Over fences

Son of Blog

Because this blog has such a narrow focus, I've decided to create another blog for my non-equine adventures/random thoughts. Thank Vox (another TypePad progeny) and my major Cute Overload addiction for this new experiment in madness and bottomless pit of proacrastination.

My other blog is www.brownamazon.vox.com. Feel free to drop by, check out the photos and leave your comments.

Actually, the whole Vox setup is pretty nifty, allowing fellow bloggers to ling to each others' sites and comments via so-called "neighbourhoods." Since all this started out of an existing blog (Cute Overload) and its most loyal visitors/fans/commentators, it pretty much gave us an instant audience. So instead of posting out into the ether and getting no response, you get instant feedback.

If anybody wants an invite to join Vox for FREE, let me know--I've got five. It couldn't be simpler to use, and has all kinds of cool features--it's way easier to post photos, audio, and video, compared even with standard Typepad or Blogspot. You can even link to books and cds.

See you around the Vox neighbourhood!

Love me tender

God, would you just look at us? We're like one of those cheesy cards that say something like, "You're a true friend" or "It's nice to have someone to lean on," or some hackneyed (no pun intended) crap like that. If it weren't so wonderful, I'd be barfing kittens.

Yes, dear readers, the bonding has occurred. I get happy nickers when he hears my voice (the husband should be so happy to see me when I get home--HAH!) I get nuzzles with those ticklish little horsey whiskers under his chin. When I ride him, he tries his heart out for me, even when I screw up. We were reserve champions at our show last weekend--Yay! I'm telling you, 99.9% of humans should be so kind, forgiving, reliable and generous.

I've been reading about the latest adventures of my oldest pal Brainygirl, as she searches for love and professional fulfillment in NYC. She's a brilliant doctor, gorgeous, funny, ridiculously talented at everything and super popular. But for as long as I've known her, all she's ever wanted was a loving relationship that would someday lead to marriage and kids. It's something that keeps eluding her--she meets tons of guys, but nothing ever seems to work out. I mean, we've all had our share of bad boys, bad choices, relationship disasters, questionable bed partners, Oh-my-God-what-the hell-was-I-thinking epiphanies and so on. But this girl wins the prize, hands down.

I could make some pat, "horses are better than men" comment here, but I won't. Sure, I've been invovled with some real mofos, but I' havent' exactly been the martyred saint of girlfriend-dom. I've done lots of naughty things and said some even naughtier things (to one forgettable dude who asked me during sex, "am I hurting you?," I relplied, "don't flatter yourself." Sorry Mom, if you're reading this). I've lied, cheated, bolted, thrown things, been unable to commit, said 'I'll call you" when I didn't mean it, stopped calling altogether--men sure don't have the monopoly on callous behaviour.

But in spite of my nuermous sins of the heart and flesh, I've also been outrageously fortunate--sometimes in spite of my best efforts to thwart it-- to have found love in various guises (and guys-es) throughout my life, the latest being in the form of a four-legged castrated lawnmower named Leporello.

Hotter than July

Ever had one of those weeks? 

First, it was so hellishly hot over the weekend that I scratched from the big A-level (national) horse show I was planning on attending. Some people thought I was being overly cautious, but I just do not need to put my horse or myself through that (when the humidex is over 40, it's just insanity).

So Saturday night, I joined some friends at a party being thrown for some the exhibitors from the big horse show. It was très cool. Through my coach, I got to meet some big name international showjumpers, like Yann Candele, Chirs Pratt, Millar fils (Jonathan). Coach--who looked smokin' hot in a yellow halter top and jeans--was introducing me to everyone as her student, an "amateur showjumper." HAH! I didn't have the heart (or the moral inclination) to reveal the truth: that I'm still in wimpy hunterland, with no serious intention or will to move "up" to the jumpers. Let them think I'm way hotter shit than I am!

