In an Instant

It’s amazing how life can change in an instant. Two weeks ago, on a sweet sunny Sunday morning, I got up and went out to feed the horses. I walked down the path by the tack room, my mind drifting to who knows where. My ankle twisted, and I went down with nothing nearby to grab or break my fall.  I landed on a wooden log next to the flowerbed crashing down on my right arm. The pain was so sharp, and when I looked at my elbow, the shape was totally out of whack. Completely dislocated. 

My husband rushed me to the hospital, where they were wonderfully kind and immediately loaded me with pain medication. The rest of that week is a haze, with visits to the surgeon, very heavy-duty pain killers, and finally, on Friday, surgery to fix my broken bone and dislocated right elbow.  It was as if time stood still for five days while I waited. The surgeon, who is an elbow expert wanted to have the wrist expert with him when they operated so we had to wait until he was available. They say I will have full recovery of the use of my arm.

My husband and daughter have been amazing throughout this ordeal.  Four days after I fell, I was able to wobble down to the barn hanging onto my daughter’s arm.  Everyone was worried by how upset Silk was that I had disappeared. When she saw me, she made a loud “nnnmmm!” noise and ran to me.  My arm was in a huge soft cast at that point, and Silk put her nose right on it and sniffed up and down from my fingers to shoulder and back. She got it, I could tell, and relaxed. Since then, when I am able once a day, I go out with someone to hold onto me and check in with the girls. They are doing fine. I have no idea when I will be able to fill a water bucket or pick a hoof, but I remind myself that the surgeon is positive that I will have full recovery.

Now, I’m sporting a robot like splint that we refer to as my “ex-o-skeleton”.  Doing any simple thing, like opening a bottle or brushing my hair, is a big deal. I hope that my arm heals quickly, and I faithfully do the exercises the doctor has taught me. Being this dependent on other people is really frustrating, but I am so grateful for such good help. And I think it’s better to have broken my elbow than my knee. What this has done is put my whole life in a new perspective. As I drifted off in the dream state that dilaudid, a very strong pain med, induced, I felt the roof peel off above my bed and reveal blue sky with fluffy white clouds floating above me. I realized that for the first time in many years, I was able to feel the space between the minutes open up wide.  I haven’t tried to plan or fill the space since then, and living so completely in the moment, appreciating how good my life is, really helps me now that I no longer am taking any pain medication. I feel very free to just be the way I am for now.

I don’t know how long all this healing will take, but I do know that I am more than okay, I am blessed.

On Memorial Day

We are spending some blissful, relaxing time at home on Memorial Day. The horses are grazing happily in the pasture. The sun is shining on the peonies that are about to open any minute and spread their lush, heady scent across the yard and into our windows.  We are so lucky.

So, my thoughts go to those people who are in places like Syria or Afghanistan or the Sudan, where children and many brave souls are dying in wars. Both my parents fought in World War II.  My dad never spoke of how it felt to slip behind enemy lines as a young American officer and help organize the Resistance. In noticeable contrast, my mother talked to me about her war experiences as the only woman in the Polish parachute brigade all the time, and even now, at 97 years old, still wakes up screaming at night with haunting visions of what she lived through.  I recently finished writing a book about her life, using interviews I did over the years with her, so she could leave a legacy of her story for my daughter and future generations in her own words. 

In honor of her bravery, I want to share one of the incidents she describes:

“In Holland, there were a lot of snipers, and Queen Wilhemina welcomed the Germans. Not one bomb was dropped, so the buildings were not damaged, but there were lots of snipers. The poor men, who were out on the Frontline were out of cigarettes. I was the welfare officer, and I had started a canteen with coffee, cigarettes and chocolate. So I asked my driver, who was Jewish, if we could both get on his motorcycle and bring some things to the men. He said, “Lieutenant, if you want to go, I’ll go with you.” Some of the men when they saw me said, “See I told you, the devil couldn’t make it through, but a woman did.” That was a compliment. But they were so glad to see us.”

