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dancinghorseThe return to reality after a time away is always a little surreal, as one eases back into the routine and faces the things one shut in the Denial Cupboard and appreciates the little bits of the familiar that make the place home.
This is by way of saying I'm about to tackle the mentee backlog, the proofs due next week, and the assorted lesser bits that have been waiting for my ka to finish trundling back from Dallas. I've been escaping into writing--a very productive form of work evasion in that it results in a deadline met and a ms. delivered. Soon. I hope. We're past the scrape-and-slog and into the obsessive racking up of pages. Always a good sign.
The Mountain's Call, supposedly out in mass market in September, has shipped as of now--my author copies arrived this week. Those who have been waiting for the paperback, go forth and buy many copies. Buy them for all your friends. Shower them on your relatives. The final volume of that series, Shattered Dance, is still an October trade paperback, so there will be a bit of wait for that still. But fear not, there will be a second series; book four is due at the New Year.
Today is a Rainy Day: so rare in the desert as to be almost nonexistent. It's cool, cloudy, drizzly. Some areas have been inundated with inches of rain, and I should go out later and see if the Pantano is in flood. We've had a lot less here, just enough to make mud and cancel the morning's lessons. The desert is heaving a huge sigh. The monsoon continues to be good and strong, a month in, which is a major blessing in this period of millennial drought.
Yesterday as I was preparing to longe Pandora, the arena started to run and flap everywhere. It was wall-to-wall quail families, the same color as the ground: mothers and fathers and regiments of youngsters of various sizes. We had almost no babies in our bone-dry spring, but as soon as the rains came, the families started getting bigger. There are baby bunnies here and there, too, feeding on the new green. And flowers. We had nothing all spring, just bare brown earth, and now it's popping out with wild zinnia and brittlebush and paperflower and desert marigold. There's grass--springing back from the dead--and the bare sticks of ocotillo are covered with little teardrop-shaped leaves.
Riding since the clinic has been most interesting. The hand thing that didn't really make sense with a horse I didn't know, is coming clear with my own horses. I know their quirks and rhythms, and I know what they need or expect; I can experiment. I'm discovering that I have to make a synthesis. Get on, do TL exercises with the seat, then when that's plugged in, ask for the engagement and keep the engagement from the very start of the ride. It's a major seat exercise to do that hand massage, and for Pandora it's a great help to her balance and softness. She really appreciates that additional aid.
Capria is interesting in a very different way. For the most part she wants my hand very quiet with a clear supporting contact; give her that, and the seat and leg bringing her into engagement, and she puts herself on the bit. The problem spots--walk to trot and anything to do with the canter--are where the hand thing makes a great difference. It fills in a hole in the support system. But it has to be very very soft and brief, and as soon as she responds, I have to stop. Too active or strong a hand makes her go llama. She wants seat and then leg and then only if those don't provide enough support, hand.
Haven't tried da Pook yet; he had the rained-out lesson today. Saturday.
TL says all of this is a continuum and hand has to follow a developed seat. If you just sit there seesawing the reins, the horse drops his back and you don't get the effect. You have to use your seat and legs to engage him first, then ask with the hands. It's a subtlety: a thin line between full use of the aids and the terrible sin of hand-riding or riding from front to back.
For sure after Capria was done, her back was pumped and she was all soft--big deal for her. She has a back like a hammock when she's not ridden right.
I think I learned something at the clinic. Yes.
This is by way of saying I'm about to tackle the mentee backlog, the proofs due next week, and the assorted lesser bits that have been waiting for my ka to finish trundling back from Dallas. I've been escaping into writing--a very productive form of work evasion in that it results in a deadline met and a ms. delivered. Soon. I hope. We're past the scrape-and-slog and into the obsessive racking up of pages. Always a good sign.
The Mountain's Call, supposedly out in mass market in September, has shipped as of now--my author copies arrived this week. Those who have been waiting for the paperback, go forth and buy many copies. Buy them for all your friends. Shower them on your relatives. The final volume of that series, Shattered Dance, is still an October trade paperback, so there will be a bit of wait for that still. But fear not, there will be a second series; book four is due at the New Year.
Today is a Rainy Day: so rare in the desert as to be almost nonexistent. It's cool, cloudy, drizzly. Some areas have been inundated with inches of rain, and I should go out later and see if the Pantano is in flood. We've had a lot less here, just enough to make mud and cancel the morning's lessons. The desert is heaving a huge sigh. The monsoon continues to be good and strong, a month in, which is a major blessing in this period of millennial drought.
Yesterday as I was preparing to longe Pandora, the arena started to run and flap everywhere. It was wall-to-wall quail families, the same color as the ground: mothers and fathers and regiments of youngsters of various sizes. We had almost no babies in our bone-dry spring, but as soon as the rains came, the families started getting bigger. There are baby bunnies here and there, too, feeding on the new green. And flowers. We had nothing all spring, just bare brown earth, and now it's popping out with wild zinnia and brittlebush and paperflower and desert marigold. There's grass--springing back from the dead--and the bare sticks of ocotillo are covered with little teardrop-shaped leaves.
Riding since the clinic has been most interesting. The hand thing that didn't really make sense with a horse I didn't know, is coming clear with my own horses. I know their quirks and rhythms, and I know what they need or expect; I can experiment. I'm discovering that I have to make a synthesis. Get on, do TL exercises with the seat, then when that's plugged in, ask for the engagement and keep the engagement from the very start of the ride. It's a major seat exercise to do that hand massage, and for Pandora it's a great help to her balance and softness. She really appreciates that additional aid.
Capria is interesting in a very different way. For the most part she wants my hand very quiet with a clear supporting contact; give her that, and the seat and leg bringing her into engagement, and she puts herself on the bit. The problem spots--walk to trot and anything to do with the canter--are where the hand thing makes a great difference. It fills in a hole in the support system. But it has to be very very soft and brief, and as soon as she responds, I have to stop. Too active or strong a hand makes her go llama. She wants seat and then leg and then only if those don't provide enough support, hand.
Haven't tried da Pook yet; he had the rained-out lesson today. Saturday.
TL says all of this is a continuum and hand has to follow a developed seat. If you just sit there seesawing the reins, the horse drops his back and you don't get the effect. You have to use your seat and legs to engage him first, then ask with the hands. It's a subtlety: a thin line between full use of the aids and the terrible sin of hand-riding or riding from front to back.
For sure after Capria was done, her back was pumped and she was all soft--big deal for her. She has a back like a hammock when she's not ridden right.
I think I learned something at the clinic. Yes.
