'65 Bug

I own a 1965 Volkswagon Bug.  It was my high school car.  PBY666, that's its license plate number.  Still has the old California black and yellow plates.  Its baby blue, at least in the non-rust spots. 

Thankfully, my house was at the top of a slight hill.  I always parked facing downhill so, in the morning, I could release the e-brake, roll down the hill, and, by the time I reached Kirst, have just enough speed to pop-start it.  For the rest of the day, it would start without a problem.  There was always had a brown paper sack of spice drops in the car. 

The radio is AM only so we listened to a lot of "oldies" stations.  4 speeds and, for reverse, you push straight down on the gear shift and then go sort of towards the driver and back.  The floor was so rusted in spots you could see the pavement running under your feet.  No air conditioning of course, so, in the summer, when it was unbearably hot and sticky in LA, we'd stop by Niffer's house, jump in the pool full clothed, and pile back in without drying off.  That probably didn't help the floor rust.

I brought it with me when I moved to Sonoma County to live with my now husband.  I crammed all of my worldly belongings in the Bug.  Brian followed me up Highway 5 in his parents' pick-up truck.  Just south of Los Gatos, I noticed him wildly signaling me to pull over.  I did so and the Bug immediately filled with smoke.  The engine was on fire.  I got out and started throwing everything I owned into the middle of the highway.  Brian stopped the truck a ways back, grabbed the six-pack of 7Up which was in next to him on the seat, jumped out, and ran towards the Bug, opening cans of 7Up.  He reached the Bug and put out the engine fire with the 7Up. 

I left the Bug here in Sonoma County when we went to college in Colorado.  Figured it wouldn't do very well in the snow. 

Since then, the Bug has been in various states of running.  Brian (bless him), sweated and cursed a new floor into it.  I had a lot of work done on it but just don't drive it very much.  I won't put the kids in it.  It doesn't have seatbelts and, to my understanding, is exempt from the seatbelt requirement becasue of its age.  It leaks so its not a good winter car.  And, since its never been upgraded from the original 6 volt electrical system, the lights are so dim, I don't like driving it at night. 

Its been sitting in my in-laws carport for the past couple of years.  My father-in-law has scrawled "Wash Me" in the rear window's dust.  I finally agreed to register it as non-op.  My mother-in-law has suggested that I torch the top off of it and use it as a planter.  I think they're getting more serious in their statements that its time for it to move out of the carport. 

Do I sell it?  We don't have the money to restore it right now.  Well, let me put that differently; we do, but there's other things I'd rather do right now, like show Nikki.  I don't want to sell it to just anyone.  I want it to go to someone who is going to lovingly restore it.  Even if I kept it and put enough money into it so that I could drive it on non-kid, sunny days, when I'm going to be home before dark, its just not safe from a crash standpoint.  But, I just have a hard time letting it go.

Motionless

Do you ever get so tired that you just can't bring yourself to move?  That's how I feel.  I've been sitting here, watching the apple tree blow around in the wind for awhile now; probably longer than I realize.  Oh my! Yep, its almost 4:00.

There's lots I should be doing, as always.  There are cases to work on, piles on my desk.  Today, Wednesday, is vacuum the house day. Nikki should have been ridden.  Stormy could have been chased around the arena.  Flicka the fat little pony could have been lunged. 

But I'm tired.  We didn't sleep well last night.  At 12:38, a constant noise woke me up.  I poked Brian until he half-opened his eyes.  "What's that noise?"  "Huh?" he said.  "What's that noise?" I made him go look.  He rolled out of bed and stumbled around the house.  One of the kids' toys was in the middle of the playroom floor, lights flashing and buzzing away.  Spooky!  I hid under the covers.

Around 10 to 5, Evan appeared at my bedside, announcing he was scared.  He climbed in.  After about a half hour, I cleared off our couch and made him a little bed there.  I tucked him in and considered getting up.  Nah!  Back to bed. 

Alarm went off at 7.  No snooze button this morning.  I rushed through court to get to Evan's preschool graduation at 10:30.  Barely made it.  Then it was onto the potluck party at the park. 

Is it my naptime yet?

I'll go vacuum.  Maybe the roar of the vacuum will wake me up. 

Garden Planted

We got our garden planted Monday evening.  This year, we planted 4 kinds of tomatoes (Green Zebra, Chocolate Cherry, Yellow Pear, and Pineapple), giant pumpkins, watermelon, cantalope, zucchini, lemon cucumbers, some chili peppers, carrots, radishes, peas, beans, and butternut squash.  Yum!

Go Big Brown!

The Preakness was last weekend.  Big Brown, who won the Kentucky Derby, validated his talent.  It was amazing to watch.  Just like in the Derby, his jockey placed him in a perfect position, just off the leaders, and let him rest there.  Then, barely moving his hands, he asked Big Brown to go and go he did.  You could see the change in his stride.  Suddenly, he became a ground-eating, horse-passing, flying blur.  It was as if the other horses were standing still.  His jockey looked back a couple of times but there was no one even considering a challenge.  No one could. 

Big Brown swept under the wire all alone.  It was an absolutely gorgeous thing to watch.

On to Belmont!

Can he win the Triple Crown?  I think so.  I hope so.  No horse has done it in 30 years.  I think its 11 that have come close, winning both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness but, to my memory, none of have won both races in such a convincing manner. 

