Got a twofer coupon offer in my e-mail box.
Ever since I was a kid and was thrown by a (seemingly at the time) huge horse my cousin owned, I’ve been waiting to accomplish the proverbial, “Get back on the horse.”
Also, since I have very few things I’m doing* and need yet another diversion activity, I wrangled Dear Friend into going with me.**
It. Was. Magic.
…and has become a pretty standard weekly activity for the two of us.***
Every lesson, I get to ride “My” horse—Izzy. She has a mind of her own, so it’s always a battle of wills.****
One of my favorite things about Izzy is that she belches and farts at the same time. Noisily. Such a lady. But, I often get blamed.
I’ve gone from being tentative (remembering that fall I took as a kid) to sort of competent in ‘driving’ my horse in a walk and trot.
It’s been great fun, though there was one moment of panic when a trot turned into an uncommanded canter (sort of like third gear for horses). Izzy just got excited that other horses around her were cantering, so joined in. I grabbed onto the saddle to keep from falling off and looked frantically to the instructor. The instructor gave a little laugh and nonchalantly asked, “Going somewhere, GnuKid?” Shit. Guess I have to handle this myself. Was able to get Izzy under control and release my severely clenched butt muscles from the saddle.*****
It was only afterwards that I learned that, if you fall off a horse, you have to buy ice cream for anyone witnessing it (which, effectively, is the entire class). I’m guessing the class was cheering for Izzy on that ride.
But I will continue to get back on that proverbial horse. And learn to command that canter. Oh, and I’ll be sure to wear a helmet…
A fun aside: Recently, our instructor—a sweet, petite woman who has a pure heart and innocent spirit—informed us she and her family were going on vacation. She was back yakking about the trip with Dear Friend and I was half listening while getting Izzy ready for the lesson when I heard:
“Yes, my husband is an anal packer.”
I was just about to open my mouth to comment when Dear Friend gave me ‘that look’, meaning, “If you say anything to embarrass this sweet lady, I will kill you.”
“Anal Packer” – – <silent chuckling>
*well, other than scuba diving, skiing, motorcycle riding, flying, bicycling, drinking…
**’wrangling’ roughly equated to her running over me, climbing in the car, and hollering, “Let’s go! We’re late!”
***…or even one of us, if the other is out and about doing some
****yes, I just admitted that a horse is giving me a run for my money, intellectually speaking.
*****I’m still picking bits of leather out of there.