copied from "Brainy Quote"Enjoy your day!
Showing posts with label Quotations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Quotations. Show all posts
Sunday, August 2, 2020
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Wednesday's Quotation
"Much more surprising things can happen to anyone who,
when a disagreeable or discouraged thought comes into his mind, just has the sense to remember in time and push it out by putting in an agreeable, determinedly courageous one.
Two things cannot be in one place."
Frances Hodgson Burnett
The Secret Garden
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Morning Thoughts
"The more faithfully you listen to the voice within you,
the better you will hear what is sounding outside. And only
she who listens can speak"
Dag Hamarksjold
Friday, February 21, 2014
Bloom
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud
was more painful than the risk
it took to blossom.
Anais Nin
Have a wonderful weekend!
Monday, January 21, 2013
A Little Bit of Tongue in Cheek
Do you search blogs and pinterest for DIY ideas or instructions? I'll read it if it pops up. If it sounds useful I will repin; I might even try it.
Several weeks ago I saw instructions for an easy clean solution for the glass on the oven door. I have a wonderful self-cleaning oven. All I need to do is push a button, the door locks and the cleaning begins. When the timer dings I merely open the door and occasionally wipe up a bit of dust. HOWEVER, the glass in the door is never clean. In fact since the oven cleans at such a high temperature the grease, and/or whatever it is, seems to be baked on as surely as if it was fired in a kiln.
I have tried everything; nothing has worked to my liking.
With a day out of school, I thought I might should take on some of the less savory tasks. Those things that really bother me, but I never have time to tackle.
With a day out of school, I thought I might should take on some of the less savory tasks. Those things that really bother me, but I never have time to tackle.
Seriously? I would rather be reading.
The instructions I found used baking soda and water. It showed the nasty before and the after sparkling clean glass. I made my solution and spread it over the glass. Set the timer for 30 minutes...okay I set it for 60 minutes. After the holidays, it was in need of a really good cleaning.
If you are at the point wondering what the quotations have to do with my chosen task of the day... I will tell you...absolutely nothing. I found these on pinterest while waiting for the baking soda and water to preform it's magic. I thought it would be nicer to share some inspiration rather than a picture of my oven door. I've never been one to expose all my dirty little secrets.
Did it work? Well...
The door is much cleaner.
Did it work in a snap?
No!
Like most things in life it took time and elbow grease.
I'm okay with that.
The other recipe I found included white vinegar. Like Mother Hubbard my cupboard was bare...well of white vinegar.
Roger is bringing a bottle home this afternoon, and more baking soda
Yes, I'm afraid my OCD is showing a bit.
I've earned some reading time.
Enjoy your afternoon!
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Winter Book Talk
The last workman left my house Friday afternoon. The floors are now finished.
It is hard to believe the "water" saga began before Labor Day and the final curtain
fell less than a week before Thanksgiving.
Saturday, after moving the furniture back into the den,
arranging and rearranging, shifting lamps from table to table,
room to room, removing blinds and hanging curtains, I needed a bit of recreation.
What might I do for fun late on a Saturday afternoon?
 |
| via flicker |
Browse a bookstore, of course.
I'm putting together my winter reading list.
I'm putting together my winter reading list.
"It is the early 1950s. A nameless man is found on the steps of the hospital in Iasi, Romania. He is deaf and mute, but a young nurse named Safta recognizes him from the past and brings him paper and pencils so that he might draw. Gradually, memories appear on the page: the man is Augustin, the cook's son at the manor house at Poiana, where Safta was the privileged daughter. Born six months apart, they had a connection that bypassed words, but while Augustin's world stayed the same size, Safta's expanded to embrace languages, society, and a fleeting love one long, hot summer. But then came war, and in its wake a brutal Stalinist regime, and nothing would remain the same."
"The year is 1921. Three women set out on the impressive Paris ocean liner on a journey from Paris to New York. Julie Vernet is a young French woman from a working class family who has just gotten her first job as a crew worker on the ship. Escaping her small town and the memory of war,
she longs for adventure on the high seas...
Constance Stone is a young American wife and mother who has traveled to Paris to rescue her bohemian sister, Faith, who steadfastly refuses to return to America and settle down. Constance returns home to New York, having failed at the duty her father asked of her...
