Trail Ride to Life Lesson

Finally, today is the day.  I am supposed to go on my first trail ride to see if I am going to become the owner of a horse.  He is a Tennessee Walker.   

I had been wishing for this day, and dreading this day, since the possibility of becoming a horse owner became a reality.  I went to meet Silver Dollar and he did not pay too much attention to me.  He was busy eating his feed then eating the dry grass in the pasture.   

He seemed gentle enough and big.  He is beautiful.  He is black, but the summer sun had bleached many parts of his coat reddish.  He is a five year old gelding.   

I will admit to having a range of emotions since I learned of his existence; especially, since learning that we could become a part of each other’s lives.  I wondered if I was up to the responsibility of owning a horse?   

The person who owns him now said that he could board on his farm. He said that he would teach me all about horses and their care.  I love that, but am I up to the rigors of learning and doing what Silver Dollar needs?  Because, this endeavor is about the horse as well as about me.   

I also worried about my ability to saddle him.  How much strength does that take?  More than I have?  What if I fell off him while riding and became wheelchair bound because of the decision to buy a horse?  Am I being stupid?  Fear and anxiety gripped me.  Then, I would remember my dreams about wanting a horse and I would remind myself of “exceptional equestrian” programs and how good horseback riding is for persons with disabilities.   

I have disabilities.  I am old.  I have arthritis.  I am continuing to recover from a traumatic brain injury (TBI).  I have post-traumatic stress (PTSD) and no matter what I have tried it does not seem to improve.  These things cause some of my anxieties and terror about this new venture or maybe it is an adventure.   

The ride was amazing.  Silver Dollar was everything that his owner told me that he was.  He was gentle.  He rides smoothly.  He led, followed and rode side by side with the other horse and rider.  The weather was across the board.  At times it was cool, hot and we also had rain. I got to go on a beautiful trail much further than I could ever have hoped to walk.   Silver Dollar was patient with me and he followed my commands.  So … what’s the problem?   

It takes a lot of strength to do everything necessary to saddle and mount a horse.  I know that my muscles would strengthen over time, but is it all too much for me at this stage of my life?  Could I lift the saddle on and off?  Could I ever hope to get the girth tight enough on my own?  How about loading and unloading him onto the trailer, but most importantly, do I have the time and energy it takes to provide Silver Dollar with everything he needs all of the time to be a happy horse?   

I know that I love this horse.   I know that I want this horse.  I have a tough decision to make.  I think I know the answer to my dilemma, but that requires me facing my limitations.  Do I have the personal honesty and self-control for that?  I know that I must say no to myself thereby ending a dream that I had long held.  I can not buy the horse.   

But, as sad as I am about having to make this decision, I feel really good about the process.  I took the leap of entertaining the possibility of turning a dream into a reality.  I faced all of my fears about actually meeting the animal, preparing him for the ride and accepting the help that I needed to accomplish the trail ride.  I loved going on the trail ride.  I faced all my fears and ended up making a rational decision that is the best for both the horse and for me.   

I called the owner and told him of my decision and he so very graciously accepted it and he even volunteered to take me trail riding.  Now, that is what I call real class from a country gentleman.   

So, the moral I would draw from this story and what I would like to leave you with is this:  Try.  Face you fears.  Examine your opportunities.  Entertain possibilities.  Then, make your decision based on what you know in your heart of hearts is the right decision for you and for the other party whether it is a horse, a person, a family or perhaps something else.   

Maybe you will have the luck to have your story end up like mine.  Maybe your answer will come in a different form than what you thought, but maybe you will still end up with a livable and workable piece of your dream while remembering that in this life we all must remain flexible.   

©Patty F. Cooper, Elizabethton, Tennessee. June 30^th, 2014

All Rights Reserved    

      

Fort Lauderdale Beach, 1955: Uprooted No.3

From the fictional series Uprooted

Rebecca and Robert slept well sharing the three-quarter bed; although, Robert kicked like a mule during the night.  As soon as the children woke up they were of one mind with one thought and it was going to the BEACH!  After all, why else would anyone even want to be here so far away from home?   
   
