Author: Julie

Back in 2013, when I was pregnant, I asked God to please give me a child that was more like me than like Tony. Tony had his older daughter already, and I wanted a mini-me to even things out a little bit.

God laughed. And complied. And laughed some more. Added a few bits that I could have done without. Probably hysterical at this point, he added in one final sprinkling of “hot or cold” and dumped a huge pot of “frustration level: nil.”

My baby girl is a wonderful, beautiful, sweet and creative little girl. She is also a very difficult child to raise. Intelligent and head strong she goes from zero (laughing) to blowing a gasket in 0.1 seconds. Lord, I could use a little more information at this point. A little bit of instruction and insight please. Because, while I was also very headstrong (and of course that hasn’t changed), I am also fairly level headed. I don’t get angry quickly, I let a lot of things go. I learned this lesson especially when my parents were sick and dying – so much just doesn’t matter. Save your energy for what does.

Baby Girl is 10. She clearly hasn’t learned this yet. For example, if she trying to do something (plug in her ipad in Tony’s truck; pull her saddle pad out from under her saddle; put her garter straps on, or her gloves) and it doesn’t go exactly as planned, quickly, she will throw the thing down, scream at it that it’s stupid, get red in the face and sometimes start crying. I have no idea what to do in this situation. I admit, sometimes I get mad. I try to be patient, but if I’m nice to her she turns her anger right to me. If I get mad she will stomp away or burst into tears. If I tell her to calm down, or that her reaction is over the top, she acts like any woman does when you tell them to calm down. She gets more mad.

It’s infuriating. There are no right answers here. Her anger level is intense and her frustration level is zero. The other day I said, randomly, that as I get older I see my Mom’s hands in my own. She roughly told me to STOP! And I’m like why? She says, “STOP IT! I MISS GRANNY!” It was just an off the topic statement. I was astounded at her reaction. I mean, I know she misses my parents, but that’s a little crazy to me. She actually was in therapy from 7 to 9 years old, but she swears she didn’t like it and it didn’t help. She would never talk about my parents with the therapist so I suppose it didn’t do her much good anyway.

I have tried giving her vitamins, a mood calming supplement, getting enough rest and making sure she eats protein. I try to feed her a healthy dinner (at least) most nights. She is a very picky eater, as I am, so that is especially difficult. She wants ramen and fruit. Or rice, or pasta. She does not want vegetables unless it ‘s edamame or cucumber… again, like me. She does not want protein unless it’s yogurt (greek at least) or chicken.

I have tried making sure she’s in bed by 9 pm every night. I give her melatonin to be sure she doesn’t lie awake brooding. She sleeps well now and can be difficult to wake up in the mornings (like her Dad!) I read to her every night and tuck her in. She constantly wants me around, sitting on the toilet seat while she takes a bath, sitting with her while she falls asleep, etc. Now, she can do these things on her own when I am not available – she does NOT ask Daddy to do these things. What is up with that?! That’s frustrating to me. I like to read to her, but I also want my time to read my own book. Usually by the time I get her to sleep I just turn out my light as well because I am exhausted.

Limiting her screen time is difficult for me, because I like to be left alone! I like to work, to write, to read. She does amazingly well keeping herself entertained most of the time (during the day) and she still plays with all her Breyer horses and Schleich animals. She goes outside. She rides, she explores, she plays with her ponies, she makes mud pies and digs in the sand. She plays with her dog. (That I got hoping to make her happy and less angry all the time). She drives the golf cart around, and yes, she spends time on her ipad and computer. She loves watching YouTube videos.

I have read books on the subject. The Explosive Child, books on raising a tween girl, how to communicate with your tween, etc. I am about to start “The Highly Sensitive Person” in hopes it will help me connect with her, in her own little world. On another note, she gets very upset if she doesn’t do well in a horseshow – she thinks she is disappointing me. I tell her I love her no matter what place she gets and that I’m very proud of how well she rides. I tell her I love that she can do everything herself (this doesn’t stop her from asking me to help) and how well she takes care of her ponies (usually.)

This is not to say that she’s never happy. Only that when she is unhappy, she is EXTREME about it. There is no middle ground, no warm, or tepid, it’s only sunshine or hurricanes. Same goes when she does not get what she wants. For example, we got in from a three day horseshow last night at 6:30 pm. She, (instead of helping unload which Tony had to make her do) started playing around and then asked me if she could “take me on a golf cart ride.” Girl it is 6:30 pm and I have just spent the last three days nonstop with you. I am tired. It is not happening tonight. She, of course, stomps away and gets upset. She never, not once in her life, has said “that’s ok Mommy, I understand” or even just “okay.” It leaves me drained, and more than a little sad and upset myself.

Was I this difficult as a kid? I’d like to think not. Of course, we didn’t have electronics back then like we do today. And there is no one, except my brother, left to ask. He probably wasn’t paying attention to me anyway, being that much older. I know I was sensitive and liked to get my own way, but was I angry all the time? Was I zero to a hundred if something was frustrating me? Was it impossible to have a conversation with me? Did I scream, or throw a fit? I do remember doing some of this, but wasn’t it before I was old enough to know better? Where is the self control, the self awareness? How do I fix this?!

If anyone has any advice, I’d love to hear it. I may not respond, but I will definitely read your comments!

I wonder if God is still laughing. Because I am not.

There are solar panels on our house. Plenty of people have asked me about them over the years. Was it worth it? Would you do it again?

Absolutely. Not.