Vera Sinclair, a rich, ex-patriate American is leaving France after thirty-one years to live out her remaining time home in America. Over the course of the transatlantic voyage, she reflects on her colorful life and looks forward to a quiet retirement. While each of these women come from different walks of life, their paths cross while at sea in a series of chance encounters. The powerful impact these disparate lives have on one another make for a magnificent and unforgettable read."
Both of the above sound sound wonderful to me, but this is the one I wish
I had brought home with me. First published in 1934 it sounds
lighthearted and deliciously funny.
Exactly what I need right now.
she longs for adventure on the high seas...
Constance Stone is a young American wife and mother who has traveled to Paris to rescue her bohemian sister, Faith, who steadfastly refuses to return to America and settle down. Constance returns home to New York, having failed at the duty her father asked of her...
Vera Sinclair, a rich, ex-patriate American is leaving France after thirty-one years to live out her remaining time home in America. Over the course of the transatlantic voyage, she reflects on her colorful life and looks forward to a quiet retirement. While each of these women come from different walks of life, their paths cross while at sea in a series of chance encounters. The powerful impact these disparate lives have on one another make for a magnificent and unforgettable read."
Both of the above sound sound wonderful to me, but this is the one I wish
I had brought home with me. First published in 1934 it sounds
lighthearted and deliciously funny.
Exactly what I need right now.
"Barbara Buncle is in a bind. Times are harsh, and Barbara's bank account has seen better days. Maybe she could sell a novel...if she knew any stories. Stumped for ideas, Barbara draws inspiration from her fellow residents of Silverstream, the little English village she knows inside and out.
To her surprise, the novel is a smash. It's a good thing she wrote under a pseudonym, because the folks of Silverstream are in an uproar. But what really turns Miss Buncle's world around is this: what happens to the characters in her book starts happening to their real-life counterparts."
Do any of these appeal to you?
I am certain all three will be making the short journey to my bookshelf.
Have you put together your winter reading list?
Between finishing Waldi's sweater and preparing for Thanksgiving I'm reading
.
It has been on my to read shelf for awhile.
I must admit I am a book addict.
Have a wonderful Monday!
To her surprise, the novel is a smash. It's a good thing she wrote under a pseudonym, because the folks of Silverstream are in an uproar. But what really turns Miss Buncle's world around is this: what happens to the characters in her book starts happening to their real-life counterparts."
Do any of these appeal to you?
I am certain all three will be making the short journey to my bookshelf.
Have you put together your winter reading list?
Between finishing Waldi's sweater and preparing for Thanksgiving I'm reading
.It has been on my to read shelf for awhile.
I must admit I am a book addict.
 |
| via |
book synopsis via Goodreads
and Barnes and Noble.
Pictures taken by me unless noted.
and Barnes and Noble.
Pictures taken by me unless noted.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
With No Regrets
"Those who make the worst use of their time are the first to complain of its brevity."
Jean de La Bruyere
My summer break is over. I've spent the better part of this week dusting shelves, straightening books and changing out my bulletin board. I am looking forward to a new school year. I am ready!
Next week we will begin our meetings. It is always fun to see everyone again. I am sure the question, "Where did the time go?" will be bandied around with discussion of summer activities.
My summer?
I had so many plans, and I failed miserably
to execute even the smallest task on my list.
to execute even the smallest task on my list.
Yes, I traveled a bit and read a few books.
I have enjoyed lunch and tea with friends.
I have celebrated weddings, births and anniversaries.
There were experiments in the kitchen, in the garden,
with my writing and my paints.
Dinner invitations were accepted and dinner parties held.
I browsed galleries, museums, bookstores and estate sales.
I have made a few new acquaintances, reconnected with old friend and
accepted that to at least one my name and face is no longer remembered.
I have laughed a lot and shed only a few tears.
I survived the record heat and two weeks with a rationed water supply.
I have lived
and
regret not a wasted moment.
I have enjoyed lunch and tea with friends.
I have celebrated weddings, births and anniversaries.
There were experiments in the kitchen, in the garden,
with my writing and my paints.
Dinner invitations were accepted and dinner parties held.
I browsed galleries, museums, bookstores and estate sales.
I have made a few new acquaintances, reconnected with old friend and
accepted that to at least one my name and face is no longer remembered.
I have laughed a lot and shed only a few tears.
I survived the record heat and two weeks with a rationed water supply.
