Julie Tullos

A friend requested for me to make a list of what I have to do to get ready for a winter storm event. So, I did. This is for any of you that have horses! This list is not in any sort of order, just a medley of thoughts that I had, in the order in which I had them.

• Propane/blowtorch – the blowtorch comes in handy for defrosting outside water faucet handles and gate latches. It also adds an element of fun to the otherwise dreary and depressing week you are about to have.

• If possible, move alfalfa and hay inside your barn for easy access, but not so close that the ponies can free-range over the stall fronts and create a huge mess on the barn aisle floor. There will be a big enough mess, anyway, that you will be itching (or not) to clean up as soon as this week is over.

• Get out weatherproof sheets and blankets – I learned that fleece coolers do NOT work under blankets because they slide back and become too tight on the horse’s chest. I also think that it is amazing to see a horse standing outside (usually in their sheds) with a blanket on, maybe two, and not be cold when it is 1 degree. I definitely wouldn’t want to be a horse.

• It is helpful to have a tractor with something on the back of it that can help you feed the outside horses when it is slushy and the golf cart won’t move through slush (or mud). The golf cart is, however, fun to use on ice because you can slide around and do donuts, which is just about the only fun thing about this whole situation, except for the blow torch.

• Make sure you have at least one very sturdy hoof pick, none of that cheap shit you can buy for a dollar. You will need to check the hooves for ice-balls every time you feed, and remove them, because those ice-balls are a sure way for a horse to get injured and that’s the last thing you need right now.

• Heat lamps. One for each stall would be nice, plus one for the cat and one for the inside water faucet. Make sure you order a self-heating pad for the cat, just in case the power goes out, because she has made it perfectly clear that she does not want to be in the house with the dog and honestly, with no power, it really would not make that much of a difference. Also, because the cat is a princess, order her a heated food and water bowl and provide an actual electric heating pad for her imperial comfort.

• Speaking of the cat, buy some bird seed. It is fun to sprinkle bird seed around the barn and watch the cat sit on the hay and think about pouncing, but won’t, because it’s icy and she doesn’t want to get her toes wet or cold. On the other hand, if any birds decide to come inside the barn to stay warm, they might quickly become bird-snacks for the cat who is bored anyway. Good luck, birds.

• When you put the heat lamp on the inside faucet, which is above the sink, you still have to leave the water dripping at night or it will freeze anyway and it is a total bitch to have to haul hot water from the barn for all the water buckets and feed mashes. If you do have to haul water from the house, the tractor is very handy. In dire straits, you can attach a hose to your indoor washing machine faucet and snake it out the back door, straight into the large (clean) manure bucket you are using for water. OR, you can order a “water bladder,” which while convenient because it closes and doesn’t slosh water everywhere, is a bit hard to handle when you are trying to get the water out of it and into the actual buckets. None of this is ideal. Leave the water dripping for goodness sake.

• Handy hint – use PEX piping inside your barn instead of PVC when you are installing (or replacing) the plumbing. It contracts and expands and does not freeze and crack like PVC does. It lasts a long time, except you can’t use it outside as exposure to UV rays will destroy it

• You are going to need water trough heaters that actually work. When you are using these with extension cords, keep in mind that the further away the heater is from the electrical outlet, the less effective it is. While you’re at it, buy new extension cords if you need to, so that your husband won’t have spend valuable time splicing wires together to make something work the day before the storm hits.

• Also it helps if you check that the four-wheeler will start up prior to the winter storm hitting. When you are in the middle of the week of ice/snow/sleet and it won’t, use the aforesaid tractor. We put the mower on the back of it, which will easily carry the hay and grain buckets down to the paddock. Insist on it being hooked up before the storm hits, even when your husband rolls his eyes and doesn’t think it’s necessary. He will be glad you insisted when there is ice everywhere and there is no way he could hook up the mower now. Ready to go is always best.

• If you are lucky you will have a friend next door with an indoor arena, and you can take panels over just in case you need to set some up inside her arena to make a snow/ice free space for your outside horses (because you don’t have enough stalls in your barn). However, it does help if you unload the panels and set them inside the arena somewhere so they don’t get frozen to the trailer and thus, unusable.

• You will want to spend at least three hours loading up kindling and firewood into the cart on the back of the golf cart, and then unloading it into your house, on a tarp spread out by the fireplace. It seems like a lot of work, but you’d be amazed at how fast this old, dry wood from the damaged willow trees surrounding our pond burn up. And having it inside your house means you don’t have to go outside to get it, so it won’t be wet and frozen. Easily accessible. Just tell the bugs that come in with the wood to stay in their section of the house, i.e. the woodpile, and you will stay in yours. No co-mingling necessary.

• It seems obvious, but you will want to have grain and alfalfa and shavings delivered before the storm hits. Don’t wait until the last minute to order, as the feed store will be busy and no guarantees they’ll get the stuff to you on time. In that case, you’d have to go pick up the stuff yourself and unload it yourself, and you have plenty of other things you need to be doing. This goes for the water trough heaters as well, buy those things well in advance or you’ll be shit out of luck as they will all be gone when you discover the ones you have no longer work and you need new ones!

• You need a lot of shavings. I buy bags and they go quickly because the ponies are all in the barn drinking warm water and peeing a lot. I always need more shavings than I have. You’d think I’d learn.

• I like to buy alfalfa cubes to add to the hot mashes I make for the horses and ponies. They love it and it helps them burn more energy, i.e. heat. Also, I read an article that said providing warm (wet) mashes in the winter does encourage the horse to drink more water, but the same effect does not happen in the summer. Weird.

• Remove all the hoses from your outside faucets. If you don’t, the water inside them will freeze and you won’t be able to use them because you can’t get the hose off the spicket when it is frozen solid. Our outdoor faucets all worked even when it was zero degrees, after unfreezing the handle with the blow torch! It helps if you buy freeze free faucets.

• When the water trough heaters aren’t working that well and you are chopping ice up in the troughs, try to take all the big chunks out because if you don’t, it will make it harder when they all re-freeze and you have to chop up the ice again. It’s a lot easier when there are no big chunks in the way. Also, don’t accidentally drop the sledgehammer into the water trough because there is no way to get it out, other than sticking your hand down into that freezing water! And when you do drop it and you are crying noooooo, your daughter will look at the submerged sledgehammer and say, “Oh. Shoot.” And you will find this hilariously funny because at this point you are hysterical with exhaustion. (This isn’t a pre-storm suggestion, just a funny story).

