Pages 13-26. Through June 26.

. To: katie@dundee.net
From: sarah@sarahspage.com
Date: 6-18
Subject: Sad

Hi K,

I’m sad tonight. It’s one of those strange nights when I just can’t figure out why. It’s late. Like 11 o’clock, and I just don’t feel like sleeping. I ache to be back in New York. I want the brightness of the lights and the commotion and to walk down to the deli and have an egg cream. And to not be alone. It’s so dark outside, and so still and quiet. The mist eats up all the sound. All you can hear is the faintest of crickets.

I hate when I’m like this. It’s maudlin. I can’t even be funny. And I do stupid things like putting my feelings down on paper — uh, you know, on screen. I don’t think I can describe the way I feel. Maybe the e-genies will help me out.

It’s funny to cry for a stupid thing like a house. Maybe it’s feeling so sad and guilty about the cats. I can’t believe I’m becoming the kind of person that would actually help shoot a bunch of cats. Is this what happens to you when your life changes? You could become ANYONE, even a person that kills cats? A million people I don’t know probably died today. I guess that’s something to cry over. But I feel like I’ve lost a part of my life. Maybe it’s my parents. It’s not like, you know, I bought a toy and it broke, and Mom says, "Don’t worry honey, we’ll buy you a new one." I’m not getting that we’ll-buy-you-a-new-one vibe from them. I’m getting this major, IT’S-OVER vibe.

Why does a thing like this happen? It’s got to have a reason. I can’t believe I’m sitting here on the prairie for no good reason. I mean, I feel so useless. Since I’ve left New York, I feel like I’ve left ME. Who IS this person clacking on the keyboard anyway? I mean, is it really true? Am I really just a Manhattan kid, with a horse and a prep-school enrollment? So I lose a house, leave the city, and I’m done? I end up just this cat-killing, Web page, e-maniac zombie? Tonight, Katie, I feel like admitting it: Yes that’s all I am. I just MISS everything so much. Why am I so homesick? It’s not like I’m twelve at my first summer camp. Maybe it’s just the night — tonight, I mean — but I can’t shake this feeling that something’s really gone.

And what if it is? What’ll I do then? I can’t live on a Web page. Funny. The real-est thing to me right now is just bytes on a chip. Sometimes I feel like this screen is a window. Like now — like I can reach out and find you. And the site — with everything on it. It’s so REAL to me. But, then I think it’s just a bunch of stupid electrons.

You know, as I’ve been driving around with Amy and looking at things around here, I realize how DIFFERENT a life we’ve lived. I gotta face it. We’re rich kids. We SAY we understand that everybody doesn’t have a country house or go to private school and stuff like that. But everyone we KNOW does — so I guess it seems like everybody ELSE does. We’re so totally into our OWN world we don’t see any other.

I guess it ends up making me feel like my New York life is really fragile and maybe not so real after all. Maybe it’s just seeing the house going into the ocean. But maybe being out here has made me realize what a petri dish we’ve lived in. And this big mad scientist in the sky could like, stir things up, and we’d be totally TOAST. And yet I LOVE my life. And I don’t know how to be Sarah without it.

I’m sorry to lay all this on you. And you’ve been so good, filling my mailbox and keeping me happy. I’m sorry. I’m just out of context. WHO I AM just isn’t clear like it always has been for me. And I have this really scary feeling that the whole WHO-I-AM thing is kinda like our poor old house. One day it’ll be sucked out with the tide.

Think if I go kill some innocent animal I’ll feel better? Chipmunk this time? Field mouse? Bunny rabbit?

Ellie just groaned from the bed. It’s her will-you-get-over-yourself groan. Soon to be followed by the get-your-butt-over-here-and-warm-up-this-bed barking serenade. Nothing like a demanding dalmatian to keep me from doing any profound soul-searching.

Thanks for listening.

Sad Sarah ‘,-(


. To: katie@dundee.net
From: sarah@sarahspage.com
Date: 6-21
Subject: Horse!

K-meister,

You’re right. I should stop worrying so much. If I can’t figure out what’s wrong with M&D, I should just ASK them. It’s probably nothing at all. And what if it’s the worst it could possibly be? Heck, I’ve dealt with seeing my home go in the ocean; I guess I can deal with a lot of other stuff too. And my old life isn’t totally gone. It’s just gone for the summer. And, I mean, how long can one summer possibly be? I’ll do some new things, meet some new people, become a little enlightened, and then go back to New York and keep on being a yuppie in training. And I’ll probably get an A on my what-I-did-for-my-summer essay. No problem.