However, back to the par-tay. Now, you have to understand: I'm in my early 30s, most of my girlfriends are, too, or even younger. All of them are still wild and cuh-razy single gals- -good for my social life but oh-so-bad for Mr. Liver. My best friend says I'm the "least lame married person" she knows--which means that I'm usually willing to go out and party (with or without the husband. He doesn't mind).  Plus, I guess not having kids means you still feel free to act like one. Still,  because it was so hot, and I was feeling tired, I limited myself to 2 drinks.

Well! I don't know if it was the steamy temps, but I got so hammered, it wasn't even funny. And all my firends were drinking nonstop--guys kept buying them shots and cosmos, and they were happy to comply.

Hey...wait a minute! Howcome nobody was buying ME drinks?? WTF? Probably because I went there straight from the barn in my riding togs and was not looking like my usual hot brown self. It's just as well, because needless to say, with that one glass of white wan and one leeetle gin martini, I was so hungover the next day, it was criminal. My friends, I heard later, had it even worse--you k now it's been a good night when somebody wakes up naked on the bathroom floor.

So it's a good thing I didn't have to show on Sunday--I could not have gotten on a horse if my life had depended on it. Good thing, because it got even hotter. Plus, with some of the money I saved, I treated myself and excellent pair of Earnest Sewn jeans that I found at--of all places--Winners.

Mr. Husband, as I expected, has already landed himself another great (and much less weird) new job. Shortest. Unemployment. Evah. I met his new boss and co-workers and they're lovely, fun, smart people.

Have another show coming up on Saturday--a much smaller one, at a venue I've been to before. Beau is recovering rom a nasty bite on his rump from one of the other horses, but he should be good to go for the weekend.

The Prodigal Blonde

When I started this blog, I swore I would not be one of those people who updates their posts so sporadically that they might as well shut down and go home. Not me, I thought. Nosiree. I'll be assiduous. I'll be prompt and timely. I mean, puh-lease. I write for a living, dammit--how hard could it be? Come up with a few witty lines of text, pop in som pics, baddaboom, baddabing.

Yeah, well. June has come and gone, with no news from moi. Apologies to all my peeps. To bring ya'll up to speed, here's what's been going down in brownamazonland. In no particular order:

1-I went blonde.

2-Leporello (Beau) and I won our first class together, have been pinning consistently, and have generally been working together like peanut buttah and nutella. This is us at right in fine form over a fence...

...and here cantering to our next jump.

3-Mr. Husband got unceremoniously let go from his new job. (Anyone who wants details can e-mail me... it's kind of sensitive, not to mention A to the Q, so not something I want to be sharing with the general blog-log.)

4-I had a fabulous solo vacation in lush, lovely Bermuda.

5-I've been rooting wildly for Portugal at the World Cup. Of all the former racist colonial powers left, I might as well support them, what with being from Goa an' all. Força!

6-I went to my ex's amazing solo piano concert at the Montreal Jazz Fest and hung out with him, his mom, his aunt and his chain-smoking yoga teacher ex-girlfriend (the one that came 2 gf's after me). Interesting...

7-Scored a pair of vintage Gucci pumps in near mint condition at a little local second-hand clothing store.

8-Went to this insane, WOTT burlesque cabaret show called Le  Boudoir in Montreal and found myself semi-lusting after a Josephine Baker impersonator wearing a banana skirt and nothing else.

9-Saw the adorable, amazing Jamie Cullum at the Ottawa Jazz Fest, then hung out with my friend and some McGyver-esque, U.S. Navy Seal/paramilitary dude who's been chasing her/leading her on for 12 years.

10-I FRICKIN' DYED MY HAIR BLONDE, PEOPLE!!!!

We now return to our regular blog program.

Getting to know you

Ok, Ok, I know, I've been totally remiss in posting lately. I've just been very busy with Beau, the new love of my life.

Actually, it isn't so much "love at first sight" as "arranged marriage with a quaruped."  You have to forge an intimate relationship, one where trust is paramount, with a creature you don't really know.