 

I used to think that my mother was fearless, but I’ve come to realize that she did what she did even though she was often totally terrified.  I’ve been reading some of Alice Walker’s writing, and one thing that she says really touches me: “The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” My mother understood this deep in her bones, and she still is able each day to find her power and carry on. Millions of people who are in terrible circumstances do, and that is what makes them heroes.  Today, let’s take a moment to appreciate them.

Love Is In the Air

Maybe because we are enjoying the most fabulous, blue-sky days in May, my thoughts have been turning to love.  I came across a quote from George Washington Carver: “Anything will give up its secrets if you love it enough.”  As I was grooming Siete yesterday, I decided to make a commitment to loving her more, since I often feel that I love her mother too much and Siete feels it.  This makes me wonder what kind of secrets she has that might be revealed if I give more of myself to her.

My daughter is reading John Steinbeck in her English class.  And she is now at the age where boys and crushes and the first pangs of love are swirling around among her friends. She watches them with amusement and astonishment, not having experienced these feelings yet herself.  So, we have had an on-going discussion on this subject, to which John Steinbeck has made an unexpected but helpful contribution.  Last night, I discovered a letter that he had written responding to his son, Thomas, who had fallen in love.  It was so appropriate and charming that I shared it with my daughter.  Here is what Steinbeck said: 

“There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it…The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it…It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good…And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”

John Steinbeck in a letter to his son, Thom.

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/01/nothing-good-gets-away.html

I realized that what Steinbeck was saying really applies to everything and every creature that you love.  One of the other interesting things about a love that has the duration of many years is that it ebbs and flows.  So, with each season that passes, my relationship with my little horse changes depending on how much I am willing to put into it.  We may not have spent much time together over the last few months, other than the day-to-day routine tasks that I do to care for her and Silk, but no ground was lost.  I can start right now to reaffirm how I feel.  If I love her enough, she will know it.

Celebrate the Strong Women

I was out early this Mother’s Day to pick up some hay from my favorite farmer. As I drove past his cows towards the barn, I noticed five or six very pregnant ones resting in a small circle in the pasture.  Coming back, most had moved on to graze nearby, except for one of the cows, who had given birth in those few minutes and was gently licking her tiny wet calf as the baby wobbled over to begin nursing. It was the perfect reminder for me of the miracle of life.

We spent most of the day with my mom, who loved every minute of it. She has recovered from her bout with diverticulitis and enjoyed the hugs from her granddaughter and the licks and snuggling with the dog and the two pieces of her favorite ice cream cake. She is my role model for being a strong woman, and even at 97, she encourages me to speak out against injustice and work for change.

Mother’s Day has been so corrupted by commercialism that I think it’s important to remember that it was originally started in 1870 as a cry against the Civil War and an attempt to remind people of what happens when you put mothers at the center of all things.

It was activist Julia Ward Howe who wrote: Arise, then, women of this day! Arise, all women who have hearts, whether your baptism be that of water or tears!   Say firmly: "We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have taught them of charity, mercy and patience. We women of one country will be too tender of those of another to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

So, as I appreciate how I am blessed by the life that I am living, my thoughts are more and more drawn towards what I can do to help the women in the world who need our voices and support in order to be safe and respected.  I recommend that you check out the Half the Sky Movement and this powerful article written by Nicholas Kristof today in the New York Times, “Saving the Lives of Moms”.

"If one woman is hurt, all women are hurt, there is no here & there about it."

 2011 Nobel Laureate Leymah Gbowee

Soft Morning

This is one of my favorite moments. Everyone else in the house is sleeping, except me and the kitty.  The morning is soft and foggy, with only the intensely happy song of some little birds nesting in the barn. The horses are enjoying their breakfast. Between the munching of hay and the chirping of the birds, I find the space to listen to the possibility of everything.

I was looking at some beautiful photos taken by an Indonesian photographer, Tri Joko,  and I’ve been thinking about what he said: “We need to realize that life can not be repeated.”

Walking back to the house, with each step that I took, I found myself saying, (left foot)“Thank” and (right foot) “you”.

Happy Birthday Gorgeous Girl!