• And, finally, rubber feed pans for the outside horses. When their regular feed troughs (or whatever you use) become firmly attached to the ground with ice, and are covered in snow, you don’t want to waste time trying to loosen them and dump out the snow. Keep rubber feed pans inside your barn that you can easily toss out into the winter wonderland of your paddocks, because those horses out there are not fooling around when it comes time to eat. They want their warm mash, and they want it now!

The last thing (on my list) that you need to be prepared for a winter storm event is plenty of alcohol. Don’t look at the wine in the grocery store and decide you don’t need any. You do. And if you have an 11 year old, or any children, in the house, stock up on SNACKS (and hide them) because they will eat everything you bought for the storm before it even hits and you will be wondering where all the grapes and chips went. Don’t forget cheese and chocolate, to go with your wine. Hide all that, too, you don’t need to share. These are difficult times, it’s every man for himself right now. Your kid can eat the crumbs out of the bottom of the Goldfish bag if need be.

Last week it was between zero and twenty degrees (with the wind chill) on any given day. Today it will be 70. I’m really hoping that the damn groundhog was high and winter can officially take a hike. I’m over it.

On the brink, on the edge, on the verge… whatever you want to call it, I’m there.

Of insanity, of a mental breakdown, of buying a one way ticket to Bermuda. I’ve lived there this past week. Since last Friday evening, knowing what was about to hit, knowing what we were going to get and having absolutely no idea how hard, exactly, it would be.

I thought I was prepared. In true Thomas fashion, I made a list. Of all the things I needed to do/buy/prepare before the Winter Storm of 2026. We got it all done, barely. We went to bed that Friday night expecting the worst, expecting the storm, expecting the hard work and the freezing cold. What we woke up to Saturday morning was … unreal. A week later it’s still not over. Most of the horses were in the barn with blankets and warm water and plenty of hay. But some had to stay out, and I know that horses really prefer to be out. But when there is ice and snow and wind, *I* do not prefer them to be out. It would have been both easier and harder to have every single one of them inside.

There are things I am grateful for, one is that this storm started on a Friday and went through Sunday while Tony was home and not at work. Two, we never lost power. Three, we were able to provide water to all horses at all times, even though there were moments when this wasn’t easy. Four, all the horses stayed in good health. Five, the barn cat was warm and happy with her heating pad, her heat lamp, her heated water bowl and the accessible bird snacks that snuck in the barn to keep warm.

But if you want the details of what this type of Winter Storm is really like for those who have horses (or other livestock), keep reading…

• An 11 year old is only exuberant and happy to help until she gets cold or her gloves get wet. She is also good for lifting exactly one bale of hay but no more than that at any given feeding time. She can’t make snow angels in ice and she’s OVER IT after the first twelve hours.

• When you clean all the stalls you get sweaty underneath all your layers and then that arctic air and sleet hit your face when you have to drive the golf cart down to the last paddock to empty the manure, multiple times, until your arm is hurting and you have to “post up” every few minutes on the pitchfork because you are not as young as you used to be and nobody else can help you clean the stalls because they don’t do it right.

• You don’t have any wine for when you are done with barn chores because you looked at it in the grocery store when you went provisions shopping and decided you really didn’t need any. Don’t be stupid. Of course you did.

• There isn’t enough room in your head for all the worrying and fretting you will need to do while the storm is raging outside and even though you KNOW that horses survived in the wild somehow, those were not YOUR spoiled rotten domesticated fluff balls on stick legs that could and will slide on the ice or get stuck in the snow or otherwise do something stupid, even the ones in the stalls, just because they can. You will stay awake most of the night(s) while your spouse sleeps completely unperturbed beside you, like a baby, snoring softly and not dreaming at all of all the things that could happen if you weren’t awake worrying about them.

• When you are actually working outside you will basically be doing it blindly because it’s hard to see when your eyes are continuously watering from the wind and sleet pelting into them, not to mention the bright, bright snow that will feel like an ice pick into your brain every time you look at it, especially after exiting the dark barn. And if you are lucky, you will have transitions lenses like I have so that every time you enter or exit anywhere you will spend at least five minutes stumbling around waiting for your glasses to catch up to your current location.

• You will lose all semblance of time and space as you will exist solely to feed, water and clean stalls of the livestock. Speaking of water, water trough heaters need to be the absolute best quality you can buy because, apparently, the further away it gets (the longer the extension cord) from the electric plugs, the less heat they emit. We had four heaters, and we still had to break the ice on top of the troughs in three of them. One of them worked great which was the only relief I had in the water department over this past week. Also, if you unfasten the hoses from the outside faucets, the faucets are more inclined to work when you need them to. Of course, since the hoses are frozen, this means having to haul five gallon buckets of water from the faucet to each water trough, multiple times, whilst traipsing over ice or in ankle deep snow for the better part of an hour, which is how long it took me each time. Finally, even though you put a heat lamp on the indoor faucet, it WILL still freeze unless you leave it dripping (which I forgot to do one night) and then you will be shit out of luck and have to haul hot water from the house to the barn, cussing the entire time. And when the pipe behind the barn washing machine explodes one evening and water is spraying everywhere you will want to sit down and cry but you don’t have that luxury as you have to figure out where the water supply shuts off FAST before the whole barn aisle is one big water mess which will freeze overnight and become a skating rink. *helpful hint – try to have a water shut off INSIDE the barn so you don’t have to dig through six inches of ice to get to the one buried in the ground. One of my unexpected blessings was that Tony had JUST got home from work when this happened and we actually do have said turn off inside the barn, which I didn’t know but I sure as shit know it now.

• A blow torch is a must-have to unfreeze just about anything, but especially water faucet handles and gate latches.

• When it starts snowing again on the third day morale will quickly go from “fun adventure” to “you have got to be shitting me” if it hasn’t already.

• Small birds don’t last very long in a warm barn when the resident cat is cold and bored and looking for something to do. The birds all went to Jesus as evidenced by the feathers I found while cleaning stalls.

