could, can't, can ~ just wishin'

Sunny, warm and breezy this July day... dozens of motorcycles rolling by... couldn't connect with my biker buddy for a ride so then the blues crept in. I can not get around very well in the high sun and warm air; an unfortunate reality resulting from the brain rot I live with. So down to the neglected basement, after some time pumping water from the relentless rains, I could stack firewood. As the stack took form, I got to thinking about making a list. I enjoy listing out stuff of all topics; its how I work the problem, try to see all sides before acting... This list started out as an exercise to encourage myself for the summer... it evolved into a "bucket list" of sorts; a list of can't do ~ can do kind of mantras. On a very warm, dull day like this, the can't do tasks are vivid, even cruel reminders of what abilities I've lost. But with a little out of the box thinking, for every can't do it, there is a viable, equally worthy can do it on the punch list. It was a fun process and will continue to evolve...

my bucket list:
what I can do ~ if only differently...
can't set a horse ~ can drive 'em
can't drive a motorcycle ~ can ride 2Up
can't run with my kids ~ can teach them how to play baseball
can't handle a horse ~ can teach others how to
can't paddle a boat ~ can float in a tube down river
can't do the tango ~ can slow dance with a good man
can't ski so well ~ can airboard like the wind
can't hike in the warm months ~ can ride an all terrain segway
can't cure my son's autism ~ can build him a blue berry farm
can't be an activist ~ can be an advocate
can't love forever ~ can love passionately
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you get the idea, it's not wright, it's not wrong, it's just different...
luv and peace ~ ell

the Ides of Summer

...beware the ides of summer. Those middle times when we are past the freshness and possibilities of a new season but not yet at the mellowing conclusion of a weathered season. We're not ready to reflect on our lists of do it/done that...these middle weeks and days of month and season seem so beguiling to me. Today was a test of treading water when the shore of my departure is too far gone to return to yet the shore I'm striving for is too far to be seen. All that means is, its easy to give up hope when treading water in the middle of the ocean. July has been a test of fortitude as I try to manage a serious legal battle for my maternal rights for my boyz. It has been a struggle for sustainable vocation given the poor weather and the fragile economy. I have been fumbling with a precious friendship and this morning I was met with an horrific wound on an exceptional horse. When collecting the horses for their morning meal and rehab program, the lovely Shood Ari ambled up to me from the south pasture only to reveal a bloodied chest. This strapping young gelding had somehow torn his hide from his front left pectoral region. He was gingerly walking toward me, head down with anxious pained brown eyes. He was oozing blood and dangling a web of flesh the size and shape of printer paper. 'Christ have mercy' my words to self. We had to start by moving horses, making a safe paddock...my young student put out some grain to calm the herd. I moved Shoodi up front and began the gauntlet of phone calls to vets. Who could come ASAP...by fortune, we would be attended by Dr. Steve from Large Animal Medical Associates. He arrived in good time and set to work. We cleared out a spot in the front of the barn and backed in the 16.2 h youngster so the natural light would illuminate the delicate task. We no sooner got the brown beauty in his spot that the skies began to erupt with thunder, lightening and more rain adding a sense of drama to our scene. With a little tranquilizer (ok, a lot). The horse became a perfect and passive gentleman. I was grateful that my young student volunteered to head the horse so I could sit out of the field of vision of this mess. I am a useless veterinary assistant for the bloody rehabs as the size and scale of this type of wound triggers an instant visceral reaction in me. One good look, and I am down for the count. It doesn't help the situation when I am on the floor passed out. It's always been this way with me and mangled horses. That said, young Felicia was the hero assistant while the talented vet worked his magic. It is spellbinding to watch a skilled vet perform flawless restoration such as this. Starting with ripped flesh and tissues, strategizing closure sequences, bringing together the seemingly destroyed live materials, first the big sutures placed large and wide, then the smaller refined stitches to close the gaps... when done its a normal looking body part with an excellent chance to survive and even thrive. All of this in a less than clean barn, in less than ideal light, with the simplest of materials. The wound was closed up in about 50 minutes. Intensive antibiotics to stay ahead of infection (the real danger in this type of wound), pain killers to ease his afternoon and the rest is up to his constitution and God's grace. This horse is ideal to be a carriage horse with his long graceful legs and powerful top line. I believe he'll recover fully and have that chance. The bill paid at $510 with treatment and meds (3 weeks of antibiotics), I graciously thanked the vet and marveled at his humble talent. At age 19, I so wanted to be a vet like him. At age 20 I had my first experience with massive equine trauma such as this. It dropped me on that barn floor and eliminated that career choice for me. . . probably worked out for the best. . . but still it would have been amazing to possess such a skill. The awesome brown horse is sore but eating well and enjoying massive amounts of TLC... all's well that ends well. Now if I could only get the rest of my mid-summer days moving in a restorative direction...if the doc can mend the horse's terrible mess and make him whole again... is it possible that maybe there is a chance that I can be a mom to my sons, that I can make a living and I can mend a precious friendship? I believe with some TLC, some good sewing, some strong medicine that its possible. I'll keep you posted on Shood Ari, you'll hear about my other follies and foibles too. It's all good, if I survive. Peace ~ ell
this one is for doctor Steve and his talent in healing...

