Quotes.

There seem to be many opportunities to make note of worthwhile quotes.

"Post like you are toast popping out of a toaster!" -MP (metaphors always seemed to work for me)

MP: How old is this horse?
Me: He's 6.
MP: Perfect. He is perfect. This is the kind of horse you own forever, you're going to have a good 10/12 years with him!

(oh ya, you don't sell horses like Rowan.)

"Ride like as good of a rider as you are!" -MP

"This guy is handsome" and "he doesn't know it yet but I'm going to ride him." -MP on Rowan


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Life is decent. Getting a bit sick of waking up at 6am. Have Tuesday off. Worked things out with AVH. Rowan is the best, even if I can't ride very well. We're going ice skating tonight, I'll probably break my ankle.

The Sunshine State.

Welcome to Florida, what seems to be the geriatric center of the United States. It's potentially the flattest state I've been to (perhaps following Iowa) and has all sorts of strange bugs which have mutated to extreme sizes which frighten me to no abandon.

And here I am.

The trip down was surreal and arriving here was surreal. The fact that I've been here a week is strange and I hate the weather and the work is hard. Check facebook for my note on what I've been up to, I've been here a week and the last thing I thing I want to talk about is the farm, especially since I'm finally away from it. The short of the long is that I'm doing 12 hours of physical labor 6 days a week and sleeping more than an old woman.

I find some enjoyment in my duties. In the morning it's incredible to see the sun rising behind the arena, red through the trees, a sight that reminds me so fondly of Africa that I almost feel as though I could be there. And as much as I hate cleaning stalls it's quiet time to contemplate goals and ideas and to try to focus my head on not being so scattered and overwhelmed and confused. Emotions have been high since arrival, being in a new place and feeling all alone here is not quite like the alone feeling I had in South Africa. It's good to have Rowan but it's not the same.

This week has certainly brought about many questions and reconsiderings of feelings that have seemed so true and real until now. I am sometimes impressed by the fleetingness of relationships and my emotions. Confusion has been high on my end.

The library won't let me get a library card unless I have proof of residence, that means getting a Florida driver's license (which is NOT going to happen) or changing my voter registration (which isn't going to happen either) or bringing in two pieces of mail at a Florida address. My point is send me mail so that I can go to the library and use the internet (and checkout GRE books so I don't get dumber) and feel connected to the real world again.

And that, my friends, is the beginning of my life at Dressage Boot Camp 2007.

one foot out the door.

Leaving is different this time. Before I always had to come back, I had unfinished business. But now, I'm not tied. There's no return ticket.

But I am tied. Wandering down these streets, forsythias in the spring. It's the worst time to leave. I love autumn in Michigan. There's something particular about the air and the way the sky looks at night.

Per our conversation today-- maybe this city is fake. Perhaps simply for the fact that it's amalgamated with the U. Who knows really, would that mean my whole experience here was fake? We always questioned whether this whole AP thing was bullshit.

My packing list is no shorter than in was yesterday. How can there be so many things to do?

24? Not so old.

I'm almost to my last great "hurrah" before starting my climb up the hill. At 16 I finally got to drive (even if I was driving the late BP which stalled at traffic lights), and at 18 I could buy cigarettes, except I didn't because I could fulfill my civic duty of voting and that seemed more appealing. Then, there was 21 and JR got me so drunk that I picked a bum up off the street on our way to the bar and then I threw up out JR's car window. And the last great "hurrah"? I can rent a car without vastly inflated insurance costs. But really, it was a good birthday-- spending time with Rowan, sharing a lovely dinner with my family (minus JR, truly unfortunate), and a quiet evening chatting with AVH was just about fulfilling enough.

The night before my big day, Little L and I went out in search for a place where we could do some serious booty shakin'. There's nothing quite like waking up the morning after shaking your booty only to find that your abs are sore. Brilliant. It's always nice to get out, have a few drinks and dance.

The last few days have been tiring. Packing is a pain and the fact that I simply had to start my South African scrapbook last week is potentially even more of a pain-- I'm losing momentum on both. Likewise, I've been more social with friends this past week than I have been the entire summer; unfortunately that bubble must burst because there's a horse show this weekend and then I'm departing.