• I have never been grateful that I didn’t have an indoor arena, but I have been this past week because the roof caving in was one less thing I had to worry about, and I have several friends and acquaintances whose covered arena DID buckle and I am so sorry for them. I would send wine, but I don’t have any.

• This is day EIGHT and we still have snow and ice covering most surfaces, we still can’t uncover most of the hoses or electrical cords, the arena is still one big skating rink, and even though all of the horses are back outside they will still cause problems by tearing down electric fence wires and co-mingling until you find them in the morning by looking out the window first thing, like you always do, ever since the morning you looked out and Bruno was laying down with a broken leg at which point you will mutter shit under your breath and go to wake up your husband who thought he was going to get to go to the gym this morning but should have known better. Lucky he is here because I don’t know how to fix the fence. PS the electric wires don’t really work when there is ice covering them and you are dressed in a burrito suit and four layers. You can go through the wires easily and not get shocked, but will probably spook a horse that thinks that you going through the wires and not through the gate is something to be extremely worried about. Insert eye roll here.

At any rate, I am supposed to be making a list of all the things we need to do better to prepare for the next time something like this happens but when my husband told me to do that I muttered “YOU do it” because I am cranky and tired of this shit. Also my arm is sore from digging the back (North side) doors of the barn out of six inches of ice and snow on Thursday so that we could open them. Also I have a million other things to do and I don’t want to do any of them. Also I would take thirty days of 100 degree heat over this and I want a margarita and a sunburn right now.

My brother had the audacity to say “if you do what you love you will never work a day in your life.” I think he was joking. I told him I was loving being on a beach somewhere in the sun right now and that wasn’t happening so I think that’s a lie.

Monday it’s supposed to be 65 degrees and by the end of the week it will be 70. The weather down here has lost its mind and I’m right there with it.

To Fred – you are not alone!

As I wrote these words into the cover page of my book last night, and then signed it, my heart was so full. Fred, an older gentleman, was standing by my car in the dark with me while I gifted him one of my books. He was so endearing that my heart shattered in that moment, when I watched him walk away, head down, without his wife, who stayed behind in that care home where I had just spent an hour and a half telling my story and talking to the spouses and sons and daughters of loved ones with Alzheimer’s/Dementia.

This was the second time I had the privilege of attending a support group for carers of Alzheimer’s and Dementia patients. Both times were heart-rending, and emotional, and just so full of care and love towards one another. People teared up, some cried openly, a box of tissues was handed around.

But I have to tell you about the men.

In every single one of these men I saw my Dad. Most were the husbands of wives who were at the facility, one gentleman was with his wife, whose Mom was a resident there. I stood there and told my story, as best I could, while fully admitting that I am a writer, not a speaker, and I watched their faces. I told them about the early diagnosis, the early caregiving that I faced on my own, the hospital woes of my Dad, the realization that a care home was the next step, the sting of the COVID epidemic and how we were shut out from seeing my Mom, and her from seeing us. I told about the falls, the hospital stays with no one to advocate for someone who could not speak for herself. I told about finding Just Like Home, and the difference it made, and how I could “just be the daughter again.” They were all with me, nodding their heads and empathizing.

And I told about my Dad’s heartbreak, his struggle with the physical ailments, but also with the fact that he blamed himself, how he could not “fix this” for my Mom. I told about how he died – suddenly – and how that grief tore me up. I talked about the anger, the sadness, the resentment, the loneliness, the fear and the way I just wanted to help others not feel so alone, and that is the reason my blog posts turned into a book.

As I watched these men a thousand emotions and thoughts flitted across their faces. I saw the pain in their eyes while I talked. I saw men who were raw and hurting. And I saw a community of love surrounding them. I had said that, in my writing, I wanted to help validate the feelings of people going through this devastating disease.

These men (and women) validated me. They were me and I was them. And I saw what a support group could have done for us. There was the lady that was resentful, so angry that she was the one doing the caring and the children would not step up. She told how she goes to the firing range once a week and shoots her beretta, or her Glock, and how sometimes she imagines faces on the targets. Another lady, a daughter, through tears managed to say “it’s not the SAME, she’s not the same, her face is different, her expressions are different, her eyes are different.” And for a moment I was her, sitting endlessly with my Mom while the entire essence of her being changed. I wanted to say to this women, “hold on to her hands. Memorize them, feel them. Close your eyes and feel the warmth coming from them. These hands once held you. These hands will NOT change, they are the same. And long after she’s gone, you will still be able to feel her hand in yours and know that she’s still with you.” I didn’t get the chance to tell her, but maybe she will read this and know that I am right there with her, and that I understand.

We talked about self care. Larry, and George* and the others talked about guilt. Why were they still able to do things their wives no longer could? How can I leave her, they said. How can I be happy, or even just have happy moments, when she is not with me? “I always assumed I’d go before her,” Mark* said as his eyes welled up. And Fred choked up, couldn’t even get the word out. Of all of them, Fred touched me the deepest. The pain in his eyes was unbearable. The stoic set of his shoulders, the way the love for his wife and his deep hurt emanated off him. The mustache, like my Dad’s, quivered as he tried to talk. His hunched shoulders as he walked with me to the car afterwards. “What is your wife’s name?” I asked. “Gloria,” he said. I answered “that is a beautiful name.” And I told him that as hard as it is, he had to try and take care of himself, because he couldn’t be his best self for Gloria if he didn’t. And she deserves his best. She’ll need his best.

As the night ended my jaw hurt from trying not to cry. My tears almost spilled over as these lovely people told their stories. Every man there cried at least once. And I thought, how lucky you all are! And I told them, “This is amazing, this is beautiful, and you are all so lucky to have each other. I wish my Dad had had this.” And I do. But I also know he would not have attended. These men were brave, so brave, to come and be so honest and open. One dashing gentleman said he comes every day, he loves to talk to everyone, he loves to help out around the place. The son-in-law acknowledged that this wasn’t the plan at all, he and his wife were supposed to be traveling, going on cruises, having a wonderful time in retirement. But that God called them to be here, and here is where they would be. All the others nodded in agreement. This was not the plan, this was never how it was supposed to be.

I know that none of them would chose this ending for their wives and husbands, moms and dads. But they have all found a place of caring, compassion and healing. They are blessed, and they are not alone.

