The Happy Update: Chock Full of iPhone Photos!

The last surgery for our beloved family member was on Monday.  It could not have gone better!

Now if life will simply revert back to Plan A, we’ll be back on our horsey track soon!  Thanks for hanging in with us.

We stuffed the week before the surgery with all kinds of goodies, especially visual ones. (Eye surgery: you’d wake up seeing…or not.) The need to view gorgeousness called for a trip to the ocean on Coleman Valley Road.  If you are ever in Northern California, and are not intimidated by drives that some describe as harrowing, write me, and I’ll tell you how to find the road.  Usually only travelled by locals and Lance Armstrong-type bicyclists.

We saw:


Then we got back in the car for more:

We ended up here, at Coleman Beach:

We did not walk down to the “beach” (Air quotes: reflect lack of sand, level of wave danger, and absurd amount of jagged rocks) because the path fell off. Literally.

Sadly, our govenor cut the parks budget, so there is no “You Are About to Fall to An Untimely Death” sign.

From there, we drove to The Dog House for the best hotdogs EVer (and all you can eat fries!). Then back to Bodega Head, where we climbed the cliff below.

Pictured is the only section not bristling with binoculors, sunhats, chairs, zoom lenses and folding tables holding whale bones. (It’s whale watching season.) One of the kids innocently (uh-huh) pointed at a far rock submerged in the ocean and said “Look! A whale!!!”, giving about 50 people instant whiplash.

Looking down:

FYI, those are house sized rocks, not whale sized rocks.

Looking to the right:

A wonderful day, a wonderful outcome, a good life!

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.


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 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:

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

Murphy Monday: Hey! I Resemble You!

Murphy meets Daisy’s niece:

Mom! Mom mom mom mom…LOOK, a mini human! Aren’t they cute?!? Can I have it? Pleeeeeeaze mommy…it followed me home.  I don’t think it has a place to live. Can it live with us? Pleeeze mom, can I keep it, pleeeeeeze…?

Aw dang it.  I wanted a pet. Oh well.  Mom says they can visit.

And here’s a picture of me and mom, I think we look alike, except I’m handsomer, because I’m a guy:

Mom and Son, Photo taken by Bella’s Mom

Murphy Monday: The First Jump

Oh Hai.

11 days old.  Nope. Not shy.

It was gray and rainy yesterday. Mostly dry, but cloudy over night. Since the presentation arena was in use, Murphy got his first introduction to the grass paddock. His surprise was evident at the change in traction from sand to grass, but he adjusted himself quickly, and off he went, surefooted.

Mom. You went right by…this. What is…this?

Mom is ignoring me. Mommmmmmm. There’s this big black thing and I don’t know what…


I know what it is!  It’s FUN!  I wanna do this again. Mom look. Look look look I can jump!

I can FLY…

There goes mom again. Whatever. Tried it. Didn’t do much for me.  What’s over there?

This is my Auntie Jane. Did you know humans were collapsible? Really.  They fold up. Sometimes they’re as tall as my mom and sometimes they are as short as me.

Thanks for taking our picture, Shaun…

Barbie’s Jail Journal

Day 338: I don’t know what I’ve done. I’ve been removed from my big paddock – in which there is grass – and as much mud as a pampered girl like me needs. Forget facials. I like full-body mud treatments. I doubt my roomate Angel got me evicted, she liked me. Plus, how many clunky draft horses get to room with super models?

I stare at the four walls.  Bars on the windows. Lock on the door. I’m not the only horse in this…jail. Can’t talk to other inmates, or I’d ask why I’m in lock up. Must be a women’s prison.  Only mares.

Day 339: Thoroughly enjoyed torturing Daisy.  I paced all night and sweated up a storm! Ha. I look like I’ve dropped 100 pounds.  She doesn’t need to know it’s an optical illusion. I hope it will make her put me back on grass.

Day 341: Gave up pacing.  Boooooring. Fine.  I’m inside.  No one will tell me what is going on. The mare across the way got a new roommate overnight, like IN her cell. I suppose there’s enough room.  The new horse is a midget. Phew. The mare stinks.

Day 345: I get to go out in the “exercise yard” during the day, but only if it’s not raining. What?  Like I haven’t lived in rain my whole life?  What is it about humans?  Did they all look up at the sky and nearly drown as children?  They’re rain phobic.

Day 347: They put a mare and a midget in the paddock next to mine.  I pinned my ears and charged them.  So? I was bored. My hooves need to be done. I can’t stand not having them filed properly. Where’s the farrier?

Day 350: Geeze, visiting hours in this place are sooo random. I get no one for a whole day, then ten people show up (I don’t even know them all) and want to visit. And they all talk like I’m terrific. If I’m so terrific, why am I in lock up?  Next time I get out? Gonna pick the warden’s pocket, call Hudson.  He’ll get me out.

Day…Oh who knows: Auntie Jane shows up in the mornings now, and I get outside visiting privileges.  I thought only my mom had those.  Auntie Jane appears to be obsessed with grooming, but god knows I could use some of that in here.  Helllooooo….Supermodel Princess mistakenly locked up! I tried to politely communicate the mistake by staring in the direction of my paddock. She took me that way to eat grass. She’s slow, but good hearted. Then she tried to walk me back to jail!! Um. No.  (Humans. So dense.) I yanked her off her feet, and started walking leisurely back to paddock. Did it get through? NO. Back to the cell. Simpletons.  They’re all simpletons.

Day…Whenever Hudson wrote me: I’d want to stay in here?  Copy of myself? What the heck is he talking about?!? Babbling on about geldings standing around.  Of course they’d stand around.  I’m beautiful.  Normal. He said  he’d come get me if I still wanted him to…but now I want to know why he thinks I should be here. Plus. Um. Mom is bringing in whole bags of grain every day.  I get to eat as much as I want. At this point, I kinda don’t care if it’s a ruse to keep me quiet.  It’s Sweet Feed. Yum.

Day Yesterday: My private doctor came by.  Thank god.  She knows I don’t belong in jail. She said “…probably next week..” so I’m guessing that’s when I get out. I wonder if I can get mom to keep up the 25 lb bags of grain outside? She also told me, which I know, but is nice to hear again, that I look pretty. Of course I do.  I’m me.

Day 364: Auntie Jane said, “it’s day 364” like that’s some big deal. Whoopdeedoo.

Whoa, she talks a LOT when she is grooming. This is sad: I think she’s losing connection with reality.  Or her eyesight is going. Instead of talking to my ear?  She’s talking to my stomach.  How weird is that? She told my stomach tomorrow is the big day – whatever that means – but whenever I felt like it would be fine.

Tomorrow is day 365, which has some sort of mystical meaning for the bipeds.  I wonder if I will get 2 bags of grain tomorrow.  They usually celebrate Impossible to Understand Events with food. If the events weren’t so random (their events are TOTALLY random, you never know when one is coming.) I might be able to figure this out.

God, I just want a good roll, a mud bath, pedicure, maybe teeth whitening? And my personal servants to shine me up.  I think it’s that time of the month.  I’m all bloated. Yuck.