I'll keep this short. I felt like posting but didn't want to go all "blah-blah-blah-yadda-yadda" on you. So here's a little YouTube clip to amuse you.
Be back tomorrow with a third less blah-blah and twice as much yadda-yadda.
Showing posts with label horse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horse. Show all posts
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Boo to you, too.
Quick post today, although I often start to dash off a quick post and end up pages later, thinking, where did I put that damn editor?
I made quite a few of Marcus' costumes. He wanted to be the Tin Man when he was four. I sewed the outfit, using silver lame, which isn't for wimps. A year or two later, he wanted to be Pikachu, a Pokemon character, which led to my best New Year's resolution ever: I promise not to ever work with fleece and cotton batting again.
This year, my college freshman is going as Jimi Hendrix. He can get away with it. He's going to a Halloween party, hosted by one of his college friends who is a very nice young man AND a few years older than Sonny-boy. Let's review - party is on Sunday night and Sonny's first class is at 8 o'clock on Monday morning. His last class is at 7 o'clock Monday night. As the responsible mom, I'm not sure whether to discuss the possible consequences of his possible actions, or whether to sit back and watch the train wreck unfold via his Facebook status.
Oh - and Dale? He sometimes dresses up like this:
I love Halloween. Love to dress up. Love the fun-sized candy bars. Ten fun-sized Snickers equals one full-sized, doesn't it? Unfortunately, I don't get to dress up these days. No one in my age or friends group has costume parties. I could go trick-or-treating, but I think it might be just creepy for a middle-aged woman to go house to house, begging for chocolate.
This is my all-time favorite costume. My aunt Ardell made it for me. She's still alive, in her 80's, up and about with her self-decorated walker. By the way, I'm supposed to be a horse.
I made quite a few of Marcus' costumes. He wanted to be the Tin Man when he was four. I sewed the outfit, using silver lame, which isn't for wimps. A year or two later, he wanted to be Pikachu, a Pokemon character, which led to my best New Year's resolution ever: I promise not to ever work with fleece and cotton batting again.
This year, my college freshman is going as Jimi Hendrix. He can get away with it. He's going to a Halloween party, hosted by one of his college friends who is a very nice young man AND a few years older than Sonny-boy. Let's review - party is on Sunday night and Sonny's first class is at 8 o'clock on Monday morning. His last class is at 7 o'clock Monday night. As the responsible mom, I'm not sure whether to discuss the possible consequences of his possible actions, or whether to sit back and watch the train wreck unfold via his Facebook status.
I've dressed the horses up a couple of times, but only for the Holiday parade at the ranch. My favorite costume for Frostie is when she was pregnant at Christmas time. She looked great as the Virgin Mary. I'll probably burn in hell.
Snoopy has been The WW I flying ace (from Peanuts), Snoop Horsey Dogg (cornrows, bling, and all), and this little number, that I like to call, A Trailer Park Trash Christmas.
Oh - and Dale? He sometimes dresses up like this:
Get it? He's pretending to be an excitable guy. For those of you who know Dale, you'll totally get this joke. For those of you who don't, let's just say my hubby's bio-rhythm chart is a straight line.
What do you do for Halloween?
Monday, October 27, 2008
I'm a bad girl (and I'm okay with that)
One of my personal demons (in a long list) is that I am a pleaser. I like to make people happy, which is such a double-edged sword. If I make people happy by doing something I don't like, I'm unhappy, but if I make people unhappy by doing something I like, I'm still unhappy. Is that clear?
I think this demon makes me good at story telling; I've learned to read my audience and adjust my tale or delivery until I see the result I want on their faces. Of course, I have no control over my readership and can't adjust my writing to make them happy. This is where my demon tortures me.
In my magazine (Western Side Story) column and my newspaper (What a Day) column, I try to entertain, enlighten and interest people. Note that I didn't use any verbs like "challenge", "bait", or "offend". There are enough columnists and bloggers who want their readers to snarl and snap at their musings. I want people to be happy. And still, I manage to offend.
Last year, a reader wrote to my newspaper editor that he hated my column. He considers me selfish, self-centered, egomaniacal, etc, because my humor column always talks about what's happening in my life. He's absolutely correct; this is because that's what my column is about. It's a slice-of-life humor column, like that self-centered Erma Bombeck. He obviously didn't get it, perhaps because he's a curmudgeon and possibly needs to get laid (sorry, cheap shot). But my first reaction to his letter was, "Oh, he's right, I need to talk more about the community. I'm so selfish." Thank goodness, I had an email that same day from a women who said she loves the fact that she can identify with me as I write about daily life.
My magazine column is about horses in general, and western riding specifically. I cover horse shows, give information about where to get a saddle that fits, and review trail rides that I've taken. One such trail ride was on a trip to Alaska. I wrote about the beautiful scenery, discussed the differences between this ride and the ones I take in Pebble Beach, and I sang the praises of the trail horses, who must walk the trail quietly while putting up with many inexperienced riders.
