Autumn Is A Season For Gypsies...

                                             
                                                    
                                                                       

                           "Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting,
                             and autumn a mosaic of them all."
                                                                                               --Stanley Horowitz

 "... autumn brings a longing to get away...out into the forest at night with a campfire and the rustling leaves."                                                        
                                  --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster, 'The Gypsy Spirit'


Autumn is a season for gypsies... The crisp morning air stirs our blood, and awakens the wanderlust deep in our souls. The sky above our heads is a cool clear blue, sharply pierced by honking geese as they make their journey south; they, too, long to get away...   The trees along the winding roads are adorned in bright gypsy hues -- shades of red and russet and gold.  Leaves fall, merrily spiraling their way to the ground-- gypsy skirts in the autumn wind...
                                                                                   

    
Nearby, our campfire burns cheerfully, its wispy fingers of smoke ever reaching skyward. The smell of burning wood is sharp in the morning air... I stand with coffee cup in hand, feeling unnamed anticipation --I know not of what.  Yet still I wait, eager and impatient... My eyes are drawn to the sun-dappled horizon, where the  narrow dirt road fades into the distance.  Like a siren's song, the open road calls to me-- a primordial urge to wander the land, an ancient longing to follow rippling streams and  transverse verdant  pastures--and suddenly I know.  It is This that I wait to hear... 
 
                              

Deep in the forest, a bear obeys Nature's stern command, and readies himself for a long hibernation.  At the forest's edge, a squirrel hears Nature's urgings, and scurries to hoard nuts for the winter. On the lake, geese heed the call of Nature, and head south to warmer climates.   We hear the call as well...But gypsies and  nomads are not welcome in our world--and so we deny the call of the wild, the lure of the open road.   We stifle the urge to wander; instead, we sit by our fires, and dream of a freedom that is no more...  
                            
                                                                        

   
"It's a far distant country from whence my people once roamed
where the heather grew rich and the roads were our own
there were folks you could trust and a song you could sing
when the meadows were sweet there and the church bells did ring."

                                                         --Ray Willis, The Gypsy Poet
                                                                  

When I Am Old...

                


When I am Old…
I shall wear diamonds
And a wide brimmed straw hat
With silver and leather on it
and I shall spend my social security
On white wine and carrots
And sit in the alley of my barn
And listen to my horses breathe.
I will sneak out
in the middle of a summer’s night
And ride the chestnut mare
Across the moonstruck meadow.
If my old bones will allow.
When people come to call I will smile and nod
As I walk them past the gardens to the barn
And show, instead, the beauty growing there
In stalls fresh-lined with straw.
I will shovel and sweat and
Wear hay in my hair as if it were a jewel.
And I will be an embarrassment to all
Who look down on me.
They’ve not yet found the peace in being free
To love a horse as a friend,
A friend who waits at midnight hour
With nuzzle and nicker and patient eyes
For the kind of woman I will be
When I am Old.
– Author Unknown

             
                             
Some of my best friends are horses. For most of my life, this has been so. Horses have been my faithful companions, my trusting confidantes, my loyal friends.  But years pass, and Time takes its toll.  Many of my old friends are gone now-- to greener pastures on the Other Side.  I miss them still; 
but their memories warm my heart and make me smile--and will comfort me when I grow old...

                                                      
I remember Angelique... carefully holding her head still so a butterfly could sit on her ear...arching her neck and prancing around, playing "charge the wheelbarrow" with Siobhan...floating bark boats in her water bucket on rainy days...dragging a Christmas tree in front of her stall door with her teeth, then eating half the candy canes off of it during the night...loving Siobhan like her own foal, contentedly standing over her while Siobhan "slept" in Angelique's hay...

                   

And who could forget Struttin'... my 4-legged son, mischievous imp, the apple of his mother's eye...biting me 10 times a day his whole first year...groaning and laying down the first time Siobhan put a saddle on his back...being a perfect angel in the show ring long enough to win Siobhan a trophy and a ribbon--and then biting her on the bum as they made their way out of the ring...bucking...and bucking...and bucking...standing with me beneath the apple tree, with apple juice dripping off both our chins...

 

              

And sweet Destiny, who truly was an angel on earth... his time here was far too short; but each day we shared, the sun shone a little brighter...

                   

                      

I remember Fiona...Taking her in  "free to a good home" because she was so sweet... then finding a full-page photo of her in an old Arab Horse World, and realizing she once was famous...Fiona, squealing at Angelique The Queen, and then coming in with hoof prints on her rump..   

         

 And Miss Mae, named for Mae West because of her hip-swaying walk...sleeping for hours in the sun, letting the barn cat sit on her back...

                             

And Firefly, Siobhan's handsome boy....untying my shoes...putting both feet in the bucket when I tried to soak his foot...begging the vet for kisses...
                                                 
      
                                           
And sweet Dolce, my handsome Marsh Tacky...bright-eyed and nickering, every single time I walked in the barn (even if it was 100 times a day!)...giving kisses...being "Siobhan's Valentine"....taking the little ponies' lunch money(!) when they came in his pasture...
                                                
      
                                                        
 And my beautiful Bella...whinnying and running to me each evening...running into a fence post when she was flirting with a trail horse...viciously beating up a gelding 7 days in a row, then on the 8th day saying "breed me"--and out of fear, he did...
                             
                                                                 **********

So many horses, so many memories...Some sweet, some funny, some sad; but all are dear to my heart... Our horses are a big part of our lives.  As long as I breathe, I will have horses.  As long as I walk, I shall push a wheelbarrow.  And when I can no longer walk, I will roll my wheelchair out to the pasture fence to watch the horses, and remember...