Fortunately, daddy agreed and they all loaded up to go.  The small group traveled down the 17^th Street Causeway heading east.  Daddy explained that the gigantic area where lots of ships were parked was called Port Everglades.  He said that ships and boats “docked” not parked.  There were so many of them docked at the port.   
   

They crossed the Intracoastal Waterway.  Uncle John told them that it was like a highway for ships and boats.  He said that it had been dug so that they could go north and south safer during war times or when the ocean was too rough.   

The group passed long low sprawling mansions unlike the large two and three story mansions found in North Carolina.  Soon they rounded a curve and saw the Jungle Queen a huge paddle wheel boat on the left as well as a fleet of commercial fishing boats.  In behind them was the Bahia Mar Marina where lots of beautiful boats--daddy corrected--“yachts” were docked.   

Uncle John pulled into a parking space and there before them stretched, as far as the eye could see, the Atlantic Ocean.  To get to the water the group ran across a wide beach covered with sand.  The children ran into the water and they were surprised how warm it was.  Even though Uncle John called the water “calm” there were small waves that were tremendously fun to jump and play in.   

Aunt Lou and Uncle John sat on a bench partially shaded by palm trees.  They both confessed to the children that they didn’t like sand.  Robert remarked to Rebecca that it was hard to understand how anyone could not like sand.  Aunt Lou had bought both of the children buckets and spades and they built what were called “sand castles” before running back into the water.   

 

Mama went into the water to about her waist.  She didn’t want to get her hair wet.  Daddy ran and jumped and played in the water with the children just like the children.  Rebecca was so glad to see him being so happy and so relaxed.  He was a veteran and he had a bad nervous condition, but you couldn’t tell it on this hot sunny morning.   

Much too soon for Rebecca and Robert, they were told that it was time to go home.  Rebecca had decided she loved the Atlantic Ocean and she loved Fort Lauderdale Beach.  Where else could one look just south of where they were and see a hotel shaped like a ship?  Where else could one stand in the water looking north seeing beach seeming to go on forever?  Aunt Lou said that Fort Lauderdale had seven miles of public beach!   

 

But more important, where could one stand on a shore of a beach looking east and see nothing but ocean?  Daddy said that it was like that all the way to Africa.  Imagine that.  The very waters that were lapping at Rebecca’s feet may have one day been lapping at the feet of a little girl in Africa looking westward towards America.  The very same water.   

©Patty F. Cooper, Elizabethton, Tennessee, June 28^th, 2014

All Rights Reserved       

Fear: A Poem

Fear is an amazing stop sign. 

It grips us and holds us in place.

It keeps us from doing what we want.   

I used to be fearless.

Now I am fearful.

Does fear grab you?   

Does it hold you tightly?

Keeping you from breathing?

Keeping you from living out your dreams?   

I want to conquer fear.

Shuck it off me.

Stomp it down.   

What about you?

Do you, too?

Can we conquer fear apart?   

Together?

Overcome?

Then live?   

©Patty F. Cooper, Elizabethton, Tennessee, June 27^th, 2014

All Rights Reserved  

Sports Diversion: an essay by Patty F. Cooper

For most of my life I never understood the allure of sports.  I knew that many people loved sports, but I never really understood why.  I could even understand why people would want to play them, but not just watch them.  I saw people shelling out big bucks for sports apparel, sports equipment, tickets for games and spending nights and weekends glued to television sets.  I did not get it.   

Because I never sat and watched any games, it was no wonder that they did not matter to me.  I did not know the rules or the players.  I did not understand how important sports were in enhancing the quality of people’s lives.  Truth be told, I wasn’t even that into games when my own children were playing them.   

But, that was then and this is now.  Twenty-five years ago when my husband and I became a couple he asked me if I liked sports and I answered honestly telling him that I didn’t.  He asked why and I told him that I thought that they were boring and a waste of time.   

