ON YOUR MARK…GET SET…OH NO!: My High School Track Team Adventure

I'm in the center of the middle row (circa 1976).

I hate to run.  Always have.  My side cramps and I’m so slow you could clock me with a calendar. 

Except for being “good” at softball, (I had to hit home runs just to get around the bases) I’m no

athlete.  Back in high school, my best friends Julie and Carole talked me into joining them for

track “try-outs” to get in shape for swimsuit season.  (A couple decades later they both are 

size 6 and still run daily.  I park as close to the supermarket as possible.)  I’m not sure I 

officially forgave them for the hours of blood, sweat and tears I spent training, especially after

they quit!  They apparently got into the shape they wanted the first week.  I never did.  

I don’t remember why I stuck with it.  I must not have quit in time and they needed bodies...ANY bodies.  Actually, my dad wouldn't let me quit.  Something about building character I think.  Of course, I wasn’t “first” team.  Just an also ran…pardon the pun.   I didn’t get one of the new “cool” powder blue uniforms.  I got a ratty old one that was dark royal blue with a dingy warm up suit; making it even more obvious I was a leftover.  The first several practices we had to run what seemed like a hundred miles through the countryside…always uphill.  I just prayed I’d make it back before dark.  Sometimes I would turn back early to even do that!  If somebody ran or drove by that I needed to impress, I’d run like a regular person until they disappeared and then nearly drop over.  I made a feeble attempt at shot-put and discus so I wouldn’t have to run anymore.  That didn’t always work as I was still occasionally pressed into service in hurdles.  Since I was a cheerleader that year (lots of spirit and a big mouth), I tried to look at it as a series of bucket jumps.  This would have been easier had I owned cleats, which I didn’t.  But, I actually beat someone once anyway!

At a really important meet against the “big city” kids, (if you can call Zanesville, OH a big

 city)one of our relay team members got hurt.  Now, I don’t recall the point system, but apparently our team was desperate.  They needed ME. 

I was happily lounging around when a few of our top team members came up and asked if I

would be on the mile relay team.  I almost choked on my Fritos.  “Who me?”  To seal the deal,

they said I could walk it if I wanted.  I just had to finish.  For the first time ever, I felt like 

“running” (AWAY, that is.)  I was shamed into a yes by visions of teamwork, apple pie and the 

American way.

It was only a quarter mile…just one lap around the track.  No big deal, heh, heh.  Since it was the last leg, I at least couldn’t get lapped.   It was also the end of the meet so, thankfully, there weren’t many people watching.  That measly one lap seemed like it took forever.   Of course, my pride made me run as fast as I could and I finished the race.  I bet it was the slowest lap time ever recorded in the history of high school sports.  We got the points we needed and for the team (and everybody else it seemed) it was quickly forgotten.  No ticker tape parade or anything.  Like it was just expected…

But I remember it because I actually finished a running race and helped a team I wasn’t even qualified to be on.  Every time I flip open my yearbook and see myself in the center of the team photo, (with the other dingy warm up suits) I remember.  And now, I even laugh.  Jul and Carole, I forgive you!

-30-

"Harley and Me: The Story of a Girl and Her Hog"

This is Sally:

She is a 2008 Softail Deluxe with around 700 miles on her.  She is very lonely in the garage with only the Road King and a couple dirt bikes for company.  As pretty as she is, it's time for her to find a new home where she will be loved.

Here is the story of how she became mine:

I know why dogs smile as their ears flap and their tongues loll to the side when they stick their heads out of car windows in the wind.  It’s freeing, possibly buggy, but freeing.  When you are on a motorcycle you feel the wind in your face and actually become a part of the scenery, instead of viewing it from an enclosed box.  You are so much more aware of your surroundings and the adrenaline flows (which could be the survival instinct kicking in!)  You smell things both good (bakeries, cookouts, etc.) and bad (road kill skunks, baking URPs—unidentifiable road pizzas, exhaust fumes, factory emissions, manure spreading day at the farm, etc.) but it is invigorating.  Here’s how I became a “Women of the Hog” member.

Though my husband Mark has ridden most of his life, I am a middle-aged gal who had only been on a motorcycle once or twice briefly.  He always rolled down the windows (no matter what the weather) to listen to a Harley pull up beside us.  He would take it in and say “Ahh, rolling thunder.”  But, then he started bringing home catalogs and watching all sorts of bike shows on TV.  Thanks West Coast Choppers, American Choppers, Milwaukee Iron and the rest of the bike shows on the Discovery Channel! 