I have never been so humbled.

*names have been changed! Except for Fred. And Gloria.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me… a pony in a stocking.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me… two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me… three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me… four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me… FIVE VETS ON CALLLLL, four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me… six bucking fits, FIVE VETS ON CALLLL, four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me… seven pairs of jodphurs, six bucking fits, FIVE VETS ON CALLLL, four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me… eight bags of carrots, seven pairs of jodphurs, six bucking fits, FIVE VETS ON CALLLL, four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me… nine chewed up halters, eight bags of carrots, seven pairs of jodphurs, six bucking fits, FIVE VETS ON CALLLL, four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me… ten brand new saddle pads, nine chewed up halters, eight bags of carrots, seven pairs of jodphurs, six bucking fits, FIVE VETS ON CALLLL, four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…. eleven stepped on toes, ten brand new saddle pads, nine chewed up halters, eight bags of carrots, seven pairs of jodphurs, six bucking fits, FIVE VETS ON CALLLL, four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and a pony in a stocking.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me… twelve maxed out cards, eleven stepped on toes, ten brand new saddle pads, nine chewed up halters, eight bags of carrots, seven pairs of jodphurs, six bucking fits, FIVE VETS ON CALLLL, four leather bridles, three French saddles, two stressed out parents and A PONY IN A STOCKING.

I watched the young girl walk to her car behind her parents and little sister. With a big braces-filled smile on her face she carried her new saddle proudly. One that she herself had paid for, from working at a barn all summer. She was maybe 14.

I watched and I thought, I’m so happy for her, what a great achievement, to buy your own lovely saddle at that age.

I think I was 45 ish when I bought that saddle that she now held proudly in her arms. It is an Antares, an older version, but super comfortable and still in excellent condition. I was around 45 because I had waited my whole life to buy myself an expensive saddle. And as she walked away, you would think that I would have been sad to see it go.

I had put the saddle up for sale about six months ago. After not having ridden in about two years. Most people would have kept their saddle, in case, just in case, they might want to ride again someday.

That saddle represented thirty five years of riding, hard work, sweat equity and hard earned cash. I have owned several other saddles in my life, but I think the most I ever paid for one was about $500. English saddles, at their highest, can cost up to $8500 these days, if not more. It is an insane amount of money. But everything is like that now. Buffalo leather, made in France, with tiny crystals embedded in the “logo” and personalized edging and personalized fittings. It’s no longer a “one saddle fits all” type of deal, but a “who will sponsor me and get me a free saddle if I sell one to all my clients” type situation.

In my day we used whatever saddle we could lay our hands on. Propped it up with padding and foam pads and gel pads and what we called lollipop pads to fit any type of horse we sat on. (I just googled that and they still make them!) I did not grow up in a fancy barn though so my experience with less than stellar equipment is probably a bit skewed. As a trainer, I always felt just a little bit left out. I couldn’t afford what it seemed like all the other trainers had. I had an old Collegiate I bought used for $500 back in 2008/2009 which I used until I could finally buy my dream saddle. I was stuck on Antares, having ridden in one a few times and not believing that my tushy could be so incredibly cushy in a saddle. I was awed and determined to have one of my own!

And when I finally bought that saddle, at the ripe old age of 45 ish (because I’m old and can’t remember what I went into that room for, much less what EXACT age I was when I bought it), I paid $1980. I nearly choked as my debit card processed.

I was still training, still riding, and I enjoyed the heck out of that saddle. Then I started to realize… the pain. The amount of pain I was in every time I sat on a horse. My neck just happens to be fully fused in one spot and almost entirely fused in another, right below that one. The first congenital, the second from too many injuries, too many falls, too many times landing in just the wrong spot. It started with a horse rolling over on me when I was fourteen. Then at fifteen my horse tried to run out a gate with me and I hit my head on the fence post, which was unfortunately very sturdy in the ground and not at all soft. What did I learn from that? ALWAYS ALWAYS close the gate to the arena.

Anyway, fast forward to about 33. I am riding a very young, very green Thoroughbred or warmblood (I, again, can’t precisely remember). His name was Willie. I’ll never forget that. He wasn’t mine. We went over a jump and as he landed he spooked to the left and I was unseated to the right. As I was attempting to right myself he spooked AGAIN and I was tossed quite firmly to his left side where I held on to his neck with my fingernails while he bolted down the fence line. I remembered the sturdy fence posts. I was not tempted to try my luck with hitting one of those if I let go. I held on, silently praying, not sure where this would end.

It did end. Inevitably. Willie veered hard to his right as he approached the corner and that was enough to send me sailing about eighteen feet to the left into the corner, landing, of course, directly on my neck. I was lucky. It could have been broken. In fact, there is no evidence to suggest that it was, in fact, NOT fractured in some way. I didn’t have insurance, I didn’t go to the hospital. I spent weeks recovering, barely able to move. I still managed to coach at a horseshow and teach lessons that same week, though. That’s what horse trainers/instructors DO. They keep going, because who is going to to pay for your bills, your groceries, who is going to feed your horses if not you?

Fifteen years after the injury I find that riding is becoming untenable. Over that period of time I see a chiropractor regularly. The chiropractor takes plenty of x-rays. He does an MRI. He discovers the fusions, he discovers the bone spurs and the damaged vertebrae. He tells me that every time I’m on the horse, the movement is causing the muscles above and below this area to have to work extra hard to stabilize my neck. It isn’t any surprise to him that I’m in so much pain. Add in a surgery on my lower back in these years, plus foot surgery, and I’m a little worse for the wear than most people my age.

At 4(7?) I am riding a warmblood gelding amongst my typical pony line-up. He is bouncy, he is jarring, he is difficult to get moving. One cold January day I sit on his back and can’t stop the tears from flowing. I sit and I cry and I finally get off.

I never get back on.

The decision, for me, was made that cold January day when I couldn’t finish the training ride I was being paid to do. There has only been a handful of times since then that I wished I could get back on in order to fix something a rider is having trouble with. But I don’t do it and the feeling passes. It isn’t worth it, the pain is intense most days without creating a situation in which to make it worse. I live on meloxicam, Advil and muscle relaxers. And it’s ok.

