February 13, 2001
100th Episode Extravaganza!
The Stories Behind The Pictures
I dug through some more pictures last night, looking for more favorites. This is Tawney, the Golden Retriever mix I got the summer before 8th grade. She was originally my friend C's puppy. I went with her family to pick her out, and held her in my lap on the way back home. I even suggested her name. About a month went by before C's dad got fed up with tending to the needs (and the destructiveness) of a young dog. C called me in tears asking if we could take her, and I in turn went to my grandmother in tears, begging to have her. I'd always wanted a puppy, but my grandmother really didn't want to deal with the house training, digging, etc. etc. etc. She relented this time, though, and Tawney came to live with us. Tawney was my constant companion. We'd take walks through the fields together and she'd chase the birds. We'd play in the snow together and she'd chase me down the hill as I sledded down it (and always take my hat off my head and run off with it). She'd sit at the edge of the pond as I skated, watching me. And she adored swimming, so I'd bring her with me in the summer when I went to spend the day with C, who lived on a lake. She'd swim out to the dock with us, clamber up onto it, and jump off again whenever we'd dive. She was great, and after a stint through obedience school, even my grandmother loved her.
This is my first horse, Gayle. Princess Gayla is her show name. She's a Quarter Horse/Thoroughbred cross. I'd been taking riding lessons since I was eight years old, and constantly going off down the road to bother the neighbors, who had draft horses. I'd spend entire weekends at the stable where I took riding lessons - Highland Dressage Center - mucking out, and cooling horses, and grooming, and cleaning tack. I was horse mad. I'd read any horse book I could get my hands on. And I read and re-read the Pony Club Manual so often the spine of the book was destroyed. I think I was twelve when my grandmother started asking me questions like "What kind of horse would you have, if you could have one?" and "What kinds of things do you do to take care of a horse?" I didn't twig anything until she said "Let's go for a drive." We arrived at a stable I'd never been to before, about ten minutes away from our house. My grandmother said the stable owner was going to help find a good horse for me, and this was where I was going to keep it. I was absolutely ecstatic. I made fast friends with the other little girls who kept their horses there. Our ponies were going to be "best friends". We would go to Pony Club Camp together. The stable owner tracked down Gayle for us, and she was the best first horse. Patient and well trained, with abilities not beyond my own to cope with, but with plenty of scope to grow. I learned how to jump with her, and went through my D trials in Pony Club with her. I learned all about the caring of a horse, from regular worming to borium shoes in winter. She was sweet.
I love this picture. This is Mel, two horses later. He was the last horse I owned. His show name is "Sistookah's Holiday", and I have no idea how they got "Melvin" out of that. I'm leaning forward in the picture because I'm trying to get him on the bit. For the first few months I had him he would test me periodically, but in the end we established a good working relationship. I went to Pony Club Camp with him, took my C ratings, got him over his fear of water, got his jumping under control (he'd go over an 18" fence like it was six feet), and we became wonderful friends. He'd follow me around the barnyard with no lead in sight (which is anathema, but I did it then anyway). I'd sit backwards on his back in his stall in the winter, lie down with my head on his rump, and cover over with a horse blanket. I'd hold conversations with the other girls who were doing the same thing on their horses. In the summertime I'd sit the same way on him as he grazed in the field, and read a book. He had a very solid personality. And he adored to *run*. Which worked out well, because I did too.
This is such a sweet picture of my grandmother. I'm barely seventeen in this picture, and it's my wedding day (oof - Check out those eyebrows!). That morning I was awake at 4:00, and my grandmother was already up and making coffee. We sat together for a few minutes, talking about pretty much nothing. I do remember her scolding me for putting my sneakers in the dryer to dry. The thumping was sure to disturb my aunt and uncle, up from Long Island for the wedding. She patted my hand and told me to have a good time that day. My bridesmaid and maid of honor (X(m)'s sister) had spent the night, and we left at 9:00 to get our hair done. We stopped at X(m)'s house on the way to the hotel, and he was very reticent and didn't want to talk, or spend a moment alone. He hadn't wanted to the night before, either, when the bunch of us were hanging out together. I chalked it up to nervousness then, but now I don't know. At any rate, the entire wedding party was under age, so the hotel staff stocked our honeymoon suite with sparkling cider. After the wedding X(m) and I finally got rid of the best man (who was hanging around for some strange reason), got a pizza at Little Caesar's, and went to the ocean. We spent two weeks driving down the East Coast, hanging out in Florida and learning how to sail, going to Epcot, driving back up the coast and spending some time around Maryland. It was a good time, if a little freaky for a girl just turned seventeen to suddenly have a husband and more freedom than she knew what to do with. I was a young idiot, aspiring to be a fool, back then.
I adore this picture of Calvin and I. It was during our first trip to Maine, about two months after we got together. It was a dream come true for me, taking him to the place where I grew up. I'd dreamed about that moment for a long time, and I remember every detail of our drive from the airport to my grandmother's house. It was a combination of being excited to be home after being gone two years, and being there with Calvin, and being with Calvin at all. What a wonderful vacation that was. We partied at the Old Port, and went to the ocean, and visited my sister and her family. We laid around at Grandma's doing nothing, and drove up the coast to spend the night in Bar Harbor. We went to the top of Cadillac Mountain, and took a whale watching cruise. We took walks at night to look at the stars, and I took him to all my childhood haunts. Calvin even painted my grandmother's porch for her, which deed instantly catapulted him to "wonderful young man" status. My sister and her husband thought he was great, too (and still do). This picture was taken during one of our family's traditional lobster cookouts. I love it because it captures a moment in motion. Calvin was talking to my uncle, I was hugging him and listening (and this is a typical pose for Calvin and I - I'm always coming up behind him and wrapping my arms around him. I like to smell his neck), and my sister hollered my name. I looked over, and she snapped the picture. The next year Calvin and I took the kids back east with us, and it was another whirlwind vacation of touring around, and going to amusement parks, and the ocean, and out to eat, and hanging with Grandma. We did another lobster cookout, and hung out with my sister and her bohemian kids. As soon as possible we'll go back again. Marie and I already have plans to spend lots of time there during my Sabbatical. With Calvin, too, for as long as he can take off work. But I'll plan it for during Marie's summer vacation, and we'll schlepp around Maine together.
Okay, enough with the way-back machine already.
I'm loving my readers. You've stuck through my complaints about the Home Improvement Project From Hell (whose links so pervade the site that I shall not bother to post any of them here), and you celebrated with me and my family when we finally finished. You've provided me with technical feedback when I yell that I'm stuck. You've participated in my missions, given me positive feedback about my entries, told me when I've made you laugh, and told me when I've made you cry. There really is no higher compliment than provoking an emotional response from a reader.
I've never ever, not once, received an article of "hate mail", or even anyone being moderately annoyed or even a little bit rude. It's all been positive, and sunshiny, and good. And in reading other people's journals, I realize I'm fortunate in this. No one could ask for better readers.
And I couldn't be in better company, either. My links page keeps growing and growing with the jewels that are strewn across the Internet in the form of on-line journals. They make me laugh, and cry, and think. I am a member of a very select, very cerebral, very intense group.
And I'm enjoying myself immensely.
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