Happy Birthday To My Hero

bo

This was my birthday post for 2012:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY SON!It has been 42 years today since this wonderful person graced my life. We have not always seen eye to eye, but we have always seen heart to heart no matter the distance. When you were born I told God you belonged to Him & I would serve only as the encourager. I did add if it was OK with God my choice for your profession would not be a lawyer or a preacher because those professions hold way too many temptations. And so I watched you grow in wisdom & in spirit. There were many proud moments watching sports including football & my favorite, wrestling where you were team captain. You chose electrical engineering as your life’s work & even when I was pressured to convince you to accept a guaranteed Westpoint appointment I deferred to my position as encourager only. I still hold to my theory the government does not need to know your real talents. You were nicknamed computer brain in the 3rd grade when computers were just becoming known & you sailed through school snagging the LHS class Valedictorian title as you journeyed on to GA Tech. From the time I gave you to God I was aware that God was allowing our relationship to be supernaturally close because one day your journey would take you far from me leaving only those memories to fill the void. We both experienced wedding plans that cancelled & thus we were drawn to spend 10 months sharing our lives for the final time in my birth city Atlanta. God warned that the final separation was nearing so I moved first to leave you the freedom to follow your heart. Three months later that heart call came from Houston & my former horse trainer partner moved to Texas where I was sure you would find me a real cowboy mate. Of course your life does not involve horses or cowboys now so that was a dead end. Instead I had to trust God while you flew around the world visiting oil fields to help improve their oil flow. Now your travels are only within the US including weekly trips to your other office in Austin which allows the drive time chats I love. You have a wonderful wife who works in a high rise that looks surprisingly like a castle tower & your twin girls point to it on the skyline as “Mommies castle” as they commute to & from day care. It has been hard to be so far removed from your mundane world & all the treasures it holds. But in the spirit world, there in the heart that eternal flame bids us come & sit true as the day it was first lit. We are always close heart to heart.

 

Today is December 9, 2016

Much has happened in the last four years, but you are still my hero.  You may wonder why I insist on republishing your baby picture.  Perhaps this anonymous quote speaks to that tendency:

“To a mother, a son is never a fully grown man; and a son is never a fully grown man until he understands and accepts this about his mother.”  

In the 46 years since you were born I have yet to dream about you as an adult, but I dream often about you as a child.  They say our dreams are the embodiment of our subconscious realities so I guess even though I consciously respect your independence and your accomplishments as an adult, in my heart the child man yet lives.  Perhaps that is as it should be.  The world demands independence and maturity, but the Bible, while equally championing maturity, also reminds us that our sanity and our personal “North Star” is dependent on our ability to remember and periodically access that child self that lies so close to when he first created us.  Perhaps, he purposely deposits and nourishes that image within the heart of the mothers so we can always find it there even when they are only memories.

Today, you are once again traveling with your career, including out of country so your other time is dedicated to your own family as it should be.  I still cherish our drive time talks and any other time I get to hear your voice.  And the rest of the time I cherish my knowledge of how you cherish your beautiful wife and your twin daughters.  As you love them so fiercely you are also recirculating all the love that we share so I am blessed.  The beautiful high rise palace queen has now relegated those duties to perform the greater role of Queen Wife and Mommy reigning over twin princesses and home castle sanctuaries.  Again, I am blessed that those princesses get to know the love of a mother not stressed with work place demands since motherhood is in itself very time consuming and demanding.  I am thankful that I was able to spend many years enjoying full time mothering.  So what if I’m now a single income jack of many trades, but master (on paper) of none.  Look at all the magic I created and added to the world through you and your sister.

Happy 46th birthday, my son, my hero, my legacy.

 

 

 

 

Random Thoughts from a Magical Day in the Woods

Magical day in the woods with us 3 Greats (I have to cheat a little because my only great grand is a cat but I’m still Great). Here we’re breaking proper horsemanship rules by allowing our mounts to detour to snack at the bamboo bar. It’s like horse hors d’oeurves & they love them. Picasso pulled up a whole plant & devoured it all the way to the roots. It’s considered bad horsemanship to allow your mount to eat while wearing a bit. Oh well, call it horseladyship & being old enough to finally realize we actually had it right in our youth –  most rules were made to be broken. I could not take more pics because I spent the last hour carrying the bright yellow bucket we rescued – still hanging from a limb after a previous high card draw trail style. It did not contain one drop of rainwater which is why we were able to ride all the trails without encountering hoof deep, much less belly deep water. Even the running cross stream Picasso always feels obliged to jump was dried up.
 