It’s ok because I get to watch Baby Girl ride her ponies. I delight in her experiences. I am nervous when she competes ( a strange phenomena for me, as I have never been nervous when any of my students compete!), and I am excited when she places well. I am proud when she completes something difficult or masters a new skill. I am most proud when she comes out of the ring laughing and smiling, regardless of how the course went. I love that she’s delighted to win first place in an under saddle class and that she doesn’t take her pony for granted. I watch how hard she works (usually) and am pleased when her efforts pay off. I enjoy her life with her in a way that is truly special for both of us. Someday all these seeds I’ve planted will sprout and grow and I know she’s going to do incredible things. She wants to be horse trainer/instructor like her Mama, and I am amazed at this because she has definitely seen the low lows that happen in horses, as well as the highest of highs and everything in between.

And so, when I told my husband last night that someone was coming to try out my saddle today, I wasn’t at all sad or regretful. If I ever ride again, it will be in a cushy Western saddle and I will probably go no faster than a walk through the trails and trees that we one day hope to own. It is enough.

After almost forty years spent on horseback, I am content to be unsaddled.

If you are a trainer, owner or anyone who has to feed and care for horses day in and day out you understand that quick glance, that perusal of every paddock, stall or field the minute you walk outside in the morning. Checking to make sure everything is as it should be. That nothing went amiss during the night – during the long hours since the last time you fed and tucked them all in for the evening.

This morning I stepped out… and I couldn’t find Bruno. At first glance he wasn’t there. Prince was standing alone and Bruno was… where? Slight panic comes as I yell inside for my daughter to come help me . I can only imagine he is out behind the hay barn gorging on alfalfa and making himself sick. Was the fence not on? Is it broken somewhere? Did he just slither through regardless of the electric shocks? My mind is quickly addressing each and every scenario.

As she puts on her shirt and shorts (I am in my pj’s and rainboots) I step a little farther away, towards the barn and I see him. In his paddock, in the front corner behind the playhouse. I breathe a sigh of relief and tell my daughter all is well after all.

But this is not the first time, nor will it be the last. Each and every morning is a brand new opportunity for all hell to break loose. Three years ago, on September 13th, 2022 I saw Bruno down through the window of my house. You all know the story, you know how his leg was broken and he spent a full year convalescing.

But that is not the entire story. All is not well that ends well. Three years later Bruno sits in his paddock day after day, doing nothing but eating and occasionally running like hell up and down his paddock as fast as he can go. And you think “wow what a miracle that he can do that!” He can, he does. It is.

I have a deep running anger through my bones about Bruno. I can’t just look at him in his paddock and think “oh I’m so glad I saved him.” I am glad, that isn’t questionable. There was not another choice to be made when I looked into the face of my little girl. Even as I saw his leg dangling and swaying in the trailer. Even as I saw the complete break on the x-ray. I never questioned the choice then.

I question it now. And have, for two years. You might think me heartless but that isn’t what my anger is about. You see, Bruno was and still is an incredibly talented pony. He is smart as a whip and he loves attention. Bruno was our ticket to pony finals, he was the dream I had for my daughter when he was but three years old and she was six. I could see the future and I liked what I saw.

Sure, he hadn’t had much training, not on the ground nor under saddle when I picked him up that late November day in Oklahoma. But as my daughter rode him on the lunge line when we tried him out I just knew that we could make something of the pair of them. He was never perfect. He was wiggly at first, wasn’t sure what a crossrail was. Under the guidance of myself and my daughter’s trainer, we taught him the ropes one crossrail at a time. He learned to go straight. He learned to canter. He learned to jump and he learned how to do a flying lead change. Which he still does, as he’s running like a maniac in his paddock.

And Baby Girl learned with him. She learned to be tough and to persevere. He had a fun trick of ducking his shoulder as he stopped dead causing his rider (and Baby Girl wasn’t the only little girl riding him) to be dumped on the hard ground. He was young. He didn’t like to be cold. We learned that lesson the hard way, at a show where I had JUST body clipped him and it was in the 40’s with icicles hanging from the jump standards. No amount of lunging would make him behave.

There were times he was golden. There were plenty of times when he wasn’t. But I loved him like crazy and so did Baby Girl. Sure, he needed a lot of fine tuning. He needed better manners. But at seven and eight years old Baby Girl was jumping 18″ verticals with him and having a great time. Usually.

And then he broke his leg. And nothing has ever been the same.

We coddled him while he was recovering. Fed him plenty of treats, got him salt licks and toys for his stall and brushed him endlessly. What else were we going to do?

Meanwhile we had to find a new pony for Baby Girl to ride. We leased one for almost a year that just didn’t work out. Then we found Prince. And Prince has turned into a remarkably talented and tolerant guy. Baby Girl loves Prince with her whole heart. Together, they win in the show ring a lot. Together, they explore our property and the property next door bareback. Together they learn what each next step will be. He learned flying lead changes and she is learning how to ask him for them. We started going to Welsh shows, where they excel in the English Pleasure. She is having the time of her life with Prince.

And she no longer looks at Bruno the same way. And my heart breaks.

We tried, we tried to get Bruno back in the show ring. But after a year of coddling his ground manners are awful and he acts as if he was never broke. Most of the time when a person gets on him he starts limping. It’s got to be the added pressure, because he doesn’t limp at any other time. He can’t really jump because his knee doesn’t bend the way it should. He could make a good little western pony. If I had the time and money to go that direction. Maybe he could do dressage. Or pull a cart. He could still have a future.

That is where the anger and frustration come from. My heart was one hundred percent into fixing him, healing him, showing him again. But Baby Girl’s heart is not there anymore. She still loves him, but he is hard. He is a pain in the butt. He basically needs boot camp all over again. And I can’t do it. I am too heavy now to ride him. I don’t have the funds to put him into training somewhere else. I can’t imagine how anyone else would be interested in turning him into what I know he could be. Even if he stopped limping (He doesn’t usually limp with Baby Girl – a small kid – just bigger people).

Our pony finals dream went up in smoke as I shelled out thousands of dollars for Bruno’s surgery and recovery. As I shelled out even more to buy Prince. This is, of course, not something I regret.

