Kim, the owner of the horse I was dreaming about in an earlier entry, has decided to keep her Arabian. That doesn't stop the dreaming, though: She told my daughter that there are pretty decent horses are selling at the Kingsville Sale for $300 and under. Of course at an auction, you are buying a "pig in a poke". But if you ended up with a lemon, you'd just return it to the auction and probably get most of your money back. So, the "second horse" idea is on the back burner, but not forgotten.
I had a wonderfully peaceful two-hour ride yesterday evening. I had forgotten the time change, so it was almost dark when I got home.
We humans sometimes attach ourselves to the silliest objects, or at least I do. I have two essentially worthless items which, if lost, would throw me into a panic.
This poor hat is the only lasting thing that came from my husband's sister's second marriage. I believe her (drug-dealing) husband's brother was working in Alaska and sent this to them one Christmas, back in the early 70's. Somehow I ended up with it, and it's the only stocking cap either Cliff and I are comfortable with; you can see a speck of paint there, probably from Cliff's painting one of his old tractors. I'll bet this hat has, atop my head, been shoved into a warm cow's flank hundreds of times as I hand-milked in the winter. I check E-bay sometimes, trying to find its match; recently I even ordered a black, Alaska cap there. But it's like any others we've tried, and crawls around on our heads. There have been past winters when I couldn't find my "lucky hat", and fell into a panic until it turned up.
This is the checkbook I've carried since about 1971; I would have been twenty-six when a teenage friend, Tom, made it for me when he was into leather-working, putting my initials on it. Tom's dad owned the butcher shop where Cliff worked at the time, and he's been in and out of our lives often, over the years. He gave my son his first job in a grocery store he owned, and when RB Rice closed and left Cliff out of a job, Tom put him to work doing concrete construction and odd jobs until he found another job. As years go by, I become more and more attached to this checkbook. I once took it outside to pay the feed man and laid it down on my chore-cart; the geese I had at the time got hold of it, chewed on it, and broke the stitching, and I had to ask Tom to re-stitch it. It almost put me in tears when I saw what those stupid birds had done to my "lucky checkbook".
Does anyone else have some silly, useless possession you can't live without?