My first & immediate mission after I dismounted (and while I was still trying to get back my land legs) was to stagger up for a pit stop. Hard to believe I only had half a cup of coffee. Anyway, I came back out commenting that I thought I’d been in some fancy places, but imagine having to come to the middle of the woods to see my first self lighted toilet bowl. It reminded me of my aunt’s house where they had a button under the toilet seat that started talking when you sat down. Obviously, I have some creatively humorous friends & relatives & another reason for appreciating being scream proofed by my drug squad stake-out buddies. I can now be totally surprised in silence.
 
I intended to eat the hot dog lunch & run, but the invitation for a few rounds of Mexican Train was hard to pass up. I’m not sure exactly where the name came from so my brain just makes up its own story. Everyone has a domino track but you can only ride another player’s track if they’ve been penalized with putting their train on their track. However, the Mexican Train is a free ride for anyone who wants to hop aboard at anytime – leaving me to think if I purchase my own game I will store it next to my Trump – I’m back and you’re fired game because I just sort of consider them related for some reason. I bought the game years ago because I thought it might help me learn to cope in the dog eat dog world I’ve been thrust into since Dem Ratman Henry Waxman shut down the CA DOD contracting company that was my set for life future. Life’s been pretty much roller coaster survival ever since so the Trump game is still sealed in the box. I’m pretty sure it requires more than one player anyway.
 
Back home, I fully intended to unload PC & catch a quick nap for my aching bones. But, then I looked at his sweat matted  winter coat & realized I was looking at the epitome of “Rode hard & put up wet” & I just could not do it. Too cold for a cold water hose down. I grabbed a bucket & retrieved hot water from inside the house longing for the days when hot water was always conveniently piped in at every racetrack shed row. I ragged him down with the hot water & he loved it, but my aching bones did not. He looked quite regal in a hunter green queen bed sheet also retrieved from inside the house. Since I had to wait for him to dry I went ahead & unloaded & parked the trailer. I used to park a four horse goose neck with ease, but that dang two horse has 4 wheels way too close together & we don’t get along well on a good day. Today, it was merciful, perhaps because it knew the adrenaline was all that was left & running out. Finally, the old man made it back into the pasture for a much deserved supper as the sun was setting. Now only one of us was still feeling rode hard & put up wet. Still missing family and/or staff, bone weary, but magically happy anyway.

 

Two Words And Time

 

 

Straighten my crown

It was a short text that came at 12:05 today – just two words and time.  “She’s gone 10:10” Who was she?  My mind has been trying to wrap itself around that question since I made a quick phone call to her husband to make sure I was understanding what his words meant.  Her earth name was Betty Carol Richardson (Greene) Hickox.  Who knows what they call her now, because now she has a new name.

Often when we lose people we struggle to quickly craft memories of a saint by tossing anything that does not fit the image.  And then sometimes its OK to hold all the memories because they intricately weave the person we loved who walked in a beauty so magical it cannot be marred by any fleshly flaws.  Indeed, any falls from grace were but tiny cracks that served to remind us that only one has ever walked this earth in perfect step with God.

She lived large!  And when you live larger than life you manage your share of drama and sometimes discourse because you can’t please everyone all the time.  You sometime trip over political correctness because most of the time it’s intended to trip those who answer a higher call.   Sometime you dance like there is no tomorrow.  Oh, but we did a lot of that because we were born spirit sisters with dancing legs & hearts that echoed every drum beat they ever heard.  How many nights did we dance til closing time & then spend the hours before dawn eating & talking at the Waffle House because we both had homes once filled with love & laughter that had grown way too empty.  It was a mutual joke that when the bread man arrived it was time to go home & dress for work.  When you’re in your 40’s you can do that & still punch the clock every day.  And you try not to think the day will come when time will punch you back.  But it does come.  And for this earth angel it punched again & again as her tiny body with the big heart kept struggling to win another round.  Two words & time marked the end.

