This morning, I read this article about getting fit with your horse. The author detailed how many calories can be burned doing many common horsey activities, and it got me to thinking about some of the many other ways having a horse can improve your fitness level. For example, you can get your heart rate up (cardiovascular exercise) by chasing him around his paddock while trying to catch him (Tank doesn’t help me out here—he usually meets me at the gate); getting excited (or scared) by trying something new on horseback; or riding through a spook. If that doesn’t get your heart rate up, I don’t know what will!

You can also develop a great strength training program with horses. Aside from the obvious hauling of hay or bags of feed, or shoveling manure, there’s always carrying your saddle (especially if it’s a western saddle—those things are heavy!), or attempting to hold up your horse as he leans on you while you clean his feet. Posting a trot and riding without stirrups are excellent exercises for the thigh muscles as well.

Don’t forget the fitness benefits of relaxation. Being around a horse, at least for me, provides a way to lower my blood pressure. Just looking at horses, stroking their soft coats and smelling that warm barn smell makes me feel calmer.

By all rights, I should be a lot thinner than I am after burning all those calories at the barn. (Maybe it has something to do with the chocolate one of my barn buddies gave me…hmm…)

Have you found any unusual ways to get fit?

Pet, friend, therapist, and now personal trainer?

Lots of contemporary poems are anecdotal, a brief narration of some event, and what can make them rise above anecdote is when they manage to convey significance, often as the poem closes. Here is an example of one like that, by Marie Sheppard Williams, who lives in Minneapolis. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Everybody

I stood at a bus corner
one afternoon, waiting
for the #2. An old
guy stood waiting too.
I stared at him. He
caught my stare, grinned,
gap-toothed. Will you
sign my coat? he said.
Held out a pen. He wore
a dirty canvas coat that
had signatures all over
it, hundreds, maybe
thousands.
            I’m trying
to get everybody, he
said.
            I signed. On a
little space on a pocket.
Sometimes I remember:
I am one of everybody.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2006 by Marie Sheppard Williams. Reprinted from “The California Review,” Volume 32, no. 4, by permission of Marie Sheppard Williams and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

It all started Friday. I went for a ride on Tank, because we finally got a REAL cold front that dropped our temperatures into the—oh joy!—70s. (I’d skipped my normal Wednesday ride because the heat and humidity were so bad I was extremely cranky, and cranky rider often = cranky horse…something I don’t think any of us wants to see.) Tank and I had a lovely ride, and practiced longer stretches of trotting to build muscle (for both of us) without winding up in a puddle of sweat.

When I got home, I opened all the windows in the house and sat outside on the lanai to read for a bit before dinner.

Saturday, I started the day with three of the loveliest words in the English language: library book sale. So far as I know, this was the first one my local branch has hosted, and though I tried not to get my hopes too high, I was eager to see what they’d have. Danielle at A Work in Progress often has wonderful luck at her library book sales, and I hoped maybe it would rub off on me. The sale was fairly small, and I came home with only three books: Stephen King’s Duma Key (to replace our missing copy—a truly amazing, though creepy, story); Perfectly Imperfect, by Lee Woodruff, a collection of essays about being a wife, mother, daughter and friend; and Sarah’s Key (Tatiana de Rosnay), a book I've had on my TBR list for a while. The lady who checked me out exclaimed, “Oh, this is such a good book,” when she saw it, so I feel that’s a good omen.

Later that day, my husband and I joined another couple for a trip to a little town nearby to browse antiques stores. No one found any treasures to take home, but we enjoyed the beautiful day, and the poking around through others’ interesting and unusual possessions.

We also stopped here:

Friends of ours own this candy store, so we bought an assortment of chocolate to (ahem) support their fledgling business.


And Sunday? Well, Sunday was the best of all. My son and husband went mountain biking, leaving me home alone for most of the day. I filled the hours, which went by like minutes, with reading (the Sunday paper and The Winter Sea), puttering (cleaned off my kitchen desk and the drawers and cabinet surrounding it while watching Eat Pray Love on dvd) and simply chilling out and enjoying the solitude. I also watched one of Laure Ferlita’s class videos, and fooled around trying to figure out what to sketch for the assignment.

My weekend was the perfect blend of activity and relaxation, solitude and togetherness. I especially loved doing something fun with my husband, instead of doing errands or household projects. I hope future weekends will be just as wonderful.

