I just can't find them in my head. I pick up books just to read half a page and put it down, forgetting that I ever picked it up at all. Even at the farm, I mix up pony names when children ask. I never mix up pony names.

Casey's out of control. He and Jen spend hours fighting, because she can't control him. Or won't. He's either screaming, attacking, or pouting. She lazes about the house, and after working all day I come home to clean up after her. In three days she hasn't left the house, or washed the dishes. He throws a tantrum because he doesn't want to get dressed at three-thirty in the afternoon and she, without pulling her eyes from her video game, simply mumbles, "Do it. Or I'll... whatever. I'll think of something later." It's a direct quote. He threw a hissy fit when I took him to DQ, and after he scratched me for the fourth time, I gave him a hard smack and threw his ice cream away. The place went silent and I couldn't have cared less. It frustrates me more than anything else that he'll sob and apologize in one breath, and in the next say you're a "Stupid Idiot" and he "Wishes you were dead."

He only acts up when he spends time with his mother, and it's a horrible thing to say, but she either needs to step up, or walk away. I'd be fine with either. In the past week, these have been his bed times: 10:00PM, 11:30PM, 10:15PM, 1:10AM, 10:45PM, 10:30PM, and 9:15PM tonight (Because of the DQ incident.) He's eight years old.

I get stir-crazy in the summer. I don't sleep well in the heat, and it's evident. I drink coffee by the iced gallon, and try to bury myself in ice cream. It doesn't work too well. I lay in bed, under a cool cotton sheet, and watch the celing fan blades spin. I lay awake until the televisions stop blaring out commercials from the SPEED network.

I don't consider it insomnia, because I'm sure I could sleep perfectly well if everything would just quiet down for twenty minutes. If the lights would turn off for half an hour. If the cat would stop meowing, the crows would stop screaming, the racoons would stop squealing. If the world would just stop talking for a day or two.

Then I could sleep. And I wouldn't be frustrated.

(1 Cookie | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-03-29 21:53

Kim made her family, so I made my families.

Stick Figure Family at FreeFlashToys.com

Make your Stick Figure Family at FreeFlashToys.com

And this one would be bigger, but it turns out, after 12 members they don't let you have any more. I guess the Duggars couldn't use this.Collapse )

(1 Cookie | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-03-10 21:29

You know what I love?

Cleaning the barn myself, and pink cowboy boots.

Here, let me expand...

I'm a do-it-myself kind of gal. Or I try to be. Ted can fix the wheelbarrows I break, and Ted can use the tractor himself, but I'd rather he kept his hands off what is now considered my pitchfork. There are two kinds of clean at Circle K; Ted-Clean, and Janet-clean. Our USDA inspector prefers Janet-clean.

I like to spend cold sunny days in the barn by myself, singing along to the radio and working up a sweat. I like the rhythm I get into when I'm half-way through a stall. I can fill the wheelbarrow in the time it takes one song to finish, and dump it before it finishes another. I appreciate the idea of help in the barn, and when life distracts me I sometimes need help, but I try to avoid it. I know just how far down I need to dig in the sheep. I know when to take the plunge and dump half-full water buckets in the barn, despite the mess they cause. I know how long to leave the third stall un-cleaned for, and when it needs a good pitch-forking, regardless of what Ted says. It's hard to explain to people that Jimmy-jo's stall doesn't get a full bag of shavings, but it gets more than half, but less than two thirds. It's impossible to explain how I decide how often and how much lime I put down.

The goats mill around me while I clean, and it amuses me. They feel as if they need to keep an eye on the goings-on, and every one wants to be the first to get to eat the clean shavings. They don't mind when I toss down their bedding and then toss myself down on top. The babies work their way in and it's far too easy to scoop one up in each hand. Even the young males still have that "new goat smell" that I've come to adore. I think I could lay in the goat barn for ages if I was always supplied with new babies.

Ted has this habit of teasing me, but in the nicest ways possible. He bought bright pink halters for the ponies when I was wearing bright pink muck boots. When I told him I would have preferred pink goat hoof shears, he handed me a Jeffer's catalog. (Side note: Jeffers carries them in green and orange, but no pink.) He buys me pink donuts, even though he knows I just feed them to the ponies, and he almost agreed to changing the farm colors from yellow and black to pink and black. (Almost.)