So she was gone, but where?  She’s still here in my head & in my heart so can any of us ever really be gone?  I see her laughing & dancing & crying because we did  a lot of that.  We met at a divorce support meeting twenty-seven years ago & always agreed that the only value we took away was our friendship.  We were the sister neither of us had, but needed in a world where everything we thought we could depend on was suddenly gone sparat (no translation because it describes the absence of meaning).  We learned that one of the stages of grieving a loss is anger & when the loss is a marriage you can have a lot of that.  Some days we held our anger as a triumphant right of passage from who we were to who we were becoming (ready or not).  Deep in our conscience we knew we had to forgive, but not until we had fully owned the damage done to our hearts & minds & souls.  It was fresh & raw & painful & needing to be shared.  And so we tossed it back & forth when we could not transcend it with music or dancing or mindless laughing at life because too much serious honesty can kill the best of us.  Gradually we sorted the salvageable from the never gonna be the same again.  We realized it was not the loss of one fallible human that had once been our whole world, but rather the loss of who we were in that world that was so devastating.  We could live without the one who failed us, but could we rebuild above all the holes that had opened in our day to day universes because all our anticipated tomorrows were suddenly snatched by that black raven called Nevermore.  We could dance & She most often was the life of the party, but eventually the music faded & the bright lights came back on & that demon Nevermore was still there.  We even had a suicide pact by which we promised that neither one would go that exit unless we both agreed at the same time that it was the right exit.  We flipped & flopped, but never hit that bottom at the same time so we each propped the other up & vowed to do the next near duty & the next & the next.  Best friendships may come in on the wings of happiness, but they are forged into forever in the fires of shared pain & there is no greater pain than transcending from what was to what will be.  We walked years of that transition road together, sometimes close, & sometimes not so much as we also welcomed others to journey with us & those journeys eventually led us in different directions.  But we always carried that sisterhood bond there in our hearts & minds where our special treasures of a lifetime are safely preserved & we always knew no matter the distance or time each would always have a heart light burning for the other.  And tonight, I know that light is still burning because my answering light has not flickered.

And so, I answer my own question that I know where She has gone.  She’s gone to rest in the arms of our Elder Brother, Jesus.  It was He who really brought us through the valleys & stood with us on the mountains because He was the one who knew that we were spirit sisters long before we met  I know She fought to live because She felt it was the near duty, but I also know She had no fear of death.  We used to spend midnight hours in the cemetery every anniversary of the untimely death of her first born.  That was her near duty so she thought & mine was to be there with her & for her.  She won’t be able to be buried there because there is only room for one wife, but it does not matter.  Mother & daughter are together now & finally that loss has been restored.  Graves can bring you close to one who has left this life, but there is no separation in the life to come so graves only have meaning to those left behind.  We earthbound are silly to quibble over earth things for one who has been freed.  We quibble for our own peace of mind because part of the answer to where they have gone is beyond the bonds of earth time or place.

Two words and time marked your passage and I already knew you were going.  Still, they seemed so lifeless & so abrupt & so meaningless.  Why Lord, did you suffer so long if this was how it ended.  And then I started laughing because I realized the 10:10 was a message & you would surely be laughing also.  10 in scripture numerics  is a complete number along with 3, 7 & 12.  It also stands for testimony.  But for me the real treasure was it meant God was saying “I’ve got this.  It’s Ok.  It’s Complete & right on time & also the testimony is completed.”  On the earth level 10-10 most commonly means “fight” when used in 10 signal codes.  So, if I put it all together it read.  “She’s gone.  The testimony is complete.  The fight is over.  And most importantly I’ve got this.”  It does not matter that perhaps no one else would ever read the message like me because I know in my knower it was from God & that makes all the difference.

When they amputated your foot all I could think was not that foot that loved to dance.  And God said “That foot had a good run.”  Now, I tell myself that flesh body could not contain your special magic any longer.  But oh how my heart & my memory eyes can still see you dancing & laughing & loving life & people.  Now, you go rest high on that mountain & know One Father is saying,  “You had a good run & you completed your testimony.”  My prayer is that all those who ever loved you will honor that testimony by choosing to love & be kind to each other.