Amy is on your same cheer-Sarah-up wavelength. When I came downstairs she was on the phone with Mom. Mom and Amy have been talking a lot lately. I guess it’s cuz I’m here. Anyway, Amy was saying, "No, Mom. It won’t cost anything," (which I thought was a weird thing for her to say), "It’s my friend Dave. And we can keep it here. Okay, Sarah’s here. I have to tell her."

"Tell me what?"

"How’d you like another horse?"

Wow. Hit me like a ton of bricks. This just overwhelming YES bubbled up inside me. I don’t know why. It just felt like this familiar thing from my REAL life. Horse, yes. NOW we’re talking.

"Okay, Sarah. I think I have to tell you we’re not talking about a fat, shiny show horse that you can just get on and ride."

I was stupid. I was like NOT even listening. All I could think of was, horse, yes, horse, yes, horse, yes.

"Whatever, Amy. What’s the plan?"

So then she told me. She has this friend Dave who keeps horses — thoroughbreds. This is Quarter Horse-Appaloosa country out here, so I was kinda surprised. Anyway, he rescues track horses. You know, Belmont Park can look pretty seedy if you walk around some of the barns. I can’t IMAGINE what some of these second and third rate tracks in Ohio are like. So Dave goes around Michigan and Ohio, finding horses that are going to be sold for meat because they have some problem. Then he takes them, rehabilitates them, retrains them, and even gives them new names. Some become show horses. The really bad cases he retires out to pasture, or finds someone who maybe only wants to trail ride or maybe just keep the horse and pet it. So, anyway, he calls Amy, cuz they’re friends and he knows I’m here for the summer and says, "I think I have a horse for your sister." He thinks this horse has a future.

So here’s the deal on this horse: Dave was at the track when the ACCIDENT happened. Whenever Dave goes scouting for horses he has his vet friend with him. These horses just pound around the track. I never thought of it before, but they always go counterclockwise. So their left front leg takes a real beating. This horse went DOWN in a pile. Which is what happens when they break a leg. So everyone goes running onto the track. And the owner is saying "Shoot him" — or "Inject him" — or whatever. And Dave’s vet friend is saying "Wait." So having the horse put down, then hauled away, is going to cost the owner money and he says to Dave and the vet friend, "You want ’im you got ’im." So they put this ice boot on the horse, shoot him up full of dope and haul him home.

Turns out the vet guy didn’t think this was a TOTALLY broken leg. He says to Dave, who says to Amy, that a lot of times a small bone in their ankle chips off. If they can immobilize the leg and bring the swelling down, they can go in and remove the bone chip and voilà, good as new. And since this Dave-friend-guy is a vet, he can do the bone chip removal thing. No problem.

So Dave doesn’t have time for ANOTHER horse and wants to know if Amy’s sister is interested in this one. And will we come over and look at this de-chipped horse?

So, like I said: horse, horse, horse, horse. Let’s GO!

Love,

horsecrazy sarah <\__~


. To: katie@dundee.net
From: sarah@sarahspage.com
Date: 6-22
Subject: Dim Yuppies & Equine Studies 101

Hi ya K,

Whatta day! Amy and I spent the morning going over her barn setup. Lucky thing that before Jeff’s relatives all up and died, this was a working farm. They had cows, but from like ancient times there were still a couple of stalls left over. And there’re lights and running water. So we’re like, COOL.

But here’s the real whacked-out thing. I’ve been around horses since I was four. You know the way my parents are — they’ve always wanted this English manor lifestyle. Of course neither of them ever went NEAR a horse, but their precious daughters were all dolled up in tiny little jodhpurs and itsy bitsy little hunt coats at preschool age. Amy never really got into the whole horse-show-scene thing — though she’s a good rider. She was always more into the trail-riding-pleasure deal. So both of us have been around horses and taking lessons for like FOREVER and neither of us know the FIRST THING about them! Where WE rode, you get there and the groom brings your horse out all ready to ride, then you ride and then you get off and give it back to the groom. You never really see what goes on behind stage. Who knew there was SO MUCH?

We’re trying to put this barn together to get ready for this horse, so we go to the feed store to buy some horse food. And this guy asks us what kind of feed we want to get. We like, look at each other. So I reach real deep into my memory bank and say, "Oats." Amy looks at me real proud like, "Good answer!" Only the guy didn’t think so. Turns out there’s like all these different KINDS of oats. There’s this thing called sweet feed, then feed with more corn in it, and pellet feed, and all these special mixtures. When he got through with us, the guy must have thought we were the dimmest pair of yuppies he’d ever come across. He DID eventually get the idea that we needed some guidance, because he started saying things like, "and I’m sure you’ll want wormers, and fly spray and bedding." There’s like a million different kinds of all that stuff too. I’m so SURE he gave us 10 or 15 different things we really DIDN’T need just to run up Amy’s bill. Problem is, since we didn’t know what we needed in the first place, there was like NO WAY to find out the stupid-yuppies-will-buy-this stuff.