I have lived
and
regret not a wasted moment.
I still have a weekend remaining and my children will be here for a quick visit.
The perfect ending to a good summer.
And I am blessed.
The perfect ending to a good summer.
And I am blessed.
Art: A Young Lady Reading in an Interior
George Goodwin Kilburne
English (1839 - 1924)
Thursday, August 9, 2012
We Are What....
"I am a part of all that I have met."
Alfred Tennyson
I believe I have mentioned I receive a quotation through my email each morning. It is the first thing I check as I slip out of bed and begin on my morning path. Sometimes I am given a chuckle, sometimes I am delivered something to think about, and sometimes I am given a line that sends me off to the place where I store my memories...my heart.
And so, with those ten words Mr. Tennyson handed me all three.
My daughter has alway loved books. This shouldn't have come as a surprise as I actually began reading to her before she was born. I loved Beatrix Potter and many nights would read Peter Rabbit along with her other creations aloud. I decorated the nursery with all things Beatrix Potter (and lots of rabbits) long before I knew if I would bring home a boy or a girl.
Once she arrived Roger found joy in reading to her each night. It became their nightly ritual. Books were always found under the Christmas tree, among birthday presents and in in Easter baskets. Her love of books grew as did our book population and her vocabulary.
When she was four one of the preschool teachers mentioned how proud I must be of my daughter. "Well yes, I am always proud of her." I must have had a bit of a quizzical look on my face as she added, "she has read everything in my room this afternoon". I was stunned! She was reading? I am her mother, how could I not know she was reading?
When we got into the car, I ask her why she hadn't read for me. She said, "because I was afraid you wouldn't read to me anymore". We began a new ritual... we began reading to one another.
Just as I had devoured The Oz series, every Nancy Drew book in the library, Little Women and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, I watched her plow through Little House on the Prairie, Anne of Green Gables, and Little Women as well as other wonderful books. Halloween costumes were stitched on my sewing machine, but must often spun from inspiration she first found in a book. I can still remember her standing at the top of the stairs with hand against a furrowed brow declaring, "I am in the depths of despair". And, she would have fit in quite well upstairs in the March attic writing for "The Pickwick Papers".
During a parent/teacher conference her fifth grade teacher ask me how I would describe my daughter. I said, "she is a little bit Laura Ingalls, a little bit of Anne Shirley, and a little bit of Jo March". I can still remember the teacher's face as she said " That's wonderful!"
I always loved my daughter was influenced, at an early age, by the characters she found while reading. I was not in the least surprised when she came home from playing at a friends house with red lipstick on her blouse. When I ask how she got it on her, she simply said it was blood. "A. killed me and said 'et tu brute' ". "Why?" "We were playing Julius Caesar!" Silly me, don't all third graders play Julius Caesar? Yes, I've always thought she had Laura's spunk, Anne's love of drama and Jo's drive and creativity. She is all this, and so much more, blended into the her perfect self.
So...
 |
My daughter has alway loved books. This shouldn't have come as a surprise as I actually began reading to her before she was born. I loved Beatrix Potter and many nights would read Peter Rabbit along with her other creations aloud. I decorated the nursery with all things Beatrix Potter (and lots of rabbits) long before I knew if I would bring home a boy or a girl.
 |
| via Wikipedia |
Once she arrived Roger found joy in reading to her each night. It became their nightly ritual. Books were always found under the Christmas tree, among birthday presents and in in Easter baskets. Her love of books grew as did our book population and her vocabulary.
When she was four one of the preschool teachers mentioned how proud I must be of my daughter. "Well yes, I am always proud of her." I must have had a bit of a quizzical look on my face as she added, "she has read everything in my room this afternoon". I was stunned! She was reading? I am her mother, how could I not know she was reading?
When we got into the car, I ask her why she hadn't read for me. She said, "because I was afraid you wouldn't read to me anymore". We began a new ritual... we began reading to one another.
Just as I had devoured The Oz series, every Nancy Drew book in the library, Little Women and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, I watched her plow through Little House on the Prairie, Anne of Green Gables, and Little Women as well as other wonderful books. Halloween costumes were stitched on my sewing machine, but must often spun from inspiration she first found in a book. I can still remember her standing at the top of the stairs with hand against a furrowed brow declaring, "I am in the depths of despair". And, she would have fit in quite well upstairs in the March attic writing for "The Pickwick Papers".
