Take My Advice...

I have numerous alternative titles to this post:

- You May Have Won the Battle, But You're Going to Lose the War
- Why I Hate Running
- Curse Words and Other Ungodly Thoughts
- Top Ten Reasons to Never Own a Pony
- Lessons Learned the Hard Way
- Where's a Lasso When You Need One?

I think you can see where this is going. 

But first let me say - to all of you who have children, will have children, know children, or have grandchildren:

Never EVER get them a pony. I don't care how much they whine, complain, beg, plead, manipulate, blackmail you, or give you sad puppy eyes.  Don't give in. 

Case in point:

I have a pony.  A rather woolly Shetland Pony named Rosebud, Bud for short.  I got her when I was probably 9 or 10 years old.  I didn't know any better at that point that I would still be paying the price for this cantankerous little beast nearly 16 years later.  I'm fairly confident she'll live to be 40 just for spite.  She's not a mean-spirited little pony, she just has her moments.

She had one last night. 

I brought her in from the pasture, put her in her stall, gave her grain, grabbed her water bucket and walked off.  I didn't think much of it, I grab her water as usual.  By the time I come back to her stall, I see the door swinging open and she's already halfway down the field.  This is when I start swearing, which I am not prone to doing.  I grab a handful of grain and the lead rope and take off into the field after her, begging and pleading with her in my head to not make it through the few openings in the field that we have, which lead directly to the road and basically open fields with no fences.  Thankfully, she didn't.  She just decided to high-tail it to the back forty of the farm.  I was ready to murder her. 

I get close to her on a couple of occasions, but then she would spook and take off again.  After we had made it to the farthest corners of the field, I manage to work her back to the barn, tasting victory because if I can just get her to the barn she'll walk into the stall. 

No such luck.

She turns around and bolts off again.  At this point, I'm yelling at my friend, Andrea, who, bless her heart, was visiting from Missouri for the weekend and had no idea what she was in for.  She goes and gets my dad, tells him to get his Gator out. 

By this point, we're back in the back of the field again and I'm still swearing at her.  (We're talking roughly 8 acres that I have now sprinted across to get this little beast.)  I know, not one of my finer moments.  So, here comes my dad on the Gator and I'm waving at him to back off as I was within reach of her again and I didn't want her to spook.  Somehow or another, I reach for her, miss the halter, but get a chunk of mane and I am hanging on for dear life while she is dragging me along.  I can't keep up and she bolts to the side and I go flying in the other direction, taking a tumble in the freshly plowed fields.  Hardly a graceful exit.  Not only am I swearing by now, I really just want to burst into tears.

We eventually corner her again and I thought, "Blast you, you little snot.  I'll be hanged if I'm going to let you go again."  Now I'm just angry and ready to spit nails.  Two can play this game of stubbornness and I guarantee I'm not going to be the one to lose this time around.  I've got a handful of grass and grain still.  I creep up to her, she nibbles a bit, I lunge for her halter, and miss yet again.  I have no idea how I did it, but I again managed to get fistfuls of mane.  And let me tell you, I was not letting go this time.  I'm trying everything I can to get her to stop to no avail.  I'm digging my heels into the ground, I'm running alongside her, practically laying across her back, half-tempted to just hop her on back.  By now she's flat out galloping and I'm thinking I'm about to get a lesson in vaulting.  Somehow or another, I reach around to the right side of her head and grab her halter and yank her head around.  She finally grinds to a halt, but considering I dropped the lead rope about 200 feet back, it took everything I had just to get her to stand there and not start dragging me all over again. 

My dad brings over the lead rope, clips it on her and then holds onto her for a minute.  I'm panting so hard and my legs are so weak I can barely stand up.  I felt like I had just finished running the 200 yard dash, having flashbacks when my legs would just feel like jell-o, unsure of how to take another step.  I was reminded of why I hate running in those moments of pause.  I'm still swearing.

We walk her over to the Gator, I get in to drive, Dad gets in the passenger seat while he's holding on to her lead and we make the long and slow trek back to the barn.  She walks quietly as can be into her stall, while I'm still clutching my sides, wondering if my heart rate is ever going to return to normal.  By the time I get inside, I can't decide whether to pass out or throw up from the exertion. 

I find the story extremely funny now.  I didn't last night.  I was ready to turn that pony into glue.  But now I've managed to laugh so hard about the entire thing - because it really is quite funny.  When was the last time you heard somebody talk about having to chase down their runaway pony?

If only I had it all on video.  I guarantee it would have gone viral.  Andrea didn't know she was getting free tickets to the rodeo for the weekend.

So, remember:

Don't ever buy a pony.    

Hello, Fall

I know, I might have skipped a season or two.  But what good is a spring game and over 81,000 people if it doesn't conjure up images of Saturday afternoons, football, and apple cider?

Welcome, Urban Meyer.  We hope you enjoy your stay here in the land of Buckeyes.  We are hoping it isn't short-lived. 

Let This Be True of My Life

When you are forgotten or neglected or purposely set at naught, and you sting and hurt with the insult or the oversight, but your heart is happy, being counted worthy to suffer for Christ - that is dying to self.