How was your weekend?

All this fun is just exhausting...

What will you do to feed your inner artist?

I take classes with Laure Ferlita...

A poor memory? I would have thought the opposite: a good memory to keep in mind the positive things that happen. Isn’t that what gratitude lists and such are all about? But after a little thought, I realize there are plenty of things we’d be wise to forget, such as:

Mistakes we’ve made. I know I need to work on this, because when I make a mistake, I have a tendency to replay it in my mind over and over, often blowing it out of proportion. Everyone makes mistakes. I make mistakes, even though I really don’t want to admit that I do. If necessary, apologize, and/or make things right, then move on. Cling to the philosophy, as the heroine in Anne of Green Gables did, that “tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet.”

Wrongs done to us. What good does it really do to dwell on them? Life isn’t fair. Some people are jerks. Other people make mistakes (see above) and hurt us, whether accidentally or on purpose. Let it go.

Past situations we wish were different. The ridiculous fight you had with your spouse. The time you didn’t make the varsity [insert sport here] team. The investment you made/didn’t make at the wrong/right time. The past is done…it’s passed. Time to move on.

As Barbara Ann Kipfer wrote in Field Guide to Happiness for Women (where I found the Albert Schweitzer quote), “The concept of forgetting the things that should be forgotten adds happiness to your life. But the flip side is knowing what not to forget.” Remember the good things: the love of your family and friends, the small details of today that give you joy, what you truly are grateful for. And, according to Kipfer, “Don’t forget that you are in charge of creating your own happiness.”

What do you want to forget? What do you want to remember?

I know a few people who simply don’t read. Well, that’s not quite accurate—they don’t read books. They read things on the internet, or they flip through magazines or the newspaper. Some simply aren’t interested in books, while others say they fall asleep as soon as they sit down with a book.

This is unthinkable.

My life would be immeasurably poorer without books. They’ve been my teachers and companions since I first deciphered letters on the page. If I were an Egyptian queen, I’d want to be buried with my library.

I find connection with other people through reading—a sort of validation that my feelings and thoughts are not unique to the world. I find this particularly in the writings of women, especially those who have the experience of trying to balance family commitments with some type of artistic life.


I read to learn—not only about practicalities, like how to take better photos (The Digital Photography Book) or use my time more effectively (168 Hours), but to see what it would be like to live in a different time, or as a man, or even as a horse (Black Beauty). As a writer, I read to improve my writing by immersing myself in beautiful language. I observe how other writers structure their work, and play with words. I read to try to understand other people’s points of view, thus expanding my own. I read to escape to new worlds, to laugh, to enrich my life. I know reading books isn't the only way to do these things, but I feel that people who don't read books miss out on a lot.


Mostly, though, I read for the sheer pleasure of it.


Why do you read?

Here’s a poem of mixed feelings by Don Thompson to help us launch October. Thompson lives in Buttonwillow, California, which sounds like the name of a town in a children’s story, don’t you think? [Introduction by Ted Kooser]

October

I used to think the land
had something to say to us,
back when wildflowers
would come right up to your hand
as if they were tame.

Sooner or later, I thought,
the wind would begin to make sense
if I listened hard
and took notes religiously.
That was spring.

Now I’m not so sure:
the cloudless sky has a flat affect
and the fields plowed down after harvest
seem so expressionless,
keeping their own counsel.

This afternoon, nut tree leaves
blow across them
as if autumn had written us a long letter,
changed its mind,
and tore it into little scraps.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2010 by Don Thompson, whose most recent book of poetry is Where We Live, Parallel Press, 2009. Reprinted from Plainsongs, Vol. 30, no. 3, Spring 2010, by permission of Don Thompson and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2011 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

Life is good

I have a complaint. Where has the Table of Contents gone? Two of the books I’m reading have chapters with names instead of just numbers, but no Table of Contents. The publisher couldn’t spare the space or paper for a Table of Contents, yet they can have a page in the back with details about the book’s typeface?! I’m as interested in the typeface as the next person (not very), but I’d rather be able to read the chapter titles and speculate on their contents. I also like consulting the TOC to see how I’m progressing through the book. I don’t like flipping through the book to read the chapter titles, or trying to assess my progress through them this way. It’s just one of my quirks.

