Pride (perhaps remorse, as I look back) used to gum up my grandfather's craw like the bones Nana would sometimes leave in his fillets, freezing any apology before it could breeze across his vocal chords. My grandfather just did not apologize.
"Kick her, boy!" said my grandfather, his voice cracking across my back like the lungeing whip in his hand.
Walk. Trot. Walk. Walk. Canter. Walk.
"Kick her, son! She ain' gonna break." I dug my heels in; unfamiliar with the sensation of carrying 110 pounds, the two-year-old gray mare snorted nervously but didn't move one whit faster.
Twelve-year-old thighs clamped the saddle's pommel; my heartbeat was an earthquake, my breath an unvoiced prayer for mercy (the mare's, God's, or my grandfather's.) My booted feet shot out, then back into the horse's virgin ribcage. Hard.
It was a mighty kick; the untrained mare took off like a kite catching an updraft. The barn, my grandfather, and the trees behind him blurred into a bad watercolor project from my last semester. The paddock fence-- just three white stripes, now-- spooled out behind me. This is what hyperspace feels like! No time for time.
The mare reared; the world lurched back into focus. My legs felt like a leather girth I forgot to oil, almost snapping from the strain of holding on to the mare. I think I heard "Jump!" but I held on. Unable to stop her momentum, the mare overbalanced. The ground is getting close. It took an hour for me to fall.
I came to on my back in the trampled dirt, blinded by the sun. A moment later my grandfather leaned over me.
I'm in trouble. This sure isn't hyperspace. "I did my..." Cough. "Best!" No tears for my part. No response for his.
"That you did, boy. I may've made a mistake pushin' that horse so hard." A rare smile cracked his red face. "Or maybe you just ain't been ridin' racehorses enough."
Pride (perhaps remorse, as I look back) used to gum up my grandfather's craw like the bones Nana would sometimes leave in his fillets, freezing any apology before it could breeze across his vocal chords. My grandfather just did not apologize.
On that dusty day, he came close enough for both of us.
It's almost Christmas. Lynn Basil is writing her last book about a secret entrance into the magical doll land of Sha Bebe that she loves so much. Bagannos have taken over the world! Lynn finally meets her dolls in real life. Can she write in a Secret
The familiar lament of dual-career parents raising children is, "I just can't do it all." The Libra Solution provides an alternative - a more satisfying and sustainable work and life approach - to the overwrought modern day norm.