As for me & my near duty I promise to continue to love everyone you loved & to work a little harder at remembering whose daughter I am & to be more diligent to straighten my crown.  You little trickster.  You no longer have to worry about your crown slipping.  Just know – I won’t be far behind you & then we can both dance every dance because I’m sure they dance in Heaven & the music never stops.  Hopefully there will finally be enough men so we never have to sit down.  Best friends & sisters for eternity!

 

 

Fail Safe

4 legs big heart

December 7, 2015

I’ve posted before about my recurring dream of horses in my care being left without food or water for long periods of time & my realization that this is God’s way of reminding me that He uses my connection with horses to represent the innate wild persona he gifted me at birth.  The dream is always a wake up alert that I am too immersed in the top side world & my soul needs more time in the netherworld in order to find nourishment by reconnecting with the wild self that is nearest to Him.  I sense the drying out & the thirsting for renewal, but everything in the topside world refuses to give room.  The phrase “Do the near duty” is a password between us, but it gets so hard to sort out the real “near duty”.   The dream has not visited, but I sensed it being over due.  This morning when I went out to feed I opened the tack room door & was greeted with an empty feed bucket which is right for evening, but oh so wrong for morning.  I was blindsided with the fact that for the first time in my decades of owning horses I actually totally forgot to feed a ward.  I’ve fed & left the pasture gate open so Picasso could continue to graze in the back yard & fell asleep without going back to make sure he was secured in the pasture, but never, ever totally forgot to feed him.  Randomly, I purposely skip a morning or evening feed as a dietary rest, but only in the summer when grass is plentiful & never ever in cold weather.  But, that is a plan & not an error.  This was a full blown horrible forgetting of something dependent on my care.  Granted PC has plenty of extra pounds to burn, but he needs warm food in his stomach on a cold night.  I absolutely could not believe that the error never registered until I opened the door expecting to find a full bucket of feed.  I always mix his morning feed when I feed the night before so that the morning feed is quick if I’m in a hurry for work.  There was no denying a night feeding had been skipped.  It is my rule when I get home after dark to walk in the front door, gather Bella, & go directly out the back door to feed Picasso.  If I’m on the phone it goes with me because the near duty is to feed before anything else is done.  I was on the phone the 20 mile drive from Kinderlou followed by return calls to the two people who called during that conversation, but that had never stopped my out the door focus before.  Bella was let out & I watched one full DVR episode of NCIS & started a second before I realized I was too tired to finish it.  Still, I went to bed & slept all night & Picasso evidently never entered my mind.  When I woke up I immediately went into morning duty, turned on the tea pot & headed out the door with Bella.  When I opened the door it was a total unexpected shock.

OK, I know this is random rambling to everyone else.  But to me it is necessary get your act together recording of major fail.  I stopped writing in journals because the shelves are overloaded, but I have to have somewhere to return for reminders of journey milestones.  I had to make a road trip for political reasons because it was already scheduled for today.  I did the near duty & gave it full focus because it was today’s near duty.  When I got home I let Picasso into the back yard because miraculously there is still green grass on December 7.  I groomed him while he grazed & wiped him down with insecticide because mosquitoes were covering him.  He is of course no worse for the wear of a missed feeding, but that does not excuse the mistake.  Tomorrow is a work day & work is always the near duty, but I will be taking a hard look at all my off duty scheduling.  Tomorrow is December 8th & duty is calling.  Winter is coming to my topside world in two weeks.  Wolves never hibernate, but they do pull closer to the netherworld & to their inner circle.  I will be ready to submerge myself for the winter quarter.  There will still be the near duty of the topside world, but the wild self must needs submerge whenever possible.  It is in the releasing of the topside life that one truly gains the true Life with the Father.   “April always comes again, but April never comes to all”.  Winter is coming!  What will April 2016 bring?