I haven't told him yet that my pink cowboy boots came in.

I figure, at the tack auction on Friday I just might find some pink blankets for the ponies...

I'd love that.

(Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-02-16 20:23
Subject:We don't hire Jeffs at the farm.
Mood: amused

Most people have seen seen it on Facebook, but for those who haven't...

You might be a pony ride worker if...
...You know where Gales Ferry is...Collapse )

One of my farm girls started the idea, and everyone's been rolling with it. They've been hinting that they want them on the next batch of farm shirts, and if they're really good kids I might be convinced to do it. Which ones are your favorites?

Also, FENCE-RAPE IS NOT A LAUGHING MATTER. Every year, five or six girls get raped, pushed down, or knocked in the face by fence, and the fence goes un-punished. Next time you jerk-holes hear me screaming that the fence broke my vagina, don't just laugh. Next time it could be your sister, your daughter, your mother, or you.

(2 Cookies | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-20 19:00
Subject:Quizzes. Name that...

Name That Dog Breed

The photo they had for the Brittany was HOOOOOOOORIBLE.

More...Collapse )

Also, I don't think I'll be posting my daily tweets anymore.

(Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-19 19:53
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 21:23 If Lucky pees on me while we're sitting here, I'll be pissed. The chewing on me I can handle. #
  • 13:48 How can june lecture me about dress code when she's not obeying it? #
  • 17:20 twitpic.com/14trp - With Lucky at April's place Saturday #
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(1 Cookie | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-17 19:40
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 19:57 I want a job that i love. Not a job that i love-hate. #
  • 23:52 Dear lord even my bed is freezing. #
  • 09:34 Maybe I'll run away to miami. It's warm there, right? #
  • 14:37 I want to get up and check my email, but Lucky's asleep on my arm and I don't have the heart to move him. #
  • 18:29 I found my other slipper! #
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(Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-16 19:48
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 09:06 I can't find my slippers. #
  • 10:12 I found one slipper. #
  • 19:04 I think my eyeballs just froze. #
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Date:2009-01-15 19:53
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 20:05 I just want a quiet house where i can curl up with Lucky and read in peace. #
  • 11:20 I am losing my mind today. #
  • 11:44 When i'm done here I'll zip home, grab lucky, and head to rocky hill for claudette, then I'll go to the farm. #
  • 11:45 Dmv can wait till tomorrow before work. #
  • 11:53 Snow, snow, still more snow. I'd be bothered by it, but Spike and Cassidy seem to adore it. Crazy ponies. #
  • 12:33 On my way to rh with lucky. #
  • 14:00 If i don't slip and bust myself on the ice today it'll be a miracle. I'm due for my yearly fall and butt bruise anyway. #
  • 18:33 Doing dishes. Could be worse. #
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Date:2009-01-15 19:18
Subject:I hate January.
Mood: depressed

I hate January.

Screw January. Screw all these New-Year-New-Leaf promises. Screw barren trees and slushy roads. Screw being up and working before dawn and not getting home till after dark. Screw cabin fever and winter chills. Screw it all.

I love December, and not just because it's my birthday month. I love Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Yule. I love the anticipation of a white Christmas. I love carols and decorations. I love tinsel, holly, and strings of Christmas lights along the eaves of old houses. I love the idea hacking down trees to bring inside, because how insane of an idea is that? I love holiday sweaters knit ages ago. I love photo Christmas cards. I love wrapping paper. I love shopping on Christmas Eve. I love the feeling of everyone loving everyone, even if it's only for a month.

I like February. It's a cute month. It's dainty, like a petit-four. Everything is pink in February, and though Valentines isn't my favorite holiday it holds a place in my heart because its theme color is pink. I love pink.

I hate January.

People are grumpy in January. In December people have so much hope for all the New Years resolutions they're going to make. They're going to diet more, they're going to donate more, they're going to save more. Then January comes, they break their resolutions by the end of the first week, and they spend the rest of the month hating themselves for their lack of willpower. Self-loathing is not how I think a good portion of the population should start the new year.

