Grasslands

While I prefer to go horseback riding with my friends, I often ride solo through the Ramona Grasslands.  This is a beautiful ride I can take from the stable which winds up a narrow trail in the hills with breathtaking views.

Here we are on top of the world.

Forever views...

 Manicured trails circle you around the Grasslands.  

Scotch and I do this ride so often we could probably get there with our eyes closed.  At least I could.  Scotch knows the way, so I don’t have to pay attention.

HI COWS!  See my previous post to know why this is funny.

Wait...Did you just call me a COW?  Seriously??

 This is hard core evidence of the rattlers we run into every Spring.  This guy was ginormous! (love that word). Scotch has been known to climb on top of a boulder, wrenching my back in the process, and has broken my hand, all in an effort to flee these lovely reptiles.

 Yes, the '07 fire passed this way too.  This is also the spot where I ran into two (2) rattlers, one right after the other, in one afternoon.  Actually, within minutes of each other.  So exciting, so much fun...

This is on the way back home.

Oh look!  My shadow!

I forgot to take a picture of Scotch’s favorite house.  He always stops at the top of the hill and stares wistfully at the beautiful blue house sitting on some major acreage with a huge fenced yard. . I think he has hopes of living there some day.  Gotta have a dream...

Let Me Entertain You

It seems I am plagued with embarrassing myself at every possible opportunity.  There must be a name for this disorder.  It all started out so innocently...but then it always does...

So I was riding with my friend through the Ramona Grasslands on a perfect Saturday afternoon.  It was warm and sunny but a mild Santa Ana breeze kept it from being too hot.  We stopped at our favorite restaurant – the picnic table by the pond – where we enjoyed the water view and our usual split of champagne.  Then we rode around the pond and into a grove of trees.  As our eyes adjusted to the shadows, I saw there were several cows with baby calves standing in our path.  I talked to them out loud, “Hello cows, just coming through” so they wouldn’t attack us.  Mama cows with babies have been known to be a bit aggressive when approached.  I told them we meant no harm and they nodded their approval as we rode on by.  We gaited and cantered on up the road and Julia went ahead of me while I tilted my head back, relishing the sunshine and my horse’s smooth gait.  We passed by another picnic table shaded by trees and, squinting in the bright sun, I saw two more big cows standing there.  In my happiest, loudest voice I yelled out, “HI COWS!”  Just as the words were leaving my lips, I saw that they weren’t cows, they were horses and their riders, two women, were sitting at the picnic table.  They turned around and gave me a strange look, like, “What the---??”

Totally mortified and humiliated, I blurted out, “Oh I mean horses!  I need glasses! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” My laugh sounded a a little too loud and shrill, even to me, and then I urged my horse to run as fast as possible up the hill to get away from their menacing glares.  Cursing myself as I ran for being so stupid, It occurred to me that the women might have thought I was calling THEM cows!   They probably thought I was some horrible, rude person.   I caught up to Julia and said, “I can’t believe what I just did!”  I told her how I had unwittingly insulted two perfectly nice women and she started laughing really hard and then I  started thinking it was kind of funny too, so I started laughing, and then we were both doubled over on our horses with tears streaming down our faces.

So I guess that’s why these things happen to me – so I can amuse you.  It’s all for you, my dear friends.  I make all these blunders purely for your entertainment.  You’re welcome.

Witch Creek Anniversary

On this Sunday morning five years ago, I was talking on the phone to my friend about a fun dinner party we’d been to the night before.  We were saying what a good time we’d had and then I mentioned there seemed to be a fire somewhere in the area.  I could smell smoke and we remembered the Cedar Fire four years earlier.  Mary had almost lost her home and, sadly, her brother had lost his million dollar home in that fire.  I said I couldn’t imagine such a terrible loss.  Little did I know that this would be the last day I spent in my own home which burned to the ground in the Witch Creek Fire.

Since that time, I have been groping my way through the dark Forest of Loss and Despair.  The fire was a life shattering event that started  a series of further losses toppling down on top of each other like a row of dominoes.  It seems like things should be so much better now, five years later, but just when I think things are looking up, I stumble over a new obstacle which sends me sliding down another rabbit hole of depression.  That’s when I have to remember all the things I’m grateful for as I claw my way back to the forest floor.  And there is a lot to be grateful for.  I have two beautiful children, good friends and a roof over my head.  As I search through the trees of my own private forest, I see hopeful rays of light in the distance.  I hate that the fire happened and I lost my home and all the things that came after that.  But if I sift through the ashes long enough, I see that some good has come from that event too.  The fire rekindled my love for writing, acting, and my passion for horses. 

