Thursday, October 17, 2013

Get Back on the Horse

As a writer, I should be able to explain the last few weeks, especially the last week. Many positive moments filled my life, yet, discouragement crept into my soul. My donation of my books to libraries met with enthusiasm. As I excited the door of the Farrell library, I overheard Miss Margaret, the librarian, exclaim, "Cool." My copies came in before the last Waterfire in downtown Sharon. Geri at Designs by G gladly accepted my few copies to display. I had fun going to these places.
Still the spirit of poverty trumped my sense of success. I received a few e-mails about my publishing my next project, Main Street, I took as dampening. I'm not that good. I have grandiose dreams. The poverty of time overwhelmed me. I can't write, I don't have enough time, my life seemed to scream at me.
Main Street won't be published in October like my original goal I set. I will publish it; I need to hire an editor. As Jesus warned on the Christian life, we count the cost before constructing a building. I'm planning a strategy. This happens a lot when a person commences an endeavor.
Even in the midst of remarkable serendipity, I felt unable to complete my dream the way I wanted it to happen. Then blog posts came up to buoy me in my downcast state. One comparing writing to riding a horse. You fall off a horse, the best thing everyone knows is getting back on. This reminded me of a sunny October Sunday afternoon when I was in ninth grade.
My mom's friend, who was my sisters' age, took kids in under her wing. She and her husband were unable to have children. She had many miscarriages and they were in the process of adopting. The couple lived outside of town in the country, owning two horses. She taught us all aspects of horses. We mucked out the stables, fed the horses, bathed them and brushed them. Penny, the mother, was a thoroughbred, high strung. Sandy, her daughter, a golden palomino, accepted the kids riding on her. She was a great horse.
I spent many weekends there in their trailer. We put on puppet shows as well. The lady loved to play, a big kid at heart. Her husband, more calm and shy, joined in, but mostly allowed her to play. She also showed us dog grooming, as she did that as a business.
A beautiful fall day, we saddled up the horses, just Darlene and I, and headed east on State Route 318. The sun shone hot through the orange and yellow leaves. A couple men on horses joined us as we turned down Bethel Road to ride around Nych's lakes. Actually, these are farm ponds on an old farm with rolling meadows. Suddenly, Penny, reared up. Darlene thrown from the saddle, was then crushed by Penny losing her balance as she fell on Darlene's hip.
As I said, every rider knows, thrown from a horse, you get back on. Penny righted herself and stopped. She turned to look at Darlene on the grassy ground. Darlene tried to lift herself up, but with a crushed hip, she couldn't. One of the men, kicked his horse's side and galloped to the farm house. Sandy and I froze silent. I had no idea what to do. My mentor couldn't do what she taught me. What we all had done at one time in her field, when we fell off a horse.
The ambulance straddled the bumpy field finding the way to the fallen woman. I sat on the horse, calm it appeared to Darlene, she told my mom later. I can't imagine the pain she endured. She spent many months in a cast, in a hospital bed, first in the Sharon Hospital, then at home beside the wide window of her trailer. The poodles she owned, jumping on her sore leg, barking at the many visitors.
It took Darlene a long time to ride again, but she did.  A year later, a three year old boy entered their lives, whom they adopted and the long weekends weren't the same. A few years later, they adopted a beauty with black hair and deep blue eyes, a baby girl this time.
By this time, the power of the automobile and the freedom of driving myself took over the love affair with horse riding. I thought of boarding a horse at their stable, but high school life proved too busy. Yet, like this morning, as I drove past Nych's Lakes on I-80, I think of that ride and trying to get back in the saddle.
I'm back in the saddle with my writing. I, again, have turned it over to God's timing. I'm plucky with optimism and I believe I can do this with the hard work I need to put in. The right people will come along, like those men on the horses, who knew to ride quickly to the nearest house to call an ambulance- no cell phones or even 911, then. I'm back and I won't give up!
Tomorrow, some more remarkable happenings in my life to affirm my writing.
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