Today Is Tuesday
Mar. 30th, 2004 04:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dancinghorseEvery morning when I get up, what with the life of a freelance writer/horsebreeder being intimately connected with the hours of the day but not with days or dates, I first run through which day of the week it is. On Tuesday, the theme song comes from the old Mickey Mouse Club: "Today Is Tuesday..."
And today is Tuesday. The car is fixed. I think. It should make it to Phoenix (and Gilbert and Tempe) this weekend for Famous Author Things.
Reality is asserting itself, after a fashion. Confusion is turning into order--friends gathering (lunch with Christy and Janni today), Kath's affairs being settled by a group at the apartment, everything slowly settling itself into a new arrangement, minus one of its familiar elements. Life goes on in a very literal way.
Reality on the farm will stay in flux for another week because of the Famous Author Thing plus the friend getting full knee replacement thing. I'm getting that antsiness I like to feel: wanting to get back to my real work of writing books and riding horses. I'll be -ready- when all the foofaraw is over.
So will the horses. We are already dealing with accusations of Abuse and Neglect from the resident workaholics. Keed was happy to get his birthday ride yesterday but sulky not to have had my undivided attention. He wants it all day, every day, of course, as do they all, but this, he says, is Right Over The Top. Pooka is oogling those big brown eyes at me and making his ears curl even more adorably than usual, in hopes that I'll come and ride him. Capria just sighs. And Camilla the War Mare stalks over to the gate and Glares. Want Out, she says. Want Out Now.
Unfortunately they don't understand the concept of "Next week for sure, guys." Horses are all about RIGHT NOW. So they have a call in to the World Horse Union, and I suffer the opprobrium of the equine masses.
And today is Tuesday. The car is fixed. I think. It should make it to Phoenix (and Gilbert and Tempe) this weekend for Famous Author Things.
Reality is asserting itself, after a fashion. Confusion is turning into order--friends gathering (lunch with Christy and Janni today), Kath's affairs being settled by a group at the apartment, everything slowly settling itself into a new arrangement, minus one of its familiar elements. Life goes on in a very literal way.
Reality on the farm will stay in flux for another week because of the Famous Author Thing plus the friend getting full knee replacement thing. I'm getting that antsiness I like to feel: wanting to get back to my real work of writing books and riding horses. I'll be -ready- when all the foofaraw is over.
So will the horses. We are already dealing with accusations of Abuse and Neglect from the resident workaholics. Keed was happy to get his birthday ride yesterday but sulky not to have had my undivided attention. He wants it all day, every day, of course, as do they all, but this, he says, is Right Over The Top. Pooka is oogling those big brown eyes at me and making his ears curl even more adorably than usual, in hopes that I'll come and ride him. Capria just sighs. And Camilla the War Mare stalks over to the gate and Glares. Want Out, she says. Want Out Now.
Unfortunately they don't understand the concept of "Next week for sure, guys." Horses are all about RIGHT NOW. So they have a call in to the World Horse Union, and I suffer the opprobrium of the equine masses.
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no subject
Date: 2004-03-30 07:13 pm (UTC)I -am- Ruled by Cats.
I placated the Ladies this evening. Capria had a longe, which pleased her--it was Work, after all. Camilla again demanded Out, and got Out. Even better in her mind, she got Out in the hay pile, where she happily pigged out while I did the evening chores.
In the Do Not Do This At Home department: transferring young stallion (in spring hormones) from one pen to another by route that necessitated leading him three feet away from young mare's ample behind. There was some arching of neck and a flared nostril, but he knows better than to put a foot (or any other part of his anatomy) out of line while being led by Mom Who Must Be Obeyed. She, being a mare in the throes of devouring all the available alfalfa, ignored him completely.