We hauled all the stuff back home in Amy’s truck. And then we go over to Dave’s to see the horse.

Thing is, Amy never really PREPARED me to meet her friend Dave. I knew something was out of the ordinary when we drove down this dirt road (It’s like a big thing to find a paved road out here.), tall grass growing on either side, and pulled into Dave’s driveway. There were these rows of neatly planted marigolds all the way up the driveway and this impeccably trimmed lawn. Outside the barn, these elaborate wooden flower boxes have flowers pouring out of them. There’s this tidy brick walk leading from the barn to the house — with roses growing along it. So I say to Amy, "Dave’s wife keeps a nice garden." And Amy says, "No — Dave’s friend, Matt, really likes gardening." Then out of the house pops Dave with his friend Matt — the vet guy.

I gotta tell you, these guys seemed so out of place out here in the middle of NO-where. I’m thinking, do you guys KNOW this is Michigan? Did you just try to head to the ’burbs from Greenwich Village and take a wrong turn somewhere, or what? And of course, Amy has found them.

Both guys are tall, thin, good-looking, short hair, in designer jeans and cowboy boots. Dave comes up to Amy takes her hand, and says, "Hey, Babe. SOOOO glad you came." Then kiss-kiss on the cheek. Amy says, "Hi, Matt," and Matt just kind of nods. Dave: "And this is The Sister..." Well, I don’t know how I feel about being The Sister, but Dave seems to have this way of just befriending everyone. Still holding Amy’s hand, he puts his arm around my shoulder and says,

"Let’s go see the patient."

Dave’s barn is IMMACULATE. It looks as if he dusts with Pledge. By the time we stroll down the aisle, Matt is already outside the horse’s stall. He’s rolling gauze and stuff and putting it in this canvas bag. There’s a note pinned to the bag that says, "Things for Sarah’s horse."

SARAH’S horse.

Inside the stall the light is really dim and I can’t see what I’m looking at. Dave says, "In you go, girl." So in I go.

K — I have NEVER seen such a thin horse. Really, he was a skeleton draped in horsehide. His left front leg was wrapped to the knee in gauze and stuff. His head hung low. I scratch behind his ear. He nickers.

Love. I’m in LOVE.

"What’s his name?"

"Grand Traverse Bay."

"Catchy."

"Your sister told me you were a wiseass."

"No, really. Why’d you pick that name?"

"Oh, that’s a wonderful story. I always try to name horses after something that has a pleasant memory for me. I feel like it gives them a fresh start. Matt and I took a trip once to this beautiful place in northern Michigan on Grand Traverse Bay. La voilà."

Well, I guess it’s good that the two of them aren’t real fond of taking trips to, say YPSILANTI.

And I’m thinking how do these guys survive with all these armed hillbillies around?

He says, "Sar, can I ask you a question?" You know that people are determined to be on familiar footing with you when they start shortening your name to "Sar."

"Yeah, what?"

"Would you be offended if I asked to see you ride?"

"I don’t care." Which was true.

So I got up on Dave’s horse — this BEAUTIFUL thoroughbred which he swears looked JUST AS THIN as Traverse Bay when he came in (liar, liar, pants on fire). I rode around a little bit while Dave says things like, "Oh, hun, that’s beautiful. Shorten your reins, hun," and stuff like that. Funny, I thought my first ride after the accident would be scarier — but it wasn’t, with Dave there and on this rock-solid horse. And, at least he had the good sense not to ask me to jump anything because I think I would have had to throw up.

"Well, I must say," he says, "you ride with panache."

Ah, yes. At last the recognition I deserve. But then he says, "Let’s go through the barn and see how much you know about stable management."

You know those dreams you have when you are sitting at your desk waiting to take the SAT, and the teacher hands you the test and it’s written in Japanese and you wake up screaming? Yeah, well we’ve already talked about the feed store embarrassment. I’ll spare you the details and just say that I failed barn management.

Amy wasn’t much help. She kinda stood back picking at her cuticles. Mom hates that. So Dave is kinda looking back and forth at both of us.

"Well, girlfriends, you’ve got a lot to learn. We know one thing, in about 2 years, when this horse is all polished and retrained, you sure will be able to ride him. Question is, can you get from here to there in one piece?"