Speaking of my departure the trip is painful but possible. Sunday it's my town to the Nati (4 hours), Monday is the Nati to Nashville (5 hours), Tuesday is Nashville to St. Augustine (a really, really long time), and Wednesday I arrive before my little Rowan does, and then vacation officially ends.

Eish?

Set the date.

I guess I sort of had the feeling that I wasn't really going to leave for Florida. It's one of those "don't believe it unless you see it" type deals, except this one is "don't believe it until you get in the car and start driving to it" deals.

Very conveniently the hauling company is planning on picking little Rowan up the morning of September 18th. Thank goodness we're not leaving before then. I made a point to request that we did not leave until after the 15th of September-- why, because we have a horse show, of course. I thought I was playing my lucky cards right until I realized that if Rowan is leaving on the 18th I must leave on the 15th so that I can be there to meet him upon arrival. I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that I am driving to Florida or the fact that I have to drive through Ohio to get to Florida. Hmm...

Besides that, what comes with moving is the feeling of putting ducks in rows and eggs in baskets. It feels like a whole lot of paperwork and pushing things around my room until they're in some coherent order. After all, who knows who will be living in my room while I'm galavanting about down south.

I suppose the whole process would be much more orderly if I hadn't decided that it's time for me to begin creating my South Africa scrapbook. Here I am, more than a year later, after an entire summer of (essentially) sitting around simply to find that my room has been converted to a mini-South Africa shrine, with the contents of the lime green laundry basket finally exploding in memories across my floor. I'm only on page three, that means only about 390 more photos to go.

Dear friends,

As we all know (or if we don't know, we should know) I am a poor woman.... and about to be very much poorer after transplanting myself to Florida. And as we all should know, I sorta kinda have a birthday coming up.

Ya, when you get older birthday's aren't that special anymore but it would be nice to receive some good tested and proven recipes that I could take with me to my new home so that I can make spectacular meals for myself... or maybe just a salad spinner would do. Also, tea is nice.

Otherwise, it would be nice to get mail while I'm down South.... I'm just saying... for the record.

the morning.

This morning I was up before the sunrise. I pulled on my riding clothes and a fleece jersey and slipped into my car. I will miss the familiar drive to the barn; this morning was one of those rare moments in time where I actually saw. It seems so rare these days that I actually hesitate to notice moments of life, it is such a difficult and conscious state of existence and most of the time I'm simply floating in my own random thoughts. But this morning was different-- something about the mist that lies in sheets above the fields of corn and yellow flower. Or perhaps it was the reds and oranges glowing through it. I sat still in my car, hands frozen on the steering wheel, thinking that I would be happy if I could just keep driving through such a surreal existence. But it wasn't long before the road dropped beneath me and the small valley left the sheets hanging above my head, melting into the trees.

My ride with Rowan was meditative and very much one of teamwork. Collecting and extending, the manipulating of gaits, the pushing into the bit; it's nice to have power underneath me, even if it's in such a small package.

My interpretation of my emotions towards AVH in recent weekends could be described as rocky. Last night, face stuffed into my pillow, I found difficulty breathing between sobs. Something last weekend triggered my innate feeling of distrust towards boys. I believe there are people who would base this distrust on my parents' divorce when I was a child but my experience with SFB seemed much more traumatic, much more impacting on my emotions. Looking over at the bar to see him with another girl... one of those stupid images that's burned into your memory no matter how desperately you want it to fade. My frantic state was induced from a fear of the feeling that things seemed to slipping through my fingers. I suppose we all live in our own realities. The brilliant thing about AVH is that I know he won't just give up on me, that he actually asks what I'm thinking and why I might be thinking such thoughts, and then he listens, even when I'm quiet, he's still there and he still waits for me to think my words through.

This afternoon I finished "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" (Gavin Bell)-- it left me feeling South Africa on my skin. His conclusion still resonates with me...

"high above the sprawl of human settlement, aloof yet benign, stood the silhouette of Table Mountain. It was like a sign saying welcome home."