Back in the Saddle

This is Archie. When I told him to 'whoa,' I realized I don't know the Czech equivalent.

I hear one of the keys to success at blogging is writing about one subject. It's called focus. I like this in theory, but the reality is a bit trickier.

Anyway, I am starting a new train of thought here but I want the disclaimer that, while you may log on to read about horses, every now and then you may find another blog about traveling or how beautiful Croatia is this time of year (God willing, you will!!) But for now, on to horseback.

For starters, a little background. My mother's been horse crazy since the first time she laid eyes on a horse and it is thanks to this madness that I grew up in barns across the country.

The first thing I think when I see people who make horses their hobby is: $$$. But I'd like to get it out there that this is not the case here. My own riding background started with 4-H. My mother loved the fact that 4-H was about the 'backyard horse;' it allowed her to fuse sharing her passion and keeping her kids grounded. Sure, some kids had silver dripping from their bridles, saddle, spurs and boots, but for the most part it was just fun.

My elder sister and I had lessons in everything from riding to cleaning tack. I took it in stride and wasn't exactly horse crazy, more of a tag-along in the shadow of my sister. She swept competitions and soon covered the walls of her room in blue ribbons while I was content to go to lessons, then sit on a fence sharing apples with my mount.

When we moved, 4-H went on without us. But in my senior year, a friend offered my mom a spindly little orphaned filly who had been separated from her mother and auctioned off as part of a dead man's estate. My mom thought the little filly was the ugliest thing in the world, and probably part mustang. I thought she was cute. Spindly, yes, but bay in colouring with a white stripe and a snip at the end of her nose. And to this day I've never seen such a dainty head.

Mom offered her to me and soon I was stopping in before school to mix up and feed her formula that was meant to give what she should have been getting from her mother at this point. I taught her the usual basics- to lead in a halter, to load into a trailer- and the oddities: no kicking, no biting, no mutilating people. As she was learning the finer points of etiquette, I was going home bruised and battered. She learned that kicking was a no go quickly, but only after she'd tried it out on me. I spent weeks unable to bend my left knee.

In the end, though, I had a sweet little horse with a few eccentricities but an exceptionally calm demeanor.

Then I graduated, said goodbye and left to see the world.

Okay fast forward. The Red Sox win the series and the world is a better place, university, travel, life, work, etc. Somewhere in the Czech republic I hop on a

horse, in an English saddle for the first time. I tried to post-- fail. Total, unequivocal fail. Not only can I not post, I have no balance, no leg cues, nothing. It's humorous, and a little bit sad.

Some time later I make a plan and it falls apart. So I make another and it doesn't fall apart, but it doesn't hold together either. A few more of those and WHAM! by some strange twist of fate, I'm back, from Europe to the middle of nowhere. And there's my horse. And she not only leads well, she takes a bit, a saddle, a rider. Somebody broke my horse.

Now, I learned recently that horseback riding is a good thing for an actor's resume. As acting is my passion, it stands to reason that, while I'm here, in the middle of nowhere, I should brush up on those skills. Western would be easy enough to get back into, but my interest in English has been piqued and I would really like to know how people make posting look so easy. My horse has never been in an English saddle, so we'd be learning together.

And that, in a word, is my new blog topic. A return to horseback. It's bound to be intimidating and a little bit painful and humbling. But it should also be fun.