During a parent/teacher conference her fifth grade teacher ask me how I would describe my daughter. I said, "she is a little bit Laura Ingalls, a little bit of Anne Shirley, and a little bit of Jo March". I can still remember the teacher's face as she said " That's wonderful!"
I always loved my daughter was influenced, at an early age, by the characters she found while reading. I was not in the least surprised when she came home from playing at a friends house with red lipstick on her blouse. When I ask how she got it on her, she simply said it was blood. "A. killed me and said 'et tu brute' ". "Why?" "We were playing Julius Caesar!" Silly me, don't all third graders play Julius Caesar? Yes, I've always thought she had Laura's spunk, Anne's love of drama and Jo's drive and creativity. She is all this, and so much more, blended into the her perfect self.
I shared the quotation and my thoughts with her Tuesday and ask if she remembered spending an afternoon (twenty years ago) searching for a book with Tennyson's poem "The Lady of Shallot". (It was one of Anne Shirley's favorite poems) Could we have found it in the States? Absolutely, but what fun we had finding it in England.
It is still upstairs in her room, a bit tattered and worn.
So...
Lord Alfred Tennyson, sir, you have entered my life once again,
and I must agree,
we most certainly are a part of all that we meet,
especially those we spend time with between the covers of a book.
Happy Reading!
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Summer Plans
I had hoped to post more pictures from San Francisco, or maybe write about the book I finished last week or the one I'm reading now. I thought I might tell you about our afternoon showers we've enjoyed. I tried out a new shrimp recipe tonight I could have shared, but alas I didn't have time to snap a photograph.
It is summer and I am just enjoying the time to be.
I will leave you tonight with a picture and a favorite quotation.
It is summer and I am just enjoying the time to be.
I will leave you tonight with a picture and a favorite quotation.
"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day."
E.B. White
all photographs are mine
unless otherwise noted.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Live Out Loud
"If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I as an artist will answer you: I am here to live out loud."
Emile Zola
When I read the above quotation this morning it struck a chord with me. I have no clue as to the context of the sentence, but it seems to me just taking it at face value is the way I want to live...out loud. I am too often quietly nothing...about what is important.
I chewed on those words while in the shower, while dressing and on my drive into school. You might say those letters formed into those words, and the words grouped together in such a way made an impact. I wanted, no I needed to do something with it.
All week this quiet friendly lion has adorned the chalkboard in my classroom reminding the children we are working on the letter "L". When I got to school this morning, after putting away my things, plugging in the coffee pot and grabbing the early morning notebook, I stood for a moment and looked at this sweet face. I took out my eraser and with but little hesitation erased the genial guy. I found a brand new piece of chalk and replaced him with a rather noisy looking fellow.
As my children arrived I instructed them to take out puzzles and books...no toys today. I told them I had a surprise, but we would wait until the last child arrived. They were excited and kept asking me to whisper the surprise. I told them we would wait, but it had something to do with the new lion visiting our room.
When everyone was accounted for we had our usual circle time. I ask them to look around the room and tell me its size. I ask, "is it little or big." Most answered little. I agreed. I continued, "Do I usually allow you to yell or do I ask you talk quietly?" There were several answers, my favorite being, "Miss Bonnie you say use your inside voice". (Oh my they do listen to me! )Yes those are almost my exact words. Our room is small. When everyone starts yelling it escalates, the noise bounces around the room until no one can hear anything.
I told them we were taking a field trip. We were traveling into the jungle. "We are going to take the morning and live loudly. We are going to be heard". We lined up and headed out to the empty playground. We ran and we roared (yes I ran and roared as well), then we roared some more and we laughed until I thought we might fall down. No one stood still. The children chased me and I chased them. I roared until my throat was stinging. Finally one child said, "Miss Bonnie I'm runned and roared out." So we lined up for one last run, and roared down the length of the playground and back inside.
Once inside I told them it was now time to use our inside voices again, but to remember even the quietest whisper could be as loud as a lions roar when you have something that needs to be said.
*******
Now, I know Mr. Zola's words were not meant to be taken quite so literally, but it was a grand place to begin. And, I know this morning was nothing more than a fun time outside running and screaming, and watching their teacher be silly, for the children. Yet, it is in play that we first find our voice.
