THE WOMAN & THE HORSE

This is one of those posts where I start with the idea to show some of my pictures on a horse. Then, I get myself more and more interested into a conversation about horses, cutting horses, rodeos, riding and more.

Having relatives who live in the West is one thing, but having horses as an integral part of the family is a different story. Visiting both groups this summer made me think more about humans and animals. The humans are easier to understand. They talk; they laugh and cry; they look at each other; the kids play, make noises of all nature -- all familiar actions.

The horses are a different group. They don't talk; they don't have to talk. Winston Churchill said it best: "There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man." Their effect on your whole being is infinitely powerful. I had seen horses before. Why now? What is the big deal? This is what I believe happened. I felt their power and strength, their ability -- not like the barking of a dog, or meowing of a cat -- to speechlessly put me gently in the place we both wanted to be. 

They impress me physically with their obvious domination and  superiority. The hooves are bigger than my feet. At the same time, their thin, delicate legs carry big muscular bodies. The flowing against the wind big mane -- women are trying to imitate this movement with their hair so hard. Every horse body muscle is a working muscle. We, the humans in the gym, still discover the existence of underdeveloped new muscles. And this tail, the movement of the head....

The eyes of the horses are larger than those of any land mammal. I did some research on the eyes. Afterall, they are the window to the soul. I wasn't sure how to look and talk to a horse. With dogs and cats, I was an expert. I was their "whisperer." Not so with horses. Where does the horse look? The eyes of the horse are situated on both sides of the head. They are lateral-eyed. This allows them to have a range of vision of about 350 degrees, 65 degrees of this is binocular and the remaining, 285 degrees, are monocular.  There are still two "blind spots" -- in front of the face and right behind its head. The role of the trainer and rider is of major importance to help with this vision problem. It ensures the raising, or lowering the position of the head, depending on what the horse needs to see.

The horse, I show you above, is Diamond, 17-year old mare, cutting horse, owned by my family member. 

What are "cutting horses"? Cutting horses are a popular sport in the American West. It originated in this part of the country. The job of the horse was to separate the cow from the cattle herd for a certain amount of time. It was done mostly for medical reasons. As time went by, the best riders and the best cutting horses started their competition. This is how a sport was born; universal rules and regulations were developed; an organization was established. When there is sports, there is entertainment. When there are horses, you will see a rodeo. 

Usually, the horses participating in a cutting horses competition are not thoroughbreds -- they are the American Quarter Horses. The cows "play" themselves - cows, who want to go back to their herd. In this sporting event, the rider and the horse are fast, with a good sense for maneuvering, riding and anticipating any move the cow will make. The most important job is done by the horse. The "cow instinct" gets a horse and rider further in the game.

Who is The American Quarter Horse? This is a horse breed known for his running faster than other horses in short distances. According to Wikipedia,"this horse can reach a speed of up to 55 mph (88.5 km/h.) The horse is great not only for cutting, but also for all rodeo events, such as racing, calf roping, barrel racing. From a ranch, family horse, this horse has developed to the level of an export around the world. The American Quarter Horse is the most popular breed in the USA today.

This is how it all started in the Wild West -- with the ranch horses and the rodeos. Simple interaction between humans and animals. Cowboys and cowgirls, gentle horse spirit, gentle human souls...

I planned getting on a horse for years. Diseases have prevented me from doing it. Riding is out of question. But the desire to get on a horse, touch him, feel his energy, silently pray for peace, health and happiness --it was all there. This dream came true with the help of a wonderful man, a member of my Western family. He just put this gorgeous saddle on Diamond, took her for a short walk to get her ready. I did not want to jump from joy. My legs were the sick ones. My head, which causes all my other problems was not feeling the pain. It was waiting for a new type of therapy. Diamond was waiting, too - patiently, all dressed up.

The moment came. I was thinking only about this horn of the saddle. Hold it, hold it tight! Ready? Get on! Left leg up!

My body is on Diamond. Right leg on!

Now, feel the freedom! Breathe! Imagine you are riding and noone can stop you. It is just imaginary, but so much fun. Diamond did not know my diseases. She just showed love and gave it all to me.

I was ashamed to cry and to thank everyone. I was just happy.

What Western story will end without Johnny Cash....

MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME. ...

My Mother

MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME....

This is the only picture I have of my mother. It sits on my night stand and wishes me "Good Night" every night. 

My mother died at the age of 58. I was a college girl, already married, with a girl of my own. My writing will not do justice to a woman, who taught me not only how to be a woman; she taught me what society is still struggling to understand. She was way ahead of her time. I learned about the homophobic communist world we lived in at the time when other girls were playing with dolls.  She used simple language to explain the complexities of life. We had conversations about homophobia - a forbidden word [even today] in the vocabulary of many. 

My mother taught me never to mock people who look physically or mentally not well. "Respect everyone! Help everyone as much as you can!" She said. "Life has a way of changing. Tomorrow, you may be in their shoes."