What I do regret, is the fact that he no longer has a job or a purpose. It drives me crazy to see this once incredibly promising pony stand in a paddock all day. He’s sweet and he loves attention but he’s also pushy and doesn’t want to be ridden. Baby Girl got on him bareback yesterday and he dumped her off immediately. Twice. In tears she cried that she was done and was putting him away. I think it breaks her heart as well. That this pony she once loved so tremendously no longer wants her to ride him. Or won’t tolerate it, at least.

As a trainer, it’s so frustrating to see him do nothing but get fat. As a mom, it’s heartbreaking that her allegiance has changed. I do understand. Why would she want to ride the hard one when she’s got an easy one that does his job? At some point along the road of recovery she mentally let him go. And I haven’t. And that’s why I’m angry. At myself, at my heart, at my relentless desire to see him perform again in some capacity. At the dream that was crushed on that September morning three years ago.

This is why I haven’t been able to write his story. Because where is the happy ending?

I wish the story wouldn’t end this way. But I’m afraid that it has. He will always have a home with us, and I will always love him. He will be here long after Baby Girl leaves for college. He will still be out there, in his paddock, demanding to be fed. Demanding attention and whinnying at me every time I walk out of the house. I can only hope that someday, I will learn to let go. Of what was, and what could have been and never will be. And that I will accept what was given to me instead – a miracle pony running like crazy on a leg that should never have born weight again.

Bruno deserves that from me. I’m the one who saved him.

I finished writing the book about my parents and sent it off to the publisher. I would say it was a book about my Mom, but it actually turned out to be a love story. Between them. Between me and them. Between Baby Girl and them. It ended up being a story about family, about secrets and love and anger and strength. About the terror and unfairness of losing your parents in the way that I did. About the support my husband and brother gave that held me up when I was about to go under. About figuring out how to manage the intense emotions that sprang up in me and made me feel so very much alone. It wasn’t about sharing my pain with you all – it inadvertently became that. A much needed outlet for all that I felt. I am grateful for the tenderness you all showed me during that endless wave of vulnerability and grief. There are so many of you to thank.

I was lucky, I have a great friend who publishes books and other media all the time and she gave me the name of her publisher, whom I called a year ago and talked to at length about my book and she in turn explained all about getting published. She charges a flat fee and does all the hard work for me… formatting, spine width, layout, editing, cover, and marketing. She walked me through getting accounts with Ingram and Amazon. She told me how to buy an ISBN number. I had to write an author bio and send her a picture of me. I still need to do a dedication. I talk with her each week about the progress the book is making and where in the process it is. It should be done within a month or six weeks.

Exciting news, to be sure. But yet… why do I feel deflated? It took me a year to write that book, to live through the memories and emotions again was particularly tough. For the longest time I couldn’t get past the section where my Dad passed away. I had to stop. Go back. Write a bit more. Stop again. Reading my brother’s obituary of my Dad made my cry all over again. Writing about his last week had me tearing up with my throat closing and feeling very small and alone and inadequate. What if I wasn’t enough for them? Even though I tried so very hard to be everything and anything they needed, I still have doubts.

Writing about the course my Mom’s life took from beginning to end and all the hard times along the way had me screaming silently in anger and pain. She would have hated knowing how it turned out for her. It shouldn’t have ended that way. It should not have been that way.

But it was. And now I’ve done it. It’s going to be “out there” for all the world to read. And that’s a good thing. That’s what I wanted. To share their story, their love and their lives so that it might help someone else going through the same agonizing experience. So that someone out there might feel a little less alone after reading it. A little more justified in their feelings. A little less helpless and weak.

I read that there was a lot of backlash about Bruce Willis’s wife not living in the same house that he does, in order to “better manage his frontotemporal dementia.” I can totally relate. And she said that nobody who hasn’t walked this path gets to judge. She is so right. I would love to send her my book because I truly feel her pain. I would love to read the memoir she wrote. I am so glad that she is speaking out, a person who can truly make something of a difference in this terrible fight. Who would ask for this? Nobody. Who gets to say how any individual family handles it? Nobody except the people in that situation.

I have been ultra quiet lately. Reading a lot. Resting. Thinking. I don’t know if I have another book in me. The writing of that one was so rough and I am depleted. I don’t even feel victorious, even though I probably should. I have been a bit bored. A bit melancholy. Wondering if I deserve all this free time. Wishing for them to be back in my life. Pondering what I should do next.

I am worried. What if I left something important out? Something that I will remember later that was crucial to the story. What if I didn’t depict the anger and pain, the unbearable loss, the grief and the frustration accurately enough? What if nobody can relate to it? What if I did all this for nothing?

The publisher says it’s good. And I should probably believe her.

I really hope that someone out there will read it and think to themselves “wow, these feelings I am having about this situation are authentic and justifiable. I am so glad I read this book.”

That’s all.

And maybe someday I’ll write another book. About a totally different topic. Maybe about all these years I’ve spent teaching riding, maybe about the struggles of raising my Baby Girl, maybe about Bruno – like everyone wants me to. Then again, maybe not. And that’s ok – I accomplished what I set out to do and that is enough.

What’s in a name? Not that much, apparently. Tony and I have traveled on three cruises now, once on Disney – which cannot be matched I’m afraid, once on Royal Caribbean, and now on Norwegian. We had decided to try different cruise lines to find the one we liked best. Next time we might try Princess, or Celebrity.

But next time will be a long time away. Norwegian has the habit of charging you for every tiny little thing. And charging a LOT. I clearly like to learn things the hard way, and this one was definitely hard.

I chose the ship based on the name and the fact that it was going to Bermuda. We wanted to try Norwegian. It sounds exotic. This particular cruise was originally also going to Bar Harbor, Maine, which is somewhere I’ve always wanted to go. After I booked, Bar Harbor decreed “no more cruise ships” so this cruise’s itinerary changed to Bermuda only. And we would spend three days there. I decided this was ok, and proceeded with the travel arrangements.

I did not realize that cruise ships come in different sizes! Knowing that the Viking cruises are smaller and more intimate because some friends told me so, I figured that all the other ocean cruise lines were basically the same. I should have done more research! The Norwegian Jewel is small. To the point where you cannot possibly get lost finding your stateroom (it helped we were near an elevator), and everything is very condensed, and crowded. There was only one shop. It was a large shop, but the Royal Caribbean cruise basically had a mall, which was fun. Disney also had plenty of shopping opportunities. On the Norwegian ship, the middle of the ship was open only on two decks, unlike the three or four of Disney and Royal Caribbean, so not nearly as impressive. It did have plenty of dining and bars, but you had to search in back corners for them. We finally found an outside bar we liked on deck 12 at the back of the ship on the second to last day. We even saw a whale from this deck, randomly.