Then he ordered his bike against my better judgment.  I was mortified that this was a fool’s errand that had to end badly.  Most of my family and friends weren’t terribly supportive either.  My friends in the medical field call them “donorcycles.”  Others regaled me with nasty accident and death stories.  (Like I didn’t know you could die.)  But, Mark does what he wants, so he ordered one anyway. 

The day we were to pick up his black Harley Road King, complete with what I call my “throne,” we bought helmets.  At least he believes in them!  I followed him home in the safety of my car.  He looked very happy.  Of course, I am always supposed to share in his enthusiasm, so I bravely joined him when we got home. 

It wasn’t so bad after I learned the “rules.”  Basically, they are no leaning, especially when stopped (the bike weighs 700 pounds without us), very little weight shifting while going slow, put your hair in a pony tail unless you want it slapping your face and don’t wear collars either for the same reason.  You will have to shift weight and leg position periodically to ward off a stiff behind.  No matter what, it will eventually happen and you need to stop and walk around a couple minutes.  Sunglasses are a necessity for glare and stuff going in your eyes.  Even in 70 degree weather you will want to wear a jacket.  Never wear shorts (those pipes get hot and Heaven forbid you skid, jeans and/or leathers offer some protection.)  Wear a heeled over-the-ankle boot for protection and to avoid your feet getting caught in the pegs.  Riding in the back is actually more comfortable because the driver breaks a lot of the wind and gets hit with most of the bugs, etc.  I trust Mark to be careful, so I just relax, daydream and look at the scenery (and spot deer or other hazards.)  I have nearly fallen asleep which is not really a good idea.  It’s nice for just the two of us to get away, though it’s not inducive to much conversation (or for that matter, getting chores done.)

Another little piece of advice is if you aren’t a  “professional” and plan to spit-shine that bike, do not use Armour-All on the tires (causes slipping in turns) and especially not on the seat!  We had a guy do Mark’s bike and he said he knew not to do the tires; we just assumed he would know the seat.  Well, first time out, I swung my leg over and proceeded to sail off the other side.  Not a pretty picture.  Fortunately, I was riding in the back and hubby was holding the bike up.

Another interesting aspects of being a “biker” is you are “one with the other bikers.”  This sounds hokey, but no matter what your social status, price of your bike, tooth-to-tattoo ratio (an emergency room standing joke about those with more teeth and less tattoos die much more often than vice-versa), you are in an equal “brotherhood” on the road.  Other bikers recognize you and wave like long lost friends.  I thought this was quaint until I realized it is not only arm exhausting, especially in the Spring when everyone is first out, but you have to take your hand off the grip to do it if you are in front.  My hubby has down the “cool” hand open and down to the side and nod kind of acknowledgement.  If you don’t wave, it looks rude.  So, do I wreck or look rude????  Well, I was raised to be polite…

We have nine covered bridges within a few miles of our home.  We frequently ride through them and I always thought it was odd that Mark would honk.  I thought he just liked hearing the loud echo (like the bike wasn’t enough?) but he later told me that he did that to “scare away the elephants.”  I know for a fact it works because I have yet to see one!

Then came the fateful day when Mark got the bright idea to get me my own bike.  (I think it was to get me off his, but he denies this.  It is hard to ride with any passenger though.)  I got my permit thinking well, if something happens and Mark can’t drive, perhaps I should be able to “limp the bike home.”   Then came a car wreck (not my fault man!) and my arm was messed up for the summer.  (Not to mention visions of “what if that was on a bike?”)  I put the whole riding thing on hold, but hubby didn’t. 

One day I walked into a Harley-Davidson dealership.  Mark said, “Pick out any bike here and it’s yours.”  I went for the smallest and cheapest and he said I wouldn’t really want to ride that after awhile, to go bigger.  Since I know nothing about them, I went for pretty one that was low to the ground so I could hold it up.  I chose a crimson red and majorly chromed Softail® Deluxe.  It is sharp, very old school-looking and oh-so-girlie.  I get comments on how pretty it is all the time.  It’s to easy to balance, not top heavy like many bikes.  I named her “Sally” so I could “Ride, Sally, Ride.”  What did it matter that I didn’t even know how to start it?

Let the games begin!  If you have never had a “near death” experience (and want one), try learning to ride a motorcycle!  If you aren’t a card-carrying Christian, you will be!  My dear friend Barb said, “Well, at least the kids have a shot of one parent living.”  Cheery, but true.  You double the chances of one wrecking, but halve the chance of you both dying when you are on separate bikes.