Here is our solar story:

Back in November of 2016, Envirosolar came calling to our front door. Tony sat down with a jovial man called Brandon in a pinstripe suit and proceeded to have a conversation with him about solar panels. Tony was hooked immediately by the guy’s down to earth mojo and charismatic laugh. He was a nice guy, no doubt. I sat down for a little while and learned that we’d be paying less than $99 a month for electricity if we had solar panels, that the original cost of the install would pay off quickly, that it was excellent for the environment, we’d be setting a standard in our community, we’d get a large tax rebate, blah blah blah. Yes, I agreed, let’s go for it.

We were told the price would be $24,900. Well. The contract says that is the amount. Why then, did we need another $25,000? The answer is – we needed to replace our entire air conditioning and heating system including the outside unit to bring everything up to date in order to service the panels. Then, we had to pay $2000 to the electric company to install the correct meter on the side of our house. We also had to replace all the light bulbs in our house with LED ones.

I took a loan out for $10,000 with my horse trailer as collateral, to pay the initial deposit. After that, things start to get very, very sketchy. We financed the rest of the amount through two banks – GreenSky and EnerBankUSA. Both of which were recommended to us by Brandon. The EnerBank account started at $25,000, of which I immediately paid the $10,000 from the loan I got. Then, you can see by my old notes that I played money-roulette. Cash advance from USAA for $1000. $7500 balance transfer to Bank of America and another balance transfer to Discover for $2250. These must have been interest free balance transfer offers. I can see the interest rate for EnerBank was 16.54%. That’s a lot when you’re talking about $25,000.

Now, with GreenSky, the initial loan amount was slightly less than $25,000. But, the interest rate was much higher at 23.99%. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

I will admit, I don’t remember all the details. But I do remember that we were told that we would have a certain period of time to pay off these debts, interest free. That did not happen with EnerBank – we had thirty days. I remember the panic of having to figure out how to pay that EnerBank amount off quickly. For some reason, it took us another year to pay GreenSky… with the interest of about $448 a month snowballing. However, if we paid it off within that year they would credit all that interest back. I was sweating, for sure. I can see that I waited until the year was almost up before I paid anything back … and I did manage to pay it off, but how? I don’t have any notes on this one, and I don’t remember how I did it.

The fun part is that during that first year I didn’t really see any decreases in our electric bills. And Brandon disappeared. I assume the company went tits-up as my Dad would say and Brandon was displaced.

We never did get the $500 rebate we were promised.

Here’s where it gets insane….

A year ago. SEVEN years after installing the solar panels, I have never seen much of a difference in the cost of our electricity. It still reaches $400 in the hottest summer months and up to $500 in the winter. Nothing really changed. Then one day I had to call Reliant (our electric provider) for a reason I can no longer remember. We were discussing something and I happened to mention that I never noticed the solar panels doing any good. The guy on the other end of the phone goes… “You have solar panels?” You could have heard a pin drop on my end. I stuttered ye-ess. The guy says “that isn’t reflected on your plan. You don’t have a solar panel plan.” More silence from me. Total crickets. Finally I pick my jaw up from the floor and I say what, exactly, do you mean? Do you mean to tell me that for SEVEN years the solar panels have never done ANYTHING? “Right.” he says.

Son of a Bi….

We were never, never, ever, told that we had to let the electric company know we had solar panels. Hell, the power company had to install the meter! Wasn’t it automatic? No, no it was not. Even though the guy who reads the meter every month can clearly see we have solar panels, and can clearly read the input and output and reports this back to the energy company…. because we didn’t have a solar plan we were not getting credit.

So of course I remedy the situation. I can honestly say I have never felt so stupid in all my life. But we get it fixed up. We now have a solar plan, wahoo! We should be set, good to go.

Then the tornado comes. Rips two solar panels off my roof. I don’t really have the money to replace/repair them so I ignore it for a few months. I don’t really know if the panels are still working or not, but life gets in the way and it gets pushed out of my mind. Then the other day, Reliant sends an email. A general email, not to me specifically. It says I can link my solar inverter directly to my plan so that the input and output is automatically recorded and I can see on a day to day basis how much power we are generating. I think this is pretty neat, so I go to sign up.

After a bunch of being redirected to this site and that site, I finally learn I have to have an account for the inverter. The inverter company says I have to have a code from the installer. I’m like “Look here. That company is no longer with us. I need some help.” So she gives me a one time courtesy break and supplies me with the number I need. Then I find out that Tony has had that account for all these years and I never knew it. Sigh. More communication between spouses, friends. We all need more communication.

But I got it! I’m in! Annnndddd…. the output is zero. Zero? Why? My brain is spinning. I call the lady back. Oh, she says, your inverter hasn’t been on since December of 2022.

Son of a Bi….

Apparently the energy company couldn’t find it within themselves to let me know that we were, in fact, NOT getting any benefits from our solar panels. It’s been eight years. Eight years, $50,000 later. Zero benefits.

Do I recommend solar panels?

Hell no.

I’ve now been on two cruises. Two different boats. Two different airports, two different cruise locations. And they were both really great. I consider myself an expert now. In case anyone needs to know anything about cruising, I’m your gal. Just kidding, it’s all still a little bewildering although this one did go smoother getting on and getting off the ship because we were a little more educated. 

I’m not going to lie, we were completely spoiled by doing Disney first. I am not sure anything will ever be able to compare to that. The ship was brand new. The cabin was spacious. The picture window had a great view. We had a completely enchanting dining experience each night. We found plenty of things to do, and even missed a few we never knew about. The only complaint I had about Disney was that the pools were too small and Skylar would have had more fun with a friend. 

Both ships we’ve been on have been HUGE. Ginormous. This time we had a room with a balcony and I’m not sure I’ll ever go back to just a window room. The balcony was great. We loved having the door open, or sitting out there with a drink. Some people spend their retirement cruising and I can entirely see why. The room is cleaned up every day by lovely stateroom attendants and they even leave towel-art on the bed each time. The rooms are bigger than you expect them to be – they’re really not the teeny tiny porthole rooms you have seen in movies. Think somewhere between Jack and Rose in Titanic. (Ok, a little closer to Jack than to Rose… but still).

We had four port days and two cruising (at sea) days. I spent a lot of time on our sea days writing my book about my mom. It was truly great. We had dinner at five each evening and two of them were “formal”  nights. I bought an outfit which was not exactly formal but it was really nice! Especially for me, who shies away from anything to do with dressing up. I spent time shopping, trying on clothes – something I haven’t done since 2010 probably – and I bought the outfit. Complete with a cute gold necklace. And then I forgot to wear it.

We went downstairs on the first formal night and I looked around and thought – why are all these people dressed up? And then a half second later… “oooohhhh. Shit.”

So I wore it the next night instead. Who cares anyway?

It was Alaska. You expect it to be cold. I brought all the things the “how to pack for an Alaskan cruise” article told me to bring. Long underwear. Layers. A jacket. Hat and gloves. Sweaters. Jeans.

It was 80 degrees in Alaska. 

I ended up wearing none of that except the jeans and the three new tee shirts I bought at the ports. People kept saying how this was the nicest weather they’d had in forever. The best weather week ever! And I was pleased – of course I was. 80 is still better than 109. But, no sweaters, which I had especially bought. No raincoat (thankfully!). No misty, gray skies. Which meant that I had a clear view and saw EIGHT bald eagles! I absolutely was thrilled with that! Bald Eagles remind me so much of my Dad, so that was a lovely experience to have. I was able to see the glacier they’re so proud of from far away. I should have done an excursion that included that glacier, but I didn’t know how cool it would be and so I didn’t. 

The excursions are expensive. I mean, really really expensive. The train ride we wanted to do through the mountains was almost $300 per person. We ended up doing the whale watching and salmon bake instead. The whale watching was neat if not a little cold while skipping the boat over the waves all the way to the site. We saw a lot of whales, but not as close up as I was hoping for. Only saw one whale breach, and missed a lot of other whales by staring in the wrong direction. Then they took us to the sea lions laying on the buoy. Super cute! One of them was ringing the bell with his tail – on accident I presume, or we really did see something special.

The salmon at the salmon bake was to die for. Ridiculously delicious. Sweet setup with lights strung everywhere and a cute little waterfall. And blueberry cake. We ate so many desserts on this trip it’s truly amazing we didn’t gain ten pounds each. 

One of the other excursions we did was the Skagway old fashioned trolley tour with a stop at the graveyard of all the people who have died in Skagway (not a lot!). Seriously I think they have a modern cemetery now but the old one was pretty nifty to see. We heard all about the Gold Rush and the shoot-out that happened and the fact that Skagway has no doctor at all so if anything major is wrong with you, you have to be willing to pay $25,000 for a helicopter to Juneau, or else willing to be buried there. Their graduating class had seven kids in it. Everyone goes to school in the same building. It’s really like another age and time out there.

Then we toured Sitka on our own. I don’t know how much of the island they used to film the movie The Proposal, but Tony and I then watched that movie that night and saw absolutely nothing familiar. 

We walked through the National Forest there. Did not see any bears, except for the Giant Brown Poodle that gave me a serious start when I saw it. He was only walking out with his owner, unaware that he was probably giving more people than just me heart attacks. We saw the salmon swimming upstream! Listened in on a tour guide’s spiel. The salmon swim upstream to their spawning spot then lie there “like zombies” until they lay their eggs and then they die. Someone asked if they eat those salmon and the guide said nope, the birds do! (And probably the bears do too, I presume). It was very interesting and very cool to see. There were probably hundreds of thousands of salmon just lying on the bottom of the riverbed. 

The last place we visited was Victoria, British Columbia. Which was absolutely gorgeous. Flowers literally everywhere! I can’t even keep flowers in a planter alive, I honestly don’t know how they do it. And even though Tony and I both were feeling the effects of a cold (I am still coughing today) we both had a blast in Victoria. We rode a bus to a winery and sampled some great wines and enjoyed the fabulous view. Then we rode the same bus to a distillery in town. Beer and whiskey – Tony was in heaven! I got some great pics of him enjoying the samples. The guide there was a total hoot and we had a lot of fun listening to him. 

Honestly this post could go on and on about the ship and everything on it, but it’s got to end somewhere. So I’ll finish up with a list of things I brought and didn’t use: a little iron (this was Tony’s idea but at least now I own one), Tony’s cowboy hat which he wore twice – on the plane both times, our own cups with lids (they gave us cups to use since we bought the refreshment package), all the stuff for colder weather, a hanging shoe organizer and Tony’s formal jacket. Oh we might as well have not brought the swimsuits either as I tried the hot tub only once and was very disappointed to find it barely warmer than bathwater. We DID use the magnetic hooks and the poo-pour-ee spray!

I highly recommend the cruise to Alaska. Given the chance we would certainly go again, although we would prefer to see different towns and cities. I would love to take Skylar, so she can see the Bald Eagles and the mountains!

Alzheimer’s changes everyone around the affected person. You might think that with this happening to Mom while I was in my 40’s, well, I was already grown up. That might be true, but what happened anyway is that I grew up. I became more patient, a lot wiser, more empathetic, more in tune with my own feelings, and a LOT OLDER. It aged me quickly. No longer just concerned with my own life, I became the advocate for my parents that they desperately needed. I learned every day how to be that person. I learned what was most important is being there for the people you love and that love you.

During those years from 2018-2023 both my parents passed away. Baby Girl lost two people she adored. I felt abandoned and alone. During those years I lost clients from my barn who could not understand that they were no longer my top priority. I kept clients who understood, and who stood with me. I treasure these people and they are still clients today.

My whole outlook on life changed. My dreams started to swirl around me like West Texas dust, blowing away and becoming faint. I managed to hang on to my business but realized I needed to downsize. After my Mom died, I let go of the “riding school” portion of my business. I no longer provide school horses. Because of this I now only have clients that own or lease their own horses or ponies. I still love to teach, and I love to horseshow. I love these girls like they are my own. Of course I still love ponies.

In 2022 Bruno broke his leg. That was the end of my Pony Finals dream. Baby Girl and I were gutted. Both of us realized from Day 1 that he would never be the same, no matter what happened. You all know that he has recovered in a miraculous way, but there is still no Pony Finals future for him. For a year we rehabbed him and Baby Girl rode a different pony that she wasn’t exactly fond of. Finally, we found and bought Prince, through the help of my inheritance. I tell Dad thanks every day, sending gratitude up to Heaven, that a rainbow was given to us after the storm.

These days my dreams are a little different. I can see the log cabin type house that we want to build in East Texas in my mind. I see the piney woods and the red dirt. I see the small barn I want to build, the garden which will not grow anything because I have no green thumb, I see a pond with Canadian Geese. I hear the racoons at night and the mosquitos swarm as I sit on the porch sipping sweet tea. I see Baby Girl coming up the drive, on a visit from college, and I stand up to greet her and thrust a glass of tea into her hand. I see the Maine Coon cat I want lurking around the doorways, just trying to get in the way. Sometimes I see baby goats.

I see myself writing, a published author. I see Tony out the picture windows of my office, tinkering in his garage he wants to build. I see sunny days and chilly Christmases with our small family. I see only Bruno, Prince and Hugo grazing in their paddock. I see a different me. A more relaxed me. Someone who isn’t always rushing against the clock to “get things done.” I see vacations and cruises and enjoying the downtime.

I see peace at last.

My own business. What a treat! What a dream! I couldn’t have done it without the most generous sponsor. She believed in me and helped me out a ton the first year (and when I needed additional funds she was there to support me). She told me, write a business plan. So I did. It took forever but it really made clear to me what path I wanted to take.

I won’t dwell on the first 18 months that Abingdon Park existed. There are not many great memories from that time. A few. But not a lot. It was hard being on my own. I didn’t live there so I had to drive in twice a day, or spend the entire day there. The owners took me in like a long lost little sister at first but as time went on it became clear that we were VERY different types of people. It all came to a head one day in May 2009. She kicked me out, I was gutted because I thought my dream was toast. But then we had a post-kicking-out meeting to try and resolve things. Things got heated. She told me that if she was going down (I won’t tell you what for – sorry) that I was going down with her.

All of a sudden my heckles were raised. My back was up and fire filled my eyes. I just looked at her and said quietly “I don’t think so.” She threw down a $20 and stormed out. Her partner just gazed at me and shrugged her shoulders. I knew she didn’t have the guts to stand against her. From that point I became a new person. I started to become ME again. Remembered who I was and what I wanted to accomplish in life. I found a new base of operation fairly quickly and rescued my ponies from the various barns that had helped me out by taking ponies on a moment’s notice. I am thankful for all the people in my life who have been there when I needed someone. God truly puts people in my path for a reason. I am thankful for my parents and my brother who came with their trucks and their compassion.

The new barn I found was really pretty but really run down. The best part about it was that I met Tony there in January 2010. A year later I moved into the little “barn house” that was there, with Tony. It had spiders. Tarantulas. Scorpions and massive centipedes. One day we saw a foot long centipede come out of the closet. Ali (10) and I screamed and stood on top of a chest of drawers while Tony literally took the walls down until he found that M-F’er and killed it. Another day I was reading in my bed and a scorpion fell into my hair. I have a ton of stories like this. However, the place was for sale and Tony and I wanted a place of our own. It took a couple more years (and a wedding) but eventually we found this place on Zipper Road in Pilot Point. A dream became a reality as I watched my husband, my Dad, and some friends build my arena, tack room and paddocks and clean out the old Hay barn. The meter high weeds were mowed, multiple trips to the dump happened and eventually we were ready to begin again.

After a miscarriage and almost a year of “trying again” I finally became pregnant with Skylar. And Tony left for Haiti. A mission he had agreed to before we knew I was pregnant. That was the hardest year of our lives. He hated being away (and hated Haiti) and I hated being on my own, pregnant and then with a newborn. That winter I was pregnant was ridiculously stressful. I have an awesome picture of my Mom in all her winter gear, dressed to help me out cleaning stalls. One of my barn families was ready to help at a moment’s notice and came out during the terrible ice storm we had that year, despite the roads and the weather. God Bless them. My Mom and I ended up eating hamburger buns (toasted) because we couldn’t get to Walmart and we had no groceries in the house! We had to get water from the house using a wheelbarrow and a “water bladder” – we unhooked the washing machine and used that hose because everything in the barn had frozen. I’m telling you, these were some of the best memories despite it all! It was quite an adventure.

I realized I had it all. ALL my dreams had come true. A house and a barn of my own, a husband, a child, my own business. What more could I want? For a long time I was happy and satisfied. It was HARD but it was worth it, because it was mine.

And then my world fell apart. In 2019 my Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

Nothing has ever been the same.

To be continued….

When I was young I wanted to be a jockey. I wanted to ride fast and hard and be part of that boy’s club. Julie Krone was my idol. When I was 12 we looked up “jockey camp” which was in California. Unfortunately the camp was too expensive for my parents to manage so the idea quickly turned to dust. When I was 14 I decided I wanted a pony farm. I wanted to breed Welsh ponies and have high-quality, gorgeous ponies – I can still see the acres of paddocks with white fencing in my mind. By the time I was 16 I was more practical. I was going to be an accountant. I loved math and numbers and took accountancy as a high school elective. The teacher was excellent and she had a full class of would-be accountants at the end of the school year.

Fresh into college I was absolutely sure that accountancy was my path. In my sophomore year I took basic accountant classes and sailed through. First semester of my junior year saw the “theory” of accounting melt my brain and give me panic attacks. I didn’t get it. None of it made sense. I started struggling with my grades, and with my destiny. Being ever-practical, late into that semester I changed track and dived into business management with gusto. Ahhh, this was easy. It all came naturally to me and I could easily bullshit my way through essays at the last minute. I began to get all A’s again.

I graduated in December of 1997 with a degree in Management, a Bachelor of Business Administration. Securing a job was easy. I had been working in a Continuing Medical Education (CME) office at a hospital in Bryan. Continuing on that career trajectory, I was employed by the University of Texas-Houston Health Science Center as an Event Planner in the CME office. For three years I worked in Houston. Hating it, I soon decided to move to Dallas, to be closer to my parents. Again, with career goals in mind, I took a job as an Event Planner with Physician’s Education Resource. For a year I flew back and forth to Hawaii, to Canada, to New York, to Santa Fe and more.

The good Doctor who owned that company was a real tool. 9/11 happened. On a Tuesday morning. I was meant to fly to Orlando on Friday. Not ONE HOUR after the twin towers fell he called all 30ish of his employees to the conference room. After some spiel of fake concern (he was not from America, I will tell you), he looked around the room and said “life must go on.” Maybe true, but not in that moment! He locked eyes with me and said “you’ll still go to Orlando on Friday.” It wasn’t a question. I responded with “I doubt the planes will be flying, and I am not going anywhere.” I had already put in my resignation and Orlando was going to be my last hurrah. I left that day and didn’t look back.

(The planes were not flying by Friday, and nobody went to Orlando).

I had said an immediate YES to a the owner of the barn where my horse was stabled when she asked if I wanted to teach lessons and manage the barn. My mother was concerned. I told her I had been handed a dream on a silver platter and I wasn’t going to turn it down.

And that’s where my life changed forever. I left the glittery world of traveling and catering to physicians behind (and the income) and fell headlong back into the world of horses.

It wasn’t easy. I lost thirty pounds in a matter of months from spending 10+ hours at the barn each day. Cleaning thirty stalls did me in. Then they’d immediately not be clean again. It did not sit well with my OCD heart. I’d try to make sure they were all perfect as often as I could but there were too many other things to capture my attention. Taking care of the horses, teaching lessons, holding for the vet or farrier, cleaning tack, managing parents and owners, amiss a variety of other chores. The barn was owned by three ladies, one of which was meant to be my friend. But I remember one day I was sitting on a bench, taking a break and eating an apple. She came by me and I remember almost panicking because I was not working. She was a hard-ass and wanted everything to be in her control at all times. She was not fun to work for. I swear she did not know how to have real friends. I tried hard, but by the time she sold out and moved away, I was relieved.

The money wasn’t great. I started out with more than I left with. The other two ladies who owned the barn kept changing the details of our agreement until I left because I was not making enough money to stay. I had completely changed the atmosphere and energy of that barn in the six years I was there. It was a thriving hunter jumper barn with mostly good lesson horses and a huge student base. Even as the Head Instructor, managing the lesson program, going to horseshows and teaching nonstop, I was not being compensated fairly in my opinion. In one sense they were a GREAT six years. I had awesome kids and parents and a super fun “show team.” I have extremely fond memories of those horseshows and banquets. Those parents and kids will always be in my heart.

In 2007 I was offered the opportunity to come to Aubrey. To start my own business. I had long decided this was my new dream. I did not want to breed ponies, but I wanted to OWN them. And so Abingdon Park & Pony Farm was born.

To be continued…

I bit the bullet. Two weeks ago I found myself sitting across from a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. Does anyone see an actual MD these days? At any rate, there I was in front of an NP from Nigeria. Not at all what I was expecting – no long bearded white fellow with a pipe and wearing well worn loafers. Stereotypical but nonetheless I was surprised.

When I walked in I was greeted by two lovely ladies and asked to take a seat. When I went up to the counter to pay and they told me the visit would be $300 I almost walked out. My face must have shown my distress because one of the ladies said “I can see by your face that you’re a little stressed by that but trust me it will be well worth your money, and future visits don’t cost that much.” I gave her a weak smile and handed over my card.

When I was shown back, they immediately took my weight. Why? What is there to gain from a Psychiatrist knowing my weight, except that I might be a *bit* depressed over it? Then once the shock had worn off that the doctor’s scale was not quite the same as mine at home, she proceeded to take my blood pressure. 150/106. That’s a little high, she says. Have you had any caffeine today? I stared at her, my mind whirring. What to say, what to say?! I settle on the truth and say “well yes. I drink Diet Coke all day long.” She stares back, incredulous. All day? she says, astounded. Yes. All day. I’m certain you are judging me right now but I don’t care. The caffeine consumption is the least of my worries. Well, she says slowly, that could be why your BP is elevated. Lady, that is not why. Maybe it’s because I just handed over $300 big ones and had my actual weight thrown in my face. That’d make anyone’s BP skyrocket. https://www.sstack.com/dura-tech-polar-fleece-dress-sheet/p/31047/?sku=31047%2081%20NV&glCountry=us&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwps-zBhAiEiwALwsVYRdSwfizaWdgM2CdfvHRk-adkaeQN6CMB9MZXf9rEkLdMOi1G31bOhoCqf8QAvD_BwE&variant=true

I am shown to the consulting room. There, instead of a woman named, interestingly, “Princess” is a man whose name I cannot pronounce. This isn’t going to be good, I think to myself. I thought I was getting a woman. What if I can’t understand this dude? Blood pressure mounting steadily, I sit down across from him.

He’s typing into a computer. No notebook, clipboard and pen these days. He smiles at me and asks me what I am feeling right now, why have I come to see him? I blurt out “I thought I was going to be seeing a woman. I’m a little on the wrong foot here.” He smiles apologetically and says that they were somewhat overbooked.

I can feel the tears welling. It has not been a good day, depression wise, and now I feel that after having summoned the courage to come to a Psychiatrist I have made a mistake. I don’t think I will be able to open up to him. His name is Alvin (Simon, Theodore!) and he is, I soon find out, extremely nice and easygoing. As we begin I start to feel a little more relaxed and the tears thankfully disappear back into my brain, or my ears, or wherever it is that tears go when they don’t fall down your face.

He mentions my blood pressure. I tell him I have every confidence that it is stress related due to the $300 and the numbers on the scale. He laughs and says we’ll lets take it again at the end of the session and see what it is then. He is a kind man. We talk about him being from Nigeria as I find things to fiddle with on his desk, straightening his business cards over and over again.

We come to the actual reason I am there. Depression and grief. Suicidal thoughts or intentions he asks? Never I say. I would never do that to my Baby Girl. He asks how long I have been depressed. Um, since college? We go through all the details of what my life has been like over the past five/six years. We go through the mental history of my mom’s side. When you list it all out like that it doesn’t look good. In fact, I’m shocked I’m as mentally healthy as I am. I am destined to have Alzheimer’s or something equally depressing when you take a hard look at that side of the family. And your Dad’s side? he asks. Oh, I say, nothing. No, nothing there. They’re all good. Very mentally stable. I was hoping, in fact, that I had enough of my Dad’s side blood to keep me from dementia as a foregone conclusion.

Eventually he says, well you know what the diagnosis is. And I say, yes of course. Grief and chronic depression. And anxiety he adds. Right. Now that we’ve established that for the records, what can you do for me? I have to admit that I did not know that I wouldn’t be sitting there having a grief related bawl session with him once a week (though my finances are grateful.) He explains that I need to see a grief counselor separately to him. He is the drugs guy. Well thank heavens for that I say. I explain that he needs to give me ONE name. If he gives me a list I will not follow through. I tell him that is the reason it took me over a year to actually come to him. My regular NP gave me a list of psychiatrists to look into. They were all in Denton. I finally chose THIS practice based solely on location (Aubrey) and a few excellent reviews. That list was stared at and then tossed.

He gives me the list anyway. I glance at it briefly. He explains it shows location and price per session. I say where are the freebies? He says there is something called “Grief Share” which is held at local churches for free that I could try. It’s been two weeks and I haven’t looked at that list.

Then we talk about meds. Have you been on this one and that one, or this one or that one? I’ve tried a bunch of them over the years. I tell him I take Cymbalta currently and he explains that it only has a half-life of 10-12 hours, so since I take it at night it is certainly helping me until the morning. I think he is being somewhat sarcastic but I’m not entirely sure. I am more than a little surprised to hear that the med I’ve been taking for years hasn’t really been helping me because I was taking it at the wrong time of day. He says we need to get you fully covered. I am all for that. Let’s do it! Bring it on, Doc, I am extremely ready to feel better.

At the end of the session I have been prescribed Wellbutrin on top of the Cymbalta. I am willing to give it a shot.

Friends, it has been two weeks. I DO feel better. I am not raring to go with energy (never have been) but I feel more like myself. I have more focus. Slightly less tired. Can make it through the day better. Am happier and less irritated. Fingers crossed things continue to improve with time.

For the sake of my privacy, I have obviously not disclosed everything in this blog. But I know that some of you have been on this journey with me, and might be interested in the progression. Some of you may want to know that I finally have gotten some support. Some of you may want to know what a first time Psychiatry appointment is like, in case you are pondering whether to go yourself.

As for my grief… well it comes and goes. Note to self – Dilliards, especially the Liz Claiborne and the make up sections, will still smell and look like they did when you went there with your mom so many times. Barnes and Noble will have her ghost in the pages of the books it sells. And Auntie Anne’s pretzels will taste like she’s eating cinnamon pretzels right next to you. Dad is in the American flag out front, in the garage with Tony and on the tractor, in the sun and wind and back porch sitting with a little bit of whiskey and a smoke.

I’m not so sure I need that grief counseling.

There are no two ways to describe it. My girl is feral.

She is lucky. To grow up out here on our “ranch” with the ponies outside her window, her own riding arena, a golf cart, fruit trees, country roads and long blonde hair.

All summer long she runs barefoot. In the winter her Daddy has to threaten her with punishments in order to get something on her feet. Her favorite shoes (when forced to wear them) are her paddock boots. She is growing like a weed, too. All her shorts are too short, and lucky for her crop tops have become a thing. There’s no such things as socks in the summer. The bottoms of her feet are black with dirt, but she has acquiesced to taking a bath or shower every evening so at least I know that grime isn’t ending up at the bottom of her bedsheets.

That hair. She swims. She rides. She runs wild. She drives the golf cart in the wind. She does NOT brush it. If I didn’t insist on running a brush through it every few days I swear it would be dreadlocked by now. About once a week I can convince her to wash and condition it and let me brush it out while it’s still wet. I have to buy the deep conditioner packets from Walmart to have any hope of maintaining some moisture in it. She still loves her bangs but does nothing to them. Maybe once a month she’ll let me “do” her hair. I usually let her sister straighten it and it looks quite nice until the next bath. She doesn’t scream as much when her sister does it. She gets a hair cut maybe twice a year. Otherwise her motto is “crazy hair don’t care.”

She is mostly unconcerned with protocol or rules. Her favorite thing to say (besides begging me for something) is “it won’t hurt!” As in, I want to do this thing and you should let me because I know better than you. (Insert eye roll here). She just turned 10 but let me tell you, nine was ROUGH. Hormones? Emotions as big as oceans, mood changes, anger, frustration, pushing pushing pushing the boundaries. So far 10 is seeing a change for the better … most of the time.

If she’s not running wild outside her best friend is that freaking iPad. I wish those things had never been invented. She is glued to it. Playing all the games and watching all the YouTube, it turns her brain to mush and makes her cranky. She’ll deny it all day long but I make sure to point out when she’s had enough. There are times I’d like to throw it (or her) out the window far enough to land in the pond out back.

You can’t convince her to sleep. But when she does (finally) fall asleep, she sleeps hard for about 8 hours. Or less. She wakes up with the sun every day. If her Mama wants to take a nap she won’t let her sleep for long before she’s in her room wanting something. I don’t know about y’all but I was terrified to wake my Mom up if she was sleeping. Even after a nightmare or bad dream, I would sneak into her room and stare at her, trying to conjure up the guts to wake her up. I usually would give up and go back to my room. I just wasn’t that brave. I’m even afraid to wake my husband up! Cranky Bear that he is, plus he might shoot me on accident. Just kidding y’all, but don’t think the thought hasn’t occurred to me!

She either eats (junk) all day long or doesn’t eat at all. She’s not a fan of breakfast. Until her crying jags start and I’m not impressed. Girl, you need to eat, I say. She will usually retort with I’m not hungry! I bought her some Flintstone vitamins (which she hates) and I buy basketfuls of fruit every three days. Apples, grapes, strawberries, cantaloupe, blueberries, she loves them all. Except blackberries which she won’t touch. I give her yogurt so she’ll have some protein. It’s the best I can do. There are stickers from apples ALL OVER my house. There’s one on the kitchen rug that I can’t get off. Most people worry about plates, cups and cutlery in their kids’ rooms. I worry about fruit flies and apple cores.

Would I have it any other way? Probably not. She’s growing up wild, but also fierce and independent. She’s self sufficient when she wants to be. She has initiative. She has guts – if I’m not around she’ll figure things out on her own. She knows the benefits of fresh air and sunshine, and playing in the rain and mud and dirt. She’s capable and headstrong and growing up faster than I’d like. I fully admit I miss the pacifier days. I also fully admit I’d like the “pretending to be a dog” days to be over and done with. “Mommy, what’s my name? Do you like Raven? I’m a cross between a Doberman and a Rottweiler! What’s that called? Google it.” You’re killing me, kid. Can’t you just be a little girl?

There are days when she gives in a little easier, acts a little more mature, and then there are days she can’t handle herself. I suppose it’s all part of growing up. And I get to be here for it.

I can’t wait to see who she’ll become.

When I was a little girl, maybe 9 or 10 years old, my Granny was visiting from Austin. At some point during her visit I used the last of the toilet paper roll and failed to put a fresh one on the holder. She reprimanded me for it, and being stubborn and full of hurt I ran off to pout. Later, we sat next to each other on the stairs and she gently told me that my Mom needed lots of help (my Dad was not often home) and that I really needed to act responsibly in order to help her out. Tearfully I nodded and cuddled into her. I had never been reprimanded by my Granny before, and that hurt more than anything else. But I never forgot the message. I do not know if I helped my Mom out more around the house but I have never again failed to sort out a new toilet paper roll on an empty holder.

These days I gaze at my nine-almost-ten year old daughter and I think about that message. I think about strawberries. I think about ipads and tablets and computers we never had in the eighties, and this entitled world we live in.

I never eat the strawberries. I buy them for her. I cut them up into pieces and serve them with yogurt (not sugar dumped on top like my own Mom used to do!). Sometimes she takes them out of the fridge and eats them without even washing them (egads!) She fails to put the dish in the sink. She doesn’t throw the carton away. She needs a lot of reminding to do these things. Sometimes I want to scream and throw my hands up in despair. Sometimes I want to cry because she no longer has her Granny that she adored to reprimand her and teach her life lessons. Sometimes I pick the dish up or throw away the carton for her, simply because it’s easier and I’m tired of yelling. I’m doing her a disservice when I do this, I know. But a Mom can only do so much.

These are the things I want her to remember:

Girl, take the trash out. If it’s full, remove it and put a fresh bag in. Kitchen, bathroom, your bedroom, whatever. You can do this.

For the love of Pete dry off before you exit the tub or shower. A wet floor is disgusting and this is not a hotel.

Please please please take your underwear out of your pants. Will you still be doing this when you’re 22? Please God, help her see the light.

Hang up your wet towel (we are making progress on this one!). I paid a lot of money for these carpets and someday you’ll stand on your own brand new carpet and silently (or not so silently) scream at your own children (and perhaps your husband) to HANG UP YOUR TOWEL. It physically hurts to see it on the floor.

Don’t leave trash in your room. Especially on your bed. Take pride in your surroundings. Someday you’ll be old enough to drive and if your car stinks like take out and looks like a dump no one will want to go anywhere with you. If your first apartment mimics your filthy car I promise you I will not come over to clean it. Or buy you nice things. In fact I will probably stuff the TV remote down the couch cushions and leave crumbs in the guest bed, my towel on the floor and an empty popsicle box in the freezer.

When you are older… please learn to make a bed. When you stay at someone’s house they will expect you to leave the room you stayed in tidy. Again, it’s not a hotel.

Because of this technological age we live in, she is both less mature and more worldly than I was at this age. I was naive and sheltered, protected by my nuclear family in an Army-based world. She can work a computer and a phone better than I can. She can connect online with her friends to play games. She can create a masterpiece in Minecraft. She has lived in the same place all her life and never had to start over in a new town, with new people. She has an older sister and a nephew. I had a brother who tortured me and made me tough. She’s had ponies that have made her tougher.

I would have thought I’d died and gone to heaven if I got to help out at a real life stable every day. She’d rather play Star Stable on the computer than muck stalls. This isn’t to say that she doesn’t run around feral much of the time, outside with no shoes on and climbing fences and digging in the dirt. I had those experiences, too. She is lucky that way. She can drive a golf cart and feed the horses. She can scrub a water trough. In a way she has more responsibilities than I ever did.

I’m not sure she’s ready to read this post. But I’m going to give it to her anyway. Maybe the words will sink in. Maybe she’ll see that I die for her every time she says she misses Grandpa. Maybe she’ll understand more that helping around the house is so important, because I never eat the strawberries.

Recently I have twice been made aware of my inadequacies as an instructor. It wasn’t intentional. And I believe that neither person really believes me to be inadequate. I took the term onto myself, based on what I heard from them. In all my twenty five years of teaching, it never occurred to me what I am lacking.

Both are fellow trainers, riders, and coaches. One has a current lesson program and the other does clinics. Both are wonderful people and friends. But I heard what they said. And I took it to heart, however unintentional it was.

I am a hunter jumper trainer. I am best suited to beginner riders. I love the up/downers just learning to post, the ones learning to canter and navigate a course successfully. Once you master being able to jump a 2’6″-3 course technically correctly and successfully then I am not going to be the trainer to take you beyond that height. I am ok with that. I am more than ok with it. I love the littles, even the adult beginners make me smile with their worries and their joy in the small advancements. Don’t send me an adult that knows their way around a 3′ course. They ask too many questions, have too many fears or too much confidence, and are too high maintenance for me.

I am a certified Level III American Riding Instructor’s Association instructor. I am a graduate pony club student, and I am a student of horsemanship and safety. I am NOT, however, a prior student, rider, or worker of anyone famous, anyone that has shown on the East or West coast, anyone who has jumped in a Grand Prix, or had laborers to make their horses fancy. I was not taught a lot of lateral work or fancy dressage moves. In fact I did not study dressage at all. I did not go to a college dedicated to horse or riding related education. I studied business at Texas A&M University. But when I was 14 I was trusted enough to teach the littles that my own instructors didn’t want to bother with. When I was in college I was hired to teach a show jumper’s small daughter. After college, after six years in the medical event planning world, I was hired to teach beginners at a local stable. I dropped everything and signed up. I found my calling. And I’ve never looked back.

The instructors I learned from in my childhood shaped me in so many positive ways. I learned how to be self-sufficient because my Mom sat in the car during my lessons. Or dropped me off to go with my trainers to shows. I was taught by two of the best people I’ve ever known – a husband and wife team – that taught me how to be and also how NOT to be. I watched other trainers scream and yell and get angry. Mine never did. I watched other riders get frustrated and smack their horses and pull on the reins hard. I was schooled in compassion and empathy instead. I learned how to bathe my own horse, how to wrap his legs, how to clip, how to clean his stall to perfection. I learned never to panic, even when a horse was still wearing a blanket on an 80 degree afternoon. Just go quietly remove it yourself, no hysteria needed. I learned to guide and grow and get on again. I learned to ride when it was 110 or 32 degrees, that drinking water came from the hose and that sweat and dirt made me happy.

I learned that the barn was my happy place. I learned that I wanted to make my own barn a happy place for kids and adults alike. That I wanted my horses to be horses, happy and content and internally always smiling out in their large paddocks with their sheds, grass and a friend.

I learned that presentation matters but not at any cost. I watched other riders with their shiny stirrups and vowed to make mine even shinier. I saw other pony girls show in dirty, torn jodphurs and was appalled. I watched grooms clean muzzles and hooves and boots and copied what they did. I learned that the horse ALWAYS comes first, something my own daughter is still struggling to learn in this entitled world we live in. I learned to wash and condition and brush a tail until it shined.

I learned that I was CAPABLE. From these two trainers, I learned to be kind, patient and compassionate. I learned that HARD CORE and HARD WORK ETHIC are not always the same thing. That disappointment hurts, that dedication and determination are built with time. I learned that safety matters, to get off a crazy horse, your pride isn’t worth the risk. To always wear a helmet because anything can happen. That pride comes in the form of progress and persistence, education and exhaustion from a job well done, not necessarily in ribbons won.

These things are what I teach my own students. I didn’t need to train under someone famous, in an environment I would never have been comfortable in. I didn’t need to leave home, change my address or test my ethics.

One of the most important things I learned is that you don’t have to be wealthy to enjoy this sport. My trainers weren’t wealthy but they were comfortable. They had a house with a lovely barn and yard. Eventually they bought an RV. They were happy and still are. They never had a groom that I know of. As a daughter of a military veteran, we did not have tons of money flowing in either. But my parents did everything they could to encourage my riding. I went to maybe four or five local shows a year. I did not win any major year end awards. I had a medium pony that was diagnosed with navicular disease. I leased two other ponies. Eventually my parents were able to buy me a $1500 thoroughbred off the track that my trainers said was perfect for me, and who would only go backwards at first. I had that horse until he died at 28.

I learned that I wanted to create a barn free of drama, free of high maintenance people. I wanted a safe haven for horses and people alike. I want barn rats, and smiles and friendships. I wanted the love of the horse to be what binds us all together. I wanted the families that would not normally be able to afford this sport. I wanted to teach beginners and intermediate riders everything my own trainers taught me. I now have a house. And a barn and a lovely yard. My husband and I do all the work ourselves. I do not yet have an RV. But I am happy. And so are my students and horses.