A Swing and A Mrs:My Golf Story

Latest LifeZette piece...
Cut and paste article link below to see how the heck I'm doing at golf:


www.lifezette.com/momzette/a-swing-and-a-mrs-my-golf-story/

Let's just say it ain't pretty - yet.


Deirdre

Lifezette Launches!

Good morning,

I am pleased to share that I have been writing for Laura Ingraham's new website LifeZette, and today we launched! I will be writing parenting stories mainly, and a bit of politics. Please bookmark the
site, and come back often! I will also try to load my stories on to blog, here. Cut and paste links to review!

Looking forward,
Deirdre

http://www.lifezette.com/momzette/the-one-call-no-parent-ever-wants/

http://www.lifezette.com/polizette/congress-games-obamacar

Goodbye, Nello

In a previous blog post I shared my deep hope that the passing of my horse Nello would happen peacefully and painlessly. Indeed, we were blessed with such an ending.

Beginning in May, Nello showed more and more signs of painful arthritis, evidenced mostly be his inability to rise to his legs after lying down. I spoke to the vet several times - a gentle, skilled man who understands the special needs and unique weaknesses of senior horses. I asked him about a horses' ability to mask pain. "Indeed, they can," he sighed over the telephone. "As a prey animal, they have inherited that ability from their forefathers - a visibly weaker animal doesn't last long in the wild. Horses are soldiers that way."

We hoped to make it to next October, so that Nello could enjoy the summer and one more beautiful fall. I tried to prepare myself for our goodbye - an unimaginable parting. I knew every inch of him - his large, bulbous knees, the faded scars from a long-ago accident that criss-crossed his lower legs, the dalmation spots above his hooves, and the splash on his forehead shaped like a baby duck. My rational mind said, he's a horse, he's old, and you've been so lucky. But my heart beat back the coming darkness, still praying for some sort of miracle that would keep this gentle, courageous animal by my side. God loves both of us, right? Maybe he will show us some mercy.

He did. Three weeks ago I went to see Nello at the barn, located five minutes away from my house. I saw him every day of his last three months, walking him, watching him, making sure his hay was sweet and his paddock clean and rock-free. I began talking to him about the future. "I think you're going first," I told him, rubbing his neck. "Wait for me, okay? When I get to where you are, wait for me where I can see you."

This particular day, a Wednesday, Nello ate the red apple I offered, the sweet juice running down the sides of his mouth, his eyes looking off into the distance contemplatively. No creature ever enjoyed a ripe apple the way Nello did. We started to walk around the ring, side by side, as was our habit. I wanted him to flex those achy joints, in the hope that it would lessen arthritis pain. He was, as usual, completely happy, glad to be with me.

Suddenly, he pulled me to the middle of the sand ring. "No," I said, once. He wanted to roll, to scratch his back. He looked at me, flicked his ears, and down he went.

Nello never rose again. He tried once to get up, with a great groan, but soon relaxed down into a resting position, neck stretched out, head lying in the sand. I turned away as I began to try to accept what I had so long feared. I took off the long-sleeve cotton shirt I wore over my tee shirt, and put it under his head. His almond eyes closed in appreciation. Soon, his feet were moving and he was breathing deeply. He was dreaming - of running. I called the vet. "It's time," I whispered, not wanting to wake Nello up.

The vet let me know that it would take him an hour to arrive, and we quickly disconnected. Amazingly, during the middle of the day at a small but busy boarding barn, we were blessedly alone. I used the hour to stroke every part of Nello I could reach, to brush his mane back with my hand and to rub his head gently as he dreamed, his hooves still moving. He awoke several times, at the sound of a truck or another horse snorting, but quickly abandoned the idea of getting to his feet after making a few weak efforts. Enough, his relaxed body lying in the sand ring seemed to say. Enough. I curled my body over his head, my tears dripping onto his velvety ears, and said the Lord's Prayer over him, in reverence, in awe, and in gratefulness for what I had known. I made the sign of the cross on his head.

The vet arrived. My heart began pounding; my tee shirt moved visibly with each beat. I was putting Nello down. He was going on, leaving me behind. The vet clasped my shoulder and said he was sorry in a strangled whisper. I got up and Nello raised his head after me - where are you going, his wide beautiful eyes questioned. The vet motioned me into position. I clasped Nello's large, heavy head between my two hands and nodded to the vet. As the syringe pricked Nello's neck I began talking - as I has many times before when he got a vaccine - about how good and fine and brave a boy he was. I told him how perfect he was, and reminded him to wait for me at the gate of paradise. Then, we would ride the far country together. We would run.