He asked me what I knew about them and I told him that other than just a couple of sports the correct answer was nothing.  He asked me to watch some with him and I did.  We watched NASCAR and he told me why he liked certain drivers and not others.  I started enjoying NASCAR.   

We watched some college football and for the first time ever, even though I had been a cheerleader, I had the game explained to me.  I found out that it makes a huge difference if you know what is going on.  I learned the players and came to know their stories.  I loved their stories and I began to appreciate their talent.   

We watched college basketball which was his favorite game and I grew to love the sport.  I liked that many of the players had been awarded scholarships to go to school.  This was mainly before “one and done.”  For all you non-sports fans out there, that means that a player comes to college one year and if they are really good they may choose to leave college and declare for the professional draft to be chosen by a pro sports team to play for them.   

I do not like one and done, because I want to see young people finish their education, become young adults while in a college or university setting and mature some before they get all that money and sometimes fame.  I want them to know that there is more to life than just sports.  Most college players do not ever get to become professional players, but the fact that they get to play and even put themselves through school by playing sports is, I think, remarkable.   

   

I am so glad that my husband slowed me down and took the time to explain the different sports to me.  I am so glad that I took the time to learn the different games, learn the rules, learn the players and learn the coaches.   

So, if you haven’t tried sports take it from me you may want to.  Sports became a true gift for me.  Whether a person gets to play sports or only be a fan, all kinds of sports can be a wonderful diversion in this game of life.

©Patty F. Cooper, June 23^rd, 2014, Elizabethton, Tennessee

All Rights Reserved  

The Trip & Arrival: Uprooted No. 2

From the fictional series Uprooted   

   

Rebecca stayed angry as long as she could, but as soon as they left Rutherfordton, North Carolina the scenery started changing so she just had to look.  There were no more mountains and soon they entered South Carolina a whole other state.   Not that Rebecca found much to recommend South Carolina.  There were still woods, but they started giving away to pine woods.  Miles and miles of just pine woods with what her daddy said were palmettos growing underneath the trees.   

Along about noon they stopped at some roadside tables to have the picnic lunch that Rebecca’s grandmother had packed.  Her grandmother was a wonderful cook and they had fried chicken, potato salad and fried apple pies.  Grandma had also sent a mayonnaise jar of lemonade for Rebecca and Robert.  Her mama and daddy drank black coffee from a thermos bottle.    

The roadside picnic area was nice and no one else was there so they were able to walk a ways into the woods to go to the bathroom.  Mica carried a washrag in a jug of water for hand washing.   

After they passed what seemed like every pine tree in the world they came to Georgia and at least there they got to go through many little towns.  They stopped for ice cream in one of them.  Long about suppertime they came to Jacksonville, Florida and found a motel for the night right after passing the giant peanut man who was the same one who advertised on T.V.  Now, that was impressive.   

The next day, they went through miles of flat nothingness in Florida.  Rebecca’s father told them that they were traveling on U.S. Highway Number One and that it went along the entire length of the United States from Maine to Key West, Florida.  Mica was impressed by that so Robert was too.  Rebecca only knew that it must be a really long road.   

Late that June afternoon, Rebecca’s daddy pulled the car over when they were close to Fort Lauderdale.  They all went to the passenger side of the vehicle and opened both doors to provide some privacy.  Rebecca’s mother got out the washrag jar and washed both Rebecca and Robert and got fresh clothes out of the suitcase in the trunk and made both of them change their clothes.  She threatened them to be still and not wrinkle up for they were going to be at Aunt Lou and Uncle John’s house soon.   

After piling back into the car it wasn’t long until there started being stores on both sides of the road.  On every block there was a sign that said “bar.”  Rebecca couldn’t believe her ears when her daddy told her that was where people went to drink spirits.  These places weren’t hid at all!  They had flashing neon lights inviting people to come right on in!   

 

Back home all the roadhouses and honkey-tonks were hid out as much as they could be, because everybody knew they were sinful places.  The men always snuck out to some uncle’s car to take a snort during family gatherings.  Drinking any form of alcohol was something to be hidden.   