 Yes, we lost all our possessions, some pets died from smoke inhalation, and our little family fell apart.  We have struggled but not as much as others.  We didn’t suffer painful burns and we are all still alive.  My prayers to all those who suffered so much more than we did.  My heartfelt thanks to my good friends and family members who have stuck by me through the bad times as well as the good because in the end, it’s love that make life worth living, not possessions.  

Chester Does Yoga

My morning routine for the past 100 years has been to drag myself into my gym at 5 AM for a workout.  My white lab, Chester, pads in after me and watches intently as I do my Yoga stretches.  Chester likes to participate. I feel like he is mimicking me, although I don't recall ever being in this particular pose.  I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he lies down on his side with a groan, then rolls over onto his back in the most relaxed (Yoga?) position I've ever seen.  His legs are splayed out carelessly and his fangs protrude as gravity pulls his upper lip towards the floor.  His eyes are closed and he looks utterly peaceful.  There's got to be a name for this.  Can't really call it Downward Dog because he's on his back.  Hmmm, how about Doggy Bliss?   Namaste...ohmmmmmm

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

Have you ever had that longing desire to ride bikes in a deluge of rain?  Me neither. Call me picky, but I insist on the sun shining and the temperature hovering around 70-80F, right?

Christine had 2 e-bikes and rented a regular bike for Kyle because she had lots of fun excursions planned for us.  The e-bikes were amazing - as soon as you started going up a hill, electricity kicked in and there was hardly any effort required.  No huffing and puffing for us fine ladies.  She had both our bikes decked out with tiny vases filled with roses from her garden.  I pictured fun, sunny rides along the Baltic Sea to castles and maybe a bar or two, everyone smiling and singing songs from The Sound of Music.  Yeah right.  Most Germans don't even know the Sound of Music movie.  Also, Germany has a llittle thing called WEATHER.  And you never know what that weather is going to do from one minute to the next.  It can be all sunny and innocent, birds chirping, then suddenly it is pouring buckets on your head. 

The one and only day we rode bikes, we headed into town to visit a local museum.  I was keeping a wary eye on the clouds in the distance, but our ride to the museum was effortless and fun.  So far so good.  The museum was interesting with paintings from local artists and furniture and clothing used in this area hundreds of years ago.  I heard an ominous noise and when I looked out the window, it was pouring rain.  Oh no.  After a while it stopped, and we got back on the bikes.  Christina pulled on rain gear - waterproof jacket with hood, waterproof pants.  She had brought the same for me but being the fashionista that I am, I declined.  In fact, I scoffed at the very idea.  Surely it wouldn't rain again after the downpour we had just witnessed.

It started sprinkling as soon as we rode off and then the rain started coming down in sheets.  Sure doesn't rain like this in southern California.  It rained so hard my eyelashes were soaked and dripping onto my eyeballs, making it hard to see.  It rained so dang hard that giant puddles instantly appeared in front of us, testing our bicycle maneuverability skills.  By the time we got to our destination, a local brewery and restaurant, Kyle and I were soaked through and through.  We were both in a foul mood as we dripped into the outdoor restaurant.  The patio was sheltered by large umbrellas and I watched as water cascaded off the umbrellas and down onto the street like Norwegian waterfalls.  I was dumbfounded.  We ordered beer and wine and big German pretzels which improved our moods considerably.  The rain was still pouring so we ordered another round.  Finally it stopped long enough for us to make our way home. Our route took us through a funny street where kids had thrown tennis shoes onto telephone wires. Wow, they do that here too? 

I came down with a nasty cold the next day and my German mom insisted it was because my feet had gotten soaked and I hadn't changed my shoes!