A quirk is a peculiarity of behavior, an idiosyncrasy. Our quirks are part of the reason we are who we are—and most of them are completely harmless, though they may seem strange to others. Some of them become habits, or even superstitions—like the hockey players who will not step on the team logo on the floor of their locker room (and won’t allow visitors to do so, either) or the Hollywood writer who backs out of a room in which something good happened.

Quirks can be as simple as whether you put on both socks, then both shoes, or a sock and a shoe and a sock and a shoe; how you take your shower; in what order you eat the foods that make up your dinner (“never end with a bite of something you don’t like”). Some of my additional quirks include:

• I often get the hiccups when I take the first sip or two of a carbonated drink.
• I don’t like mayonnaise on anything except steamed artichokes.
• I keep lists of all the books I read each year.
• I talk to my dog and my horse just like they are people. (They don’t talk back, however, at least in words…)
• I prefer to slice fruit like apples, peaches or plums rather than eat them whole.

I could go on, but…I’d like to know: what are some of your quirks? Do you ever try to change them?

Morning quirk habit

After spending a few days with my mom and step dad, I headed back down to Sacramento to return my rental car and meet my dad and step mom. My companions on the drive:

I loved the drive to and from my mom’s house—it’s straight and easy, up Interstate 5, a trip we took many times when I was growing up. The drive gave me time to think, to sing along with the iPod, to watch for landmarks from my childhood letting me know I was getting close to my destination. I love the openness, the flat fields backed by misty little hills in the distance.


Sacramento was HOT. One hundred degrees a couple of the three days I was there—but, say it with me, it was a dry heat! And it was cool in the morning and evening, so still not as uncomfortable as Florida.

My step mom and I spent our time doing all the things we enjoyed when I was growing up: shopping, going to the movies and visiting with family. My step brother came over for dinner and we visited my step grandma at her assisted living facility, where my step uncle met us. (My dad and step mom have been married for more than 30 years, so her family is my family.) And, of course, there’s my “sister”:


One of the highlights of the trip: Harness racing at Cal Expo. My dad used to take us to these when I came to visit him in the summer. I adored watching the horses race, and one memorable evening, we got to ride in the starting car. Occasionally we’d arrive early and walk through the stables where I breathed in the scent of hay and horse and walked on air for hours afterwards.

Harness racers are standardbreds, who trot or pace around a track pulling a two-wheeled cart (called a sulky) and driver, at up to speeds of more than 30 mph. (In the pace, the two legs on the same side of the horse move forward together, unlike the trot, where the two legs diagonally opposite from each other move forward together.) Most races are a mile long. The most famous race is the Hambletonian, held every year in August at The Meadowlands racetrack in New Jersey, but you can see harness racing at many county and state fairs all over the U.S. (For more information, see http://www.ustrotting.com/. To learn more about standardbreds, go here.)


We ate dinner at the Turf Club and spent several hours watching the races. And let me tell you, it’s far too easy to place bets. You can buy a voucher for whatever amount you want, then slip your voucher into a machine, use a touch screen to place your bet and away you(r money) go(es). I limited myself to a $20 voucher.

My system of betting was highly scientific. First, I chose a horse whose name had some meaning for me. I got my dad to decipher the racing form and quickly read up on the horse’s stats. I usually placed a “win, place, show” bet, so that I would win if my horse came in first, second or third, and I liked to bet on long shots (or at least not favorites). My first race, I chose “Racetrack Diva” in honor of my friend’s horse, Glory, an off-the-track thoroughbred. Diva obliged me by coming in third. The next race I bet on, I chose “Amazon Dot” because of my love affair with Amazon.com. Dot won the race! I began to feel pretty proud of my system! You can guess what happened next. For the rest of the evening, none of my choices came in better than fourth. I ended the evening with a net loss of $3.90, which I consider well worth it for the amount of entertainment I got.


My family—both sets—basically spoiled me while I was in California, and gave me a much-needed break from my everyday responsibilities. I felt so lucky to be able to see my California family while my Florida family took care of themselves.