My first problem was steering.  They don’t just whip around like a dirt bike or bicycle.  I found it nearly impossible to turn right and stay on my side of the road (or turn left and stay on the road at all.)  I panicked easily and this seemed like a perfectly good reason.  I began not turning left hard enough and teetering on the edge of the road nearly slipping off (actually a couple inches down) to the gravel or cinder berm.  I don’t know how I avoided falling, but I did manage to scrape weeds and get them stuck on my running board and petals.  Mark helplessly watched me in his mirror (I liked to follow) and said to himself, “Either she’ll live or she’ll die.”  This is one of several “Oh s__t!” moments.

Next, I hit the high side of a curve on a busy state route in the country.  I went slightly left of center (with an oncoming car of course) and recovered by “beautifully” swerving back to my side.  I wouldn’t have been busted by my hubby except he heard the scrape of my engine guard.  We went directly home and Sally sat in the garage.  I was banned from driving her until I took the “Rider’s Edge” course.

If you don’t learn another thing from me, I beg you to pay attention now.  If you ride (or plan to ride) a motorcycle, please WEAR A HELMET EVERY TIME.  Next, enroll in a

RIDER’S EDGE COURSE.  They have them for beginners and experienced riders.  They are offered by the state and many local Harley-Davidson dealerships.  It’s a four day intensive class which builds confidence and safety maneuver skills.  The state offered one is cheap, but you have to supply the bike, there are no cushy classrooms with snacks and they have many students. 

The class I took was from the Harley dealer where I got my bike.    The class is pricey, but there are many perks.  First, you don’t have to deal with transporting a bike.  They use Buells that are meticulously cared for.  There are only 6 students per class.  There is plenty of one on one time with the instructor (who often is the same instructor who does the state-run class.)  They have a comfy classroom complete with snacks and clean restroom.  There is also a nice graduation ceremony at the end.  When you send in the completion certificate, Harley gives you a $50 gift card.  With either location, if you pass the final exam you will get a card that lets you skip the regular test at the BMV. 

Of course, fairly early on the first day of the hands-on part I managed to go off into the mud.  It is really hard to get a bike out of that.  Even though a Buell is small, it took four

guys and a piece of plywood to get it back on the course.  How embarrassing!  I failed to adhere to often repeated command “right thumb, right now!” that refers to the off switch.  I told you I panic easily!  I did it while practicing “the box.”  It’s a really tiny area they

expect you to do figure 8’s and turn around.  I was sure the rest of the weekend I would fail this part of the test, but amazingly to me (and the instructor) I did it flawlessly during the final test!  The key is to turn your head where you are going and the bike will follow.  Really! 

But that wasn’t the only time I hit the mud.  The second day I wasn’t able to get stopped in time, but at least it was only a couple feet.  I never did lay it down, but I am sure I will someday.  (That’s why hubby installed the engine guard.  That is worth every penny of the $150ish bucks when you consider the damage it saves to the bike and maybe your leg.)

After getting my license, I took it slow.  So slow that after 4 years of owning my bike, I only have around 700 miles on it.  Some of that is Mark’s!  I finally went on an empty stretch of highway, but hey, I did pass the one tractor trailer!

We live a few miles from a Honda Gold-Wing plant.  Every summer they have a Honda Homecoming weekend with a bike parade.  They are generous enough to allow any bike to participate.  I don’t know how many bikes showed up, but they went on for miles. 

Now Gold Wings are really nice bikes.  If you want comfort and most of the amenities of

a car, they are great.  However, they are very quiet and frankly the parade gets boring

with only honking horns.  All down the parade route folks would give us Harley folks the

 “signal” to roll on the throttle and make some noise.  I obliged until my engine got hot. 

You have to admit, they sound pretty cool!

If you are thinking about taking this on as a hobby, go for it!  But be careful!  Here’s hoping that I won’t really have any reason to write another bike story because my riding skills (and luck) keep the shiny side up!  As for me, I think a sporty convertible car is more my speed.

Until next time,
Gale

Are There Skeletons In YOUR closet??? You'd Be Surprised!

Last year for Christmas I thought I'd do a family tree for my family and Mark's.  Like everything I do, it got way out of proportion.  If you are kicking around the idea of finding out "Who's Your (great, great, great, etc.) Daddy," here are some thoughts (if not actually advice LOL):

When someone says it's the journey and not the result, they are full of it.  I want results and it ain't as easy as those commercials for ancestry.com.  They would have you believe with the click of a mouse you will find out everything there is to know (and then some...  often way too much information) about your family history.

