{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Inspired by this blog and, ultimately, this blog.

And yes, I realize it is not Friday, but I was so inspired, I could not resist.

Falling in love, again and again.

If you've ever read "The Velveteen Rabbit" by Margery Williams, you'll recognize the nickname for gentleman in the photo above: the Skin Horse. Partly because of how 'real' he is, and partly because of his color: Buckskin, is how the nickname came about.

He's not mine, no.  But I love him like he is.  This mature and gentle being belongs to my mom. His name is Spencer.

25 years ago, he looked like this:

His mom's name was J.B. and I would lounge on her uncomfortable back for as long as Lori would let me, just to bury my hands in that mane, lean close to her neck and smell that lovely scent of dirt, and "horse," which is an unforgettable smell.

His dad was named Diamond Eyes, a well known APHA (American Paint Horse Association) sire and Halter Performance horse:

When he was born, he didn't have any white markings on him, so the breeder put him up for sale immediately.  In the mid-to late-eighties paint horses were all the rage, and the more white coloring they had, the better.  According to the show circuit anyway.  

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him. 

 In late November of 2009, Spencer, along with April, came all the way from southern California to North Carolina to live at Hope Farms.  Since then, I have fallen in love, again and again with the Skin Horse.

Lately, he's been known to teach me a thing or three, especially about trust, and every time I am around him I feel more comfortable in my own skin.  

At 25, and being from California, he doesn't keep his "topline," meaning, the roundness of a younger, more fit horse and I worry about him keeping his weight on, especially in the summer time.  The humidity of these NC summers are difficult for him, but I'm hoping that he adapts more and more every year.  

I no longer think of 25 as being "old" for a horse.  He has become. And he's helping me to do the same.

Thanks for sharing him, Mom.

I survived a family reunion & other useless stuff

Maybe because it wasn't my own and looking back on the seven days spent with in-laws and out-laws is funnier now than it was then....at least the pictures are funnier.  This one, for instance makes me laugh continuously for a minimum of two minutes straight;

It is the product of "hold still Ed, I'm going to take a picture," which produced this glamour shot; the funniest thing I've seen all year.  

I recently learned that I have nearly completed an entire math class (64 hours-worth) in just under 10 hours and now have to get an "A" on two tests to finalize it.  Okay, the "A" is not technically necessary except for my possibly obsessive motivation to get a 4.0 GPA.  

I learned that seven people and one bathroom really can co-exist.  

Myrtle Beach, SC can be done in one day - all seven of us, in the MommyVan AKA:  FarmVan made it down in one piece.  Sorta.  There were air-conditioning issues and although it was a scorcher, we all had fun and made it home with our novice driver at the wheel.  

Got Sand?

 All together for the first time in 15 years.  It was a terrific week action packed with fishing, dirtbike riding, horse tending, egg-collecting, farmers' market-going, swimming, flea-marketing, peach ice-cream eating, barbeque'ing and much, much more.  

'Cause we're reunited, hey, hey

I hope, like me, that you now have that song in your head. It's all good. I'm up for some dumb totally important and productive reason at 1:45am and don't know what else to write. So, I stick a song to your head. Like it. Or not.

Actually, when I was younger ( a couple decades days ago) I used to adore that song and also Linda Ronstadt's "You're No Good". For some reason I thought of potatoes when I heard that song. As if she were sorting them.....bad ones here, good ones there. Anyhow.

One time, while I was in a hair salon with my mom - there were ladies in all the chairs getting various things (frosting!) done to their hair and the song "Another one bites the dust" came on. I wondered how many of those ladies were going to lie to their hairdresser that day.... "Oh Janet, it's lovely, yes, yes, I DO LIKE IT, really!" Ahem. That alone makes me not want to get my license in Cosmetology. That, and I don't like to wash other peoples hair.

In addition to songs that take me back to yesteryear, smells do that too. There's something about too-ripe pears and concord grapes that remind me of a couple relatives I spent some childhood time with. Or, maybe it just reminds me of fall. Speaking of which, what IS the difference between Autumn and Fall? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?


Now that I've completely gone off on at least two tangents what I really came here to say is; I'm BACK ONLINE!!!