I'll be riveted in front of my TV set on June 6 to watch the Belmont.  You should be too.

After Eight Belles

After Eight Belles "broke down" while galloping out after finishing second in the Kentucky Derby, I had to ask myself if I can keep watching racing.  It is a majestic sport.  I love the beauty and power of the horses and the pagentry and tradition of the races.  But the tragedy is becoming too much to bear. 

Just after running her heart out against the boys in the Derby, Eight Belles inexplicably broke both her front ankles.  She had to be euthanized where she lay on the track.  It was sickening to watch.

Racing has its critics and its supporters.  I'm on the fence.  I don't think its "cruelty" as the animal welfare people would have you believe.  And I think that the call by the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals for Eight Belles' jockey to be disciplined for whipping her excessively is simply flat out ridiculous.  (See the Press Democrat's article in today's Empire Section.)

But, I also believe that tracks nationwide should be required to replace their dirt surfaces with the synthetic surface.  The article in the PD (see above) states that here in California, it has cut injuries in half.  Furthermore, I believe that all tracks should be required to install the synthetic surface.  For example, the track at the Sonoma County Fairgrounds is exempt because its race meet is less than 30 days.  That's a huge loophole in the requirement.  (PD article)

And, I believe that horses should not be raced until they are 3 to give their magnificant bodies more time to mature.  At 2, which is when most horses start racing, they simply are not done growing.  And, consider that in order to start racing at 2, training begins much earlier.

I think that if the general public knew the statistics on racehorse injuries, they would be horrified.  The PD article states that 301 horses lost their lives this past racing season.  I don't know how many horses ran and therefore, what percentage of horses that represents.  But, does it really matter?

The PD article echoed exactly what I said to my friend yesterday - we watch car racing for spectacular crashes; not horse racing.  In car racing, the drivers walk away more often than not.  In horse racing, you wind up with a gorgeous animal, dead on the track. 

Makes me worry about taking my young kids to the races at the fair this summer.  How do you explain euthansia to a 5 year old or a 2 year old?  Can I get away with something along the lines of "well, the horse got hurt and the veternarian is going to help it feel better" (yeah, by killing it so its not in horrific pain anymore.)

As one other writer pointed out (can't remember where I read this) that horses, particularly Thoroughbreds, are somewhat of an anomaly:  large animals built for speed with huge hearts, huge lungs and powerful hindquarters all balanced on these delicate little legs. 

My farrier (horseshoer) and I were discussing my horse Nikki's shoeing needs last week.  Nathan explained that when a horse's foot hits the ground it is momentarily bearing one and a half times the horse's total weight.  That's a huge amount for that complex combination of tiny bones.  After Eight Belles, I did spend some time staring at Nikki's ankles, pondering the possible ramifications of jumping him. 

So, do I keep watching horseracing?  I have to admit that I probably will.

Where's the Bathtub?

Hot weather early in the day means horse-washing time at our house.  Time to get all of winter's deep dirt out.  Ella was super excited at the idea of giving her pony a bath.  We slathered on sunscreen, got hats, and pulled on our "horsey-girl" boots. 

The first job was to get as much of Flicka's remaining winter coat out as possible.  Next we trimmed her mane for the summer and gave her a bridlepath.  Ella picked out the horse shampoo, got the sponge and made bubbles in the bucket.  She looked at her pony and was nearly bursting with anticipation about how fun this was going to be.  Then, I saw a thought cross her mind.  Ella turned to me and asked, "Mommy, where her bathtub?"

I explained that Flicka doesn't use a bathtub.  Ella was beginning to look upset.  "How we give her a bath?" she asked.  "With the hose, like we give Fred (the dog) a bath."  "Oh!" Ella said, "Silly me, Flicka not have bathtub!"

And with that, there were bubbles everywhere.

Hug a Moose!

We were driving around on vacation in Tahoe.  Ella, who's 2 1/2, was upset about something.  She began to whine, "I want my pony!"  Of course, Flicka, the beloved pony, was at home.

I attempted to soothe her, suggesting that Fred, the dog, was at the Tahoe house, and that I was sure that hugging Fred when we got back to the house in a very, very few minutes, would help her because, as we girls know, really any furry, four-legged thing always helps.

Ella isn't satisfied.  "I want my pony!" she reminds us, louder now.

I can hear the wheels turning in Evan's head.

"Hey!" he says.  "Ella should hug a moose!"

"A moose?" I say, wondering what on earth made him think of mooses.  (Is that the plural for moose - mooses?  Meeses?  I have no idea.)

"Yea!" Evan's very enthusiastic about this idea.  "Ella should hug a moose.  That would make her feel better.  Ella, you should hug a moose!  They're furry with four legs, right Mommy?  Right, Mommy?"

Well, I have to admit that he is right.

Ella is far from convinced and her brother's "hug a moose" idea is only increasing her distress.  "I no like mooses!  I only love ponies and dogs!" she yells, just in case he can't hear her way over there in his car seat on the other side of the truck.

Evan's undeterred and, in his own way, is trying to be helpful. "No, you should hug a moose.  That will make you feel better! Yep.  A moose.  Hug a moose!"

Thankfully, Fred the dog wasn't far away.

First Snake