I got sucked in on the free two week trial thinking I could knock this out in no time.  Well, I spent around 40 hours online those two weeks and was nowhere near finished.  They know this, so you give your  credit card number and pay $14.95 a month.  If you want foreign country info it's even more.  You have to cancel or they will keep renewing.  I figured I'd surely make it in one month.  I worked like a fiend and finally had to quit at an arbitrary century so I would have time to try and fill in the blanks.  Barely made it and there are huge holes.   I also had the luxury of my Grandma Hinkston's completed tree, done by one of her nephews.  That was 1/4 of mine done right there!  Here is a photo of my stylin' Great Grandma Lula LaVina Wisner Shaw (Grandma Hinkston's mom.)  What fashion sense I inherited!   Downplayed, yet over the top!

Some folks may find this fun, but I really didn't.  Probably had something to do with my self-imposed deadline.  But it was kind of interesting.  Things I learned:

1.  Everyone goes back to someone famous, someone infamous and someone ugly.  In my case,  if all is correct, I go back to King Charlemagne and a Concubine, many European monarchs (inbred beyond belief), a scribe to George Washington at Valley Forge (verified),  the Hershey family (justifying for good my addiction to chocolate), Pocahontas's half-sister and Chief Eagle Plume who wiped out a village of settlers because of John Smith.  One unfortunate nobleman, Lord Dacre, was executed because he was deer hunting on someone else's land.  During the "getaway" someone accidentally died, so the whole hunting party was hanged.  As for ugly, get a load of some of these folks!  It's a miracle I'm so good-looking LOL!

 Margaret Fiennes

 Imma of Swabia

Baroness Mary Neville

2.  Be prepared to be confused.  I wound up using a color coded system and nearly ran out of colors!  Also, there are millions (OK, hundreds) of people with the same name.  You will go cross-eyed double checking those tiny public records.  In my tree alone, I have 4 great+ grandfathers named Valentine.  Who names a boy Valentine????  My maiden name is Williams.  If you are a Jones, Smith or Williams, good luck!


3.  If you give this hard earned library of information to your relatives, they will have no idea of how much work it was and no idea of what to do with it.  Just don't expect gushing thanks.  You will also spend a small fortune printing it, so have them go to ancestry.com for free and they can do it themselves.


4.  There will be many dead ends.  Let them die or you will go nuts.  Also, you will find impossibilities and other landmines.  It is pretty difficult to have children after you die or before you were born.  If they supposedly had children while under the age of 15, I threw it out.  Even if true, that's just gross.  You will think you are finished, then push one last "shaking leaf" hint and wind up on a day-long labyrinth of a mess.


5.  If you do your husband's family, you will have endless things to make fun of!  I call Mark "Loser" because every single civil war period relative of his was a Confederate (his great+ grandpa was Robert E. Lee's brother.  Their father sold the land all down the Potomac to the government, but kept Arlington Cemetery for the family.  When Robert lost the war, they put the cemetery in his front yard so he could look out every day at the damage he'd done.  The house on the hill behind Kennedy's grave is the Lee house.  He also had mostly lower-ranking "red-shirt" types in that army.  As you may have guessed, my family all fought for the North and were highly ranked!  He also had some hilarious names in his tree--my favorite is Aristides Cornelius Landstreet.  Geesh, why didn't we name our son Taylor after him?  (Actually, he did try to convince me to name him Early after a legendary Prince Early in their family.  I say legendary, because I never found a shred of evidence that there was one.  Also, when one dies they are known as late---so he would wind up "the late Early."  No way.)


Well, if I haven't scared you, try it and see what you find.  I'd love to hear!

Until next time,
Gale

Oh Wacky Day! The Good, The Bad and The Sad--Rest in Peace Corn Row Tucker (1997-2011)

If one didn't know that we are basically a normal family running a normal household, you would surely think we were dysfunctional.  I don't know if I've always lived with this much drama or if blogging just makes me focus on it.  Could it be that greater powers just want me to have something interesting to write about?

This adventure is once again about a disappearing dog.  This is I hope the end of a really bad streak.  We are competent folks who keep dogs fenced, penned or under lock and key.  But "s--t happens" and it seems to happen here.  The folks who follow or at least look this blog up often were told this would be a humor column.  I promise to get back to that ASAP.