In a few short miles, Mica turned the car to the right off of what was now called “Federal Highway,” then he made another right in front of a pink building.  The building was called a duplex meaning that there were two houses hooked together.  Rebecca’s Aunt Lou and Uncle John lived in the rear portion of the building and that was where they were also going to live until they could get their own place.   

They knocked on the door and Aunt Lou flung it open and just started hugging and kissing on all of them.  Aunt Lou seemed so happy to see them and they were happy to see her too.  She showed them their bedroom.  The parents had a double bed and Robert and Rebecca had what was called a three-quarter bed.  The newly arrived family had their own bathroom and Aunt Lou and Uncle John had a bedroom and a bathroom.  There was also a living room and what was called a combination kitchen dining room.   

Aunt Lou had a big meal prepared; although, up until that time Rebecca had never had what was served.  It was a salad with oil and vinegar dressing, Italian spaghetti and meatballs and Italian bread.  They all had water to drink.  Rebecca realized that people sure ate crazy in Fort Lauderdale or maybe it was because of Uncle John.  He was from New York City.  All the family said that was a really big place.  He and Aunt Lou hadn’t been married that long so maybe she was still trying to impress him.   

Anyway, except for eating a salad and being supposed to think it was good and drinking water for a meal the spaghetti and meatballs and bread was good.  It was just all so different and that stupid Robert embarrassed all of them when he asked what all that silverware was for, anyway.  He also wanted to know what that handkerchief was doing on the table beside of everybody’s plates.  Aunt Lou said that was a napkin and people were supposed to wipe their mouths on them.  Then she took the napkin and laid it on her lap.  Rebecca did the same.  She tried to not get hers dirty but that spaghetti was just so messy.   

To be continued ….   

©Patty F. Cooper

Elizabethton, Tennessee   

June 21^st, 2014  

The Departure: from the fictional series, Uprooted by Patty F. Cooper

from the fictional series Uprooted, by Patty F. Cooper 

The child was nine and had always lived in the same place so far as she knew.  She went to the same church every Sunday unless they went somewhere else for homecoming.  She was just finishing up second grade, because she had to sit out an extra year due to her birthday being three days after the cut-off.  She was surrounded by tons of relatives and went to see one set of grandparents one Sunday afternoon then the other set the following week.  There was always a big dinner and all the aunts and uncles and cousins who lived in the area came, too.

 

Rebecca knew that she had a wonderful life.  She always had the freedom to roam and play her bare feet causing soft red powdered dust to rise as she ran down the dirt road toward her cousin’s house.  She could always look up at the mountains in the distance of her North Carolina home.  She didn’t know it, but she felt sheltered by those mountains.

Then one day it all stopped.  It stopped because of a letter her mother received from an aunt who lived in a faraway place called Fort Lauderdale, Florida.  Her aunt had enclosed an orange blossom in the letter.  Pressed tight and dried, but it still carried its sweet scent.  Who knew that a pressed orange blossom could up-end a life?

After that letter arrived, Rebecca’s mother could do nothing but talk about moving to Florida.  Rebecca’s father nearly always did what her mother wanted.  When they told Rebecca of their plan to move to Florida she pleaded with them to no avail.

They began by putting the house up for sale and holding a sale of nearly all of their possessions.  Rebecca sat in the newly covered grey wing-backed chair and watched as the human vultures picked over the flesh of all the beautiful things they owned then over the carcass of what remained until the place was nearly bare.

During that horrible day Rebecca wondered how her mother could so easily part with all those things that she had just had to have.  Rebecca felt hopeless and helpless and she was.  After the house sold they moved in with her father’s parents.  All sharing one room.  They weren’t leaving until school was out.

They quit going to their church.  They stopped other things, but those things were just a blur to the child.  Her home was gone. Her swing set that her father had built especially for her was gone as was her special playhouse.  Everything was gone except for some clothes and their new table-model television.

