The wedding is over. It passed in a blur that require pictures to remember correctly. We were blessed with perfect weather, great food, a future broadway star singing my processional, and an awesome band, who put up with my inability to choose music with calm assurance.

Not to mention the week of celebratory events that led up to the big day, a bachelor dinner for Mr. W. (my sister and I spent the evening at the mall picking up last minute items for the honeymoon- which was, in its own way, a perfect way to celebrate), a barbeque in our backyard for the wedding party and out-of-town guests, the rehearsal and dinner, wedding, and brunch the next day. By the way, Serevan restaurant is THE BEST!

Then the honeymoon, which provided so much blog fodder, material that I will gleefully torture my readers with in the coming days. Again, magical, but also an opportunity to broaden my horizons and see more of what the world offers. A humbling experience, to say the least.

So now we are back, slipping ourselves into a routine. For me, that means committing to all of those things I neglected during the whirlwind of wedding planning. My office is finished, the desk beckons, and my project list demands my attention. It is time to discipline my scattered mind, manage my distractions(I admit that I am not strong enough to ignore them completely, but the skills I employed that got me through college must be dusted off and used again), and give the work I love a chance to blossom.

Failure is guaranteed if I don’t try.

With the kitten I found before the wedding still here-and biting at my ankles as I type-I am pushing off into my other world, full of fresh imagery and new ideas, and determined to stay out of my own way.

Tuesday was my dress fitting. All went well and, unless I lose a great deal of weight(unlikely, especially when I ate a Shake Shack Burger, cheese fries andd HUGE plate of Chicken and Broccoli Alfredo for lunch and dinner) or gain back all the weight I’ve lost, I do not need another fitting. The dress fits perfectly!

Sheryl and I spent the day wandering around Chelsea. We saw a guy with a parrot in a cage strapped to his back, leading a Min Pin decked out in the cutest tiny pink doggie sneakers. A lady on a bike serenaded us with a song touting the benefits of being vegan, while we were in line to order our burgers and cheese fries. And I gave a guy, who was hocking his CDs, 10 bucks because:

a)I thought it would be good karma to give him a chance-after all, he was on the streets selling his “vision”;

b)I am a horrible haggler; and

c) I am a sucker who is not good at saying “no thanks” under pressure.

We plugged the cd in as soon as we got in the car. And there we were, two white women of a certain age, riding around NYC in a mud-spattered Mercedes, windows down, and head bobbing to the hip-hop beat. It was a vision.

But the music isn’t bad, interesting beats and he sampled the Red Hot Chili Peppers. not bad at all.

The rest of the day was spent driving around the fabric/garment district looking for a place to park, but parking is only available at the most wallet-raping garages in the city. Well, at least now we know where it is.

I spent the next day at a horse show. Enough said there.(I did rememeber to put on sunscreen and wear a hat).

At 2AM that night/morning, I let Putter outside(yes, I let him drink a bucket of water before bed. Again.) As I opened the screen door, I heard it. Not the screech of the foxes that live in the sheep pasture, nor the lowing of the Black Angus(and the bull was thankfully not screaming either), nor the blat of the sheep. No coyotes could be heard. Instead, the loud mew of a kitten filled my ears. Hmmm…

I silently hoped the mother came back before morning or that I was mistaken and it was a terribly confused mockingbird. No such luck.

Opened the door this morning, released the hounds, and the air filled with the sound. Went into the sheep shed and there he was, one tiny black and white kitten in a large orange feed pan. Still screaming. And no sign of momma cat.

So after driving to Tractor Supply and waiting for them to open, I now have kitten milk replacer, a bottle, and a tiny kitten to take care of.

I love cats (have 4), but I’m really hoping the mother cat shows up soon.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

I ponder a moment before answering. Let’s see… I’ve been to Pennsylvania and Vermont recently, done some short trips to the mall and Lowe’s, but mainly, I’ve been shuttling back and forth between garden and barn.

I’ve been busy.” I reply. I am sulky, feeling guilty and defensive. After a winter of snow and ice, we finally have those perfect days of sunny warmth and green growing things. Always one to bite off more than I can chew, the garden and yard projects have piled up. There were beds to be dug, lawn to be mowed and bushes and trees to plant.

And then there is Tucker.

Our first few rides were pretty uneventful, a little walk and trot to remind me that I do, indeed, remember what this is all about. We even cantered a bit on the third outing. But, in an attempt to increase Tucker’s weight, I have been feeding him a lot of grain and second cut hay- horsey high-test. Add fresh, sugary, new-growth grass, and, POW! You have a four-legged rocket on your hands.

The paddocks all have repaired fences, which was another project that took quite a bit of time. It’s nice to not worry that the horses are going to push over a post or hop over a broken rail. Right.

Back to riding. I took Tucker out on the road. He was very excited about getting out of endless circles in the area I call my riding ring. He jigged and bounced while I talked to myself to keep my muscles from clenching in terror. Heels down, relax your arms, keep breathing…was my mantra. And Tucker settled.