Monday, I asked, “What makes a place home for you?” This morning, I found an answer: “Where we love is home—home that our feet may leave but not our hearts.” (Oliver Wendell Holmes)

Diane Glancy is one of our country’s Native American poets, and I recently judged her latest book, “Asylum in the Grasslands,” the winner of a regional competition. Here is a good example of her clear and steady writing. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Indian Summer

There’s a farm auction up the road.
Wind has its bid in for the leaves.
Already bugs flurry the headlights
between cornfields at night.
If this world were permanent,
I could dance full as the squaw dress
on the clothesline.
I would not see winter
in the square of white yard-light on the wall.
But something tugs at me.
The world is at a loss and I am part of it
migrating daily.
Everything is up for grabs
like a box of farm tools broken open.
I hear the spirits often in the garden
and along the shore of corn.
I know this place is not mine.
I hear them up the road again.
This world is a horizon, an open sea.
Behind the house, the white iceberg of the barn.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Copyright ©2007 by Diane Glancy, whose novel “The Reason For Crows,” is forthcoming from State University of New York Press, 2009. Poem reprinted from “Asylum in the Grasslands,” University of Arizona Press, 2007, by permission of Diane Glancy. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

I returned late Saturday from my trip to California—and thank you all for your good wishes! All went well, and I came back refreshed in body and mind: no alarm clocks (except for the day I left: 3:45 a.m.!), and plenty of time to eat, drink, talk, read and even think (occasionally).

Before I go any farther, I’d like to thank my husband and mother-in-law who kept things running on the home front, making it possible for me to make this trip—love and gratitude to you both!

I flew to Sacramento, where I was born and where my dad and step mom still live, then rented a car and drove a couple hours north to where my mom and step dad live. I split my eight-day visit between the two of them. This blog post will cover the first half of my trip, and Friday’s will cover the rest.

I’ve written about where my mom lives before. Since we moved a lot as I grew up, this house is the closest thing I have to a childhood home. Many of my happiest memories occurred here, and it will always be one of my favorite places. It’s strange to me that though I grew up in California, went to college and got married there, I’ve now lived in Florida almost as long if not longer. (I don’t want to do the math!)

My first full day at my mom’s, I took a walk through part of the property, revisiting places I’d loved as a child:

I returned covered in burrs:


I’d made two requests of my mom: visits to Trader Joe’s and to Cal’s Books, an awesome used book store in Redding, CA. TJ’s, as we always used to call it, was more an exercise in torture, because I couldn’t bring back much of anything…though I did buy some snacks and wine to enjoy while I was in California. And Cal’s…well, if you know me at all, you know the attraction there. I found only two books this time, which was probably just as well because I didn’t have room in my suitcase for more.

The last day of my stay with my mom, we checked out Anderson River Park, on the banks of the Sacramento River. After eating our lunch there, we spent the afternoon reading, chatting, relaxing and playing musical chairs trying to stay in the shade. Every so often, a breeze would blow off the river to cool us down. I wandered about a little, taking pictures.


This trip brings up the complicated question of where my “home” really is. Is it the place I grew up, where my birth family lives, and that I still love? Is it the place my husband, son and I live? For me, it’s both—the place of my roots that I will always long for AND the place I currently live with the people I love. I don’t have to choose—the more places that feel like home, the better.

What makes a place home for you?

 By the time you read this, I’ll be in the air, on the way to California to visit my family—all by myself. My husband and son get to spend some quality time with each other (heh) while I take a break. I spent much of yesterday afternoon packing clothes and deciding which books to take (yes, I know an e-reader would be easier to pack, but I’m not there yet—plus I’m still working on reading challenges!). I’m only carrying on (it's been my experience that checked luggage is lost luggage) so space is an issue. I won’t be posting for a week or so, but instead plan to fill the well a bit.

Have a great week!

Autumn is my favorite season. Yes, we have autumn in Florida—it’s just not like a typical “autumn” elsewhere. In autumn, cold fronts drop the humidity, and I begin to think being outside is a good idea again. In autumn, I plant a few vegetables hoping for harvest before winter comes.

In autumn, the light through the trees looks different—more golden and mellow instead of harsh and blinding.

A few trees change color, and love bugs appear, and Tank begins growing a winter coat that will have to be clipped off because it will be too hot for him until at least December. The busyness surrounding the start of the school year slows down, but the holiday rush hasn’t started yet. I’m still wearing shorts much of the time, but occasionally I can put on jeans without becoming a puddle of sweat. I feel thankful I’ve survived another summer and look forward to savoring the cooler months ahead.

Autumn isn’t really here yet—but it’s coming. It’s coming.

What’s your favorite season?