Use your talents...find your medium...take out a paint brush, pen and paper, dance or sing to make your voice heard, stir things up and live loudly. When you make noise you are sure to be judged. Don't let it stop you, make no excuses; you will know you are being heard. Even silence can sometimes make the loudest impact.
Nothing is just that.....nothing.
Have a wonderfully loud weekend.....even if in a whisper.
 |
| Paul Cezanne, Paul Alexis reading to Emile Zola Sao Paulo Museum of Art |
I chewed on those words while in the shower, while dressing and on my drive into school. You might say those letters formed into those words, and the words grouped together in such a way made an impact. I wanted, no I needed to do something with it.
As my children arrived I instructed them to take out puzzles and books...no toys today. I told them I had a surprise, but we would wait until the last child arrived. They were excited and kept asking me to whisper the surprise. I told them we would wait, but it had something to do with the new lion visiting our room.
When everyone was accounted for we had our usual circle time. I ask them to look around the room and tell me its size. I ask, "is it little or big." Most answered little. I agreed. I continued, "Do I usually allow you to yell or do I ask you talk quietly?" There were several answers, my favorite being, "Miss Bonnie you say use your inside voice". (Oh my they do listen to me! )Yes those are almost my exact words. Our room is small. When everyone starts yelling it escalates, the noise bounces around the room until no one can hear anything.
I told them we were taking a field trip. We were traveling into the jungle. "We are going to take the morning and live loudly. We are going to be heard". We lined up and headed out to the empty playground. We ran and we roared (yes I ran and roared as well), then we roared some more and we laughed until I thought we might fall down. No one stood still. The children chased me and I chased them. I roared until my throat was stinging. Finally one child said, "Miss Bonnie I'm runned and roared out." So we lined up for one last run, and roared down the length of the playground and back inside.
Once inside I told them it was now time to use our inside voices again, but to remember even the quietest whisper could be as loud as a lions roar when you have something that needs to be said.
*******
Now, I know Mr. Zola's words were not meant to be taken quite so literally, but it was a grand place to begin. And, I know this morning was nothing more than a fun time outside running and screaming, and watching their teacher be silly, for the children. Yet, it is in play that we first find our voice.
Use your talents...find your medium...take out a paint brush, pen and paper, dance or sing to make your voice heard, stir things up and live loudly. When you make noise you are sure to be judged. Don't let it stop you, make no excuses; you will know you are being heard. Even silence can sometimes make the loudest impact.
Nothing is just that.....nothing.
Have a wonderfully loud weekend.....even if in a whisper.
Monday, December 19, 2011
A Ghostly Visit
"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?"
Charles Dickens, "A Christmas Carol"
Friday evening Roger and I attended the musical production "A Christmas Carol" at our local repertory theater. I loved every minute of it. Not knowing how Dicken's small tale of industrial capitalism would translate in song and dance, I attended with an open mind. I was not disappointed. It translates beautifully.
A Christmas Carol was first published December, 1843. One might wonder what Mr. Dickens might think about today's excesses. How would he write the story today?
"A Christmas Carol, The Musical" was a most wonderful and entertaining way to spend a Friday evening. From the moment the ghost of Jacob Marley emerged from the fireplace to the moment Ebenezer Scrooge's winter heart is melted like the frozen ground after spring's first breath, I was mesmerized.
I needed a bit of a Christmas transformation. I had my own Christmas spirits visit during the night, keeping me awake and reminding me of everything I needed to do. My ghosts were more demonic and not nearly as entertaining. Actually a tad rude and annoying. They did however make their point and set me in motion. I will sleep better tonight, I am most certain.
"He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!"
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Keep Moving
Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.
...Albert Einstein
 |
| image via stock photo/bicycle |
And if you fall you must find the courage
to mount it once again
and continue on your way.
When I was quite young, around seven, every Saturday night my brother and I would saddle our horses and ride from our house to the rodeo arena at the fair grounds to participate in "The Riding Club". It would take us about an hour. My brother, being almost six years older, took very good care of me on those rides.
One afternoon late, possibly a little behind schedule, my brother ask me if I wanted to gallop. We were crossing an open field and I thought it would be great fun. He said, "let's go" as he spurred his horse. My horse, caught off guard, leapt to followed just as we happened upon an unseen drainage ditch. She jump it leaving me somewhere behind. I landed with a big thud, flat on my back, knocking the breath out of me. I was too dazed to cry.