Thursday, October 7th was a nice, uneventful sunny day here in The Buckeye State.  That evening I decided to put the chickens away before my yoga class because it's hard to find them in the dark.  I was in the usual hurry which causes most of life's disasters.  Apparently, I either didn't shut the gate all the way or more likely I didn't get the snap in good enough (the gates have started sagging.)  Right after class I put out Tucker and Karma (13 year old nut case Jack Russell) and left to pick up Taylor from the Homecoming Parade.

When we returned a half hour later it was pitch black.  I saw Karma standing at the front gate and decided to put them away as Tuck hates being outside since his series of strokes and illnesses.  I hollered for him (stupid because he's 90% deaf and nearly that blind.) and no Tuck.  So, I walk around the yard thinking he was "stuck" somewhere.  He couldn't back up and would walk into corners and stand.  When I saw the side gate cracked open, my stomach sank.  Not again!!!!

The one thing about Tucker was his predictability.  He escaped at every opportunity, but we were usually on his heels and he always went across the street to the neighbor's old barns.  (Takes a lot of the guesswork out and saves time, if not aggravation.)  So, I grabbed a lead and went over.  Here I am calling for a deaf/blind dog in the dark.  Mark, of course, was working on the East Coast, but planning on coming home the next day.  There are loads of old groundhog holes and he could hole up and I'd never find him. 

He was limping that day, so he couldn't have gone far.  I walked around a bit without a working flashlight and decided he would probably sleep until daylight.  So, I drove the perfunctory "ditch tour" around the neighborhood and didn't see him anywhere.  I drove to the back of our property and shined the headlights by the pond and fields.  I guess there is a reason Mark and I only have 4 wheel drive vehicles.  While out driving, I reported to that fellow that walks daily there was another missing dog.  He replied, "I'm never gonna let you watch my dogs!"  Ha Ha--he acted like he was kidding, but I doubt it.  I don't run a boarding kennel anyway.

I got up the next morning at the crack of dawn and set out.  I actually put on appropriate clothes for the briers and poison ivy, but my tennis shoes were soaked within a few minutes.  Duh.  I carried around some bread and took Karma (on a lead) to maybe flush him out as he hated her.  I did what Mark said and followed the creek and went through the barns (at least the parts I could reach.)  A couple hours of this and I decided Mark could look when he got home a few hours later.  I did make another drive around the neighborhood and the back of our property, circling the pond again.

I was taking a cold shower :( to ward off any poison ivy) when the phone rang.  I heard Vivian (a friend who also happens to have my rooster James Brown) on the machine.  She said she thought she had my dog at the shelter.  I sort of dried off and called her back.  The most embarrassing words to have to say were "Which one?"  Deja Vu all over again....

She said she was sure it was Ivy.    Now, she had only seen Ivy once a couple months ago and I don't even think she knew she was missing.  Ivy is microchipped, but they skipped all that and looked us up in the phone book.  This has been the only reason to have a land line that I can think of.  I called Mark and took off.

I walk into the exam room and all I saw was her nose and I knew it was her.  Completely pissed off about being in a wall crate, weak, skinny and filthy.  Apparently, someone dropped her off at this guy's place a week before and he had kept her, tried to feed her and give her a bath.  My bet is that the first person also picked her up and was hoping to find reward signs.  (I decided not to do them because everyone within a couple miles knows little white escapee dogs were likely ours and I figured a coyote got her.)  When the reward wasn't forthcoming, then they dumped her as did guy number two who likely thought she would die on him as she was wobbly.

I plopped down a $100 bill and asked it that would cover some Frontline as she wasn't getting in my car without it!  They did and I don't mind a bit making donations to them, but normally I prefer to do it under different circumstances.

The kids and Mark were thrilled.  Once I got her settled, it was time to focus on Tucker.  Mark got home and looked next door and said he was sure he wasn't there.  He would know as he hunted that dog all of  Tucker's life.  I had to leave to take Truly, my Japanese Chin, to her co-owners for a show weekend, so I split. 

As I made a right down my road, the oddest thing happened.  Now, it could be nothing, but still it is freaky.  A solid white bird started to fly alongside me as I drove down the road.  I wouldn't have noticed, but I've never seen an all white wild bird around here.  It flew for maybe 50 yards, then veered off over a field.  But at that moment, I just knew Tucker was dead.  At that exact time Mark saw a whitish thing floating in the pond, but way out in the middle.  There wasn't a rowboat and Mark stared for 15 minutes and decided it must just be debris. 