 

American Pharaoh – What’s In A Name?

horse & lazy riderFinally after 37 years we have added a 12th name to the Tripple Crown memorial.  Will it read American Pharoah or American Pharaoh and what is the real account of how the spelling mistake became legal history?  For that matter, why was it decreed that it could not be corrected?  My last race horse was originally named Steak and Baloney on his registration papers.  When he came into my possession I petitioned the registration office and paid to have his name changed to Sun Bar’s Shadow to reflect his Three Bars and Black Sun Bar ancestry, not to mention I failed to appreciate the satirical humor in the first naming.  So be it, we now have a Triple Crown winner with a misspelled name.  Perhaps it is best the spelling missed the intended mark.  In ancient Egypt a pharaoh was an autocratic dictator ruling as ultimate king and worshiped as a blood prodigy of the sun god, Re.   An American Pharaoh would therefore be an oxymoron under the rules of the US Constitution which insure autonomous rule.  Perhaps the spelling anomaly could be foreshadowing of a coming power anomaly as “We the People” continue to surrender our ordained right to rule.  Could a letter shift that should have been corrected in an element of the microcosm that has produced a macro page in history be subliminal warning that accepting seemingly harmless power shifts in the political arena is destining America to a matching dictatorial paradigm shift in our national future?  Just a random thought.

I’m also confused about the seeming inattention to the fact AP is registered as a ridgeling meaning  he had one testicle that did not descend.  My Sun Bars Shadow also had a testicle that fully descending and then decided to go traveling.  I always suspicioned that it’s decision to ascend & travel resulted from an extended series of steroid shots administered to assist healing of a leg injury.  Steroids are known to decrease normal testosterone levels & to shrink testicles, so I figured maybe the testicle shrunk which allowed it to reascend.   (When I worked at Gold’s Gym I warned the roid droids of my suspicions, but they never listened.)  At any rate the AQHA will not allow a ridgeling into their stud registries because it is considered a hereditary condition that can be passed on.  I fully intended to wait out the problem since I was aware the testicle had at one time reached its intended destination and therefore might correct itself.  However, a traveling testicle can go anywhere in a horse’s body including all the way to the backbone and can locate in areas where it is subject to being pinched especially when a rider is aboard.  I experienced Shadow’s reaction to this phenomena enough times to make sure I always had on my racing helmet even when I was pleasure riding because my race horses were always broke for pleasure riding along side their race training so they would be well rounded.  I’ve been bucked off many times over the years, but when that testicle got pinched pile driving the rider into the ground was the instant response and an entire unprecedented chapter in my bucking experience was registered.  And so I reluctantly gave in to all the concerned voices who were insisting the problem be corrected for my safety.  I could have left the one remaining descended testicle in place, but if breeding was not allowed by the registry there was no since in doing that.   The local area veterinarian that always attended my race horses considered the operation one of his finest challenges because his equipment only allowed a minimum time window for safe anesthesia.  He said he stayed up all night the night before studying exactly how to reach inside the abdomen to explore and retrieve the traveler under the strict time restraints.  He must have studied well because he was up to his shoulder reaching, but he did successfully retrieve and remove the wayfarer and its innocent twin.  My question is, if Thoroughbred racing is supposed to be so much better regulated, why do they seemingly look the other way for ridgeling breeding when AQHA racing will only recognize a ridgling that has been gelded?   Another random thought.

AP is beautiful and I rejoiced to remotely witness his race into history.  I forgot to record the Derby,  but I did read that Victor Espinoza was questioned about his excessive whipping in that race.  My comments on his excessive whipping habits were registered in my California Chrome comments last year.   Either his whipping was more refined this year or AP had a different attitude about it because he seemed to run true.  I totally missed the muddy Preakness victory, but his Belmont run seemed effortless.  I rejoice with Victor’s Tripple Crown ride into history also.

The Zayat family has its own anomalies including the fact they are Orthodox Jews who also identify themselves as Muslims.  It was never explained why the son always did the talking during the race interviews because surely Ahmed would not transfer his business savvy from Egypt to America without learning English unless he is content to rely on such translator relations.  The son was passionate, but I personally would have liked to also hear from the father even if it was through translation.  Perhaps Ahmed is more Orthodox and preferred to remain semi-reserved from public oratory on the Sabbath.  He did camp in an RV so the family could walk to the track since driving an automobile would involve using machinery which equates to work which is forbidden on the Sabbath.  I guess a prize horse extending horsepower to generate financial gain was an exemption. Too many random thoughts for one blog.