Ouch. That hurt.

"Um. I think we can." I said. Whatta LAME thing to say. This must be what it feels like in a job interview that’s going really bad.

Dave lit a cigarette. Marlboro Lights. He blows this long, elegant puff of smoke and leans back against the fence.

"Well I guess you can’t kill him. Let’s just focus on getting you through the next few weeks."

So then he takes us back to the stall and tells us all this STUFF. You think the feed store was bad. I had no idea how much stuff there is to do to one broken-legged horse. There’s the bute (it’s some kind of pain killer) he has to take twice a day, and the bandages and then all the stuff that has to go on the wound and the tape and the how-do-you-get-him-around and the what-do-you-look-for. On and on and on. Dave showed me how to bandage the leg — we practiced on Traverse’s other leg. And the whole time he’s making it really clear that the only way to learn is to do it MYSELF, and he is NOT going to be running over to chez Amy every day because we can’t find the roll of tape.

So I suppose you’ve guessed by now that I’m wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. It’s really weird. I felt so competent up there riding with Dave’s fabulous athletic horse under me. But kneeling down there in the shavings, futzing with a roll of tape, I felt just like a doofus. Funny, too, because I guess most people would think that the riding part is harder. But when you have everything — nice horse, good coach — it really isn’t. I suppose it’s kind of like the life we’ve lived. Good parents. Good schools. Why should life be hard? (With the possible exception of Trigonometry.) It’s not like we grew up in the projects and had to dodge gang members on our way to class. I guess I’ve really had everything — except some solid experience in shoveling manure.

I still don’t know how we got that horse on the trailer. I guess I never really understood what people meant when they’d call a horse "three-legged lame." Now I do. That horse was literally like — one, two, three HOP; one, two, three HOP. Dave drove REALLY CAREFULLY over to our place and we got him in his stall and bedded him down for the night.

Before I started this e-mail, I spent some time working on the page. I thought I’d better record the whole regimen of what I have to do to this horse and like all the barn management stuff. It’s kinda interesting and writing it all down makes it so I won’t forget. Besides, you can see how we’ve got the barn all set up.

Type at you later.

sarah@sarahspage.com


. To: katie@dundee.net
From: sarah@sarahspage.com
Date: 6-22
Subject: Old Myths Debunked

Hi K-girl,

I know I’m weird sending two e-mails back-to-back, but I couldn’t sleep. I had to go out to the barn and check on Traverse. Ellie just looked at me. She was already half snoozing in the bed and was totally disgusted that I wanted to go outside. But she followed me anyway. She follows me EVERYWHERE. (See the site for some cool info on dalmatians and their weird quirks.)

He was still alive. Thing was, I just wanted to BE with him. For a few minutes I just stood there looking at him. He was slowly munching his hay. I’m thinking MANGIA, MANGIA. He’s just so THIN. Finally, I got up enough courage to go in the stall. I petted him a little bit, and then I just sat down in a corner in the shavings. It was really nice — this clean woody smell and the musty horsey smell from Traverse. I never got to do this before.

Traverse was perfectly fine with my being there. Ellie wasn’t too keen on it though. She barked at me a couple of times, but when I didn’t listen to her she just shimmied under the stall door and lay down next to me with a disgusted moan.

It was SOOO peaceful. The summer moon glowing through the barn windows was big and orange. And Traverse was eating in this munch, munch, munch rhythm. You won’t believe it but I actually FELL ASLEEP.

Then, when I woke up — maybe an hour later, I looked over and it was the most AMAZING thing. Traverse was LYING DOWN with us. Now, I’ve been told like everyone else that horses sleep standing up. And of course I’ve never SEEN a horse at night — so like who would know? Well it turns out — and I’m here to verify it — horses sleep lying down. I was so excited to discover it, I was like — get me Geraldo Rivera! I can testify! HORSES SLEEP LYING DOWN.

So then Ellie looks at me in this really sarcastic way she has. She gets up, shakes off the shavings like, "So ARE we going IN now that you’ve discovered the secrets of the universe?" And since I’d had enough earth-shaking discoveries for one night, I decided she was right and we left Traverse just snoozing there.

Ellie is sitting up in bed looking at me like she’s going to start chewing on my computer cables again.

Mañana.

