Rebel With a Clause: The Dreaded New Year’s Resolution List

I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions.

Why? Because I, Jane, am a rebel. Unfortunately, I’m a practical rebel, who knows her limitations. My lists contain escape clauses.

This is how every New Year’s Resolution Lists turn out:

•  I will not eat cake more than once a month.
• I will not eat cake more than once a week.
• I will not eat cake every day.
• I will go to the gym every day: 30 minutes of cardio, 30 minutes of weights.
• I will go to the gym every day: 30 minutes on the treadmill with the TV.
• I will look at the gym every day, and consider going through the door.
• I will randomly think about the gym. While eating cake.
• I will enjoy long walks in the rain with my dog, and see it as quality time. (Instead of walking ten feet and saying “will you POOP already?”)
• I will endure long walks in the rain with the dog, no complaining.
• I will consider dashing out between sprinkles without yelling “POOP!” at the top of my lungs.
• I will think before I speak.
• I will pause as if I’m thinking before I speak.
• I’m just going to blurt it out.
• I will stop apologizing for everything.  (It’s kind of a tic)
• I will stop apologizing for the dumb stuff.
• I’m sorry: sorry sorry sorry. 
• I will organize the file drawer and keep it updated.
• I will organize the stuff to file, so it’s easy to file later.
• I will shred anything that is not notarized.
• I will blog better.
• I will blog.
• I will blather a lot on the internet.
• I will rekindle my fashion sense, and update my style.
• I will check my color wheel before shopping.
• I’ll buy a new T-shirt.
• I will keep the interior of my car vacuumed, and wash it once a week.
• I will throw out the trash that accumulates in the car, daily.
• I will shove all the crap under the seats.
• I’ll make a reasonable budget, and stick to it.
• I’ll make a budget, and look at it before spending.
• I’ll spend and panic.
• I will make it my mission to spread cheer and goodness in the world every day.
• I’ll say something positive at least once during the day.
• I’ll tell my mom she looks nice, some time this year.
• I will stop procrastinating.
• I will procrastinate less.
• I’ll figure it out later.

I tried reverse psychology one year (one can hope that one is seriously stupid):

• I will eat cake every day.
• I will make a nest on the sofa so I only have to forage for food and fresh clicker batteries.
• I’ll teach the dog how to flush the toilet to avoid winter walks
• I’ll say really stupid stuff often: it will just be out there that I’m an imbecile. I won’t have to wonder if it shows.
• I will pile all the paper up on my desk.
• I’ll never write anything. Ever.
• I’m not leaving my nest, so who cares about style? Bonus: nixes spending issues.  Can’t reach computer.
• I’m going to be really negative, grouchy and cranky.  It’ll be fun!
• I’ll turn procrastinating into the form of high art it deserves to be.

Oddly, this was the only year my resolutions worked.  After a week of perfect sloth, indifference, crankiness and an extremely disgruntled dog, I had to quit.

Fine. I’m lying.  I lasted two days.

You can get pizza delivered easily.  Why is there no cake delivery service? Isn’t that a no-brainer? When more than half the population of the world is women?

1-800-dial-a-slice. I think I’ll start a company.

Tomorrow.

Jane’s Hiring: Must Be Good With Convolution, One-Trackness, and Brain Routing

My friends are  professionally accomplished, and have big important jobs.  Using classic Under-Achiever logic, I feel I don’t need to do more with my life, because they are doing so much. It’s kind of like I’m achieving by association. (Keep up the good work, guys! I like feeling important.)

The big important jobs happen in the big important city. Super Achieving friends have major commute. Months-without-sleep kind of commutes.

They never whine. I never hear about freezing at the bus stop at 3 am or the four hours a day some friends spend driving back and forth to their jobs.

I’m only on day three of driving back and forth to San Francisco. (I do not get to call it a commute: by the time I hit the freeway, everyone is finally up to the speed limit, I have an “ish” arrival time, and I do not have to apply mascara at an ungodly hour.) Annoyingly, I still want to whine.