When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your advice disregarded, your opinions ridiculed and you refuse to let anger rise in your heart, or even defend yourself, but take all in patient loving silence - that is dying to self.

When you lovingly and patiently bear any disorder, any irregularity, or any annoyance, when you can stand face to face with waste, folly, extravagance, spiritual insensibility, and endure it as Jesus endured it - that is dying to self.

When you are content with any food, any offering, any raiment, any climate, any society, any attitude, any interruption by the will of God - that is dying to self.

When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, or to record your own good works, or itch after commendation, when you can truly love to be unknown - that is dying to self.

When you see your brother prosper and have his needs met and can honestly rejoice with him in spirit and feel no envy nor question God, while your own needs are far greater and in desperate circumstances - that is dying to self.

When you can receive correction and reproof from one of less stature than yourself, can humbly submit inwardly as well as outwardly, finding no rebellion or resentment rising up within your heart - that is dying to self.
       
           - Author Unknown

Farewell to Buster

Our little friend found a new home at my cousin's house.  I offer this ode to Buster.  :)

You weren't very big when you first arrived home.

And then you somehow gained 80 pounds and we realized that you were a small tank. 

A rather wide and stout tank, that is. 

We loved you anyway.

You seemed to drool everywhere and we often thought you needed a gutter attached to your mouth to catch the perpetual river that somehow came out.

We loved you anyway.

You usually had selective hearing and it usually served you well when you were half a mile up the road and you decided to forget we existed.  We cursed you and your obliviousness.

We loved you anyway. 

You found much satisfaction in shredding

your blanket to bits, among other things. 

You didn't mind breaking a few chains, a few collars,

a few leashes, nor did you mind chewing on a few bowls,

a few lawn ornaments, and a few bones.

We loved you anyway. 

You always seemed to be fond of the game "chicken,"

And you didn't think twice about knocking me over,

unaware of your own strength. 

I also cursed you then. 

We loved you anyway.

You had brakes that often failed, as wet paws

and smooth cement do not make for smooth sailing.

A few crashes into the tool chest, a few crashes into the side

of the car, a few crashes into the sawhorses.  You were none

worse for the wear.  Maybe a little more inclined to pump the

brakes before sliding your way across the floor. 

We loved you anyway.

Try not to gnaw the legs off the furniture and try not to

raise a ruckus in the neighborhood.

Try not to pee on everything.  We know you like to leave your

mark, but it's really not necessary.

Try not to break anything or run over any small children in the

vicinity.  Play nice.

Try not to drool all over the place.  Most people don't want to have

to mop up after you. 

But even if you do,

I'm sure they'll love you anyway.

Green Thumb I Am Not

I have this bad habit of killing things, particularly green leafy things.  I don't know particularly how or when the habit started, but my first recollection of a plant not faring so well under my care was the bamboo shoot my best friend got me when we graduated from high school.

  

It was doing so well, all that summer, into my first semester of college.

It was dead by Christmas break.  I swear I watered the thing and took good care of it.  Alas, it was not destined to live.

Another item that didn't fare so well was the bonsai kit a friend bought me.  I couldn't even get the thing to germinate, let alone grow and actually live a healthy life.

I did manage to keep a peace plant alive all through grad school, which was a minor feat.  The great thing about that plant was that it let you know when it needed water because it literally would wilt and get all droopy.  Give it some water and in an hour or so it would pop back up.  It was very good at speaking my language and crying out for help when it needed.  Most plants are not that kind to me.  I had to water my friends' plants one time for a week.  I was terrified everything was going to be dead by the time they got home.  I assure you, it's never because I don't try.  I always give it a valiant effort to keep things alive, but for whatever reason, it just can't seem to happen. 

My latest mishap was a plant from Nick.  He knows I like flowers.  I don't mind the occasional splurge on a bouquet, but the practical side of me usually wins out and says that nobody should be spending that much money on a bouquet of flowers that is going to die in a few days anyway, and probably even quicker under my care.  My plants generally do not die slow deaths.  So, knowing that I think flowers are occasionally impractical, he decided to get practical and buy me a little pine tree of some sort back at Christmas.  It was a very nice, lovely little green tree, all wrapped up in its own little pot.  You know, something good and hardy, something that can withstand the blows of a less-than-capable green thumb.  I faithfully watered it, put him in some sunlight, and waited for him to grow and grow. 

But he still manages to look like this: 

How is this possible?

I do not understand.  I follow the directions.  I do what I'm told and I still manage to completely annihilate any green thing in my vicinity.  Without even trying! 

So, then today I had a good laugh when a friend of mine dropped off a small gift to me.  It's this little tiny box, all neatly packaged with a purple flower on top.  It's a forget-me-not flower kit.  Of course. 

I'm sure I'll waste no time in killing it, too. 

So fair warning - if you ever feel compelled to buy me any type of plant as a gift or as friendly gesture, don't take offense if you come back awhile later and find that it has ceased to exist.  I promise it's no indication of my personal affection for you.  I just can't seem to keep things alive.   No matter how hard I try.