S


. To: katie@dundee.net
From: sarah@sarahspage.com
Date: 6-23
Subject: Michigan Residents & My Horse World

K—

Ellie has developed a foolproof way of getting me up in the morning. She hops out of bed and barks twice. Then if I don’t get up, she starts pillaging. Usually she begins in my laundry pile. She grabs a sock and throws it up in the air, catches it, shakes it back and forth and then begins ripping it up. She really drags out the tearing part for the best sound effects. She’ll yank a bit — rrrrip — look at me for a reaction; yank a bit more — RRRIP — look at me again. Then if I don’t react, she lets loose — RRRRRRIP, rip, rip, rip, RRRRRIP. By that time, I’m out of bed yelling and chasing her around.

I must say though, lately we don’t usually get to that point. She has me pretty well trained to be up by the first two barks.

Nevertheless, the barking over the laundry pile reminded me of one major thing: Before I go horse around, I have to do laundry. Laundry may sound like a mundane task to you. You, however, live in an apartment with a lovely little laundry nook. I, on the other hand, am living on the prairie. So let me tell you about MY laundry experience — in other words, my first trip to Amy’s basement.

There is this thing called a "Michigan Basement." When you say you live in an old farmhouse, people will invariably ask, "Do you have a Michigan Basement?" I have heard people in the grocery store (such as it is) ask my sister this question. And I’m thinking she’s gonna say, "No, actually, our basement is in West Palm. It makes vacationing such a snap."

Turns out people mean something entirely DIFFERENT when they say "Michigan Basement." And it also turns out my sister DOES have one. The short story is that a Michigan Basement means a basement with a dirt floor. But to say that is so bland, so flat. It leaves out so many of the nuances that make a Michigan Basement truly a thing to be remembered. Things like: a rickety staircase that descends at a 45-degree angle where there are no backboards, so you look down into a black abyss; where the last step is missing so you crash, with your laundry falling everywhere, onto the damp, moldy floor. Then there are the cobwebs hanging down like drapes in a Martha Stewart nightmare; and the old wooden barrels left over from kraut-making days; the musty furniture, preserve jars, and the long chest that looks disturbingly like a coffin. Then there are the mice that regard you, unconcerned like, "Howdy, Stranger. You part of the posse that shot the cats? Much Obliged." And then of course there is the heart-thumping anxiety as the one dim, dusty, 75-watt bulb tries valiantly but utterly fails to reach into the basement’s murky corners. And you think, WHAT IS OVER THERE!!!??? oo-0

Ellie took one sniff down the stairs and looked at me like, "Nope, staying up here, thanks." Then she saw a mouse and came leaping down four steps at a time. She barreled over the coffin, tunneled through all the kraut barrels and came up with the little bugger squealing and clenched tight in her teeth. ATTA GIRL!

Station Break: It’s amazing how much I find myself participating in the primal man-against-nature bloodlust.

Back to our program:

So I found the washer, threw in my dirt-covered clothes and made to hightail it out of the basement, when, in a dim corner, something caught my eye. There were all these bottles — jugs, really — lined up together. About 2 dozen of them — and they were all alike. I edged over and uncorked one: the unmistakable smell of alcohol.

Upstairs, Amy and Jeff are having breakfast.

"Hey. You know you have moonshine in your basement?"

"We do?" says Amy.

"Here, take a whiff." I pushed the jug under her nose.

"Oh," says Jeff, "That’s homemade wine. My uncle used to make it and my grandfather let him store it in the basement."

Okay. Call me a snob (once again), an elitist, etc. But I NEVER thought I would live in a house that had a bunch of moonshine in the basement. I suddenly felt like I’d washed up onto an episode of the Dukes of Hazzard. I said as much to Amy and Jeff.

"Actually," Jeff says, "that’s not moonshine. It’s just homemade wine. Moonshine is made out of corn."

How gauche of me. Terribly sorry. I will attempt to avoid such faux pas in the future.

Time to visit the horse.

Maybe it was my early morning Dante-esque wanderings. Maybe it was my late-night snuggle in the shavings, but on my way out to the barn I decided: This is going to be MY world. Mine and the horse. I’m going to do it up like I want it. My horse. My barn. My world.

Traverse had a major case of bed-head. He was standing in his stall with shavings all stuck in his mane and dusted across his back. I slipped the halter over his head and brought him out into the aisleway. Know what? He wasn’t limping like the day before. He wasn’t NOT limping, but he actually let the bad leg touch the ground and put a little bit of pressure on it. So I’m thinking: Call me Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.

Dave was REALLY CLEAR that we had to take things SLOWLY. Traverse could only take A STEP OR TWO, but otherwise was to be confined to his stall. So I counted the steps to get him on the cross ties — it was four, but like, what choice did I have? So I got him on the cross ties and gave him a quick brush down. I scratched along his mane and around his ears and he tilted his head and leaned into me. Cool.