People of the Lie – Boundaries That Prevent Growth

crow and wolf

“Virtually all of the evil in this world is committed by people who are absolutely certain they know what they are doing. It is not done by people who think of themselves as confused. It is not committed by the ‘poor in spirit’. There are a number of ways to translate ‘poor in spirit’, but on an intellectual level the best translation is ‘confused’. Blessed are the confused.” People of the Lie by M. Scott Peck, M.D. Many people have read Peck’s books – The Road Less Traveled, Further Along the Road Less Traveled, & others. One of his best books is People of the Lie. As a Christian psychiatrist he has much experience with what he calls ‘pretenders’. Often these are so called “pillars of the community” socially & in church circles, but they are infinite evil in disguise. One of the primary characteristics of these people is their refusal to questions themselves or to allow anyone else to ask questions of their actions. They surround themselves with people who always agree with them & they set up boundaries against anyone God might send to bring light on their evil. They disguise this protection as Godly excusing their unwillingness to hear another opinion as Biblical even though the Bible insists we always question our motives & actions. Any time we use a portion of the Bible to create a dogma that excludes other portions of the Bible we are protecting ourselves from Godly confusion & setting ourselves up to be People of the Lie.

“Self-esteem, ego, feeling good about ourselves at any cost including eradication of any negative information about our self or our actions denies the need to evaluate criticism & make corrections. We should always love our self, but it is not always positive or mature to esteem our self”.

While the world is teaching us to glorify personal boundaries to protect our opinions & our comfort groups we need to remember the words of Jesus to our Father:

That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.    And the glory which thou gavest me I have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one:  I in them and Thou in Me, that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that Thou hast sent Me and hast loved them, as Thou hast loved Me.     John 17:21-23 KJV

Is our goal to protect the personal kingdoms we establish or to protect the glory of  His Kingdom?

The Journey Call

Image

Since this is supposed to be my year of discovery I am using this blog as a semi journal of what I observe in the topside world and in the netherworld of dreams.  Throughout the years I have had a recurring dream scape that involves horses that have been part of my past.  The recurring theme is suddenly realizing that one or more of these horses are in a location not in my immediate control and I suddenly realize that I have forgotten them and for a period of time they have not been fed or watered.  It is a distressing dream and it took much soul searching and listening to voices of my old soul to realize the meaning.  The horse has a netherworld meaning associated with our innate persona controlled by the instincts society demands we abandon.  I have learned to respect this recurring dream as a reminder that I have a responsibility to God to protect this innate persona He entrusted to me, which always necessitates a time of travel in the netherworld to seek restoration.  These excursions are always accompanied with much stress in my topside world as an anchor because it is in my nature to favor the netherworld.  Without the pull to survival in the topside I would without a doubt willingly forget my way back.  I am currently pretty much maxed out with stressors in the topside, so I am hoping if I complete my restoration cycle in the nethers I won’t need so much anchoring on the topside.

This time my horse dream occurred in two parts for the first time.  I guess you could call it a sequential dream with a topside week in between.  In the first part I allowed someone I really did not know to trailer Picasso from his near pasture to another location where I was assured he would be well boarded.  I agreed to this because in the dream it was pointed out to me that my busy schedule was not allowing much time for him and he would get more attention in the new stable arrangement.  That part I dream was perplexing, but not really distressing like the others.

Then came Part II which occurred Friday night.  As before a chance conversation brought a sudden realization that I had not really vetted the person that took him or the stable agreement.  When I asked if that person had not assured me that the stable board included feed and water he looked at me like I was crazy.  A horse can live for weeks without feed.  It may not be pretty, but they can survive.  However, a week is way too long for a horse to go without water and I have seen a prized stallion die because the designated caretaker did not check his water when the owner was on vacation.  It only took 4 days of no water.  Always in the past the horses in the dream were no longer in my life so the distress of the dream was tempered by return to the topside and the drive to seek restoration was intentioned but not so intense.   This sequeled dream was ever so much more intense.  Like always the answers were not in the dream thus prompting the nether journey.  But this time the answers seem much more needed because the chosen horse icon is my current soul mate.   The goal is always reclamation of my innate God given persona from whomever or whatever I have  surrendered it to.  I’m old & tired of testing, but I will make the journey.  The call is always to the near duty and the journey is accomplished one duty at a time.  I must restore food and water to my innate me which also means protection of the pineal gland and the pituitary gland.