A short distance down the road there is a kennel of foxhounds. And in the yard infront of the bellowing dogs? A huge, inflatable bouncy house. Complete with screaming, excited children. My mantra changed to: Heels down, relax your hands, keep breathing, Oh My God, I’m going to die, heels down, keep breathing, don’t pull! Luckily, my mount was more interested in being out. And despite my abject terror, he never even glanced at the colorful, swaying behemoth.

The next time out was not as wonderful. I tried a new trail, got lost, and had to dismount because the bugs were intolerable-Tucker would take two steps and dive his head down to scratch his face on his front leg- NOT comfortable or conducive to forward progress. I led him through the buggy field, only to find I was definitely not headed toward home. We hiked up a steep hill. I gasped for air, in the throes of an asthma attack, Tucker was barely winded. At the top, I thought I would get back on.

Wrong.

Tucker would not stand still. He backed, threw his hind end away from me, and generally flipped me the hoof. So on we walked, finally finding our way to the barn. I sponged him off, fed both the boys and put them out in the knee-high grass of their paddock. By 8:30, I was exhausted. I read until about 10:00 then fell into a much needed slumber.(It had been a LONG week)

Fast forward to 5:30AM. The phone rang. “Tucker is loose.”

“I’m on my way.” Rushing up to the barn, I found a friend leading Tucker toward the barn, while Gil frantically galloped back and forth in the paddock. I got them both settled and went to investigate how the T-man got out. It was a rail down. The opening faced the woods, away from the lush pasture, but of course he would rather go crashing through the brush…

The rest of the day was dedicated registering my truck, which took most of the day-and I still have to go back-that’s a whole ‘nother bunch of blog fodder. Returned home in the late afternoon, in time to run a wire around the inside of the fence and hooki a charger up to said wire, to keep my wayward pony at home. A little electric current goes a long way in keeping horses from dismantling fences. And I had to cut brush away from the wire, find an extension cord for the charger, and pick the ticks from my sweatshirt-ICK!

At least Tucker has stayed where I put him and I got over 8 hours of sleep last night!

My spring rush is winding down and I am settling back into some sort of schedule. There are still wedding meetings, pots to plant, and trails to explore, however the frantic need to do it all yesterday is passing and my new computer and office beckon.

We’ll see how long that lasts! At least I have developed a healthy sense of humor at my lack of discipline.

Jumping for joy. Doing the happy dance. I’m as giddy as a teenager at a rock concert!

A Game of Thrones has begun. Winter is coming. So excited.

When I first saw the preview, the unfurling of the crow’s wings started the flutter in my stomach.

Could it be? Or is this something else? Then those words melted onto the screen. Winter is coming.

Mr. W. watched my contortions with concern. I hooted, then verklempt, then fist-pumpingly ecstatic. I could not wait. And I hoped it would live up to my expectations. In the weeks that followed, I started to reread the book. It was everything I remembered; everything I hoped my own BFNE(formerly CFN) could be.

April 17th came. I watched avidly. Mr. W.came out from the office about fifteen minutes into the replay, which I needed to watch. I wanted this to sink in. It was like having seconds of your favorite dessert. Awesome. The creators, who did, apparently, rely heavily on George R.R. Martin, creator/author, stayed true to the story; it was very close to how I imagined. Gritty, dark, utterly believable. My only complaint was the need for HBO to focus so much on the sex scenes. Yes, they are integral to the story, but I was unaware that doggie-style equates with medieval fantasy. My bad. The beheadings did not bother at all. Sean Bean as Ned Stark and Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister- perfection.

Of course, Mr. W.’s only comment after the brutal introduction was, “Sweatheart, you read some really dark shit.”

Yes. Yes, I do. And relish every moment of it.

This series has me ubergeeked. I can’t wait for Sundays at 9pm. I have it DVRed. So here’s to Starks and Lannisters, direwolves and dragons, the Dothraki across the sea and Wildlings beyond the Wall. May they prosper and the seasons continue. If you don’t know what I mean, my apologies. I’m off to do my happy dance. Hopefully, you are off to watch the pilot episode online.

What do we do with a new laptop and a rainy day? Well, for one thing, I am not sitting in my new office flush with ideas. Rather, I am playing with my this wonderful toy, configuring and setting it up so I can better fulfill my literary destiny.

Mainly, I am attempting to find out what programs are already installed on it and what I want it to have. And getting acclimated to the keyboard. Hey, every computer is different. And I am a horrible typist!

I must thank my sister for this lovely machine. Ok. I need to get down on my knees and bless her profusely. After all, I did lament, in the not-so-distant past, the aged creakiness of my old laptop. It was becoming slower than death. My writing sessions were becoming exercises in patience-or multi-tasking. They went something like this: Hit the power button, hover close, maybe grab the iPhone and prepare my headphones, type in password, walk away to get a cup of tea or glass of water, grab the thesaurus(just in case), stroll back, glance at the screen, yup! still booting, think about what to write, start the music, I think it’s ready, open a document, refill my water/tea, check screen, still not loading, hmm….oh, it’s ready! Now what did I want to work on? I forget.

Of course, this one connects to the internet way too efficiently…

It feels like it took forever, but Winter seems to have loosened its icy grip. The weather is not yet perfect, there are still rainclouds and brisk wind, however the sun is bright.