Nello died a few minutes later, painlessly and at peace. In death it was as if he had turned to stone - his beauty was motionless and empty. His spirit had indeed flown. I stumbled away from his body and out of the ring, his dirty lead rope, my shirt that smelled of him, and the carrots he never got to finish all in my hands.

Friends and family surrounded me immediately. I was showered with well wishes, gifts, cards; every common expression of sympathy. I was given a necklace with Nello's name engraved on it, which I treasure. The kindness of friends and family - particularly my husband - has truly gotten me through. By losing Nello, I have seen how good and caring people are. It has made the loss bearable.

Still, at night, I hug his bridle and beckon him into my dreams. He has yet to come. I shut my eyes as tears slide out and imagine us on one of our rides - running down a wooded trail, his neck reaching out as he flies, always wanting to beat the other horses - wanting to win. There wasn't a lot of winning in his life prior to me - he was an abused carriage horse who had never had his own person. With him I found adventure, freedom, and a once in a lifetime partner. I hope with me Nello found out just how good he was. That was important to him - being a good boy.

I miss you, Nello. Please, come into my dreams. I am waiting.

                     
                                                      My "Nello necklace" from my friends.

Keb Mo at the Wilbur Theater in Boston

Last night my son Matt and I went to the Wilbur Theater in Boston to see three-time Grammy award winner Keb Mo perform with his band. What a treat - if you get the chance to see this artist, jump at it! My oldest son Fred is housemates with Keb's stage manager in Nashville, so a big thank you to both Fred and Ryan for the amazing seats and the chance to chat with Keb Mo afterwards.

It is interesting to see an artist that you know nothing about. We went in with clean slates for brains - we had youtube-d a few of Keb's songs, and I especially like his version of Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues (at dinner the night before Ryan told us he was not performing this on the current tour - bummer!) But other than our youtube exposure, I didn't know anything about this talented man.

Keb is very tall and slim, and is visually magnetic - his large feet tapping out rhythms, his long arms cradling his guitar, his smile radiant, capturing every person in the room with his enthusiasm and organic love of performing. He is jazzed by playing live, and so are his players - keyboards, bass and drummer often grinned at each other, at the crowd, as well as at a young guitar student from Cape Cod that was the band's special guest for the show. The set list was a blend of ballad, funk and blues, the lyrics simple and moving or funny, or wry. (My favorite - a song called Government Cheese.) Keb's showmanship extends to chatting easily to his rapt audience, and he stopped to take pen and paper and create a list of the songs audience members were shouting out as requests in a very funny interlude on stage,

Thank you Keb for a amazing live show - Matt and I are new and passionate Keb Mo fans. :-)

Government cheese on youtube : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ddWAiHCoEc

Mom, I'm itchy...

A Quick Nine Holes, Anyone?

I have just started golfing. Well...almost golfing - they don't actually set you loose on the course until you "are not a danger to yourself or others,"  whatever that means. Apparently you have to hit 1,000,000 drives off the tee before you are deemed course-worthy,

My husband Fred is a big golfer. He loves/hates the game, depending on the day. He attended the Masters this year, and was just totally amazed by the whole experience. I was so happy he got a chance to be there to see Tiger Woods throw up his hands in total frustration.

My husband has tried to teach me to golf several times. He is exceedingly patient and I'm happy that he wants me to golf with him, but acting out his list of demands in one fluid motion was challenging: keep your elbow straight, eye on the ball, weight on back leg, follow through your swing...for some reason, I got mad at him. And he wasn't doing anything wrong; I was.

So I attended a golf clinic at our course. The most memorable phrase was our teacher yelling "No Elvis!" meaning he didn't want our swing to be in our knees (here he did a pretty impressive Elvis imitation in front of us), but in our hips. Interestingly, because the class 1) is a little older, and understood this Elvis reference and 2) was not married to the teacher, we all immediately improved.

The next day, I was sore in muscles I never knew I had - my upper left torso, my lower legs, my wrists? Do my wrists even have muscles? If they do, they were hurting. As I ate Motrin like chicklets I assured my husband I did, indeed, love golf.

My clinic included a glass of wine and appetizer, and frankly this was the best part. But I am determined to keep swinging. My kids are growing up, so I can either get in the game, or spend a lot of time away from my husband. Plus, the outfits are cute.
                                                                         

 

Enjoy: Marine Prays for His Marriage before Service, Bride Moved to Tears

Benghazi, the Foundation, Private Email Servers...Hillary Clinton: Her ducks are far from in a row

It seems that it will be forever until the next election, but in the political world things are just getting good. Many do not understand Mrs. Clinton's reticence to answer questions thus far, but I have a theory - sometimes a lady just likes to have her ducks in a row before she speaks. Read on. Happy Wednesday!