If you’re not a Watcher you can call me crazy or anything else you like.  I was name proofed several journeys ago.

 

 

How We Are Being Indoctrinated Into The Thought Police Agendas

Can someone explain to me why the more morally depraved this country becomes the more it insists on manners on demand. No one can speak their mind about anything without the pansy patrol demanding an apology leveraged with instant defamation by the media for anyone who fails to comply. Actually apologies are only partially acceptable because defamation is the byword of the day and the liberal media outlets are in competition to see who can destroy someone first. I was raised to be a lady and manners were always a top priority in my family, but we did not insist on being the thought police for the world. After all the First Amendment guaranties freedom of speech and respect for our freedoms was equal priority. This man spoke his thoughts and emotions, but he did not actually harm or even threaten anyone. If he wants to come back with a cool down apology fine, but it should not be a requirement. Could we all please just stand up and be the proud, brave Americans we were born to be and stop all this thin skinned hunt for offense on every word uttered in public or printed or tweeted, or posted, or anything else. We’ve become a nation of thought police because you have to change what someone thinks before you can change their expressed opinions. A world where every word and every action is examined for any ounce of offense is a pansy world and I for one don’t want to live there. Offense is sort of like germs. The only way to build up an immunity is by contact.
California Chrome owner Steve Coburn apologizes for post-race rants
msn.foxsports.com
California Chrome owner Steve Coburn has apologized for his post-race rants following his horse’s failed bid to win the…
 
This was my FB post on 6/9/14.  After one commenter expressed her opinion that he should apologize because he was just like the liberals – always blaming someone else,  I added this comment:
 
I don’t think it matters if he was right or wrong. It was his opinion at the moment and he should be allowed to express it. I personally have never agreed with the Triple Crown rules. If they are going to link the 3 races together then fresh horses should not be allowed in. The main reason they allow them in is because it widens the betting odds. Even when I was jockeying and training I had to admit that the sport runs on gambling. It’s just like Las Vegas. Everything at the track is cheap because they need the jockeys, grooms & trainers to provide the means to their end. We could stay in the track dorms for $30 for the entire season and shed row rent was very reasonable. It is pure organized crime vice and the para mutual system is party to the vice. Most of them have no real appreciation of the horses as the valuable athletes they are. To them they are just the means to an end. When we try to limit any verbal expression that is not obscene or threatening then we are limiting that persons thoughts. In my book that equates to thought police and we are cooperating with establishment of their agenda.

Horses and Ravens

horses and crow

Sometimes we fail to remember that life is about partnerships.  The popular theme of today seems to be me, me, me.  We can push our way around partnerships with people, but the horse will only bend so far.  I commented after the Kentucky Derby that I would have questioned the jockey’s decision to whip so aggressively when California Chrome was so obviously in command of his race.  I did not see the Preakness, so I do not know how that race went, but I do know that the insistence on the nose strips for the Belmont confirmed my suspicions that CC might have lung stress.  Excessive whipping can exacerbate lung stress because the stride lock phenomena in horses necessitates them finding the optimum stride pattern that fits their anatomical design.  An occasional whip stroke can be a reminder to seek this optimum, but excessive whipping can drive beyond the natural optimum which is why so many racers become bleeders.

During an interview with Victor Espinoza this past week I heard him comment something along the lines of  California Chrome could be moody, but when he rides him he shows him he is the boss and he is in charge and he has to do what he says.  I remember reading that he could be cocky and I know it to be common amongst jockeys and he certainly has had a successful career.  However, the comments weighed heavy on my California dreaming for a new Triple Crown icon.  I went back and watched the Derby run after hearing those remarks and I began to worry that the partnership element might not be the priority required for the crown.  As I posted in my pre-race comments I was trying to hold to the dream, but I was not feeling it because I sensed a communication breakdown on the horizon.