What have I done with this bounty of lovely weather?

The garden is roto-tilled. The peas, lettuce, and radish seeds are set in the freshly turned earth.

My office in the barn is finished, the floor is re-stained, the desk is in place, the new rug warms the floor, my horse books line the bookshelves, and the pictures are hung on the wall. All it needs is my laptop and me, sitting in my chair, churning out all the new stories churning in my imagination.

Tucker has new shoes. After his bought of lameness, I called the farrier, who suspeted a stone bruise. We soaked an packed his feet and today, he stopped favoring the foot. And the sun continued to shine.

For the first time this year, I tacked up. Though, for me, caution is the better part of valor. I am not brave enough to hop on a rambunctious Thoroughbred after a three month vacation. So I let Tucker run around on the lunge line. He was obedient and relatively quiet- he threw one good buck then settled back down. I finally mounted and walked around a bit. I would have ridden longer, but I had chosen to use my dressage saddle instead of my jumping saddle. Bad choice. The saddle looks like it fits Tucker’s back, but once I settled into the seat, it became clear it isn’t very comfortable for either of us.Hmmm…. Could that mean I need a new saddle? That would be unfortunate.

Everyone knows how I dread shopping for tack.

I even lunged Gil, who stood like a champ as I tightened the surcingle, did none of his funky dances when we walked out to the riding area, and even-gasp!- walked over a pole on the ground.

I am determined to find someone to work with him and give him another chance. I love the underdog.

Hopefully, the weather holds, because I am raring to go. I want to ride, I want to plant, and I want to write. Everything is in place. It’s time. Finally.

Let’s just say that Winter this year sucked. Now that Spring is officially here, I am looking forward to riding, gardening, and the flush of creative energy that warmer weather always brings. I work better with a healthy dose of Vitamin D.

But Mother Nature, cruel bitch, is not cooperating. Rain, snow, mixed with some cold and windy, albeit sunny days, do not a perfect Spring make. This weekend is no exception. Two days of blissful sun. The problem lies in the frigid, gale force wind that makes being outside not too much fun.

Still, the riding bug has me in it’s venomous grasp. Tucker got new shoes the day before we were blessed with a misserable rain and snow mix. So when I heard the forecast for this weekend-temperatures in the fifties, sun, et.- I ambitiously planned to saddle up and at least attempt to ride.

Tucker read my mind. Which meant that yesterday, he was holding up his left front foot and yelling, “Ouchy!” in his horsey way. I checked him for the ususal suspects, a nail that went too high through the hoof wall, a stone stuck in his foot, maybe a gaping wound, but nothing shouted, “Here’s the problem.” His hoof was warm and there was a pounding pulse in his ankle. ARGH.

Two doses of horse aspirin, a good soak in epsom salts(his foot, not me, unfortunately), and a liberal slathering of poultice (some on his hoof, most on me) I wrapped a diaper around the offending appendage to keep it clean while the poultice did it’s work. I secured everything with duct tape and said goodnight.

The sky today is blue and the sun is strong. It’s breezy and although there is still a chill in the air, it’s the best day we’ve had in a while. I checked Tucker again after lunch. He trotted over limping only slightly. He’s mending quickly. I’m sure by tomorrow he will be fine; it’s supposed to rain.

On this day, in 1933, my father was born. Throughout my life, my dad was the source of comfort and affection. He ran a small Luncheonette, my home base for all of my childhood adventures.

I remember his voice booming down the cul-de-sac where my friends lived. He would call for me whenever I was late or avoiding responsibilities. He yelled a lot.

In our house, my dad had his chair, a hideous recliner that smelled of cooking grease and sweat. It was where my father would fall asleep whenever the television was on. Sometimes his snores drowned out the dialogue. He sat in that chair, cradling my infant son, rocking and humming softly. Ba-ba-do, ba-ba-do.

The worst thing my father could say to me was, “I’m disappointed in you.” When he uttered those words, I was inwardly crushed, though my cold adolescent exterior defied my inner pain.

Nearly every weekend, he would wake up at 3:30 in the morning to accompany me to the barn. I would braid horses in the dawn. Once it was light, he brought me breakfast. He would not leave until others arrived. At the horse shows, he sat in his lawn chair and read the newspaper. He hated the monotony, but was there every time.

My dad loved my mother with a purity and strength I have never seen. They fought like petty children, and their ambitions were severely mismatched, but my dad had hitched his heart to my mother’s star in the second grade and never let go.

He taught me how to fight cancer. He faced his disease with dignity and optomism. Every time his body failed him, he simply kept going. Until he could go no more. Even then, he died quietly, holding his life-long best friend’s hand until she gave him permission to go. My sister and I were not invited to that leave-taking. We’d already said our goodbyes. He was 60 years old.

On what would have been his 70th birthday, I was struggling with my own cancer. I had had surgery to remove a malignant melanoma and some lymph nodes. It was a rainy day, my arm was swathed in bandages and an Outback coat, as I marched up and down the driveway with my horse. That evening, I said goodbye to a beloved friend.

I like to think my dad was waiting for him.

Happy Birthday Dad.