It's agreed amongst Tiffany and her parents that James and I will both ride Chev during Tiffany's convalescence, but only in the arena. And only once per week.
I'm grateful for, and not a little shell-shocked by, the sudden and unexpected resumption of horse activity in my life, and my inexplicably compelling inner drive to pursue it. Aside from the (very) odd ride with various horsey friends, it's been decades since horses featured in any significant way in my life.
When you long for something with all your heart, and year after year your heart-felt dream slips further and further from your grasp, some part of your soul wraps that dream up with a satin bow and parks it in a corner of your mind for safekeeping. And then, in its time, some magical moment happens in the real world that aligns with your soul's yearnings, and it reaches out and grabs a hold. The satin bow gracefully falls away, and you just know that it's finally time - not to give up, or give in, but to give it all you've got!
At home, I dig out my old riding kit - jodhpurs, boots, helmet and gloves; all very worn but mostly still serviceable. The jodhpurs were a prized possession - finally bought for me by my parents after many years of my having the insides of my legs rubbed raw with each ride by the seams of my jeans.
I was 15 when I acquired those jodhies, and I'm now 54. Miraculously, I still manage to wriggle into them. But closing the zipper across my butt has a snowball's chance in hell of success - it's close, but no cigar. Necessity being the mother of invention, I sew a strong shoelace along each zipper side, leaving regular loops along its length, and then thread another shoelace through each loop and pull it taught. The resulting webbing effect looks pretty whacky but it's out of sight beneath my winter jersey, and it works beautifully in holding the open edges of the zipper close enough together to keep the jodhies up. I haven't been labelled a fashion disaster for nothing!
The zipper engineering reminds me of one of my mother's (many) reasons for not letting me ride more often than once per week - it was her firm belief that frequent horse riding makes a woman's backside spread out, which will make her look fat... which will render her unmarriageable ... which, by her terms, is an unimaginable disaster. If my mother were here to see my zipper handiwork, she might be feeling vindicated in her beliefs; my butt has, indeed, grown bigger. But I, for one, am both grateful and impressed that I can still squeeze into those jodhies at all! Years of constant cycling, yoga, rock climbing, and a myriad of other strenuous sports have served me exceptionally well in the area of physique.
The helmet is a different matter entirely. I look at it in amazement - its surface sports numerous soil-ingrained gouges from my hitting the deck at speed off the back of various friends' horses. Obviously unserviceable, it should no doubt have been retired many rides ago. I'll have to borrow Tiffany's spare for now.
My trusty old boots are good quality RM Williams that cost a bomb when my mother bought them for me in my teens, and have been re-soled and stitched back together more times than I can poke a stick at. They still manage to look classy after a polish - quality lasts and is always worth the expense.
I'm grateful for, and not a little shell-shocked by, the sudden and unexpected resumption of horse activity in my life, and my inexplicably compelling inner drive to pursue it. Aside from the (very) odd ride with various horsey friends, it's been decades since horses featured in any significant way in my life.
At home, I dig out my old riding kit - jodhpurs, boots, helmet and gloves; all very worn but mostly still serviceable. The jodhpurs were a prized possession - finally bought for me by my parents after many years of my having the insides of my legs rubbed raw with each ride by the seams of my jeans.
I was 15 when I acquired those jodhies, and I'm now 54. Miraculously, I still manage to wriggle into them. But closing the zipper across my butt has a snowball's chance in hell of success - it's close, but no cigar. Necessity being the mother of invention, I sew a strong shoelace along each zipper side, leaving regular loops along its length, and then thread another shoelace through each loop and pull it taught. The resulting webbing effect looks pretty whacky but it's out of sight beneath my winter jersey, and it works beautifully in holding the open edges of the zipper close enough together to keep the jodhies up. I haven't been labelled a fashion disaster for nothing!
The zipper engineering reminds me of one of my mother's (many) reasons for not letting me ride more often than once per week - it was her firm belief that frequent horse riding makes a woman's backside spread out, which will make her look fat... which will render her unmarriageable ... which, by her terms, is an unimaginable disaster. If my mother were here to see my zipper handiwork, she might be feeling vindicated in her beliefs; my butt has, indeed, grown bigger. But I, for one, am both grateful and impressed that I can still squeeze into those jodhies at all! Years of constant cycling, yoga, rock climbing, and a myriad of other strenuous sports have served me exceptionally well in the area of physique.
The helmet is a different matter entirely. I look at it in amazement - its surface sports numerous soil-ingrained gouges from my hitting the deck at speed off the back of various friends' horses. Obviously unserviceable, it should no doubt have been retired many rides ago. I'll have to borrow Tiffany's spare for now.
My trusty old boots are good quality RM Williams that cost a bomb when my mother bought them for me in my teens, and have been re-soled and stitched back together more times than I can poke a stick at. They still manage to look classy after a polish - quality lasts and is always worth the expense.
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