With both parents working in the medical field, I remember plenty of stories about diseases, life and death. Five decades ago, we had our talks about mental diseases, stigma, discrimination of gay population and mentally sick.... What settled in my brain forever were conversations about gay patients, who had to hide their sexuality from their parents and friends until their death. 

One had to be a soldier of society. Everyone had to wear the same uniform for the outside word... That was the law of that land.

My mother taught me that people do not choose to be gay or straight. She did not go into a medical explanation, but I learned that it was not like picking a pastry in a candy shop -- today you pick a piece of chocolate cake, tomorrow -- a pineapple upside down cake.  

You are who you are. 

One of the doctors, who worked with her at the hospital, was gay. His family did not want to know he was even alive. Mom decided I was smart enough to understand how difficult his life was. Now that I think back, she really took a big chance at explaining all of this to me.

I took it all in.

    

РАЗМИСЛИ ЗА КЛЕТВАТА

Image courtesy of photomyheart
at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

РАЗМИСЛИ ЗА КЛЕТВАТА

Прелистваме буквара на света

и пълним думите със очертания.

Изпълваме ги всички,  до  една  –

ту с верно, ту с химерно съдържание.

 А думите за святите неща

остават до тогава низ от звуци

докато не усетим святостта

на преживяването им  –  тъй ги учим.

И клетвата изпълваме с усещане

на просветление за дълг и за родина  –

слова в читанките ни още срещани,

за смисъла им се подготвяме с години.

Целувка с знамето и уж сме същите

а всъщност  –  вече сме пречистени

от чувството, че няма връщане

и мислените уговорки са безсмислени.

Тя, клетвата е оня връх в живота,

от който само с малодушие се слиза.

А всички други върхове, макар и с ропот

Напускаме след апатични или драматични кризи.

23. IX. 1987 г                                                                                   M.T.

ME & MY PONY

ME & MY PONY

This blog post was inspired by Seinfeld's Pony episode. 

I must have watched "Seinfeld" hundreds of times. I still enjoy playing the roles of most of the characters. The pony episode was one of my favorites. It went on like this: Jerry's family was having a conversation at the dinner table. Elaine expressed her dislike for ponies, while Jerry talked about his hatred for kids who had ponies. In fact, he hated all horses. But, both of them were zooming in on the ponies. It was such a big mistake. Jerry's relative -- Manya, who was of Polish origin, did not leave this unnoticed. She was livid. Back in Poland, when she was growing up, "everyone had a pony." Manya got irate, she stormed out of the room.

I remember this episode almost word for word. There are several reasons for this. I am an immigrant; I am from Bulgaria (close to Poland); I don't think in Bulgaria anyone had a pony back then, but I would have loved to have had one. Finally, in USA, I attended many parties, where immigrants were humiliated. I felt like doing what Manya did. Well, on several occasions, I did act like her. I have no intention to apologize for it. Absolutely, not.

One day, I was watching the pony episode at home. Out of nowhere I said, "I never had a pony, my sister never had a pony, my cousin never had a pony. There were only donkeys and horses in Bulgaria. I wish I have a pony now." 

I cannot ride a pony now. What was I talking about that day?

Ponies were never the most popular children's toys. But, somehow, I ended up with a beautiful pony toy for my birthday. Finding him was not something you do in five minutes on amazon. I learned this afterwards. My weird request must have made my husband sweat. Jewelry, dresses, shoes are everywhere. But, go find a plush pony toy. Well, my husband did it.

Tiger photobombed the picture

I was so happy. I still ride my plush pony; he stays in a special location in the house, where I can keep a close eye on him, cuddle him, and pat him. Tiger, the cat, likes him, too. It is so nice when the whole family gets along. You forget the boundaries between humans, animals and toys. They all bring joy to my heart.

Who said humans are the most perfect creation? You have to come and look at my pony. 

If you need to see swimming ponies, the place for that is  Chincoteague Island.

It all started with one simple blog post about my pony. We ended up with the real ponies one can see in Virginia. 

Jerry, you were wrong! USA is not a "non-pony country" !!!

WALKING IN THE SNOW (Part 2)

WALKING IN THE SNOW

(Part 2)

I could not wait to get to the card. It is not every day that I get handwritten cards. Only two friends send me one for my birthday, but there is only one person who would work long to make it perfect. 

My daughter. 

No technology, no ready-made words can be a substitute for something written just for you. It has been touched, kissed, decorated with love. It carries the words and the humor from the days she was a child. It is perfectly imperfect in the shapes and the almost straight lines, just the way our lives have been through all the ups and downs in USA. Only we can feel the importance of each word; each seemingly regular sentence. These are our short love letters.  

The cards do not come only on Valentine's day. If love is waiting to be shown on only one day of the year, do we live without love the rest of the time? Her cards are beautifully- written from the left corner to the very bottom. No one, but we two can decode them. 

