Monthly Archives: July 2016

…And get back up on the horse that threw you. Well, I did that in a literal sense in college when horseback riding was a P.E. Choice. The instructor asked if everyone had some experience with riding a horse. We all answered in the affirmative, and with a few instructions, off we went. My answer had been a bit skewed.  My experience consisted of pony rides at country fairs and mounting complacent carousel horses at carnivals. My horse, however, was obviously more observant of my skill, or lack thereof, and decided to go about his romp as if he’d left me behind…which he soon did. Fortunately he dumped me in the soft grass and mud at stream side. 

The instructor said he’d have given me a tamer horse had I explained my limited equine knowledge. So, I didn’t exactly get back on the horse that threw me, but with a few basic instructions, reseated myself on a tame mare who looked about as achy in certain parts as I felt then. The point is, I did pick myself up; I brushed myself off, and didn’t let the experience throw me off, even though the horse had.

Persistence is inherent in my nature, I think. When I was about ten years old, learning to ride my first bicycle (no trainer wheels – just ‘have at it’), I skidded to a flop on our gravel sidewalk, and mashed one knee bloody. Either I didn’t know cuss words or was afraid to use them. I marched into the house.

“Mom, I need some Bandaids!”

“Oh, sweetie, let me help you!” She washed the gravel out of my wound, bandaged me up and said, “There. Why don’t you rest awhile?”     

I can still feel my pinched face full of righteous indignation, determination, and pent up fury as I headed for the back door. “No. I’m going to go out there and ride that thing!” 

Recently, I slipped getting out of bed and, as the official EMT report said, “fell on her butt on a plastic water bottle.” (I love technical terms, don’t you?) The result? Another dislocated hip, subsequent surgery, and the annoying recuperation period. Yes, ANOTHER. This is not my first dog and pony show.

Why confession time? What does it have to do with writing?

 Aha! YOU tell ME!