He's been settling in beautifully. No problems. Everyone loves him because he's so cute and sweet (photos coming soon, I promise!). And he's already proven to me that I can trust him. Just in the past few days, we've had some pretty crazy ride situations: shattering windows, other horses acting wild, people appearing out of nowhere, evil racoons, windstorms, etc. He's taken it all in stride, and really does appear to be practically bombproof.

You know that scene in The King and I, where Anna Leonowens and King Mongkut whirl around the dance floor? I've been waiting for that magical moment with Beau.  So far, though, it's been all about the awkward lingusitic and cultural barriers. But Beau is being very forgiving and patient with me. And everytime I get on him, we understand each other a little better.

Kismet

Holy crap, I think I just bought a horse.

Well, pending the vet's OK. Which should not be a problem.

His name is Beau. Just turned five. Some kind of Appendix Quarter-Horse/draft cross, 15.2 hands high. This is him, cleaning up at the shows last year. Former show name, "Mr. Bojangles."  New name--I'm thinking "Leporello" right now, as in Don Giovanni's sidekick. It means "little hare" in Italian.

It all feels very surreal and dream-like. Long story short: Saw this horse on the online equine personals. Thought he looked a lot like a horse Coach had described for me last year. She'd seen him doing really well at some shows and said he was "perfect", but the timing was all wrong and I never actually made it out to see him.

So when she looked at the ad and confirmed my suspicions, it seemed like fate, kismet, karma--whatever you want to call it. So today, She and I drove out with Mr. Husband and her Dad. Looked at him, loved him, got on him, loved him some more. Even though I was riding like a retarded lemur--tense, stiff, leaning over the saddle--he was being super good and steady.

His super-sweet owner (who's basically done all his schooling since he was 2) has outgrown him and wants something with more pepper, so she was eager to sell before the show season starts up in earnest. The price was great and we figured he wouldn't last long on the market again, so we moved fast. Next thing I know, I'm writing out a "security deposit" cheque. After, I'm like, "Mother of God, what the hell just  happened?"

Now we just have to sort out how to get him here. I'm going to Winnipeg this week, so I may not even be here when he arrives. This is quite possibly the craziest thing I've ever done, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's to not mess with kismet.

Looking a gift horse in the mouth (and everywhere else)

You know when you have a great first date with someone, and you excitedly make plans to see them again, but then on the second date they turn into a total asshole/spacebitch and you have to run, mystified over how you could have so totally misread them, but glad you were able to nip a potential disaster in the bud? I think I just went through the equine equivalent of this.

Last week, M. suddenly remembered this cute little dapple grey mare she'd ridden in a few shows last summer for a friend of hers. The mare was still for sale, and nearby, so we went to check her out. As M. had promised, she was *extremely* pretty, with big doe eyes and a winsome personality. I got on and even though I was a little nervous (as always when it's my, ahem, "first time"), she seemed to take to me. I had a very pleasant first ride, even though she spooked at people who were standing half-hidden in a corner. I actually fell off, not hard--I chalked it up to my being inattentive to her body language. Coach said she noticed something "funny" going on in her hind end and said she would definitely want a vet to look at her.

After discussing with Coach, I was optimistic enough to book a pre-purchase examination with the vet. We even arranged to come out and ride her a second time before the exam, just to be sure. Then, on Thursday, after a super lesson (if I do say so myself), my usual horse spooked at a car coming up the driveway. I didn't fall, but I felt my left knee twist hard in the stirrup. I didn't notice much at first, but when I got off, it was definietly sore. BY the next morning, the knee was swollen, throbbing and I couldn't put any weight in it. Crap!! I went to my trusty chiropractor/sports injury expert (probably because he's hurt every body part himself), who treated me with ice and electrical current therapy.