Armchair jockeying is really not a fair game because there is no way to know all the elements that intertwine, but I know the heart of a champion and I know respect is an integral fuel.  In my knower I saw the mutual respect bridge that creates the needed partnership between man and beast was hampered by the weight of control lust on the part of man.  I saw the shadow of the raven set in flight by the power grasping words that some would label confidence.   Horses bred to race love to run and to win.  A  good jockey learns to partner with the dance born of that fire.  Chrome was not dancing today.  Something damped his fire and no amount of rejected whipping could stir its embers.  I believe his champion’s heart would have gladly danced in partnership with skilled urging from freeing hands pumping in rhythm with his heaven ordained heart and lungs.

Our words come from what rules in our hearts and they often proceed the results of that rule.  The raven is the symbol of the power of the spoken word.  I don’t know when the music stopped for Chrome, but it stopped short of the crown and that dance will not come again.  Quote the raven

NEVERMORE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

California Dreaming

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I recorded the Kentucky Derby because I had to attend an early Mother’s Day pizza party for a dear friend who always includes me in her family get togethers. The race result was spoiled when someone there announced the winner via their smart phone, but I still watched the recording. I find the California Chrome story very inspiring and very timely in light of current events. The two owners, Steve Coburn and Perry Martin were called dumb asses for their $8,000 purchase of Love the Chase. Instead of becoming defensive they incorporated the name into their partnership by calling themselves the Dumb Ass Partners. Their racing silks and CC’s blinkers proudly proclaim DAP on the front with a buck toothed jack ass on the back. That is the perfect application of my current belief that true freedom comes from ignoring negative comments or better yet incorporating them to show self-esteem and individual value does not ride the fickle winds of outsider opinion. This is so much wiser and more productive than the current rush to paint any opinion not considered positive as defined by the current definition of political correctness as an evil to be punished. First amendment rights guarantee any citizen room to make dumb or insensitive comments as long as they don’t threaten harm to another person or property. Political correctness and the desire to legislate opinion has turned us into a nation of wimps and tattlers ever ready to point a finger at anyone whose opinion is judged offensive. In the process we are selling out our freedom of speech on the altar of collectively accepted opinion. Bravo to two men who have the courage to stand in the face of negative opinion and prove words have no power unless we assign them power.

When the filly proved unsuccessful on the track they held to their belief in her and bred her to see what kind of foal she would produce which is basically a three year blind faith commitment before the foal is old enough to ride. They say Perry studied her pedigree and thought it would match well with that of Lucky Pulpit who had a modest $2,500 stud fee. I’ve studied the two pedigrees and was not overly impressed. I saw some good bloodlines, but nothing outstanding other than Seattle Slew four generations back on the stud side and Northern Dancer four generations and five generations back on the dam side. But ink and paper are only parts of what creates a dream in the hearts of men and they saw what others might not. They followed their dream and their partnership forged by an arranged meeting and a handshake grew into the dream of a lifetime. To accomplish their shared dream they found another aging dreamer with horses forged into his lifeblood from his youth. Art Sherman came alongside them to add his trainer talents and the never ending wonder of those who have lived close to those magical creatures who inhabit racing barns and pastures. And so, on the second Saturday in May 2014 their shared dreams raced to the finish line aboard a cocky sorrel stallion with chrome and charisma that might never have been if dumb ass had been taken as a warning instead of a challenge.

I found the jockey, Victor Espenoza, exuding his own brand of cocky, which is pretty common with the trade. He rode a good ride and often commented that he gets along well with CC because he lets him run his own race. As a now arm chair jockey/trainer I would have had to ask, in private of course, why he found the need to whip so aggressively on the back stretch when CC was so obviously in command of his race. Horses are stride locked which means they breathe once for every stride. Over whipping to increase speed is a good way to cause lung damage and produce a bleeder, not to mention CC has two hard races in his too near future. Just an arm chair observation, but I’ll be saying extra prayers for unhindered soundness because we all will be doing California dreaming for a new Triple Crown contender.

 

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