My brother, out of concern or the fear of being in trouble, coaxed me back on the horse with the promise he would not leave my side, and that we would walk the rest of the way.
When we arrived I rode around the arena a few times, dismounted handed my dad the reins and walked away. I don't remember how my horse got home. I am guessing one of my brother's friends or my Dad rode her home.
Everyone told me I had to get right back on. They said the longer I waited the harder it would be to conquer my fear. Everyone had stories of falls and tumbles. I heard the whispers of the Mommas and Daddies as I sat quietly in the bleachers with Momma. Everyone was concerned, but my Dad. He never pushed me to mount another horse. He, instead, waited patiently.
One day when I returned home there was a book about a girl learning to ride horses laying on my bed. I read it cover to cover before going to bed. The next day and the day after I read it again. I read that book daily for weeks. I missed the horses and riding.
Gradually, I made my way back to the barn and back onto a horse. Waiting probably did make it harder. I rode again at "The Riding Club". I barrel raced in high school rodeos and traveled to many places to participate in many rodeos. I won, I came in second and third, sometimes I went home empty handed and I was thrown off again more than once.
I had learned my lesson young. You cannot allow fear to stop you from doing what you want to do.
Friday, after my accident with the deer, someone offered to drive my car. I immediately declined and said I needed to drive. Somewhere in my heart I knew if I handed over the keys, I might not pick them up again. I would be lying to you if I said I do not think about the accident and what might have been each morning when I get into my rental car to drive to school. The dreams are becoming less vivid and the horrible sound of the poor animal hitting my car is quietening. The "what ifs" are fading to the background, being replaced with gratitudes. Bicycles, horses, cars...life all have the ability to send us flying and to the ground. It is what we do when we get up that directs us on our way.
Let's keep moving!
to mount it once again
and continue on your way.
When I was quite young, around seven, every Saturday night my brother and I would saddle our horses and ride from our house to the rodeo arena at the fair grounds to participate in "The Riding Club". It would take us about an hour. My brother, being almost six years older, took very good care of me on those rides.
One afternoon late, possibly a little behind schedule, my brother ask me if I wanted to gallop. We were crossing an open field and I thought it would be great fun. He said, "let's go" as he spurred his horse. My horse, caught off guard, leapt to followed just as we happened upon an unseen drainage ditch. She jump it leaving me somewhere behind. I landed with a big thud, flat on my back, knocking the breath out of me. I was too dazed to cry.
My brother, out of concern or the fear of being in trouble, coaxed me back on the horse with the promise he would not leave my side, and that we would walk the rest of the way.
When we arrived I rode around the arena a few times, dismounted handed my dad the reins and walked away. I don't remember how my horse got home. I am guessing one of my brother's friends or my Dad rode her home.
Everyone told me I had to get right back on. They said the longer I waited the harder it would be to conquer my fear. Everyone had stories of falls and tumbles. I heard the whispers of the Mommas and Daddies as I sat quietly in the bleachers with Momma. Everyone was concerned, but my Dad. He never pushed me to mount another horse. He, instead, waited patiently.
One day when I returned home there was a book about a girl learning to ride horses laying on my bed. I read it cover to cover before going to bed. The next day and the day after I read it again. I read that book daily for weeks. I missed the horses and riding.
Gradually, I made my way back to the barn and back onto a horse. Waiting probably did make it harder. I rode again at "The Riding Club". I barrel raced in high school rodeos and traveled to many places to participate in many rodeos. I won, I came in second and third, sometimes I went home empty handed and I was thrown off again more than once.
I had learned my lesson young. You cannot allow fear to stop you from doing what you want to do.
Friday, after my accident with the deer, someone offered to drive my car. I immediately declined and said I needed to drive. Somewhere in my heart I knew if I handed over the keys, I might not pick them up again. I would be lying to you if I said I do not think about the accident and what might have been each morning when I get into my rental car to drive to school. The dreams are becoming less vivid and the horrible sound of the poor animal hitting my car is quietening. The "what ifs" are fading to the background, being replaced with gratitudes. Bicycles, horses, cars...life all have the ability to send us flying and to the ground. It is what we do when we get up that directs us on our way.
Let's keep moving!
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