When I got back Mark had left for the football game and my friend (and pond owner) called saying she had Tucker.  Bless their hearts, they (she and her husband) saw him floating beside their dock and fished him out, bagged him and put him in their barn so varments wouldn't get to him.  That is a real friend.

The next morning we gathered for a moment to remember him.  I will be writing his obit soon, but it's too long to do now.  Mark said he likely didn't suffer long because he was weak and mentally gone.  We were discussing putting him down just days before.  Maybe Tuck heard us.  He was the most independent dog you could imagine and dying on his own is quite fitting.  If you are prone to crying don't scroll to the photo below:

Mark told Ivy it was nice of her to attend...  Until next time, take care! Gale

Multiple Working Terrier Champion, Bronze Medallion Award Winner

Corn Row Tucker of Darby Creek

July 7, 1997- October 7, 2011

Back to the Future: Retirement Dilemma Revisited (Part 2)

Here is the rest of the story...

I got a comment from a follower who also plans to work forever.  I told her it would normally be comforting to be in the same boat, but in this case it's the Titanic...

My OPERS retirement statement just arrived.  Woooo Hoooo, after 10 years of substitute teaching I am only 13 days shy of 5 years of credit!  I also have a tiny bit of Social Security, which in my opinion is the world's most elaborate pyramid scheme. Unfortunately, people have been having fewer kids, so whose gonna be on the bottom row supporting us?  What an oxymoron!  It sure isn't secure and I heard scuttlebutt that Congress is thinking about extending the retirement age two more years.  If you read Part 1, you will recall the AARP retirement calculator suggested we wait and retire until age 87.  Now it could be 89.  If you are planning a retirement party for me, you have time to actually age the wine and cheese.  Hope all of you are around to party with me at my park bench.

Maybe I will hit the lottery, providing I ever can afford to buy a ticket.  Since I've never won any kind of drawing, I will certainly be due.  People think I'm cheap when I pass on buying raffle tickets, but for me it's  a waste...I'd rather make a donation and write if off.

If the lottery doesn't work out, I will need a Plan B.  I should have been a "cougar" and married an infant who would still be able to work.  Mark is only a year and a half younger than me.  I guess I had better cut back to a half-pack a day (of Oreos).  I'd quit altogether, but let's not get crazy here.  I still have 37 more years of work you know.  I could do like every TV retirement advisor says and give up Starbucks, but I don't like coffee.  I have decided to have a talk with our dogs.  The saying "work like a dog"is also an oxymoron as they do nothing but sleep and eat (poop and pee) and in our case, disappear!

Plan C I guess would be to sell everything of value we own.  I have a house chock full of worthless Longaberger Baskets.  I sold off some of the "valuable" Beanie Babies and gave the rest to our church for the Haitian kids.  I sure do know how to pick collectibles that wind up collecting dust instead of cash.  Ask me what I am going to invest in, then don't follow my lead.  I have a several Rubbermaid containers full of Hallmark Ornaments (even was a member of the Collector's Club) and you can't give them away on Ebay.

Then there were the designer and collectible Barbie dolls.  Poor Audra got yelled at if she even touched the boxes, much less played with them.  A lot of them are on Ebay for less than I paid for them in the 90s.  They also hang out in storage containers in the basement.  If I would've taken the money and even put it in a dumb savings account I would be ahead and the basement wouldn't be so cluttered!

The all-time worst "thing" to collect has to be pets.  They eat and poop cold, hard cash.  We gave up horses thinking we were so financially "savvy" and smart to rid ourselves of the boat anchor around our neck when the board, entries, vet's, trainer's and farrier's bills went away, but we soon filled the house with dogs and kids.
At least someone else was taking care of the horses...

In a few posts, I think I will explore work options for us geriatric folks (though Taylor just promised he will be so rich and famous as a mechanical engineer/ lead guitarist that we won't have to worry)...next one will be yet another bizarre tale that is both happy and sad.  I'm not quite up to writing it yet, but come back mid-week please!

"Borrowed" from FB describing my last week...NOT my chicken LOL):

Until then,
Gale

The Queen Is Alive---Long Live Queen Ivy!!!!!

I just returned from the Union County Humane Society with Ivy the Wonder Dog!  I will post details later, but she is home after 45 days.  Thanks so much to Vivian at the shelter who only met Ivy once and remembered her, was sure she was Ivy and called right away.  Ivy is skinny, but otherwise okay.


Here is a pic of her ride home---  we must have a big "Sweet 16" party for her in November!