I don’t have to be functional when Tokyo comes online. I just have to stay in my lane.

The Under-Achiever in me feels super important about how well I stay in my lane.

Re-wiring issue #1: No Whining.  I think we all understand why it’s imperative to keep Jane from whining about the drive. She’d like to keep her friendships.

Re-wiring issue #2: Because my usual commute involves a short hallway and bunny slippers, my brain believes driving to San Francisco is a Road Trip.  If you regularly follow this blog, you immediately know why this is a bad thing.  If my brain continues to send out Mayday “Road Trip” signals, I will never fit into my skinny jeans again.

Yesterday I needed more caffeine to keep up my excellent lane-management skills.  I stopped at a gas station for a diet Coke. Twenty-seven seconds of aisle-frenzy later, I was sitting in my car staring at a candy bar (love),  vinegar potato chips (hate), a pack of gum (?) and a diet Coke. All for the low, low gas station price of fifteen bucks.

Amend the above: if I don’t stop the Road Trip mentality, I will be fat and broke. I yell at my brain.

Jane: This is not a Road Trip!

Brain: I know. Sheesh. What was THAT all about?

Jane: Um. Shouldn’t you know what that was all about?

Brain: Nope. Sorry. Take it to a shrink. Not my job.

Jane: C’mon! You’re the brain, you’re in charge!

Brain: Hello. Obviously I am not in charge.  Look down.  Vinegar chips.  9:30 am.  I rest my case.

I have to concede the point. It knows I don’t like vinegar potato chips. In fact, I can’t remember my brain ever suggesting I buy them.

Help!

IT Position: Laid back company with “ish” mentality, welcomes driven, proven, IT managers with systems routing experience. Must have current psychotherapy license, sense of humor, patience, and strong “Mother says NO” attitude capabilities. Fast reflexes a must: light duty cellophane bag snatching is required.  Salary commensurate with results.

Any takers…?

Life Trumps Us Again…

It’s been one of those weeks.  This morning’s highlights:

1. I got an email from Jill (? I don’t know anyone named Jill).  I read further. Oh, Jill Biden, the Vice President’s wife.  And I’ve never met her!  How nice is that?
2. Her email asked me if I’d like to sign Michelle’s birthday card. Dang.  I think she has me mixed up with someone else. Who is Michelle? I don’t know any Michelles.

A brain cell politely knocks on my gray matter.

She wants me to sign Mrs. Obama’s birthday card, and thinks I know her well enough to call her Michelle!  Well of COURSE I’m going to sign. And add my personal message.  Via a mass emailing to random democrats. Who cares? I’ll say happy birthday to the first lady, especially when invited by the second lady. Whoa. Someone in the White House knows I exist.

I’ve been seeing a lot of this over the last few days.  It’s winter.  No fog in San Francisco!

Our weird spring weather has finally stolen away.  I was patting myself on the back yesterday for replacing Hudson’s winter blanket.  He sure was going to need it. Bella said she’d cover his care for me.  I’m all set. It’s supposed to be 20 degrees tonight.

Something is nagging at me.  What is it, Lassie? The blanket? Yup, all set.  Where is the blanket? Why, it’s…Uh-oh.  For reasons known only to that poor brain cell, I threw the blanket back in the trunk of my car, after checking the fit. (I’m sure it was heat stress. Who needs a heavy winter blanket when it’s almost 70 degrees?)

Hudson is about 2 hours north of this picture.

It was a pretty drive.

It’s going to be a pretty drive today too.

But at least Hudson has this:

(We are experiencing a slight delay in programming. Translation: you may see some preeeeeety stupid stuff up here until I get it together!)

Murphy Monday: In Which Murphy says “Phhhbbbbbt….”

Daisy, Shaun and I walk the short hill to the winter paddock.  We startle a heron on the way past the lake.

We chat and hike. It’s warm.  Sunny.  Strangely spring-like. Daisy calls Murphy, and he begins to walk down the hill to greet us, stopping after a few steps. Somewhat reluctant. Daisy hikes up and halters him, leading him down. When he gets to us, we mob him, and he perks right up.  Hugs!  Kisses!  Brushing! Neck rubs!