Beach Rides

Photos by Peggy Jones

Riding my horse on the beach is one of the most exhilarating experiences.  There's something about sitting on your horse, watching the breaking waves, listening to the pounding surf, being dazzled by the sun sparkling off the blue water like diamonds, and oh yes, trying to keep your horse from lurching out from under you.  It takes a while to get most horses used to water, especially constantly moving, splashing water with seaweed floating toward you and big, scary, pounding wave noises.  Imperial Beach offers a beautiful, wide stretch  of beach from the border all the way to the river mouth.  We have been here quite often now, and each time, my horse acts like he's never seen a wave before.  I have to coax him sideways into the surf and he watches nervously as the waves splash down, sending a surge of water toward his hooves, then he does a clever little rear/spinning move to keep me on my toes.  I scold him (just a little), turn him back into the surf and we prance sideways while he keeps a suspicious eye on everything floating towards him.  (One time he caught me by surprise and reared up, smacking his head into mine which really, really hurt. I thought I had broken something and was probably dying. I yelled in pain and I think he knew he had hurt me and felt bad because he stood real still for a few moments while I rubbed the growing knot on my forehead and waited for the stars to disappear.)  Eventually he settles down because he has a good heart and really wants to try hard for me, and we get deeper into the surf so I can feel the water splashing on my bare feet.  At this point we are actually moving forward, parallel to the beach, instead of sideways.  Progress.  We splash along all the way to the border and back, enjoying the sunshine, sparkling water and ocean spray.   Yes, we have to work at it a little, but the end result is sheer bliss.  Oh, how I love the ocean.  And my horse.

My friend, Peggy Jones, took all these amazing photos.  If it weren't for her, I would never be able to go on all these fantastic rides.  Thank you, Champagne Sister Peggy!

My New Hero, Robert L. Watson

The above photo is taken from the North County Times.  This is where I saw the ad to see Bob Watson, WWII Vet, speak at the Escondido Library.  I took (dragged) Kyle with me, explaining the importance of witnessing a first hand account by someone who had actually experienced D-Day.  (Kind of the same speech I gave him about seeing Doris Martin, Holocaust survivor, which you can read about in my blog archives.)  It's one thing to read about it in a book, but how many chances are you ever going to have of an eye witness relating these world changing events?  Mr. Watson sprinkled his emotionally charged story with humor where he could.  He joined the Navy instead of the Army because the Navy seemed more elite and he thought he would get a lot of attention from the girls by wearing his sexy Navy uniform.  He was only 18 when he was sent to Omaha Beach on June 6, 1944, after being drafted and spending only one month in boot camp.  All the sailors on his boat were 18 and 19 years old, had never seen combat, and were scared to death.  I was on the edge of my seat as he described how their boat started taking on water as it plowed through high waves and choppy seas, in dismal, foggy conditions.  They were supposed to rush out of the boat and storm the beach but they were struck by land mines planted in the water by the Germans. Bob found himself clinging to a rubber life boat, shaking and trembling in terror.  Once on the beach, he had to scramble over dead bodies to find a fox hole while dodging bullets flying around his head.  He had been wounded by shrapnel from the mines and was surprised when an army medic ran up to him and injected him with one of the many morphine needles dangling from his jacket.  Many in his battalion never made it to the beach, and he had to witness some of his buddies being shot down, right before his eyes.  A friend in a foxhole next to him, raised his head up to look around, only to have it blown off his body. Bob spent 28 hair raising days on Omaha Beach, received several promotions, and was eventually put in charge of herding German POW's down to the beach to be shipped to England.  He chokes up a little remembering the young men who lost their lives there and were never honored for their heroic deeds.  While his emotions are still close to the surface, even after all these years, he also has a quick sense of humor.  One audience member introduced an elderly gentleman who had also been there on D-Day and thought they might possibly know each other.  Bob said, excitedly, "I saw him!  He was wearing a helmet!"  Bob and his lovely wife of over 60 years have been back to France many times and he is always treated with great respect there.  On a recent visit, a group of young German soldiers spent an hour talking to him about his experiences on Omaha Beach.  They shook his hand and thanked him for saving their country! Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg also shook his hand on a recent visit and Mr. Spielberg took him aside and asked if he had done a good job with the movie (Saving Private Ryan).  Bob said he thought he'd done the best he could, but the soldiers in the movie looked like they were in their late 20's when in reality, nobody there was over 19 years old.  He said the bloody scenes depicted in the first part of the movie were 20 times worse in real life.  Kyle and I had the honor of speaking to Bob's son and daughter in law afterwards, who told us he had been so traumatized by his experience, he was unable to speak about it for 50 years.  I am so glad he is speaking about it now because these things should never be forgotten.  Someone who has lived through such horror deserves to have their story heard by everyone.  He also  speaks at high schools and  I'm told he is at the Midway every Saturday to answer any questions.  I felt honored to be in his presence and asked if I could shake his hand.  He took my hand in his and kissed it ever so gallantly, saying with a charming smile, "I'm sorry.  It's the old sailor in me!"  Thank you, Mr. Watson.  You are a true hero and we are honored to have met you.