Then I took a deep breath. I had to deal with THE LEG.

Dave had told me that this would be the easiest part of my job. Race horses have had people fussing with their legs all their lives and they usually stand there just really quiet. Turns out he was right. Traverse was fine, but I was my own WORST NIGHTMARE.

I slowly and gingerly unrolled the outer bandage. You’re supposed to reroll in the opposite direction as you unroll, to keep things neat, but of course I forgot. Underneath was a large swath of cotton, so I unfolded that. Then underneath THAT were these large gauze pads covering the WOUNDS. Another deep breath. I slowly lifted them away.

So WOW. Dave’s friend Matt must be some vet. It was just unbelievable to look at this long, thoroughbred horse-leg and those zipper-rows of stitches. On the outside of his leg, for about 6 or 8 inches, there was one long zipper. Then down the back of his leg, from about 4 inches above his ankle to about 2 inches below it, was another huge incision. I guess they just laid his lower leg open to get a look around and make sure they got that broken piece out of there. And the stitches were just so neat and orderly and in such a perfect line. I’m thinking: Matt, you are a stud.

And then I’m thinking, Traverse, you are a stud too. (Not literally, of course, Traverse is a gelding, but still.) Matt had said that with a surgery like this, a lot depends on the horse. Horses are really freak-a-zoid animals. They really are. Their main trait is nervousness. So like a lot of horses would wake up, take one look at all the stuff wrapped around their leg, take one second to feel the pain and go BLAAAHHHHHH — and totally whack out. But Matt said he had this feeling that Traverse WANTED to get better, that he trusted the guys working on him, and that he would be really levelheaded about the whole thing.

Looking at that leg, I wouldn’t have blamed Traverse if he did freak out. Tell you what, if MY leg looked like that, I would be going BLLAAAAAHHHHH! I really would. But Traverse just looked at me like, "Hey, man, I get it. I’m laid up. On the bench. Out for the season. In rehab. Just give me some drugs and some physical therapy, and I’m hanging loose."

Perfect.

So now the problem was getting all that stuff back ON his leg. I tried hard to remember how Dave and I had done it. Okay, first I had to spray this antiseptic on his leg. Now, I don’t know how much you know about horses and large aerosol cans. Let’s just say that a little spritz of fly spray is enough to send a lot of horses into orbit. So I’m thinking, I’m down here on my knees staring at his leg and he’s going to freak out. That’s when all of a sudden this FEAR thing came out.

Honest to God, my legs started to shake and my hands started to tremble and all I could think was I didn’t want to get kicked in the head. Just not the head thing again. I mean really, how much abuse can your head take? Just look at Muhammad Ali if you don’t get what I’m saying.

So I took a second and stepped back. Traverse looked at me. I’m thinking, just give me a minute, horse. I’m having a nervous breakdown here. But then I though about Dave saying he wasn’t going to rush over for every little piddling problem. Now, don’t get me wrong. This wasn’t a piddling problem. It was a really SERIOUS BREAKDOWN. But still. No one was there to help the horse but me, so I had to get a grip.

Tell you what I did. I went over to my trunk and got my helmet and put it on my head. Not doing anything around this horse without my helmet. Traverse saw me put it on and looked at me like, "Don’t know if you’ve noticed, babe, but I’m not really UP for a ride right now."

With the helmet on I felt much better, and sprayed that stuff on his leg. It’s like fluorescent yellow so you can see where you’ve put it, which is cool. Then I gently pressed the big gauze pads back on his leg and took another large blanket of cotton and folded it around.

So then, here was the next problem: I don’t have three hands. I had to hold all the cotton and gauze in place WHILE I wound the outer elastic bandage on. I mean, PLEASE! I still don’t know how I did it, but let me tell you it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t at ALL like Dave did it. All I can say is that it involved taking my boot off to free my big toe and sitting with my foot in the air and my toe pressed to the cotton so that I could wind the bandage. And Ellie is sitting there with the sarcastic look: "Nice technique."

So that took like WAY longer than it was supposed to, but who cares. I did it. I mucked out his stall (who knew a bucket of manure could be so heavy?), refilled his water bucket, and put down some new bedding and some hay. Then I tried to lead him back into his stall.

Well Traverse must have been feeling better because he didn’t want to go. He was like "Man, lady, I was in there all night. Can’t I do something ELSE?"

Well, I felt bad for him, so I thought for a second. I decided to lead him down the aisle and back. We took it really slowly and he really seemed to enjoy it. He was all sniffing everything, poking his nose everywhere. He even picked some string up in his teeth and flipped it around, like, "Hey, this is cool." Then when I led him back into his stall he was ready to go. I was glad I did that.