Then we had a little matter of “What is this Leading thing of which you speak?  Leading? I don’t understand “leading”.

But he was incredibly polite about it. He didn’t fight. I put my hand on his butt.  Daisy gave another tug and release. Murphy instantly remembered “leading”.

Ah, the more difficult part of horse ownership.  Leading balk? That means the lovely play time ends, and we go for a walk around the property, outside the paddock.  It was beautiful!  (And my hand pushed on his butt a lot.)

Our boy is 8 months old.  Do you believe it?

I could not seem to get a decent picture of him, no matter how hard I tried.  I was stuck in “frame every photo badly”.  The hazy sky made for flat, low light, with little contrast. Except for the dumb photographer, this would be an okay-ish photo.  Can anyone spot the problem?

You saw it! Most horses DO have hooves.

Murphy wasn’t feeling the photo shoot either:

Oh no…sudden lack of affinity for the camera…could we be seeing glimpses of the teen to come? So uncool of me to photograph him.

Phhhbbbbbt!!  

Hudson on Happiness…

Dear Jane,

I’m totally onboard with our fitness plan.  I love to be super fit, love to go, love to show off my stamina.  Please do not take this as a “back off” letter.

I’m thrilled – and astonished – that we continued to workout through the Celebration of Carrots holiday. (I know humans call this season by a bunch of other names, but trust me, all equines know ’tis Season of Carrots.)

I heard you announce you were ‘going to get a photo of me looking happy, if it killed you’. Let me spell it out. Happiness is not all, “ears forward”.

Behold: I Am Happy…

Notice my muzzle is not visible.  The submerged muzzle is a key indicator to happiness in horses.

This IS my happy face. I can’t help it you know exactly what I’m thinking.

Where was I? Oh, right. Workouts.

You’re going to have to clip me.  Whole body. I know it’s not supposed to be 65 degrees at the end of December. Repeat after me: Climate. Change. I’m dying here.

I’d like a manly, flashy tattoo.  Motorcycle flames would rock.  (I need compensation for the ‘Dressage Horse’ thing.)

BTW, Shaun sent  me the photo of you wearing your new hat. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Now THIS is a donkey I can live with.

You kill me.  I thought DQ’s had no sense of humor…

Please send me Dinero’s email and chat ID.  I’m going to Skype on Bella’s computer. I heard Dinero is officially retired from roping (man oh man, I know how he feels).  I want to stay in touch. Plus, no one does innocent sarcasm like Dinero.  I need to have a buddy to help me rag on Woodward.

Please pass on to…Santa: a Mrs. Pasture’s Easy Bake Oven is a vital gift,  a life-altering gift.

A new turn out blanket? Superfluous. I don’t mind the drafty old one.

nudge,

Hudson

Murphy Monday: Winter Quarters

We’ve been enduring days that end up clear, sunny, and 50 + degrees.  Horrible, I know. How can we stand it? This morning was very chilly and damp, with heavy fog. (Then it turned clear, sunny, and 65 degrees.)

Winter is due to stop by this week for a meet and greet. A few showers. I hope it brings a hostess gift. Something for in front of the fire?

The foals have been moved to winter pasture: enough slant for drainage, but  no hills that might get mucky and slippery.

Today photos are in quarters also: Murphy was so cuddly and insistently affectionate, we could not get him far enough from the camera to get a decent full body photo. This is a kind of  body-parts photo shoot.

Daisy and I were much more about soaking up the affection than getting ‘good’ pictures. Below, Murphy looks up when he hears Daisy call him. I love that – if he can hear her – he comes when called.

Apparently in winter quarters, mobbing the humans is not a requirement.  Only Marilyn and Murphy mob Daisy.

Marilyn has appointed herself “Queen Murphy” and feels entitled to be in charge of all things Murphy-related. (Her Divine Blondness is named after the iconic movie star.)

Murphy growth perspective: Daisy is 5′ 11″.  Marilyn is a three-year-old.

