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Topic: Salute to a Non-Horsey But Supportive Mom (Read 947 times)
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Lucky Mistake
ata
Gold Medallist
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Posts: 309
I love Trakehners!
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As flint can light a fire, so small things can spark big memories. Today, a note popped up in my inbox from a touring company of Lipizzaners. I have requested their list host to notify me of shows in my state, and today, a new upcoming performance was being announced.
I had been thinking about Mom anyway, fresh from a call from the nursing home (she fell again. No serious harm done). The Lipizzaner email abruptly brought back a memory of Mom, one week post cesarean section, driving me 80 miles round trip to see those same Lipizzaners years ago. She enjoyed the show herself, but I am under no illusions that she would have gone without me.
Other ways that I have thought of today how Mom supported my horsing throughout my childhood:
She encouraged the dream. Always, she would explain why we could not have a pony or horse yet, but she would always say that as soon as we were able, one would be bought. My grandmother, her mother, was convinced it was a phase, even well up into my adulthood. Mom from the beginning knew better. She never belittled the dream, was never patronizing or condescending as some adults are when talking to kids. She simply said, "We can't now, but someday, I promise we WILL." Thus, she taught me the paradox of reality-grounded dreaming, which is a very handy skill to have in a life with horses.
She bought me lessons at a stage when she was still struggling herself as single parent of three children. Each Saturday, she would spend half of her day off taking me for a lesson.
When lessons were not possible for a little while, she sat me down and explained that to me, showing me the entire budget figures, inviting my suggestion of anything else to trim. I was part of the decision and never resented it. Just another exercise in reality-based dreaming.
The day that, after my first horse (an unsuccesful bribe from my stepfather) was killed through bullheaded good-ole-boyism by a friend of my stepfather's who convinced my stepfather that he really knew what he was doing with my horse, the good ole boy in question came over to "apologize" to me, which apology consisted of, "Well, I'm sorry, but she was being pretty silly. I'll let you ride one of mine sometime, okay?" I was afraid to trust myself to say anything. Mom didn't say anything either, but she picked up my lunging whip from my stack of horse equipment I had just forlornly collected from the nearby small pasture where I no longer boarded my horse. She cracked that whip and started forward, and that good ole boy, all over 6 feet of him, turned tail and ran. I watched, both stunned and delighted, as my mother chased him three times around the public square of the small town we were living in, and only his abject fear kept him barely in front of her feet of vengeance.
When she could no longer afford time to take me to lessons as she was married again with the new baby, she gave me a set of keys to the car and, when I was 14, set me out on the roads with a simple statement of "use common sense." Mom would always add a disclaimer there when this story was told, saying that she NEVER would have done the same with any of my brothers. I am probably one of the few people alive who has been criticized by both parents for driving too carefully. In the two years before I got my license, I was never caught by the police, and I drove straight by the station on the substantial drive to lessons weekly.
The day that I came limping home after being thrown 5 times straight by Bam-Bam (still a record, and one I have no intention of breaking), and she tightened her lips slightly but said nothing, passed the Tylenol, and restrained herself from even a "be careful" as I headed out again the next week for another ride on the same horse.
The day that I was late to work - we had a partnership and both worked from her home - because I had taken Chrissy to the vet that morning for confirmation of what we had feared, that my colt by Peron had died. I called Mom by her previous request to give her an update. On the phone, she was supportive and encouraging and reminded me of all the future foals to be - and when I arrived at work two hours later after taking Chrissy home, Mom was at the kitchen table absolutely torn apart in tears. I actually thought something else must have happened, some other bad news after my call, but she was grieving for and with me.
The morning Toccata was born, when dawn broke over the farm to find new life. I was still out with Missy in her paddock, talking to her and scratching the colt, and I heard the door shut on Mom's trailer and turned to see Mom, the Patron Saint of lost, stray, and hungry cats, hurry out past an entire porchful of cats waiting in the soup line. That one morning, she had no catfood in her hands. She wasn't even dressed yet, still in her gown with robe hastily thrown on, and she rushed out past the incredulous cats without even a good morning as she came over to see "my grandfoal."
Thanks for everything, Mom. But how I miss you.
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« Last Edit: February 25, 2009, 01:06:00 AM by Lucky Mistake »
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"Then we began to ride. My soul smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll freshening and fluttering in the wind." Robert Browning
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helloagain
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Old Hand
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Posts: 622
I LOVE Trakehners!
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Oh my gosh Lucky, on more than one occasion your writing has brought tears to my eyes. With a writing talent like yours you should be writing a book or short stories.
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Stacey Ellis
FEI
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Posts: 217
I love Trakehners!
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Chills, tears and off to call my mom and thank her again for all she did and all she does. Moms are angels.
Stacey
ps...you need to write a book.
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