When date no.2 with the grey mare arrived, the knee was still too sore to attempt to ride. So Coach said she would get on. The day was blustery, with clouds racing across the sky. "This is a perfect day to try her," Coach says. "This is spooky weather, so we can see if she's really as quiet as they say."

Well. A few gusts of wind and Miss Thing goes from being a lover to a fighter. Spook. Stop. Wheel. Back up. She was jumping out of her skin at every shadow, every leaf that blew across her way. I'm watching this, thinking, "uh-oh," along with "I'm hella-glad I'm not riding her."

After a few minutes, Coach says, "She's way too spooky for you. This isn't normal. She's not even settling down for me. You're not going to have any fun riding her when she gets like this, and I wouldn't want you on her. And besides, she really doesn't feel right behind--she probably wouldn't pass the vet check."

Sigh. And I'd already started picking out names and everything. Oh well. But I'm glad I found out her tru nature BEFORE I plonked down the cash-ola. At least with horses, you don't have to go through the awkwardness of avoiding their calls and delteing their e-mails.

Stop looking at me

Sunday was my crash introduction to horse shopping. It was a baptism, not of fire, but of mud, rain and wet dog.

We started off at a barn nearby that had a number of horses for us to look at. Coach was there, and Mr. Husband, who was acting as videographer. Coach Jr came too, with her adorable boyfriend LP (who's also a rider) and Little Miss P, a 12-year-old also looking for her first horse. I call her that jokingly--the kid is already bigger than I am and is going to be a tall drink of water. She's looking for something similar to what I want--quiet, safe, etc.,--but she needs a bigger beastie, so we're not in competition.

So anyway, we're at this barn, and it turns out we have to try the horses outside. In the rain. People, it's been raining for 2 DAYS! The sand ring is underwater. Now, I admit: we're pretty spoiled. We have our lessons inside when the weather is bad, and I've always been lucky in terms of heavy rain at horse shows. Coach assured me that the swimming-ring's footing was actually good and solid undeneath and that it wasn't dangerous, but I still felt apprehensive.

The first horse they brought out for me was... a paint mare. Paints are not my favourite thing. They remind me of moo-cows. But I would hate to be so vain as to reject a pony based on its colour alone. After watching her get ridden around by someone who knows what they're doing, I got on. It was...meh.

She was quiet, but I could not get a good transition. Everything felt awkward. I seemed to be irritating her. I was also more tense than usual: strange new horse, strange new ring, first ride of the day crappy weather. But still, I wasn't loving her. Everyone said we looked attractive together but, in the words of Randy, it was just "aaiiight" for me. The whole 6-inches-of-water thing made me not want to jump, so we made tentative plans to return later in the week, when the weather was better. Little Miss P. tried a handsome older bay; she was way braver than I was and jumped him without hesitation.

I was also slowly learning about keeping a poker face. I kept looking at my coach to read her expression. She finally hisses, "stop looking at me. I won't say anything until we're in the car." Oh. Right. I shall now adopt the inscrutable gaze of the Buddha, glasshoppah.

On to the next place, where nothing interested us enough to actually try out. Then a long mother of a drive to the final spot, 2 hours away. They had a hilarious, happy, soaking-wet Newfoundland dog who, naturally, wanted to love up on everybody. There's no dog like wet dog.

They also had a gorgeous little bay Hungarian warmblood mare (what's with all the mamacitas?) for me to try; Coach Jr. ( M ) got on first. Everything looked marvellous, and I was looking forward to trying her for mself, when M. pointed her at a small vertical. The mare, who had been very well behaved until now, suddenly lit up like paprika had been shoved up her butt and charged at the fence. M looked... surprised. Tried it again. Same thing. The seller says, "um, yeah, she has a bit of blood to the fences." Swell--just what I want, a white-knuckled ride to every jump. NOT!

I did get on a nice, big, easygoing lug of a chestnut they had brought out for the 12-year-old. He was very sweet, but the fit was all wrong. The kid looked good on him, though.