Hillary Clinton: Her ducks are far from in a row

The Lion and the Lamb and the Horse

This is Nello, my horse. He and I both are glad that the harsh winter is over, and that warmer weather is here, finally.

The winter took its toll on Nello - I saw him age in front of my disbelieving eyes. Like an older person, Nello's arthritis flared up terribly, and the vet had to rush to the barn twice when he couldn't get to his feet after laying down to rest. Both times, I prepared myself to say goodbye. Both times, when he saw me he somehow staggered to his feet, and we avoided the end I so fear.

Nello looks older, now. Still beautiful, his face has hollows under his eyes, and his cheekbones are more pronounced. His hocks (back knee joints) are bulbous, as are his front knee joints. This is what will get him, in the end - these terrible knees, the result of a harsh working life as a carriage horse. Nello was originally brought over from Argentina years ago as a harness racing prospect, but had a terrible accident at some point due to a careless, impatient owner, and was subsequently used - overused - as a carriage horse. When I met him, over four years ago, he was just a lawn ornament, and ridden gently for lessons. I took the plunge, bought him for a few hundred dollars, and trailered him from upper New Hampshire to the Boston area. And the rest has been marvelous, unforgettable history.

Despite those knees, Nello has never allowed me to fall off his back. We have had more adventures on trail rides in our years together, but have had even more special times just being together quietly. I fuss over him, making sure his water is clean, his pain pills loaded into his homemade cookies, and his teeth, hooves and general health are well cared for. I have switched him to a senior feed to lesson the sugar in his system that his old feed produced, and I brush him and walk him by hand almost every day.

But you can't overcome time. Our new vet at our new barn (I moved him closer to me so that I can see him every day) told me that Nello is not 24 or 25, as I had thought, but at least 30. (Maybe even 32.) If only I had met him when he was younger. If only his previous owners hadn't abused his fine legs, turning his knees to stone. If only there was a remedy for age.

All we can do for those we love is to be there. That's it. I will be there now, and when Nello draws his last breath, too, if God allows. I will be there when it's cold, and when it's hot, and when he's lame, and on the days when he's feeling fine, and we can enjoy a ride slowly, walking around a large sand ring.

I have come to understand that Nello was a gift to me in middle age. He fulfilled a childhood dream, and he helped to create new ones. He has made me more patient, more adventurous, more open to what life can bring, and in what forms. Now, one of my life's most fervent wishes is that Nello go out with dignity, and without pain. I will do everything I can to allow this to happen, and he can count on me the way I, on some many rides, have counted on him.

Is it wrong to pray for an old horse, with so many other troubles in the world? I don't think so.

Not this horse, anyway.

I put Nello out in a field alone yesterday, and I took this picture. Right after I did, he raised his head and the breeze lifted his thick black mane, ruffling it beautifully. He looked at me then, so calmly, so at peace that tears filled my eyes, and I knew that my prayers are being answered. Answered by a Creator that cares as much for the lion and the lamb as he does for all the rest of his creations.

And I am filled with thanks, for this horse I love so much.

Poor Baltimore

The television coverage of the Baltimore protests had me mesmerized - I grew up in Columbia, right up the road. I didn't really go to Baltimore growing up, except for special nights out (birthdays, anniversary celebrations) so it remained mysterious until I myself was a grown up.

Then, the Inner Harbor was revitalized. I had my own children, and on visits from Boston to Columbia we would travel into the city to go to the aquarium, a play, or to stroll by the water on a beautiful evening while enjoying an ice cream.

There is another side to Baltimore, as there is another side to all cities. A side filled with crime, poverty, gunfire, death,

It was this side we saw on television. But within the emergent situation we saw clergy, good parents, concerned citizens, children. No matter what part of the city you live in, you will find citizens hoping to make a difference.

Here is my column for the LA Post Examiner about the riots, presented as a letter to the protesters.

http://lapostexaminer.com/baltimore-a-letter-to-those-destroying-their-city/2015/04/29

Christian murders escalating to religious cleansing in Middle East and Africa...world political leaders silent

Why is it not an emergency when Christians are killed for their faith? Honestly a group of murdered kittens would get more outrage, it seems, in today's media and on the President's agenda. We must stand with our imperiled brothers and sisters on far-off lands and keep the pressure on world leaders to recognize atrocities specifically aimed at Christians. We need more eyes on this than just the Pope and Fox News.

Read more here:
http://lapostexaminer.com/violence-against-christians-time-to-wake-up/2015/04/22

Have a great day! Despite the dire subject matter of this column I feel that each day is always a brand new chance for change, and with prayer, focused attention and good works we can change any tide!

Peace.
Deirdre