     Silk is 24 years old today. She will celebrate with a fruit salad and a vigorous grooming with all her favorite spots itched and rubbed until she’s weak in the knees. It’s a gorgeous sunny day, and she’s feeling frisky. I’m thinking back to all the wonderful birthday parties that we’ve had for my four-legged sister over the years.

     My daughter was 3 when we got Silk, and I started the tradition of baking a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting from scratch to celebrate. My daughter always decorates the cake.We would invite my daughter’s friends to join us at the barn. There was a lot of running and bucking and giggling with Silk and the kids happily dancing around together. One year, when we lived in Virginia, my daughter invited a little boy who lived down the street to come with us. He had done something wrong so his mother had grounded him, but when she heard that we were going to celebrate Silk’s birthday, she agreed to let him come. “How often in his life is he going to be invited to a horse’s birthday party?” she said. I’m glad she let him come because it turned out that he had never been on a farm before. He loved every minute and even got to ride Silk as I led her with him sitting bareback. His mother tells me that he still remembers it. 

     This year, I will make the carrot cake because my daughter still loves it, and it’s part of the ritual. There are three little kids who live across the street from us who are invited to Silk’s birthday party. My daughter babysits them now, and they love to pet the horses. Siete will try to hone in on the action, but she has to wait a month for her fruit salad. Her birthday is in May, and she will be ten years old. Hard to believe how fast it all goes.

     The birthday girl knows how much she is loved, and I tell her every day that she’s the best horse in the world. When I look in her eyes, I can see that she thinks I’m the best too, and her expression reflects back to make me feel good about myself. That’s what our horses do for us.

An Incarnation of Hope

We have a little dogwood tree next to the pasture that delights me every Spring with its beautiful flowers. Last October, when the crazy snowstorm blasted through here, it took down several of our big trees. One of them fell, crushing the dogwood. I was heartbroken every time I looked at the big trunk with the little tree twisted and broken underneath it, and I kept asking my husband if we could buy a new dogwood tree once we had the carcass of the downed tree removed. As the warm weather surprised us earlier than usual, I also noticed that the dogwood branches were sprouting little green leaves. Soon, there were buds and now, there are blossoms. Every time I look at the tree, still pinned under the old dead trunk of the fallen maple, it fills me with hope.

I needed a reminder of hope this week since my mom, who will be 98 years old soon, was rushed to the hospital on Thursday. She was bleeding, and the doctor was very frank about the possible reasons. It could be diverticulitis, which he could treat with antibiotics, or it could be a tumor, which was probably colon cancer. We are lucky that he is a very sensitive, kind doctor and did not want to frighten my mother or do anything that would be in any way invasive. So, he suggested that he would start the antibiotics and she would stay in the hospital while we waited to see if they worked and the bleeding stopped. Needless to say, I had a very anxious time while we waited. Each time I drove in and out of my driveway, I would pass that little dogwood tree trapped under the big dead trunk and seeing its flowers valiantly blooming would give me hope.

I found that the easiest way to calm myself was to go out to the barn and brush Silk. She is still shedding out her long winter coat and loved all the extra attention. This week, Silk will be 24 years old, so as I dragged the shedding blade along her neck and her back, I thought a lot about how I was going to be facing some tough inevitabilities with both my horse and my mother in the near future. I have been blessed to have them both in my life for a long time, anchoring me in ways that I probably won’t truly understand until they are gone. At the same time, I appreciate that they are both tough cookies and are strangely similar in many ways. They have each proven to me over and over that they have great strength and an incredible will to live. Realizing that led me to decide to focus wholeheartedly on believing that everything was going to turn out for the best.

I showed up at the hospital with a bouquet of dogwood and lilac blossoms today and discovered that my mom was doing fine and had just been sent back by ambulance to the nursing home where she lives. I raced over to see her. It was like a party in her room when I got there, with nurses coming in to hug and kiss her and my mother happily eating spaghetti and meatballs for lunch, announcing that she was starving. She was so excited to see the dogwood and the lilacs because they are favorites of hers. Soon, the scent of the flowers filled the air, and once again, I understood the glory of hope.