So, after a very long day, home it was: damp, muddy, smelly, tired and with a lot of nos and one "maybe".  Shopping for shoes is so much easier.

A little shameless self promotion

So, what do I do when I'm not riding? In one of my many other avatars (I'm kind of like Shiva, except with fewer arms), I'm an arts journalist and critic, specializing in classical music and dance. I have the cover story in this month's issue of La Scena Musicale, a Canadian magazine about classical music, opera and jazz. It's a profile of the brilliant and personable harpsichordist Luc Beauséjour.

There hasn't been too much riding to tell you about lately, in spite of the superb weather. First we were away over the Easter holiday, then the horses all got vaccinated and needed some time off. Instead, I've been dreaming about my upcoming solo vacation to Bermuda in June.  Mr. Husband can't get away, so I've decided to go by myself. I've always loved to travel alone, and happily, being married hasn't cramped my style in that department in the least (Ok, except maybe in the "inviting the hot cabana boy back to my room" sense). I adore the heady sense of independance, of discovery, anonymity and endless reinvention. Above all, I crave, if only for a few days, to be beholden to nobody but myself: no plans, no schedules, no sharing, no compromises, no petty annoyances. I can be as utterly selfish and anti-social (or not) as I wish. I have a knack for blending in--with my Heinz-57 looks, I really could be from just about anywhere--and nothing gives me greater pleasure when I'm abroad than being mistaken for a local.

My best friend Z invariably makes about 25 new best friends within 3 minutes of arriving at any destination. I envy her natural sociability and popularity, but I also find it a little exhausting. I seem outgoing and friendly but, au fond, I'm a misanthrope who almost always prefers her own company to that of anyone she doesn't find inspiring, stimulating, or, at the very least, amusing.

In Bermuda, I've rented the most darling little cottage/boathouse right on the water and will be spending a solid week just soaking up the sun and exploring this tiny, perfect little pink and blue island by scooter and, hopefully, horseback. From what I've read, the horses are infinitely safer and saner than the scooters...

P.S: Grey horse is sold already. But this weekend, Coach is taking me to look at about 10. "Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match..."

We (were) no.1

In my inaugural post, I promised actual pics of me in the saddle. This is Toby and me, Pre-Novice champions at my very first show 2 summers ago. Unfortunately, I haven't done so spectacularly since.

The weekend after this show, I totally blew our 2 over fences classes. We did come in third in the hack class.

Last year, our best showing was second in a novice equitation class. It would have been nice to win it, but I was pretty proud, since it was my first equitation class and there were some pretty fancy riders (for the uninitiated, in hunter classes, they judge how the horse looks going around--if you're riding well, your horse will look good. In equitation classes, they judge the rider's form and technique more directly: your leg position, hands, how effective you are, etc.)

We also got a fourth and a fifth and a sixth in various hunter classes (this was all on the same day), but frankly I was a bit surprised I got anything at all, I was riding so poorly. Oddly, at the show where I thought I rode my best all season, on another horse, I went home empty-handed. that was ultimately much more frustrating. Nobody is harder on me than me when I screw up; I'm always aware of my performance and know when I don't deserve to pin. But when I put in a mad effort, it's pretty discouraging to get nothing--especially when you see people you know were worse than you getting ribbons. ("that kid came in third?? His horse stopped at 2 fences!!").

This year, I'm feeling pretty confident. I'm more experienced, stronger, more consistent (although I still have my "retard" days) and overall a better rider. I'll be competing as a novice this year. The noivce classes tend to be huge; I'm going to be facing some pretty stiff competition. But I'll definitely be, in the parlance of driven athletes everywhere, "giving it 110%". Still, I have to laugh when I think that at my first show, my goal was to not come in dead last!

Here's us again on course at that first show. Man, I'm really jumping ahead. I'm much better now, honest!

P.S.: There's an old PR maxim that says communication is the response you get. So please feel free to leave your comments (just click on "comments", below.)