You literally had to walk through the crowded and smoky casino to get to the theatre. And that was after already walking through a crowded and very noisy martini bar with a piano man. They definitely used every square inch of space! I was more used to everything being more open and easy to find. One of the “specialty” restaurants was tucked onto deck 13 and we had trouble finding it. So while small, the ship’s layout was not very convenient. We were told the ship had been upgraded recently, but honestly it felt a bit old and worn to us.

The ship had plenty of places to eat. A huge buffet called the Garden Cafe or something like that where the girls liked to go on their own for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I am not a fan of the buffets on any ship as they are always extremely crowded. Plus, the food at this buffet was not that good to be honest. I couldn’t get excited about it. The girls loved the never ending pasta and bread and ice cream. I made a point to check out the desserts every day and they tried (and failed) to get to fancy with it. Nothing normal like cookies or plain chocolate cake. No, there were desserts from all over the “world”, which just didn’t taste that good. Lots of things with pralines and coconut, coffee and marzipan and cream cakes and Jello molds of every color. I honestly just wanted a cookie.

There were three restaurants that were “included” with your cruise fare, in which you could eat off a menu. There were no set dining times, unlike Disney or Royal Caribbean. You could go to any of these restaurants at any time you liked. But. The menu was the SAME no matter where you went. AND it was the SAME every day with the exception of a little box with four or five “daily specials.” The desserts changed every day, as well, but again nothing I was interested in eating. Also, if you wanted to try something new like lobster or lamb, you had to pay extra. That is not the case on the other two ships we traveled on. EVERYTHING was included on those. You got to try some really different things. And if you didn’t like it, they would bring you something else. On Disney, we could order a hot dog, or macaroni and cheese for Skylar, regardless of what was on the menu. They would bring her anything she wanted. The service on Disney and Royal Caribbean was impeccable. The service on Norwegian wasn’t. I honestly liked the sit down times with the same server and people around you every day on the other ships. They got to know you. You could banter and joke with them. They asked about your day. The servers on Norwegian were just doing a job. Like at any restaurant.

We had two free “specialty dining” experiences that came with our cruise package. We chose a Brazilian Steakhouse which was the highlight of our dining experience, and an Italian restaurant, where everything was a bit too rich for our blood. The service in these two restaurants was much better and we had a lot of fun in the Brazilian Steakhouse where they bring meat and candied pineapple on skewers and cut it right onto your plate.

Our stateroom was so small. On the Disney cruise we had a room with a view at the very front of the ship so the ceiling curved down at an angle, but actually gave us more floor space. On Royal Caribbean it was just me and Tony, so there was also a small couch and a desk and plenty of room, plus the lovely balcony. On Norwegian the entire room was taken up by the three beds. The normal bed, then pushed up against that and to the opposite wall was the couch bed, which was never put away the entire time – just left out. And the bed that came down from the ceiling could only be opened with a key and was also down 75% of the time, blocking your way to the balcony. We all hit our heads on the underside of that ceiling bed multiple times. There was no room for anything! We had to stuff our large suitcases under the bed and the girls’ suitcases were in the walkway from the door to the balcony. There was literally nowhere else to put them. And the bathroom was so tiny you could barely get dressed in it. Absolutely no counter space. So we were not impressed with the room. The beds were comfortable enough though. And housekeeping was ok, but again, not as good as on the other ships.

I think our standards are a bit high because of Disney being our first cruise, and also because I paid a ton of money for four of us to go on this cruise and I just wanted to be a bit more comfortable than I was. And because the ship was smaller, you could really feel it moving a lot. There were a lot of times I just felt “off” because of motion sickness. Not enough to make me nauseous but moving enough to notice it constantly. Amy said she kind of liked it – it helped her sleep!

The pool deck and hot tubs were nice. I’ve never been in a hot tub on a cruise ship that was truly hot. Warm, yes, but not hot. There must be a temperature level they’re not allowed to go above. The girls, especially Skylar, had fun swimming and laying out. I learned that you do not need to bring beach towels with you on a cruise. Plenty of towels on the boat and also they provided towels when we were going to the beach. So we could have saved some space there and spared ourselves the sand in the room and in the suitcases. The magnetic hooks I had bought before the last cruise were a lifesaver as we could use them to get things out of the way. The water proof phone cases we bought were useless because I was too afraid to trust them not to get our phones wet! The ship felt cold to me so I had to buy a sweatshirt from the one shop, I won’t even tell you what that cost and Skylar wanted a box of 100 colored pencils for $36 which I said no way Jose to. I did wear the sweatshirt every day and will now be able to advertise “Norwegian Cruise Line” loudly for everyone to see.

The ship had some things for the girls to do, besides the buffet and the pool. They were too old for the kids’ club and too young for the teens’ club. And not interested in the basketball or ping pong tables. But there was a small arcade. When we boarded the ship I saw a sign to “sign up for an arcade pass!” so we went to investigate. For $175 (Holy Moly!!!) we could buy a pass and the girls could come play the games with the GREEN square around the card slot. I nearly stopped breathing but I paid it. I thought this would keep them somewhat entertained for the days we were on the ship. There were other games in there, too, where you could win prizes. Those games weren’t included in the green square games.

I should have paid better attention.

I, mistakenly, thought that the girls’ key cards would ONLY work on the green square games. I did not realize that once activated, the cards could ALSO be used on what turned out to be the “pay each time” games. The girls were gone for hours.

That night I received both a written letter and a voice mail asking me to come to guest services to handle the fees accumulated by the arcade. I went. What do you mean, I ask? Well you have over $300 worth of arcade games that will automatically be added to your bill. What?! Including the $175 I already paid? No. No Sir. No Ma’am. I saw the charges… they went on forever. Pages and pages of arcade games played within about a two hour time period at about $2 a pop.

I’m pretty sure I fainted.