Resilience...

I was completing a personal profile for one of those match making outfits to pass the time and inventory what kind of person I like to think I am. They are great measurements for self evaluation because it is a private self exploration that can be very illuminating if done with honest introspection. It was the usual queries of disposition, personality, quirks and peeves.... It posited one really thoughtful question for me, that has kept my full attention through the day. "Other than your parents, who was the most influential person in your childhood?" What a kewl question. It instantly evoked fond memories of youthful exploits and adolescent striving, swerving and survival. All those awkward growing pains that would shape and sharpen the character of our core person. In my case, I answered my high school women's athletic coach, without hesitation. This may seem odd to those who know me, as I am opposed to organized athletics before middle school. I loath insider and outsider dynamics and secondary school sports can amplify that teenage misery of not belonging. But in my memory, I knew my coach as a mentor and respectful friend who made everyone feel talented and welcome to her teams. As long as they gave a 100% on any given day, strove for personal excellence and lived every day with integrity and perseverance. She was not a physically big person at 5'0", but she had a larger than life zest that was contagious to all who knew her. I was fortunate to spend four years, 3 seasons of sports in each, under her mentoring. Her tireless encouragement and gentle, loving critiques were instrumental in shaping my stubborn commitment to survival and never, never giving up. To give 100%, even in defeat so that we could walk away with our heads held high and no regrets. There was no such thing as a mistake under her tutelage but rather physical errors which were teachable moments and mental errors which induced laps, lots of laps...She made it possible to learn in that very indelible way of learning through natural consequences. It was the most empowering experience that a gangley, un-pretty, wanna-be success story could ever hope for. On her practice plain, there was no such word as "can't". There was no such thing as giving up. Failed attempts only meant there must be another way to succeed. If you fell, get up and try another way. It was she who would sift through our clumsy imitation of skills to discover and nurture our talents with her brilliant observation bolstered in her loudest voice to us: "...babies don't give up! you know why they fall when learning to walk? so they can learn how to get back up and try again!...so, get back up and try again!" Her words are resonating in my mind lately as it has been a particularly challenging time for me these past weeks...it has been a time when, giving 100% seems to fall short of the mark...but then as I sit with a glass of wine, a smile emerges as I hear her follow-up mantra for success: "...then give 110!..." I wish she was here right now; I could use a hug and maybe a lap or two...I miss her inspirations.
We all have someone who inspired us, encouraged us and made us strong...honor those memories and live their legacy...share the same with the next person who needs to live it...
peace and luv ~ ell