Shed No Tears For Uncle Seamus....

                                                                       

            "Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle."                            
                                                                     --William Shakespeare, 'Richard II'

                           

If a child is very lucky, she will have an Uncle--one with a ready smile, a joke to tell, and coat pockets filled with candy.  For me, Uncle Seamus was that Uncle.  Every Sunday afternoon we would visit him, often for hours at a time... He would talk and laugh with my mother, play cards with my father, and endlessly entertain my siblings and me.  We all thought Uncle Seamus was wonderful.

Things changed irreparably the year I  turned 11...Trouble  was brewing within the family;  rumors abounded,  and accusations rained down on our heads-- all of them about Mama and Uncle Seamus.  According to the rumors, they were having an affair...  I suppose that particular rumor was true; I once caught Uncle Seamus myself, stopping by to see  Mama while my father was at work.  After he left, Mama said "It's best if you don't tell your father he stopped by."  So I never told, but someone else surely did...

                                        

  After that, Mama and Dad fought a lot.  Doors and cabinets were slammed, arguments were never-ending, and the word "divorce" was batted back and forth like a ping pong ball.  When asked point-blank, Uncle Seamus didn't deny it--he laughed like it was all a big joke.   It didn't seem to matter that no one else was laughing. Needless to say, we stopped going to Uncle Seamus' house on Sunday afternoons.  Later, when Gram chose  to side with  Uncle Seamus and the accusers, we stopped going there, too...

With an 11-year-old's sense of justice, I decided that Uncle Seamus wasn't so wonderful, after all--for making my father sad, for making my mother cry, and for making Gram not love us any more.    In truth he had betrayed my father's friendship, humiliated my mother shamelessly,  pushed my parents to the brink of divorce, and caused such an uproar in the family that we were no longer welcome at my grandparents' house.  I didn't then understand the enormity of what he had done.  Even so, I was indignant; I didn't care if I ever saw Uncle Seamus again...
                                                       

  Twelve years passed before I DID see Uncle Seamus again--and then it was only to pay my husband's substantial bar tab in Famous Seamus O'Brien's pub.  I walked up to Uncle Seamus' polished  bar with 2-yr.-old Siobhan on my hip and a wad of cash in my hand.  I  handed the money to him, and apologized for Garrett not paying him sooner.  Uncle Seamus just smiled broadly and said "You don't have to pay me--we can just trade it out..." Before I could even speak,  my once-favorite Uncle pinched my breast.  In front of Siobhan.  In front of all his customers. 

I was appalled. I stood in my Uncle's pub with my child in my arms, feel tawdry and dirty and cheap--through no fault of my own.  Holding Siobhan close, I turned and ran to my car.  How it crushed me to be betrayed by my childhood hero, my own uncle... I quietly cried all the way home.  Seeking comfort and solace,  I called Mama as soon as Siobhan and I got in the house. Tearfully I told her what had transpired earlier, how Uncle Seamus had broken my heart...
                                       
                                   

   

And then Mama went on to rip my broken heart from my chest, throw it on the floor and stomp it flat...   First, she called me a liar, and denied that anything untoward had even happened (I am not, nor have I ever been, a Liar.).  Then she said I must have misunderstood (What's to understand? How could it be any clearer?!).  Finally, she said I must have Done Something to give him the impression that he could put his hands on me (in effect, turning it around to make the whole thing MY fault.).  Then she hung up on me.  My own mother.  Now I was devastated...
                                                             
 Uncle Seamus had wreaked enough havoc in our lives during our childhood-- but I guess he couldn't resist a parting shot.  He had now managed to turn the rift between Mama and me into a chasm that would never heal.  And as for Mama...she turned her back on me when I really needed her--and that hurt most of all.  I never saw Uncle Seamus again, and I never forgave either of them...

                                   

Days passed; the days turned into weeks, the weeks into years--Time marched on, as it is wont to do.  Dark memories of Uncle Seamus stayed tucked away in the darker corners of my mind....

Until I heard the news today--Uncle Seamus has passed away.


"Death is not the greatest loss in life. 
 The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we  live."                                                                             ~Norman Cousins


  Shed no tears for Uncle Seamus...   

                             
                                 
                                        
Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
                                               --William Shakespeare, Richard II


                                     

Summer's End

                                                             
                                    When summer gathers up her robes of glory,
                                     And, like a dream, glides away.
                                                                         ~ Sarah Helen Whitman

           

Now it is September, and summer is at an end.  The lake is strangely silent after Labor Day's last hurrah... Gone are the tiki lights, the smell of burgers on a grill...the buzz of jet skis and the laughter of revelers.  The boys and girls of Summer have gone, and emptiness has taken their place.  Sun-bleached memories are all that remain here...

                         

In the village, colorful signs shout gaily from windows: BACK TO SCHOOL SALE! Pencils and pens magically appear on store shelves, where lately sunscreen stood.  Reams of paper abound, and notebooks elbow folders in overcrowded bins.  Book bags and lunch boxes loiter in the aisles, trying to fit in.  Tee shirts and swimsuits are pushed aside to make room for cardigans and sweaters. Nerves are frazzled and cash registers ring...If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the books...

                                                                       

                                 

Fall semester begins.  Chattering children fill bright yellow buses, heavily laden with backpacks.   Fights are fought, new friendships are made, old friendships are renewed. Schedules are scrutinized and teachers are discussed.  Teeth are ground along with gears as the drivers learn their routes.  The days are surely shorter now...
                                                   
                                    

Summer is at an end, Autumn is around the corner, and School is in the air...