I DID get mad. I told them all sorts of angry, frustrated things. They would not budge. I told them we misunderstood, that we thought the cards would work on the green square games only. We thought that only AMY’s card was activated, for both girls to use. It was no use. They did not care. I finally went to the casino and directly negotiated with them to reduce the fees to $356, total. Instead of about $475. But no more arcade games at all for the girls. I felt, and still feel, that it was a total rip-off and that they purposefully did not explain as well as they should have. I also should have paid better attention when the girls came back with armfuls of plastic turtles and stuffed power rangers (or something). Skylar even got a sparkly pink plastic duck. But I was there to relax on the deck with Tony and drink things and I did not, as it happens, think anything of it. Until it was too late. Lesson learned. (PS this was all on the first night).

So the girls did not get to do the arcade anymore.

Another lesson learned was the Diet Coke lesson. The first night on the ship I wanted to get some Diet Cokes delivered to our room so that I could put them in the tiny fridge because I like to have a Diet Coke in the mornings when I wake up. And I didn’t want to have to get dressed and go find one. I was told that they could certainly do this but that there would be a room service charge. I agreed that this was fine. They did not tell me how much the charge would be and I, thinking it would probably be about $20, did not ask. Remember, we are talking about a 12 pack of cans here. $5-$6 at your local Walmart.

SIXTY-ONE dollars later I had my Diet Cokes. In my fridge. Now, I had also brought my pink 32 oz Yeti cup with me and by the third day I had figured out I could take that cup to the bar on the 8th deck and the bartender would fill it up for me. For free, because we had the ultimate drink package. I also learned that I could ask for, and receive, more than one can of Diet Coke at a time, at any of the bars or the buffet.

So what I SHOULD HAVE done was simply to ask for two or more cans of Diet Coke every time I was near a bar and then stockpiled those in my fridge.

Now I know.

At any rate, I would like to say that we did have a good time but were pretty perplexed/frustrated by all the mistakes we made and the cost of things. The evening entertainment in the StarDust Theater (notwithstanding having to walk thru the smoky casino to get there) was all pretty good. We went every night at 7:15 and the girls loved the dancing, singing, and magic shows but were not impressed by the soul singer. He was pretty boring in my opinion. Just not our style of music. After the show we would all hang out on the beds in our room watching a movie or reading or playing games on our phones. We played a lot of UNO.

We sailed. We relaxed. We drank (some). And we learned a lot.

Once we get this one paid off I’ll book another one. I’m committed to cruising. It’s such a safe and easy way of seeing new places. Next time, Honduras! Or New England! Who knows where we’ll go, but we’ll go. Just not on Norwegian.

When she was very young, just like most little bitty girls, Baby Girl was very into pink and purple and turquoise, unicorns and everything magical. When we did her room upgrade from nursery to toddler and then to “big girl” we focused on everything unicorn. If it had a magical horn it was in. Bedspread, comforter, curtains, sheets and pillows – it didn’t stop. Books and stuffed animals never-ending unicorns, etc. She loved to wear dresses, the flowier the better. At two she had a pair of golden sparkly flats she wouldn’t take off, even for sleeping. At four it was a My Little Ponies and mermaids obsession. At five we had a unicorn birthday party.

Along the way from seven to eight years old things started to change. Slowly at first and then like a steamroller. Everything pink and girly was out. No more dresses, no more fairies and narwhals and shiny sparkling shoes. It started with choosing animals like cheetahs to be her favorite. So now everything cheetah pattern was in. No big deal, I thought, lots of little girls lose interest in unicorns. Cheetahs are cool.

Then Grandpa died. And Baby Girl was there. And while it didn’t seem to affect her too much, things started to spiral quietly out of control. All of a sudden she was getting in trouble at school. Refusing to wear anything but comfortable sweatpants and tee shirts and tennis shoes (or her paddock boots), dresses mostly became a thing of the past. They’ll make fun of me, she said. No one likes me, she cried. They’re all mean to me, she lamented.

This was second grade. Things were on a downhill slide. The years from seven to nine were rough. Her Beloved Granny died at age 8, her Poppy at age 9 and her first pony Corkie at age 10. The kid has had a rough few years.

At eight or nine, we changed her room again, now it’s Wolves everywhere and dark shades of blue and gray. At eight she became fascinated with wolves and big dogs. Wolves howling at the moon became a symbol of who she was and how she felt.

Why? Safety. Ferocious, feisty and protective. Unsurprisingly, German Shepherds became her new favorite type of dog. Her favorite colors were still dark blues and grays, with a few other bold colors thrown in. Nothing pink. Nothing too soft or forgiving. Baby Girl’s mood was often dismal at best, but she could also be silly and rambunctious and hard to reason with.

One of her best qualities, however, is her ability to adapt and overcome, her way of letting things go and moving on. Not holding a grudge. And while she would NEVER talk much about her losses, she would sometimes break down late at night, past her bedtime, and cry with me. I usually ended up crying, too, to see her in so much pain.

Kids are resilient they say. I have often thought she is more adaptive than I am. Neither of us had any choice in what happened to us. But she found her way to cope. From wolves and big dogs at eight and nine to horses and regular dogs at age 10, she has finally turned to things like hummingbirds and highland cows at age 11. I am ELATED for the shift. Not that I don’t like wolves, but it highlights her slow morph into someone new. Someone who can be soft again. Someone who can dream and dance and color a new page. Colors and clothes choices symbolize so much of who we are and how we want the world to see us.

We are going on a cruise next week. She has asked for plenty of dresses to wear. She’s starting to care about her hair and make up (!) which I don’t discourage, even though her sweet angel face definitely doesn’t need any make up, and Daddy certainly doesn’t like it. I know it represents a new awareness of herself, and a new confidence that was missing for a long time. She’s stretching the boundaries of who she is, and who she wants to be. Removing her from public school and entering a homeschool co-op made a tremendous difference to her emotional state. She feels safer now, and more accepted.

Her room is still dark navy and gray. But the wolves are gone from the walls. She is choosing to display her favorite horse show ribbons and her new artwork instead. Her new playhouse that was just built is decorated in soft cream and pink. Pink has found a new acceptance in her mind, one that I am fully embracing.

Friday was my birthday and we wanted to get our nails done. What color I ask? Pink she says, with a bow on one finger. I say yes, let’s both do pink.

And so we do.