I had used a specific rider as an example of what these horses have to put up with - she was on the ride, despite having recently had knee replacement surgery. As much as I love to ride, this would have stopped me cold. All the horse would have to do is spook; if she came off, what would have happened to her knee? I described the 5 people who had to help her mount and dismount. I also wrote about the way she kept leaning left, right, left, right, like a human gyroscope. A horse's natural instinct is to keep the rider centered on his back, so I applauded the horse's ability to ignore her. Sounds fairly benign, yes?
Not so much. A man called my editor to complain that I had made fun of this woman, and said I was crass. Okay, I did refer to her as a Weeble, but I don't think comparison to a children's toy is that rude. He wanted the magazine to print a retraction.
My editor took it in stride. She told him they only print retractions if an article isn't true, but they'd be happy to print a letter to the editor if he'd care to send one. She also told me that, after re-reading my column, she still didn't agree with him. In her opinion, my column was about the ride, the scenery and the horses. The 25 words I used for this woman were not the point of the column, nor were they mean-spirited.
I was again vindicated, but I still felt like I should be extra nice next time, or write an apology to that man.
But I won't. Instead, I'll do what I did the last time I "offended" anyone. For the next week, when I get up in the morning, I'll look myself in the mirror and say, "I'm a bad girl, and I'm okay with that."
This exercise will come in handy when my book comes out and the first bad review comes in. I'd almost be grateful for no reviews, but I know you need publicity. My publisher, Karen, will like the fact that I'll work my butt off to make her happy, but will she like holding my hand when I'm weeping about someone who doesn't like my book? After all, if my book is bad, it's because I'm a bad person, right?
Oh, wait, I'm okay with that.
I think this demon makes me good at story telling; I've learned to read my audience and adjust my tale or delivery until I see the result I want on their faces. Of course, I have no control over my readership and can't adjust my writing to make them happy. This is where my demon tortures me.
In my magazine (Western Side Story) column and my newspaper (What a Day) column, I try to entertain, enlighten and interest people. Note that I didn't use any verbs like "challenge", "bait", or "offend". There are enough columnists and bloggers who want their readers to snarl and snap at their musings. I want people to be happy. And still, I manage to offend.
Last year, a reader wrote to my newspaper editor that he hated my column. He considers me selfish, self-centered, egomaniacal, etc, because my humor column always talks about what's happening in my life. He's absolutely correct; this is because that's what my column is about. It's a slice-of-life humor column, like that self-centered Erma Bombeck. He obviously didn't get it, perhaps because he's a curmudgeon and possibly needs to get laid (sorry, cheap shot). But my first reaction to his letter was, "Oh, he's right, I need to talk more about the community. I'm so selfish." Thank goodness, I had an email that same day from a women who said she loves the fact that she can identify with me as I write about daily life.
My magazine column is about horses in general, and western riding specifically. I cover horse shows, give information about where to get a saddle that fits, and review trail rides that I've taken. One such trail ride was on a trip to Alaska. I wrote about the beautiful scenery, discussed the differences between this ride and the ones I take in Pebble Beach, and I sang the praises of the trail horses, who must walk the trail quietly while putting up with many inexperienced riders.
I had used a specific rider as an example of what these horses have to put up with - she was on the ride, despite having recently had knee replacement surgery. As much as I love to ride, this would have stopped me cold. All the horse would have to do is spook; if she came off, what would have happened to her knee? I described the 5 people who had to help her mount and dismount. I also wrote about the way she kept leaning left, right, left, right, like a human gyroscope. A horse's natural instinct is to keep the rider centered on his back, so I applauded the horse's ability to ignore her. Sounds fairly benign, yes?
Not so much. A man called my editor to complain that I had made fun of this woman, and said I was crass. Okay, I did refer to her as a Weeble, but I don't think comparison to a children's toy is that rude. He wanted the magazine to print a retraction.
My editor took it in stride. She told him they only print retractions if an article isn't true, but they'd be happy to print a letter to the editor if he'd care to send one. She also told me that, after re-reading my column, she still didn't agree with him. In her opinion, my column was about the ride, the scenery and the horses. The 25 words I used for this woman were not the point of the column, nor were they mean-spirited.
I was again vindicated, but I still felt like I should be extra nice next time, or write an apology to that man.
But I won't. Instead, I'll do what I did the last time I "offended" anyone. For the next week, when I get up in the morning, I'll look myself in the mirror and say, "I'm a bad girl, and I'm okay with that."
This exercise will come in handy when my book comes out and the first bad review comes in. I'd almost be grateful for no reviews, but I know you need publicity. My publisher, Karen, will like the fact that I'll work my butt off to make her happy, but will she like holding my hand when I'm weeping about someone who doesn't like my book? After all, if my book is bad, it's because I'm a bad person, right?
Oh, wait, I'm okay with that.
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