One June morning in 1955, their large black 1949 Ford packed to the gills, the family headed south.  Rebecca shared the backseat with her brother and with the television sitting like a third child between them.  Tears were running down her face as they pulled out of her grandparent’s yard.

Her father picked up speed as he hit the main road.  The telephone poles went rushing by as Rebecca looked out the window.  She wondered just how many telephone poles were between North Carolina and Florida.

To be continued ….

©  Patty F. Cooper

Elizabethton, Tennessee

June 18^th, 2014

   

The Yellow-Haired Girl Short Fiction by Patty Cooper

The Yellow-Haired Girl

I was working outside when I first saw her.  The yellow-haired girl was running across all five lanes of the busy road that runs in front of our house.  I gasped with fear.  She made it and came running up the hill towards me.  Her face was a solid smile.

She introduced herself and I me. She said that she was selling candy for her school.  I bought some.  I always tried to help the kids out.  She asked if she could sit down and we began talking.  It was as if a spout had been opened on one of those huge tankers that run up and down the road.  She had so much to say.

She returned the next day and more spilled out.  She came from the trailer park across the road and up the hill.  The one at the foot of the mountain.  She had been abused in every way.  Her mom had been in prison and some of her step-daddies had used drugs.  I never could figure out how many brothers and sisters she had.  All half.

One day, not long after we met, she told me that she wished that she could live with my husband and me.  I told her that I wished that she could, too.  We both knew that couldn’t happen.  Somehow she instinctively knew that she would be safe here.  She knew that she would be secure here.  I grew to love her and she me.  My husband, too.  She kept coming back. 

Fall turned to winter.  Her family was in dire straits and I helped them some.  Not enough.  She bought me a Christmas present and drew me pictures.  They hang on my wall.  I have no pictures drawn by my own grandchildren only by the little yellow-haired girl.

She kept saying they were moving.  Her mama had a job.  Her daddy had job prospects.  They couldn’t pay their rent, but things were always going to be better on Friday.

It was a bad winter with lots of snow.  I constantly worried about the little yellow-haired girl.  She came through the deep snow.  She said that they really were leaving, because the water had gotten turned off and the electricity was going to be turned off.  I asked if they had a safe place to go and she said that they were going to move in with family.

She was right.  They did move that night.  Every time someone knocks at the door I hope that it is the little yellow-haired girl.  So far, it hasn’t been.  I wonder about her and I’d like to know, but I am afraid to know.  It has now been years. 

I wonder why if a man and a woman want to leave each other they can.  Then strike up with who they want to, but it isn’t the same if an old woman and an old man and a yellow-haired girl love each other and want to be together.  Wonder why that is?

©   By Patty Cooper

Elizabethton, TN

June 17^th, 2014   

Oh, We Who Know Everything! a poem

Oh, We Who Know Everything!

Oh, we who know everything

And don’t mind telling it.

Oh, we who know everything;

Although, seldom yelling it.

We talk so much … we rarely listen.

Many gems surpass us

 Right in front of our eyes.

If our ears actually heard

My, what a surprise!

Oh, we who know everything

Unaccustomed to fall

Never knowing our ignorance

Is an arrogant call.

The wrong things we've told.

The wrong things we've said.

Should make us

Unable to sleep in our beds!

Then, perhaps we’d think;

Perhaps we’d listen.

Maybe we’d learn what other folks know

Because learning to respect others

Is to know everything.

© Patty F. Cooper

Elizabethton, TN

June 16^th, 2014    

Coming Out on Inauguration Day

Welcome folks to my coming out party on this my inauguration day!

This is my first blog and it is the first time that I have called myself a writer; although, I have been writing stories since I was a child. 

I always held back and did not feel comfortable calling myself a "writer" until now.  But ... you know what they say, "Nothing ventured nothing gained."  I think it is time to venture and time to gain.

I have written two novels and and I am presently seeking an agent and a publisher.

On this blog I will include pieces from both books, future books, poems and short stories. I will also post some non-fiction regarding mental health or mental illness issues and other topics that strike my fancy.  I hope that you will choose to follow this blog.  I welcome your comments and emails.