So then the rest of the day was Sarah’s Barn-World day. I am exhausted and it was so fun. The Web site shows you what I did, but I’ll tell you anyway.

First thing was to get the tack room all set. Now I don’t know how much you know about tack rooms — but let’s just say for horse people they are like your private clubhouse world. Amy and Jeff’s barn, being like an old working farm and not a horse stable, wasn’t set up with a tack room. But on the opposite wall from Traverse’s stall, there was another small stall. So I decided that would be my tack room.

Jeff had helped by bringing out the big box of my horse stuff that my mom had sent. I also bummed a power screwdriver from him and some other doodads. All I can say is: don’t mess with a woman who has power tools. By noon I had a saddle rack up — I used part of an old pole and hung it by a hook — a bridle rack, a whole mess of hooks and stuff to hang halters and crops. I hung an old shower rod by some chain to hold my blankets. I even conned Jeff into helping me haul the coffin out of the basement. Tell you what — that coffin made an EXCELLENT tack box — for all Traverse’s bandages, gauze, spray stuff, etc. I even put up a shelf on one wall for my helmet and pictures.

I threw a hay bale down in one corner, tossed a blanket over it and put some ratty old pillows against the wall. Voilà! An armchair. I sat down to try it. At that point Ellie — who had been lying on the dirt floor and hating it — jumped up on the new chair. Unfortunately, there wasn’t room for her butt and mine because the edges of the hay bale kind of drop off so you have to sit right in the middle. She looked at me like — "MOVE your BUTT."

Okay — so now we have TWO hay bales covered with the blanket and more pillows. Got to keep Ellie happy. She has the power to make my life miserable.

So that was like the infrastructure. The MOST fun part was the accoutrements. How I did all of this is on the Web site, but anyway: I put up a bulletin board for notes and stuff, but mostly for pictures of Traverse. I have this Polaroid camera and I’m going to track his progress. I also have a journal to keep track of what he’s like every day. Dave recommended this because if there’s a problem I can refer to it when I’m talking to the vet. I had this cool idea and attached little baby food jars to the underside of the shelf by putting Velcro on their tops. I keep little things in them like elastic for Traverse’s mane and paper clips and thumbtacks.

Then of course there is the radio — it has its own little corner shelf nailed up. I also made this little fold-down shelf right by the hay bales for my laptop. Jeff actually helped me with it. It’s on its own hinge with this metal arm to brace it in place. It’s just at the right height for the hay bale. Then, when I’m done, I swing the arm down and the desk lies flat against the wall. Really cool.

Then, of course, I put up pictures all over the walls, and things I ripped from horse magazines, and a big horse-anatomy poster. Tell you what — I am SET. Check out the site! You’ll see my tack room.

I hate to be so petty, but there was one teensy thing that bugged me. I kinda expected the box of horse stuff my mom sent from home to contain a SURPRISE. Like all my OLD equipment would be in there, but there would also be a new bridle, or a really pretty new brushes box with a brass nameplate that said "Traverse." It would be SO like my mom to do that. And like she’s GOT to know that in the middle of downtown Reed Lake there are no Horse-and-Hound tack shops for me to browse. It would have been nice, but I guess the units are still going through their own weirdness, and I can’t expect the usual.

Type at you later,

S


. To: katie@dundee.net
From: sarah@sarahspage.com
Date: 6-26
Subject: Amy’s Weirdness & Parental Stress Rearing Its Ugly Head

K—

Thanks for the pics of you and me. I downloaded them this morning, and I’m going to put them up on the site and on the bulletin board in the tack room.

You know, for the last few days I’ve been so wrapped up in the horse I forgot to worry about the rental units. But when I came in tonight from feeding (I walked him down the aisle again — don’t tell anyone), there was Amy on the phone with Mom AGAIN. I never knew they were so close, but I gotta tell ya, they’re on the phone like all the time now. Never when I’m around, which gives me the weird feeling they’re talking about ME. That in itself is really weird because if Mom is spazzing out about me she usually tells me. NOT that I want to deal with THAT. I’d rather have Amy on the phone with Mom if she’s in her hysterical mood, but still.

So I come through the back door and I hear the end of the conversation. Amy is saying in this really muffled voice "I’ll talk to her" or "I’ll feel her out" or something like that.

So I’m like, "Talk to me about what?"

Amy looks at me like she wasn’t prepared for me to be there. She takes this deep breath and says, "Sarah, what do you think about Michigan?"

I sure didn’t expect THAT question. So I said the first thing that came to my mind.