Marilyn helped Murphy tremendously with the weaning adjustment.

It’s worth the few rounds of “flick the nose”  we have to do to engage her memory that humans are higher than Queens in the food chain, and may not be run over or imperiously commanded to leave Murphy alone.

A sweet, happy, in-your-pocket quarter…

When it’s finally time to go, Murphy takes Daisy’s departure easily, and walks back toward the other babies.  Marilyn stops to redirect his focus when he looks back. He’s on higher ground, but their heights are not all that far apart.  I can’t help but wonder how much taller our 7 month old boy is going to get.

Daisy’s decided to move Barbie to the same facility.  Barbie will be in the brood mare pasture. It will make Daisy’s life a lot easier to go to one place instead of two.  The only foreseeable problem? Barbie is unlikely to come when called.

But this is why there are buckets and grain that rattles.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Merry Christmas!

To all who celebrate Christmas, may you give your heart and receive many back.

The wonderful art of Kerry Kelly sums up my hearts delight, a horse that is thrilled to find a person under the tree. Thanks, Kerry!

Hudson’s Midnight Christmas List

Dear Santa,

1. Please remove Jane’s clippers.  I’m either going to end up naked, or with more randomly selected bald spots.

2.  A steer, please. They make such good…pets.

3. A Mrs. Pastures Easy Bake Oven, Industrial Version.

4. Carrot seeds. Dinero and I have discussed organizing a carrot co-op with our new roomie, Woodward. We want to put a garden in our, uh, restroom.

5. New wardrobe: Full face Slinky, and whatever else you feel like throwing in? I know Santa giveth, but Jane must payeth Santa back. (The only thing I really need is the slinky to cover my face, but Jane really really needs the opportunity to PAY.)

6. Please do not give Jane a donkey.

7. Kitten? Pleaaaaase? Puhleaaaazeeeeee…?

8. Movie tickets. I want to see War Horse. (Oh. Yeah. Tub O Popcorn! Now that’s the way to eat grain.)

9.  Two T-shirts: mine should say “Boss” and Dinero’s should say “Do I look like I care?”

10.  Dinero has been leafing through cattle ranch brochures.  Maybe you could give him a tiny vacation at Trixie’s? Not that I care what he wants or anything.  But I could like drop by and stuff. And bring my pet steer.

I have been a most excellent equine this year.  My friends have given me this great idea: reindeer are terrific for minus 60 degrees and stuff.  But horses are way better for the whole off-season pull the sleigh thing?  I’m thinking Cabo or a private tropical island with loads of grass.  Sea, sky, warm, grass…you could wear a Speedo, and Mrs. Claus could wear that bikini in peace (horses don’t judge.)

Psst, all my equine buddies on board?  Let’s petition Santa for the warm time of year…

Does Your Horse Have a Special Holiday Wish?

If you are, or know who the artist is, please let me know so I can credit this cartoon!

What is  your horse asking Santa for this Christmas? What special ‘light’ is he hoping for this Hanukkah?

Murphy Monday: In Which Mt. Murphy is Climbed at the Endurance Barn of Our Dreams

Murphy is now at Sonoma Coastal Equestrian Center, aka the Perfect Endurance Barn.

Daisy dubbed the ‘hill’ up to the summer foal pasture: “Mt. Murphy”.

It’s not really a hill. It’s a stair master set to an incline of 10 and strewn with rocks.  A month of climbing that every day will whip the most out of shape rider into being able to ride two-point, no stirrups, for hours.

First, you have to hike down to the gate.  It’s an endurance barn: there’s no starting from the parking lot. You have to hike to the beginning.

We wheezed our way up the hill.

Note the big boulder on left: reference point. Also, so we have perspective on scale, those are  adult horses.

Above looks fairly level after the gate.  FYI, it’s not.

Below is looking back at the barn, before we hit the California live-oak lined section…

…that’s the section where the stair master hits 300,  and we want to flag down a Cable Car. (Totally worth the five bucks.)

Oops, sorry, I was hallucinating. Ran out of electrolytes.

We see this: