The Reset Button

They let us out of work early last night. It was one of those days I was sitting and counting the seconds until we were officially allowed to leave. I tend to get anxious toward the end of the day anyway, but last night I was tapping my feet so violently I may have found it possible to eject myself from the building with minimal effort.

The worst is when “the man” says everyone came leave at a certain time of day, and that time comes and everyone’s still at their desks. We begin to exchange nervous instant messages throughout the office “Are you leaving?”, “No, I’m waiting for more people to leave!” and before you know it, it’s 20 minutes past and everyone’s still at their desk.

I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had already suffered a mighty blow by looking out the window at the newly moistened streets below, which rain drops fell spitefully in my face from the window ledge. Rain, or shine, I had an early night and I was going to see my horse! I gathered my things, though my coworkers were still earnestly working, and sprinted for the door. But then I came back to tell my boss (who was out of the office) that I was leaving.  I hung up the phone and became a woman on a mission. Get OUT of my way, people!

I dashed home, threw off my suffocating work clothes, pulled on my riding tights, tee shirt, boots, half chaps and I was outta there! I ran to my car. It was 5:30 and I was on my way to a full 2 hour ride before dark. Life is grand!

But, no. No, I was thwarted again, this time by something I certainly couldn’t control.

Traffic.

I think I hate New York City sometimes simply because of the traffic. I could say this about anywhere really. Just fill in the blank: I hate ____ because of the traffic. Everywhere I’ve lived it’s been the same. Perhaps now I will appreciate a 20 minute commute in my future city of residence. 

I tend to become agitated whenever a Manhattan resident complains they have to take a 15 minute train ride to work each day. I’m sooo sorry you have to go across town. That just makes my heart bleed for you, as I grind my teeth at the memory of the 16 year old on the train during my morning commute blasting her horrible music via speaker phone for the entire train to suffer through. That must just be awful.

I don’t always feel so full of angst, but in traffic, all bets are off and I, 7 times out of 10, become irate at one thing or another. The car smells, the radio DJ sucks, my back hurts, so-and-so at the office pissed me off, I can’t think of anything creative and just simply--I'm annoyed.

After an hour and a half drive that should have been 35 minutes, I finally arrive at the barn. I have the place to myself and all the stress from the road and the week leading to that point melted away. Eclipse met me at the gate and I forgot about all of my concerns. His sweet little face wipes away all of my stress lines. I should advertise him as a wrinkle cream.

We had a very rewarding hour-long ride in the arena after a rather intense grooming session in the barn. Eclipse was wearing his blanket when I showed up and it seems it hasn’t been off since I put it on four days ago. I lifted the blanket away only to find probably a wig’s-worth pile of hair stuck to his body. The poor thing was so hot and couldn’t shed the hair out. I felt awful.

He certainly enjoyed the curry comb and slick n’ easy block. He made twitching motions with his nose, closing his eyes and yawning to let me know when I found the right spots to scratch. I laughed. It was so silly, but it made me oh so happy.

So, as I made my way home, closing the gates behind me and turning away from my living reset-button, I finally felt calm again. My shoulders assumed their natural position several inches under my ears instead of above them, the traffic didn’t bother me, the radio DJ’s horrible playlist didn’t bother me, my lack of good CD’s in the car didn’t bother me. I was just content to let the road unfold under my tires, while the smell of freshly clipped grass gave way to the flicker of the Manhattan skyline. 

Here I am again—in the city, and I feel fine.

The Sweet Smell of Poop, I mean Spring

Where I'm from, you know spring is coming at the appearance of two things: daffodils and dogwood blossoms. There are neither in my current neck of the woods, so how am I supposed to know it's spring?! Oh yeah...that guy...the weather man who LIES to me! I'm on the him...his sneaky manipulation tactics don't work on me. Not that well anyway. It's been in the 30's and 40's here and rainy for weeks, and I want to know where the sun is! What have you done with her?!

Since I don't have dogwoods or daffodils to warn me of the impending regeneration of life I guess I have to rely on my horse's coat...or lack thereof. I know spring is on it's way when I can stroke my horse and get a handful of hair back for my effort. Most people I know hate that, but I love it. Besides, there's not much for him to lose anyway. Thank you, Eclipse, you sweet considerate little arab. I spent how much money on blankets? I don't want to think about it.

Spring in the city. I've only experienced one up to this point, and I don't remember it very well. All I've seen so far is rain and apart from that-- no leaves, no flowers (aside from the oh-so-rare indoor cultivated lobby presentation variety), no twittering birds, no nothing.

Except...

I took a half day off from work today to meet a new trimmer for Eclipse. On my way from the city to my car in Brooklyn on the subway I experienced something so refreshing, I forgot momentarily I was underground.

I was sitting, reading a book and the door of the train opened and closed and with it came the unmistakable smell of horse. My head bolted upward, nose searching through stale b.o. and worn shoe smells. Where is it coming from?! I shamelessly sniff my jacket and pants thinking it's me, and wondering if I perhaps forgot to wash something before wearing it to work (like I care if they are bothered by my favorite perfume! Pah!). But no, to my disappointment, it's not me.

Then, a man sits diagonally across from me wearing some very nice breeches, boots, spurs and half chaps. I think I stopped myself from speaking to him about 20 times. I wanted so badly to ask him where he was riding or had ridden! It was so refreshing, seeing one of my kind. I was searching my mind for anything identifiable on my person he would be able to recognize in a fellow horse-person, but I had nothing! Not even a button with Eclipse's face on it! For shame...

I wore a smile the rest of the way to the barn. It made me so happy to see and smell something familiar somewhere I feel so awfully foreign. But why couldn't I just speak up and say something? Anywhere else I would have introduced myself immediately, but for whatever reason, there were no words justifiable for fear of any embarrassment that may have sprung from the conversation.

What was really awesome about this though, was the fact that it wasn't fashion. I see so many fashionable women's magazines prompting readers to order breeches and riding boots from State Line Tack or Dover Saddlery merely for wearing to the office! Of course I rejoiced at the idea of an excuse to wear my riding attire to work and get away with it but my spirits were slightly dampened at the realization that once my coworkers got a whiff of that ever-so dominant smell of manure my fashion do would turn quickly into a fashion don't-for-the-love-of-all-that-is-good-and-holy! NO!

Sigh. What's worse about all of this is that I'm so much more humiliated for my barn friends to see me in actual work clothes than my riding pants and tee-shirt, because it means I won't be riding. Oh, the agony of heals in a dirt paddock. It's just unnatural.