Ponies in the Ring

Last week during my riding lesson, I paused to watch a young rider attempt to wrangle her pony into a more cooperative state. It seems that Blue didn't want to jump. His rider managed to stay mounted despite his last-minute balks and halts before the stacked and layered obstacles, but she still needed assistance. So in an attempt to reassure the pony, I was asked to sit with my horse in the middle of the ring, where Blue knew we would be watching. Moral support, from pony to pony so to speak. In the world of horses, social relationships are often as complex as our own, and I can truly say from experience that regardless of species, similar souls comfort one another in difficult situations.

This past weekend, my ex-husband and his wife came to our town for the first time. With my daughter finishing fifth grade and beginning middle school in the fall, celebration among family was essential. While I was thrilled that the father of my children would finally come see where and how his children live, I was stressed that he and his wife would find fault with things when they got here. I worked to make sure that they would be comfortable and attended details such as tourism guides, restaurant and hotel recommendations, and arrangements for a family lunch.  These are people with whom I share difficult history, but I am tied to them, and if they came and had a wonderful time, they would continue to return and share in the life that my children have here. This is what I want for my children, a growing relationship with their dad, a secure place in the heart of their step-mother, a comfort zone of approachability for times when discussion, advice, or negotiation of some sort is necessary.

Having the company of my family helped me feel better--cognizant, calm, graceful. Their steady presence helped make this visit with my children's dad and step-mother a successful one. Having cleared this hurdle gracefully and landed safely on the other side, I can approach the next visit with more confidence. To my husband and Juju, thank you. Thank you for being my ponies in the ring.

Top Ten Signs of Blogworthiness

I know I've written a good blog when I reread it hours after the last set of proofs and tinkers, and I find myself laughing again. And one good blog triggers another. I have begun to feel very chicken-and-egg about blogging--does the event trigger the blog or does the blogging make the event noteworthy? Nevertheless, here are some of the signs I have learned that show me when an event is blogworthy or when a blog is going to entertain:

1. When my husband does something and says about it later: It seemed like a good idea at the time. I wonder if he'll be saying that about the motorcycle he bought a year ago that he will finally be bringing home from storage this summer. Frankly, I see myself with a hard cast up to the hip after my first-ever motorcycle ride saying the same thing. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

2. Anything my son does involving what a girlfriend of mine calls "Shit-iroshima". You can draw a conclusion about what this might mean based on the fact that we now call Friday night's 3 AM vomiting session "Puke-asaki". I have yet to write about it, but then I have written before about the mass eruption that is children's barfing. Do we really need to go there again? Yes. Yes, we do.

3. When an event is a metaphor for something else, the event is now blogworthy. For example, the day my dog died, the dog I once shared with my ex-husband. Enough said.

4. When a lesson is learned. For example, why I should never shop with my children. And this week I learned another new lesson: I should have ignored my son when he asked me if using the middle finger was bad. I said yes, and today he willfully and knowingly shot his sister the bird. He's not even five. I have so much to learn.

5. When I eat something so incredible I immediately transcend time and space, my five senses become electrified, and I swear I'm having a foodgasm. I wish I had taken the time to describe every breakfast I ate at Cafe Pasqual's in Santa Fe, New Mexico this year. I love food. I think food is amazing. It's multi-sensory, sexual, comforting, basic, extreme, and a mastery of chemical reaction both in creation and consumption--all at once.

6. When I experience something that I know will directly relate to a reader, a common topic, and put a twist on it you didn't see coming. Or maybe, I put something out there that I never could have said at the kitchen table growing up, like my friend Jay's line in this post: http://cafecatiche.blogspot.com/2010/12/facebook-vs-blogger.html. It's a super short post. You'll know the line when you see it.

7. And when I experience something inspiring or life-changing. The posts about New Mexico are particularly examples of that.

8. Anytime I have to explain sex to my daughter. Remember this one? http://cafecatiche.blogspot.com/2010/05/joy-of-sex-education.html And just recently, we had a whole separate discussion when someone let my daughter watch an inappropriate film. And I quote: "Mom, I thought the guy's thingie went into the girl's thingie like this." She made a gesture. I said yes, that that was true. "Ok, but I just saw this movie where this girl was in love with two guys and one of them got her from behind." You can imagine the phone calls I had to place after THAT.

9. When the small moments are really big moments. I went to a children's talent show at my daughter's school this weekend. Those awkward displays of burgeoning (or failing) talent were beautiful. I have never seen so many brave young people. I watched one little girl sing "Yesterday" by the Beatles. She fought her nerves the entire time--stopping to fight tears, dropping words, and still managing to finish. I haven't even seen that many grown ups present themselves so vulnerably and courageously.

10. Love. Joy. Any moment that makes those things blossom in my heart and any moment that marks loss or transition relating to those things. My blog posts have run the gamut from self-indulgent to self-deprecating, but what I want to share the most is love. Like I said to someone this week, life is hard, but I would rather live celebrating its good moments. I hope that comes through on this blog. My life mission is to connect with others, make their living a better experience than it might have been otherwise. I hope that all the joys and trials of life that I have chosen to so neatly pen here in this blog are an element of that desire to love, share love, and be loved.

Happy reading! And as ever, thanks for coming back here again and again.

Dakota: August 1995-July 2010

The relationship between former spouses is both strange and estranged. My children’s father and I are greatly wary of one another. This man, understandably reluctant to see his children move out of state, played dirty in a most unfortunate way. Instead of being honest, not that any of us expected him to develop that forever-elusive-to-him quality (hence divorce in the first place), he lied about his intentions and actions, dillydallied, sued me, and tried to have me arrested. Things ended fairly well for the children and I, all things considered, but we all bear the marks of the trauma by having a rather cautionary relationship with him. Still, I try to remember he is human. I try to remember that his obnoxiousness and manipulation is a reflection of deeply-rooted anger and insecurity that has never been my job to abate, even though when I lived with him, I thought it was.


This week, broken by new loss, he reached out rather humbly. The dog we raised together, one of two I had to leave behind when we ended our marriage, would have seen her fifteenth birthday this August. Two days ago, Dakota crossed the rainbow bridge in a difficult but loving decision by my ex-husband. We had discussed the symptoms of her impending death and vast discomfort. I had sent all the pictures of the old girl that I had. I then had reminded him that doing the right thing required courage—something I know very well, as the last year of my life required tremendous guts to persist, to fight, and to stand up against him.

I mused this week about the peculiar duality that exists within humans, the ability to hold two opposing sets of feelings, or to think one way and let one’s actions completely override that thought. This man is a difficult man, yet the grief of his losing his dog is a sudden sacred valley, and I was able to counsel him gently. Of course, this was once my dog, too.

I wish I could say that the moment of loss this week would start a new place of peace in our relationship. It will not, however. When the grief for our beloved creature wears to a comfortable memory, he will again find opportunities to express the hostility and desire for control that I experienced for the last several years. I will again have to make hard decisions about how to promote a relationship between him and the children, yet protect them at the same time. He will never see nor understand the effects his behavior has on others. I have accepted this.

In the meantime, our first dog is now gone forever. The night before last, I dreamed about her. We went for walk at the lake near my childhood home. At one point, I went to call Dakota home to me, but she was swimming in cold, extremely choppy, brown waves. I could not enter the water. I knew doing so would endanger me as well and we would both be lost. I stood afraid at the foot of the concrete-stepped wall that separated lake from city, and watched her try to clamor for safety upon a buoy.

Like the marriage I once left, I could not save her.