This is what brings the joy - our own special lingo.

I am not so good at all of this. My handwriting is illegible. My hand is shaking. My art skills are limited. I go to Hallmark, sit on the floor after I have grabbed as many cards as possible without raising suspicion about my sanity. Then, I start reading and reading. The one I can work with always comes. I can scratch off words, add a made-up word, cut the corners with scissors, everything I need until it looks and sounds like me. 

We never know when the card will come. It never comes on time. But when it comes, it is a holiday for the soul. 

If a day comes I have to buy a card from a store without saying a thing, it will mark a sad day in my life. 

 

GRANDMA MARTA -- БАБА МАРТА

Picture by Toni Ti

 GRANDMA MARTA  (Баба Марта)

  

The history of Grandma Marta, or "Granny March" (in English), or Баба Марта (in Bulgarian) is a centuries-old one. In Bulgaria, there is a special holiday dedicated to her. The first of March is Grandma Marta's Day. However, since this is a purely Bulgarian holiday, I will kindly ask you to learn a few Bulgarian words. "Baba Marta." You pronounce "baba" the same way you pronounce "mama." Marta is Marta.

So, on Baba Marta's Day, Bulgarians celebrate the end of winter and the beginning of spring. They give each other martenitsi. This is a more difficult word to pronounce. I will not teach you this one. Although, I have to say, some Americans are really 'natural' as far as Slavic languages are concerned. 

The red and white figures, dolls, tassels, bracelets, interwoven threads represent some of the endless varieties of the folklore art of martenitsi one can find around this time in Bulgaria. The symbolism involved in them is health, happiness, protection from the evil spirits around. In a different story, the white is connected with snow, while red is the symbol of birth, new life. The winter ends, new life begins... 

The streets are flooded with vendors selling martenitsi these days; everyone covers as big of an area, as allowed by "the laws". You can wear them as bracelets, hang some on your car mirrors; decorate your house, place them and enjoy them anywhere you want. You can give some to friends, family, co-workers... No strings attached. "I am happy. Maybe, my little red and white token will make you happy, too! You do not need to remember to give me one next year!" The tradition is to attach them to your clothes, but no rules apply as far as martenitsi these days.

Picture by Toni Ti

I have not told your enough about this mystical Baba Marta. According to the legends, she was a grouchy, grumpy old woman, constantly bickering with her brothers. She changes her mood from one day to the next -- the same way the weather changes in the month of March. You never know what the weather will be tomorrow. You get up on the wrong side of the bed and next thing you know -- it is snowing outside. You put your winter jacket on, you look outside -- the sun is shining, you need to put a T-shirt on. She is portrayed as an old woman who gets angry easily. There are so many stories about her; she resembles characters in other European folklore, too. 

Through the years, I have not learned much about Baba Marta. I can't even make my own martenitsi. What I know with absolute certainty is that children love this holiday a lot. It is so much fun to welcome Baba Marta. 

You also have to remember, you wear your martenitsi until you are absolutely sure Spring is here -- the trees are blossoming, the global warming is no longer a threat for spring. 

My husband likes to joke that I can play the role of Baba Marta easily. I may be the real thing, only a younger one. True or not, he knows winter can come easily tonight. 

HAPPY BABA MARTA, FOLKS!!!

Picture by who else but Baba Marta!!!!!

WALKING IN THE SNOW

WALKING IN THE SNOW 

February 21, 2015

Picking up the mail on a record cold and windy Saturday, was not what drove me out of the house yesterday. Dressed with my 'Nanook' jacket and water-resistant new boots, I opened the garage door; looked at the falling snow; felt the wind and decided to walk to the mailbox. 

I made it to the street, moving one foot in front of the other. It appeared almost heroic to follow the footsteps I was the first one to make. No cars, no people, no dogs. Then, I stopped and looked around. Our little street was dressed in white. The snow was playing with my face and my shades. But the game was getting  very rough. 

I spent a few seconds debating the sanity of this trip. Nothing important comes in the mail on Saturday. Although I live with a serious medical condition, there was something about this 'white silence' I could not push aside. I couldn't get enough of it.

And the walk continued. 

Without lifting my head, I made five steps ahead. The boots were sliding. What may look like an innocent fall for a child, may trigger a huge disaster for my body. Finally, I looked up. I saw a little black dog with its owner - far in the distance. I was jealous of the owner, because the dog was slowly, but confidently, leading the way. He knew where the street curb was. At the same time, the dog gave me walking directions. He was a much more superior being than me.

All in all, the dog was my hero. I saw the mailbox. It was full of mail. I shoved it in my pockets in a rush.

The trip back was easier, I followed my winding footsteps. As I reached the garage, I had to pat myself on the back. Next, I saw my husband at the door. He sensed his wife was missing.

He went through the mail and picked a handwritten little envelope. 




to be continued....