"Well, it’s not New York."

Amy sighed. "I KNOW it’s not New York. But that doesn’t answer my question."

She had me there, so I had to think. What DID I think about Michigan? I mean, I guess I had never really thought about anything other than IT’S NOT NEW YORK. And, Amy has been a real sport lately. I really didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

"I really like the horse thing Amy. I mean, where else could I just walk out into the backyard and have a horse? It’s really great."

She seemed happy I said that. But she still wasn’t going to let it lie. "Anything else?"

"Jeez Amy. I want to be nice, I really do. I mean, I said I liked the horse."

She kind of nodded with her hands folded in that totally I’m-open-to-whatever-you-have-to-say liberal attitude thing. "Mmm-hmm."

Well, if she’s asking..."I guess we’re just different people. I don’t know, Amy, we always have been. It’s just not New York. It’s so REMOTE, and the people all seem so strange."

"You haven’t MET any of the people."

"Well they seem strange anyway. It’s so quiet, and there’s nothing going on, and they don’t have Greek delis, and all my friends are in New York, and there aren’t any nice shops, and half the roads aren’t paved, and I feel so out of place. I don’t mean to put your home down, I really don’t."

"I asked."

"You DID ask. I think that somebody must WANT to live in Michigan. I just can’t imagine that person would ever be ME. I mean, I’m having fun here, and you guys were really good to take me in when Mom couldn’t deal with me anymore, but if you’re asking what I think, that’s what I think. It doesn’t TOTALLY stink, but..."

"But it ALMOST totally stinks."

"Without the horse?"

"Without the horse."

"Then, yes. It pretty much would totally stink without the horse."

So now here is the WEIRDEST part. All of our lives Amy and I have had this fundamental lifestyle-clash-thing going on. My mother says it’s like the City Mouse and the Country Mouse. They’re both little mice, but one is all white and prissy, and the other is this rough-and-tumble field mouse. Charming thought. Frankly I think we’re a little more like Israel and the PLO: we deny each other’s right to exist. Which is why, once I said what I did, I expected the usual: Amy tosses her head, looks at me with daggers in her eyes and stalks from the room, then won’t talk to me for days. This is because it’s against her political beliefs to let off steam by yelling and getting all angry like a NORMAL person. It’s more PC to just torture someone by not speaking to them. Only fascists yell.

I, of course, usually play my part by running after her and shouting that she thinks she’s so open-minded but she really isn’t because she’s not open-minded toward ME, until she gets to the nearest room and shuts the door in my face. Mind you, she doesn’t SLAM the door, because that would be right-wing too. She just firmly, but quietly, SHUTS the door. AARRGH! I HATE THAT. She looks all composed and I look like a raving idiot.

So, I’m all revved up for the conversation to take this turn, but it DOESN’T. Amy presses her hands on the dining room table (such as it is), and sighs.

"I know how you feel being out of place, Sar. That’s how I felt in New York pretty much all my life. I mean ME at prep school — come on! Can you believe I ever walked around in those little kilts? Played field hockey? Had a coming-out party? Went to the youth dances at the Meadow Club?" As Amy said this she gestured down to what she was wearing: a pair of Wranglers and one of Jeff’s T-shirts that said "Chevy Trucks."

I laughed like I couldn’t stop. It was a hoot. Poor Amy! Whatta life!

Then, she looked at me really sad. "I know it’s hard being out of place. And I know it really stinks not to live the life you feel like you were born to live. I’m really lucky because I’m really happy here."

Know what? She was right. She WAS really happy. You could SEE it. It’s like she finally found a home. I was happy for her and I said so.

"Thanks Sar. I know it’s tough on you."

"Aw — c’mon. I’m not THAT fragile. It’s only for the summer. It’s not like Manhattan Island has been bombed off the face of the earth. I really like being here for the summer and seeing you and the horse IS really great. Don’t feel bad for me."

Amy smiled and rubbed my back. "‘Kay. I won’t."

So I came up here to my room thinking, "Wow. That went well. Amy and I had like a real TALK," when all of a sudden I realized — what about MOM? I mean what did our talk have to do with Mom? And what were they talking about on the phone? And why did that get Amy to ask me what I felt about Michigan? What the HELL? WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?

I have been thinking and thinking and thinking and I just can’t make sense of it. One minute Amy’s on the phone with Mom and saying, "I’ll talk to her," and the next minute she’s asking me what I think about Michigan.

Okay, Kate — you’re an outsider. Help! What do you think? What does it all mean? >:-|

Freaking Out,

Sarah

© 1998 Sleeping Bear Press. Used with permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.