The Winter of Our Pissed-Offedness

As snowy and cold as it was Friday night,

Monument Circle was almost vibrant with activity. 

When I left the Circle Theatre after the ISO Valentine's Day 

concert, I saw carriages lined up to take customers on 

horse-drawn tours of the downtown area. Young people who

had been at the movies and clubs were playing

in the snow, shouting happily as they tossed snowballs.

Cars were driving around the Circle to take in the

bright lights on the snow-draped buildings and statues.

Despite the weather, the carriage drivers did not seem

to lack for business. During the time I spent waiting 

for the bus home, I think I saw this group

of carriages at least three times.

Despite all that, Hoosiers are thoroughly tired 

of the snow. As I scanned their tickets, one man told 

me that he and his wife had driven for four hours 
to come to the concert - a trip that generally 
takes about ninety minutes. A man from
Noblesville - about twenty miles away, 
called his drive "a trip from Hell."
We are eagerly anticipating the warm-up
forecast for the coming week.
  

On the Second Day of Spring ...

 ... I appeared, squalling and protesting the ham-fisted efforts

 of my mom's doctor to drag me into this world.

When my daddy saw me for the first time, he looked

at my long legs and skinny, bruised frame and

christened me "Sally Bedslats" on the spot. 

I've been "Slats" or "Shanks" ever since.

I don't remember my family as being big on recording

our lives on film, so there are very few pictures around of me,

my brother, or sister. This is the only one I have, probably because

I remember when it was taken. From the time I was a toddler,

I've loved horses; the pages on my little dictionary were 

worn and dog-eared at the spot for "H is for Horses"

because I'd stare at the artist's drawings for hours.

One summer afternoon, I was playing in the yard when I saw a man

walking up our street, carrying a big camera on a wooden tripod 

over his shoulder and leading a black and white pony.

I begged my mom to have my picture taken on the pony;

I was in heaven, thrilled beyond belief to be sitting on the back

of a real horse. To this day, I can remember the smell of the leather

saddle and the pony, the feel of my hands on the pommel,

and my bare feet in the stirrups.  I believe my little brother had his picture

taken as well, but mine is the only one that survives, possibly

because the love of my life, a real live pony, walked up

my sidewalk and I got to sit on his back for a few minutes.

When I look at this picture and think across the years in between,

I see a sweet, happy child and I love her to bits.

Happy Birthday, little girl.
  

Big Brown Eyes

The day I visited, the Belgian draft horses were just arriving 

for their segment of the Indiana State Fair.

There weren't as many as I was accustomed to

seeing and was disappointed to not see the great 

creatures pulling their wagons and carts, the fittings

of their harness jingling against the sound of

their massive hooves in the show ring's tanbark.

These Standardbreds had raced earlier in the day and 

were watching the activity outside their barn

as horse vans arrived to take them to their homes

or to another race track nearby.

Horses With Jobs: Wedding Bells

On my way home from the fair last weekend,

I looked up to see a trio of white horse-drawn carriages,

each being pulled by what looked like horses that

were Clydesdales, or relations thereof.

As it turned out, they were on their way to pick up

a wedding party from the Capitol Building

just across the street. The first carriage, fashioned 

after a Cinderella coach, carried the bride and groom with,

I'm assuming, the maid and matron of honor.

The second and third carried the bridesmaids and

groomsmen, respectively.

Congratulations, Happy Couple!

I hope your lives together bring you joy

and growing love, as big and

beaming as your smiles.