By January the clean new snow of December has been replaced by the gray driven-snow of suburban life. Schools no longer cancel or delay due to the threat of snow, and kitchen floors can't seem to stay clean of the salty slush. I mop my kitchen more in January than any other month. The snow keeps falling, but by early morning the plows have been through, turning over the clean snow and replacing it with chunks of sand and ice. The daily commute takes twice as long, and the coffee doesn't seem to be nearly as strong.

Oh, God, I hate cabin fever. The feeling of being cooped up, shut in, and held down. The lack of freedom, be it from the weather, work, or family. In January, it seems, nothing can cure it. Vacations seem ages away. There's not enough money to go around. It's too cold to even run away.

January sucks.

Is it February yet?

(Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-14 19:38
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 19:50 twitpic.com/12m2g - He is so spoiled. #
  • 08:03 I work with the most insane people. Plum or lavender, it's still just purple. #
  • 08:04 Unless you're talking yarn. #
  • 11:33 What do you do when you're pretty sure a figment of your imagination is calling and texting you? #
  • 12:49 I need to figure out what my coworkers are taking and get myself some. They seem To think there are 3 of me here today! #
  • 13:15 If one more person gets me paged to "jarn" because they don't know what a gauge swatch is, i'm going to pull my hair out. #
  • 18:02 I'll believe in whichever god claims to have invented coffee. #
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(Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-13 19:34
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 19:48 Feeding Lucky an apple and reading "A Lion Among Men." #
  • 10:07 I think, at some point, God must have worked in a craft store because in the morning the snow looks an awful lot like glitter. #
  • 12:21 Who knew one phone call could bring such relief? #
  • 15:09 I think clearance and bad 80's music is how God punishes poor girls who work retail. #
  • 17:21 It's cold. I see why bears hibernate. #
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(Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-12 19:36
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 23:13 The cat and the (not) rat are going nom nom nom and it's not helping me sleep sleep sleep. #
  • 10:25 OMG the southern baptist pregnant preacher's wife at work is telling me to resist my urges and not "do it" till i'm married. #
  • 12:58 Just because we're based in texas it doesn't mean we have the weather they do in texas! Turn up the heat! #
  • 16:28 God i have no butt at all. :( #
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Date:2009-01-11 19:37
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 11:17 I need a vacation. Remind me to blog this when I can find the time. #

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(1 Cookie | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-10 21:21
Mood: tired

In my dream home, I'll have a huge claw-foot bathtub. One deep enough to drown myself in, not that I would try to. I want a water-heater strong enough to fill it to overflowing with scalding water.

I want bookshelves. Everywhere. I want them in the living room, in the kitchen, in the bedroom. Would it be a bit much to have one in the bathroom? Which books would I put in there? Trashy romance novels? Perhaps no bookshelf in the bathroom. The steam from the bath would be horrible for the bindings.

I demand an orange kitchen. Rust orange, bright orange, tangerine orange. It doesn't matter. I need walls to match my KitchenAid. I need dishes to match my coffee pot. I need towels to match my spoons and spatulas. Years ago my mother tried to buy me a pink kitchen-future, but they wouldn't sell it. She settled for orange, and I've taken to it. I want white curtains tied back with autumn-orange ribbon.

I want mountains and trees. I don't need a horizon, and I don't need the ocean. I want snow, and I want summer. I want red and gold autumn leaves. In the spring I want neighbors to have gardens with tulips and yards full of dandelions.

There has to be room for Lucky, room for Bud, room for a llama or six, and room for Cocoa. Every home plan needs room for Cocoa. I want to be able to look out my kichen window and see my favorite equine munching on hay. I judge pastures by how well Cocoa would look in them. Too large, and Cocoa would look puny. Too small, and Cocoa wouldn't have the room he needs to push other ponies around. (And you know there would be other ponies.)

I want wood floors with braided rugs to keep my bare feet warm on winter nights. I want my bed with my cat curled up beside the pillow napping. I want a doghouse for Max, even if he'll be ancient by then.

And if he starts to smell bad, I'll give him a bath in my claw-foot bathtub.

(3 Cookies | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-10 19:52
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 07:51 I hate January. Remind me to blog this when I can find the time. #
  • 12:11 Ted wants a new ringtone. What should it be? #
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(1 Cookie | Bake me a treat)

Date:2009-01-09 19:39
Subject:Tweet-le Dee

  • 18:15 Can it be february already? #

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(Bake me a treat)

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